Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - walk away like a movie star (burned in a three-way script)
Title: walk away like a movie star (burned in a three-way script)
Movie: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Author: katmillia
Rating: NC-17 (though the majority of it is PG-13/R)
Summary: In 2009, two people find each other as two more erase their memories of each other completely. In 2011, four people struggle with living, falling, and dealing with everything they know- and the things that they no longer remember. You can erase someone from your mind, but what if you can't erase them from your heart?
Warnings: Language, alcohol abuse, sexual situations of both het and slash varieties, angst (please note this one)
Pairings: Jin/Kame, Shige/Yamapi, Yamapi/Horikita Maki
Soundtrack: Cover | Track Listing | Download
Notes: My god, there are so many people that need to be thanked for helping with this. threewalls, astrangerenters, takethatsuckah, greatfountain, meissa, and becquinho have all contributed not only to this idea, but even just to me finishing this when things got ugly and I started to panic and I didn't think I was going to get it done in time. This literally would not exist if not for their support and cheerleading and encouragement, because I struggled with this one in every possible way. They are the reason this got completed. I really owe them everything for getting me back to finish this when I didn't think I was going to. ♥ I guess... in a way, this is the story I've always wanted to tell. I just hope it lives up to expectations! :)
The biggest thanks of all has to go towards threewalls, who gamely took up the giant undertaking of beta-ing this massive, massive monster. ♥ Thank you so much for doing so much for me and being so amazing. :3 Without you, this story would be nowhere near as good, and you know it.
2011
The lights are almost painfully bright in the banquet hall, and Yamapi keeps his gaze on the still half-full plate of food in front of him, the whiteness of the china seeming harsh and out of place against the dark maroon of the tablecloth. It's easy to drift off while staring down at the patterns on the fabric, hand still loosely curled around the flute of his wine glass. To his left, Maki is talking happily; he can tell she is pleased by the way she keeps pushing her hair behind her ear demurely, fingernails glinting in the lamplight.
One of the waiters comes past with another tray of glasses, and Pi sticks his arm out to stop him, gesturing for another to replace his own empty one.
"Dear, this is Higashiyama," Maki says. Her hand makes contact with Pi's forearm, fingers resting against his skin lightly. "He's the one I told you about; I spoke with him the other day about the script."
"I remember," Pi says.
Higashiyama's handshake is curt and perfunctory. Next to him, Maki is beaming. The wine goes down easily, and doesn't even burn.
"He's thinking about working with more history again," Maki continues.
"I think the history of Japan is something that really adds depth to the cinema," Higashiyama says. There is something about his manner, the set of his jaw- it reminds Pi of things he doesn't want to be reminded of. He picks up his fork and moves around some of the food on his plate, letting the sauce bleed into the leftover bits of meat. They soak up the juice and slowly turn red around the edges, bit by bit.
Maki is laughing. "I agree completely. It's rich and complex, and isn't that what makes equally compelling movies?"
There's a man at the table nearest to them that Pi recognizes from the dramas he watches late at night, after Maki is asleep and he has the television turned down low. He sees a woman he knows from one of his favorite old films as a child, wearing a silk kimono and a soft smile. Everything around him is glitz and glamour and people who are laughing. They are past a barrier that he can no longer reach, and he wonders when it was, exactly, that he stopped trying.
The waiter comes around again, and Pi wordlessly takes another glass of wine.
"I do have to warn you," Maki says, startling Pi back into reality once more. "The timing may not be right. We're trying to start a family, and it may make things difficult."
Her hand is on Pi's wrist again, curling around the joint with delicate fingers.
"What?" Pi asks, but it comes out much too soft, muffled by the fact that he can no longer breathe, and neither of them hear.
"I'm very happy for you," Higashiyama says, and bows slightly in his seat. "I hope that we can work something out together. It would be an honor to work with you."
Pi's stomach is threatening to send up the bits and pieces of the catered meal that he actually ate. He stands up, fumbling a bit, and tries not to catch his foot on the train of Maki's dress, draped over the side and curled in loose waves on the floor.
"Sorry," he mumbles, when Maki looks at him with confusion written all over her features. "Need to use the restroom."
There's no one in the bathroom when he enters. He stands for a long time with his hands propped up on either side of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It's warbled and blurred. He can't even focus on his eyes in the glass, not even when he lifts a hand to his face to touch his own cheek.
At some point, he lost control of everything. He can't even remember what it was like before that.
His flask is in his jacket, and he takes a long swig from it, and then another. It's easy to empty it, and once it's gone, he feels acutely alone. The fogginess helps him keep his composure. He runs his hands underneath the water in the sink and splashes it onto his face, disregarding the fact that he's gotten his hair wet, too.
He stays in the bathroom too long. He knows Maki will have noticed it, and he can't bring himself to care; maybe he can say there was a line, or that he wasn't feeling well. If he is lucky, the fuzziness of the movie-saturated world around them will keep her attention away from his absence, and he'll be able to slip back to the table without a fuss.
The bar is between the men's room and their table, and he stops there to get another drink. Vodka tonic, light on the tonic- he still can't taste the burn, which is both a blessing and a curse. It goes down easier, but will haunt him longer later.
Maki has moved on to Tatsuro, the actor who played her brother in her last drama. Her cheeks are bright and her eyes are shining, and the diamond earrings twinkle coyly from behind wavy locks of dark hair.
"Dear, you remember Tatsuro?" she says, before Pi even has a chance to sit down again.
It's all pointless, but no one else seems to realize it. Pi just fakes the smile and hopes that no one can tell it doesn't reach his eyes, finishing his drink before holding his hand out.
Later, he'll sip at the melted ice cubes just to get the last remaining vestiges of liquor.
--
There are brown moving boxes spilling into the hallway when Kame comes home from the studio. At first glance, he can't tell if they are coming or going- a second later and there is a muffled 'oof!' from inside the slightly ajar door, and it appears they are coming. Kame's apartment key is in his hand but his curiosity has more power than the hungry growling in his belly. He shifts a few feet towards the motion and the noise, and glances inside when he's close enough to do so.
Ito-san is an elderly woman with a kind smile that Kame likes, and he's surprised when he looks inside the opening to see a young man instead of Ito-san's usual slightly curved shoulders. Surprised and a little upset, though the guilt flashes through him quicker than he thought possible. He's moving back towards his own door again when the figure in question half-walks, half-stumbles out of the door into the hallway, pushing shockingly blue hair out of his face.
"Oh!" he says, and there's a long moment of silence that is almost painfully awkward. "I'm sorry, was I making too much noise?"
"No, no," Kame reassures him. "I just came home, and I heard the movement, and I thought that maybe Ito-san needed help-"
At the name, the stranger perks. "Ah, that's my grandma! Yeah, she's letting me crash here for awhile, while she goes up to the mountains to spend time with my mom."
The informalness rolls off his tongue with every syllable, and it catches Kame off-guard. He's not used to people who don't know who he is; ever since he got bumped up to the evening anchor spot and NTV handily beat out the other programs at the same hour, he can't even get coffee in the morning without someone recognizing him. It's odd and off-putting and, underneath all that, slightly refreshing.
Ito-san's grandson, with his bright, blinding cerulean hair, is still talking.
"Anyway, I'm really sorry, I swear I'll get these boxes out of the hallway so you don't trip over them," he continues, and he tries to pick one up only to find that it's too heavy. Kame can see the strain of his muscles below the fraying sleeve-hem of his mottled t-shirt.
Kame leans forward without thinking. "Here, let me help."
The two of them get the remaining boxes into the foyer of the apartment; the inside looks the same as it had the last time Kame had been inside, when Ito-san had needed something from the top shelf and couldn't reach it herself. There are clothes strewn around with splashes of color and English band names that Kame can't read, and more boxes in corners of the room, shoved beneath tables and countertops.
Everything about it reeks of strangeness.
"You're moving?" Kame asks, and then mentally slaps himself, because it's an awfully intrusive question to someone he literally just met.
"Ah, well, sorta," the other man says. He laughs a bit and shrugs and runs a hand through the back of his hair like a nervous tic. "It's more like I'm finally getting all my stuff from storage and getting rid of it. Or sending it back home."
Upon closer inspection, it does seem that some of the boxes are still covered in layers of grimy dust. They had to have been sitting somewhere for awhile, at least. "Storage?"
"I've been in L.A.," the man explains.
"Los Angeles?" Kame asks. "California?"
Blue-hair looks surprised for a moment, and then pleased, face splitting into a wide, lopsided grin. "Yeah, California. Have you been?"
"No," Kame says, shaking his head, "but- I want to. I've been planning a trip there for years."
Ito-san's grandson looks even happier with Kame's response. He leans against the counter with one elbow propped against the marbled surface- there are smears on his cheeks that look like oil and dirt, and another one streaking up the front of his shirt, mingling with the design on the front. He looks like something out of a movie, some dark hero that will show pluck and determination at the last moment to save the day and win the girl.
"That's awesome!" he enthuses. He seems to mean it; his hands are moving up and down in time with his words. "Seriously, that's just so cool. Listen, I'll tell you about it, yeah? I'll tell you everything you need to know, like where to eat and where to get a good drink, okay?"
Kame knows he should go back to his apartment. He's already intruding, and he's got a location shoot the next morning he has to get ready for.
"Okay," he says, despite himself, and bows a little. "I- okay. I'd like that."
"No, seriously," the other man repeats. Kame is inching towards the door, heel hitting the slight bump where the tile and carpet meet. "Don't just say okay because you want an easy out!"
"I'm not," Kame laughs.
Ito-san's grandson follows him to the door and then, when Kame is in the hallway again, props his hands on either side of the frame. He's still grinning, and a lock of shockingly blue hair has fallen into his face. Kame wonders if the world looks like the sea when he tries to see through the strands.
"I'm Jin," he says.
Kame bows again. "Kamenashi."
"Ah, fuck," Jin shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not used to- Akanishi. You can call me Akanishi."
Akanishi Jin with his colored hair and glinting hoop on his lower lip. He's not at all what Kame would have expected Ito-san's grandson to be like; he was expecting, if he'd thought of it at all, a salary-man or an eager technician. Someone polite and calm like Ito-san herself, who always remembers birthdays and gets Kame's mail when he is out of town for more than two days.
Akanishi Jin is none of those things. And he's grinning at Kame expectantly from the doorway, in a way that simply cannot be deterred.
"Okay," Kame just says, again. "Akanishi."
"Seeya round, Kame-chan," Jin tells him, and shuts the apartment door with a soft click.
--
Maki is quiet on the way home. Pi rests his head against the window and tries not to think about the throbbing just behind his ears, spreading back from his temples like spider webs.
"You didn't talk much at the party," she says finally, without looking at him. She has taken her earrings off, and in her palm, they don't sparkle as much as they did in her ears.
Pi stares at the lights past the glass. The colors are blurring together so that he can't tell one sign from the next. "Didn't have much to say," he answers.
"You drank too much," she says.
When he doesn't answer, she shifts, glancing over at him, and he can see the movement out of the corner of his eye. He should say something, to make her feel less guilty, because he knows she carries the burden around, heavy and demanding. But he can't think of anything to say, and the alcohol is buzzing in his ears. It's pleasant, the feeling of nothingness and everything at the same time.
"Tomo," she sighs.
"Yeah," he finally replies. He lifts a hand to the window, to touch the colors flashing by outside the car. He can smell her perfume, and it's sickeningly sweet. It smells like a screwdriver made with too ripe oranges, or like a fruity cocktail decorated with a little umbrella.
He can't touch the signs outside, just like he can't touch everything else that's just beyond his reach. Maki is there, and he could move across the backseat to sit next to her.
He doesn't.
"Why do you always do that?" she asks, and her voice is very soft. It sounds like she might be struggling to hold back tears. Tomorrow, her girlish whimper and silent cries will wrench all the food out of his stomach until his throat burns, twisting and turning and knotting, but not now. Not tonight. Tonight Pi can't feel the waves of sorrow he knows are seeping out of her like waves.
He can see images in the warbling motion of hues from outside the car. The lights of the city make up a thousand faces, but he can only see one. It's on the other side of the glass. He can't touch it- his fingers are stopped against the surface.
"Tomo," Maki tries again, and there is more force this time. More force and sobs that are barely contained.
"I'll be better tomorrow," Pi whispers against the window. His breath fogs up little puffs of clouds on the glass. "I'll be a better person for you then."
She starts to say something and stops before the words get out. There's still a small sliver of noise and a rush of air from her throat; Pi can hear her swallow. He can hear her fingers sliding across the fabric of her dress to crush the material between her palms.
"You always say that," she says. It sounds horrible. It sounds broken. "You say that every time."
He knows it won't do any good to tell her that he means it every time, too. She doesn't look at him again for the rest of the ride. When they get home, she goes straight to their bedroom and closes the door, and Pi doesn't go in after her. He leans over the kitchen sink and retches into it, sake and wine and stomach acid setting his throat on fire. It burns when he spits after it, and he leans his forehead against the silver faucet.
He empties everything in his stomach into the basin, and still, he can't get rid of a thing.
He doesn't make it to the bedroom. He passes out on the couch and is asleep as soon as his head hits the lumpy, familiar pillow. When he wakes the next morning, his head is aching and his fingers are shaky from dehydration, but at least that's something he can rely on to be there every time.
It's the only thing, really.
2009
Every inch of Kame's body aches with desperation. He can feel it with every nerve, doubling with every breath, and he can't get away from it. It's impossible to run from the feeling gripping his chest and squeezing until he's gasping and choking and trying just to stay alive. He swears that each next beat of his heart will be his last. He thinks it must be possible to die from heartbreak.
"Why would he do this?" he moans into his hands, and he isn't sure how Koki understands a word of it when it's so muffled and garbled. It's more noise than words, really, because the sound is wrenching itself out of his lips of its own accord. Maybe if he just lets it out, the pain will lessen and he'll be able to breathe again, grieving for the only thing he's ever thought was necessary for him to live.
Koki's hand is on his shoulder, rubbing circles on the joint. "Because he just- that's how he is. You know that's how he is."
"He left," Kame sobs. There's snot all over his palms. Those actors and actresses who can cry beautifully with perfect, delicate tears are something that's only in the movies; Kame's tears are ugly and blotchy, catching in his throat and coming out in gasps. He can't even think about what he must look like at that very second, making a mess all over himself. "He fucking left and he didn't even say goodbye. Who does that? Who fucking does that?"
"Kazu," Koki says. His voice trails off like there's something more he wants to say, but he never finishes.
Every second feels like an eternity. And Kame knows he will have to live through each and every one, praying that the next moment, the next tick of the clock, will be a little bit better and knowing that it won't be.
"Who fucking does that?" he repeats, and it's just another wave, fresh grief and anguish rolling through his body again.
"We should-" Maru starts. Koki turns with so much momentum that Kame can feel it through Koki's fingers still curled around his shoulder.
"Don't," Koki cuts him off.
Kame tries to wipe at his eyes, but it's a lost cause. He wonders if Maru and Koki will think less of him now, after he showed up on their apartment doorstep barely able to keep himself upright. It's agony, he thinks- absolute agony. It's like someone took a knife into his stomach and twisted it, carving out all the parts that make him who he is.
"We have to tell him," Maru gets out.
Koki's fingers tighten around Kame's arm. "Seriously, shut the fuck up."
"Tell me what?" Kame asks.
"No, I- he deserves to know!" Maru says. He crosses the room, hands held in front of him like he's in the middle of thinking to himself. "I'm not-"
"It said not to fucking do this," Koki growls, and then he's up and moving away from Kame's seated form. The absence is keen and cold, even though Koki was offering nothing more than a few pats to Kame's back. With everything else, it just feels like so much more.
The tears are blurring most of Kame's vision and he drags his arm across his face to dislodge them. "What are you talking about? What should I know?"
Maru opens one of the end tables with enough force to pull the whole thing up from the carpet. Kame can't see what he pulls out and Koki reaches for it, trying to take it, and Maru smacks him away and dances around his figure. By the time he has crossed the room again, Kame identifies the object in his hand as a small piece of paper, the size of a business card.
Akanishi Jin has erased Kamenashi Kazuya from his memory. Please do not mention Kamenashi or anything about their relationship to Akanishi again.
"What is this?" Kame gasps. His tears are splattering on the cardstock and puckering it into tiny dips. "What the fuck is this, what are you playing at?"
"Nothing, dude, it's real," Koki says. He sounds tired. He takes a seat on the chair next to the one Kame is perched in and folds his hands in his lap, elbows balanced loosely on his knees. "It's just this thing. This doctor can wipe minds or something, I don't know. We got it in the mail about two days before Jin left."
Maru is watching them both, still pacing across the floor. Kame flips the card over, but there is nothing on the back, and when he turns it again, the front still hasn't changed. His lungs are burning when he tries to inhale.
"They told us not to show you that," Maru says.
"It's why he didn't say goodbye," Koki adds. There's pity on his face, and it makes Kame's stomach roll. He doesn't want pity. He just wants his life back- the warmth on the other side of the bed when he wakes up and the fingers that tease playful paths across his stomach.
Thinking about it makes his head throb again. The memories play over and over like a skipping reel of film.
"Where?" he chokes out. He wants to rip the card into a thousand tiny pieces and can't bring himself to do anything other than stare at the words until they blur. "Where is this place?"
--
The office gets busy after the holiday season. Shige isn't sure if it's because of the weather, or the nostalgia factor; whatever the case, he spends at least half his time on the phone scheduling appointments, and it's his least favorite part of the job. He hopes the warm weather will resolve most people's issues and lessen the load again.
They should hire a full-time receptionist. It's hard enough trying to go back and forth between the lab and the front desk, but when Yamashita is with a client, Shige doesn't have much of a choice.
"Yes, we can get you in on Thursday of next week," he says into the receiver, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his jaw. "1 PM. Well, we're booked before noon. Yes, alright, we'll see you then. Thank you."
The door opens, and the irritating bell that Yamashita placed there dingles. Most of the time by the end of the day, Shige wants to rip the whole thing down and run over it with his car.
"If you'll hold on just a moment, we'll be right with you," he says over his shoulder. The folders behind the desk are a mess, and he can't be bothered to care at the moment. When he turns around again, he finds himself face to face with a young man with red, swollen eyes. The man wordlessly slides a card across the desk's surface.
Shige looks down at it. "Oh," he says.
He doesn't remember printing that exact one, but he's done a lot in the past week.
"I'm here to talk to someone," the man says. He's vaguely familiar, like maybe Shige has seen his face on television before, but Shige doesn't have a lot of time and can't place it.
"You shouldn't have seen this," Shige tells him, lifting up the card. "I assume you are Kamenashi?"
Kamenashi nods wordlessly. He looks like hell. From the size of the bags under his eyes, he didn't sleep much last night.
"Wait here, okay?" Shige says. He doesn't wait for a response, and just turns around, heading back towards Yamapi's office. He knows there isn't a meeting going on at the moment, and Yamapi is probably just bent over paperwork like normal. It has to be hard, taking up one's father's business just to keep his work alive without really knowing much about it. Yamapi tries hard.
Shige raps his knuckles against the door, opening it a crack. "Pi?"
The man in question looks up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
"There's someone here, he saw one of the cards. I think you should talk to him," Shige says.
Yamapi gets up. He's wearing a white lab coat, which Shige knows he only does to put clients more at ease. He's spent a long time reading up on what exactly the company does; Shige was hired by his father two years back, fresh out of technical school, and sometimes he sees Yamashita-san's habits in the things that Yamapi does. The business is Yamashita's legacy, and he knows how much Yamapi cares about keeping it running and open, the way his father would have wanted.
"Sorry," Yamapi says, with a small smile.
"For what?" Shige asks. He pushes the door open, because it seems Pi is going to follow him back out into the reception lobby.
Pi just sort of shrugs. "You have to do secretary duties, and I'm sorry. I know it takes a lot of time."
"No, I don't mind," Shige says. And the truth is, he doesn't. He doesn't mind as long as Yamapi keeps smiling, as long as Pi stays happy. Shige doesn't mind putting in more hours than he gets paid for working with Pi in the labs while they comb through technical readouts of the brains, maps of memories that look like starbursts when the connections print out in vivid coded colors.
He ducks his head, and starts walking back out to the receptionist's desk.
"Kamenashi?" he says. The man hasn't moved from his position. "This is Yamashita."
Pi's fringe is in his eyes when he leans forward to shake Kamenashi's hand. There's something about him, something open- it draws people in and makes them trust him. Pi gives his everything to his father's one remaining dream, and if they can't afford to hire a receptionist, then Shige will do the duties without being asked. It's okay. It's all okay as long as Pi keeps smiling at him.
Pi does just that as he turns to usher Kamenashi back into the office with him. For a split second, Pi's gaze meets Shige's own, and there's warmth there.
When they disappear back into the hallway, Shige sits down on the chair and stares at the files he was sorting earlier. It always takes awhile for the butterflies to disappear again.
--
"This can't be real," Kamenashi says, as soon as Pi shuts the office door.
"I assure you, it is," Pi replies. He rounds the desk and takes a seat, motioning for Kamenashi to do the same. The other man does, but from the set of his jaw, Pi can tell he isn't happy. He's seen that look before on other people. People who don't believe, people who don't want to believe. It's unfortunate that Kamenashi was shown one of the cards, but it isn't unheard of.
Kamenashi's hands are in tight fists, balled on his thighs. "This- it can't happen. You can't just erase someone."
"My father built this company," Pi says. "He was a doctor and a scientist, and he built this. He developed this. He spent years figuring out how to isolate individual memories connected to a common idea- and in this case, an individual."
"You can't just erase someone from your life," Kamenashi chokes out. It's obvious that he's having trouble with it. And Pi remembers the young man who erased him, with vivid dyed-blue hair and a lip ring he kept touching with the tip of his tongue, like a reminder that it was still there. He'd been upset, and rattled, and insistent.
Pi sighs a little, and leans forward. "Not from your life. Just from your mind."
"Do you know what he did to me?" Kamenashi says suddenly, surging upwards. His hands are shaking visibly. "Do you know? He erased me and he left. He fucking left the country. And now, I'm here picking up the god damn pieces that he left behind, and-" He sucks in a low hiss of air. His face looks like he's just revealed a lot of things that he shouldn't have, and Pi doesn't have the heart to blame him.
It takes a few seconds, but Kamenashi slumps back down into the chair. "Are you single?" he asks.
"I'm married," Pi says.
This seems to make Kamenashi feel worse. He drags his finger under his bottom lip, eyes focused on the corner of the office with the potted plant. "What would you do?" he asks, quietly.
"You have some options," Pi replies. He doesn't allow himself to think of anything but the papers in front of him, and the nameplate resting on the far edge of the desk. There is too much at stake; at least he's had practice at blanking everything from his thoughts.
"You mean, I can do the same thing," Kamenashi says.
He's still not looking at Pi, but Pi can practically hear the gears turning in the others' head. It's the common choice. Quid pro quo- human nature is vindictive at its core, ripe with jealousy and feelings of inadequacy, and he's seen it before. Sometimes it churns his stomach. But in the end, it doesn't matter: they are a business, and they depend on clients to stay running, and Pi owes it to his father- and himself- to see that it happens. Pushing Kamenashi could go one of two ways, but he seems to be close enough to the edge to make the leap without prodding.
Pi's fingers tap out a soft rhythm on the forms, to be ready.
"So, it'll all be gone?" Kamenashi asks. "Everything? The last year, it'll just disappear? And I won't remember Jin, or him leaving for L.A., or-"
"Or ever knowing him at all," Pi finishes.
Kamenashi draws in a long breath, and then exhales. He folds his arms over his chest, and in the light from outside, shining in through the blinds, he looks small. He looks like a man who's had everything stripped from him and found the wound to be bleeding and pulsing with every beat of his heart.
Yamapi waits with his hands on the desk.
"Okay," Kamenashi says. There's a sheen in his eyes that's shimmering slightly. "Okay. I want it done. I want to forget everything."
2011
Jin is outside Kame's door two days later with a bag of take-out ramen and a wide-billed trucker hat. He just grins when Kame answers the door, holding up the offered goods. "Dinner plans?"
It's interesting to sit in Kame's living room and eat next to him. From the tips of Jin's blue hair peeking out from beneath the cap all the way down to his Chuck Taylor-clad feet, he's nothing like the people that Kame spends most of his time with. Jin is loud and informal and infectious. He brings with him an air of serendipity that Kame finds he likes, despite his better judgment.
"I'm a musician," Jin explains, through mouthfuls of noodles, when Kame inquires about the hue of his hair. "It's cool."
"It seems like you would really stand out," Kame says.
Jin looks at him over the top of his bowl, but Kame can't read the expression. "I don't mind standing out," Jin replies.
Kame doesn't respond. For a few minutes more, they eat in silence; Kame is actually glad for the food, because he's been lax in buying groceries recently, and his cupboards are alarmingly empty.
"You know," Jin says, "I saw you on TV last night." When Kame just stares at him, Jin gives him a little nod that might be for the suit Kame is still wearing, even though he's loosened the tie. "On the news. I didn't know you were an anchor."
"I was surprised you didn't recognize me initially," Kame admits.
Jin laughs loudly and turns his head away a bit, almost like his own action surprised him and he's suddenly shy. Kame watches as his fingers flit across his lips, checking for remnants of food. "I haven't been here for a long time," Jin says. "I'm way behind with Japanese pop culture."
Kame doesn't think he counts in pop culture. His cheeks heat despite it.
"A long time?" he asks, eager to get on less uncomfortable ground.
"I've been in California," Jin says. "I've been performing there- music festivals, little gigs. It's nothing big, but it was something, you know? You've gotta start somewhere."
The ramen is gone, and Kame wishes he hadn't eaten so quickly. Without anything to keep his hands occupied, he feels stiff and awkward sitting on the couch next to Jin, who is leaning back against the cushions like he already owns the place. It must be nice, Kame thinks, to feel instantly at ease no matter where one goes. That feeling of contentedness isn't something he is very familiar with.
"So you speak English?"
Jin gives him a cheeky salute. "Not great, but yeah, I do."
"I can't imagine doing that," Kame says, leaning forward on his hands.
"Doing what?"
Kame shrugs. "Leaving. I mean, just- going somewhere else to live like that. Leaving behind what you knew. Isn't it terrifying?"
Jin seems to contemplate this for a moment. When he thinks, he frowns slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking downwards. His eyes are focused on the empty take-out containers but Kame doesn't think he's really looking at them; he seems far away, lost in his own world. A world filled, no doubt, with American food and American girls and American life.
"Yeah," he says, finally. "It is kind of. But, I dunno, it makes it worth it, don't you think?"
Kame doesn't answer, because he doesn't have one.
"Besides," Jin continues with a laugh, "didn't you say you wanted to go to L.A., too?"
"Just to visit," Kame tells him.
"Why?" Jin asks.
It's hard to explain, the feeling Kame gets in his chest when he thinks about Los Angeles. It's almost like it's calling him, and even if he doesn't really want to go, he knows he needs to. The idea has been in his head for years, and at this point, it doesn't matter where it came from; it's just there, waiting, hovering always behind Kame's actions.
"I don't know," Kame says. "I just do."
"I'll show you around," Jin tells him, just like that, like it's that easy. Like they'll keep in touch enough for it to happen, like he's promising Kame that he'll water his plants the next day.
The worst thing is that Kame is pretty sure he believes him.
"You're a musician?" he asks, and it's embarrassing because his voice cracks a little.
Jin just levels him with a gaze like he knows, as if he can see right through Kame's skin. "Yeah," he says. His voice is a lot softer than it was. "I'll play for you sometime."
He busies himself with cleaning up the trash, and Jin helps. Kame is afraid he'll have to make an excuse to get Jin to leave again- early mornings come so much sooner than he expects, every single time- but the other man moves towards the front door on his own with both hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
"Stop by sometime, okay?" Jin says.
Kame should tell him no. He knows what is at stake; oh, he knows, right down to his bones, what he could do to himself. To his career. He's worked so hard to get to where he is, at the top, and if he shoots himself in the foot, he knows he'll hate himself forever. He still remembers the office memo that went out after those pictures of Natsuki leaked onto the internet from her blog. It didn't matter how popular of a weather anchor she was- that was it. The company can't take chances with scandals.
But Kame just stares across the kitchen at Jin, Jin with his slightly hunched shoulders and too-loose belt. "Okay," he agrees. "I will."
Jin flashes him a blinding, winning smile.
"'Kay. I'll be waiting."
He leaves, and Kame scrubs at the countertops for ten minutes before he realizes that there's nothing on the surface that needs to be cleaned.
--
Shige arrives at work every day five minutes early. It was ingrained in him during university that punctuality is important and reflects on him as an employee, as an asset, and as a worker. Shige gets to the small blue door of the office, tucked away behind a turn in a side street and a large sign for the okonomiyaki place across the street, and unlocks it with the master set of keys he has. He starts coffee, checks overnight messages, and gets the files ready for the day, in order by appointment times.
He does this every day.
Yamashita is always late. Anywhere from ten minutes to thirty, and he usually stumbles in with bags under his eyes and lines on his face. Shige can't remember it always being like this- he thinks it's gotten worse recently. But Yamashita is his boss, is the legal owner of the company, and Shige wants to impress him. Shige wants to show him that he is capable at handling matters when he's the only employee present.
Every time Yamashita walks in with a mumbled greeting and collapses on his desk before the first appointments start, Shige feels bad. He feels like he should do something.
Yamashita is only ten minutes late today- it's a good day. But there are dark circles beneath his eyes and his fingers shake when he pours himself a cup of coffee.
"Yamashita, your first appointment is at nine," Shige says, handing him the file to look over. Yamashita slips it under his arm and rolls his teeth over his bottom lip as he pours packets of sugar into his mug.
"I know you're busy, Kato-kun," he says, without looking in Shige's direction, "but before this appointment, can you come talk to me? I have something to discuss."
He doesn't sound angry, but the words still make Shige nervous. "Of course," Shige replies, and Yamashita disappears into the back office without another word.
Shige busies himself with the paperwork. He gets two calls and sets up appointments for the following week, and starts printing out a batch of erasing notice cards to send out. At 8:40, he knocks on Yamashita's office door and goes inside.
"Sorry, if you're busy-" Shige begins, and the other man just waves somewhat wearily at him to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk.
"The visualization and mapping," Yamashita starts, "all the things you do on the machine."
Shige doesn't know where this is going. "Yes?"
"It takes you to be there to work the process through, right? It can't run on its own, you have to manually enter in the coordinates taken from the map and execute them line by line to make sure the erasure is only taking certain pieces."
But Yamashita knows all of this already. Shige isn't uncomfortable any longer, but Yamashita looks distracted and far away, somewhere that Shige can't touch.
"Yes," Shige says again, slowly.
"Is it possible to write a program to do this all automatically?" the other man asks. "Is it possible to write something that takes those lines and enters them in, tracking the progress on the read-outs and adjusting according to any potential hiccups?"
"In... theory," Shige replies. "I- it might be possible. With the right amount of processes in the program. You'd need a lot of contingencies. You'd have to code a response for everything that could go wrong."
Yamashita stares out the window. It's covered with drawn blinds and cobwebs that he's never bothered to clear out, and the plant sitting on the windowsill has been dead for weeks. The brown, wilted leaves hang low and gnarled against the white paint.
"Could you do it?" Yamashita asks after a long while, after Shige is half afraid the other man has fallen asleep entirely. His voice is very quiet. He doesn't look away from the window.
"I don't know," Shige answers honestly. "I don't know if I have the qualifications to do it. It would take a lot of work, and a lot of trial and error-"
"I'll help you with that," Yamashita says. Suddenly, he's back again, wide-eyed and gripped with newfound enthusiasm. His palms flatten against the table and Shige can see the veins in his arms shift with the pressure.
They have appointments. They have already more than enough work than they can handle on their own, and Yamashita hasn't been 100% at work for longer than Shige cares to think about. But the other man's face is pleading and open, and Shige looks away because he's afraid Yamashita can read everything with those eyes. He's afraid the man can tear him open and strip him down to nothing, with all his thoughts laid bare.
"I don't," Shige starts, and can't finish. There's a lump in his throat he can't swallow down.
"Shige," Yamashita says. Shige has never heard him say that- it's always Kato-kun. It's always formal and polite and distant, and now Yamashita is leaning against his desk with his hands pressed flat against it. Shige has never heard that tone. Yamashita looks- he looks desperate. There are so many things there that Shige can't pin them all down and he isn't even sure he wants to. He feels both powerful and powerless at the same time.
Shige can't answer and Yamashita seems to take it as further hesitation. He brings a hand up to his face, fingertips dragging beneath his eyes, over the bruised and darkened skin there, and he looks away. "Shige, please."
"Okay," Shige says, in a rush. It comes out more like a breath than an agreement, so he swallows thickly and tries again, with more force, "Yes, okay. I can try."
Yamashita sits back against his chair and lets out a long breath. He doesn't make eye contact with Shige again. Instead he runs a hand through his hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in awhile. He looks exhausted. In the light from the desk lamp, he looks old.
"Thank you," he says. A switch has been flipped, and he's miles away again. "We'll start work on it during the open appointment hours, okay? I don't want to keep you here longer than you have to be."
"I don't mind," Shige replies, too quickly.
He thought it would help, but it only seems to make Yamashita retreat further into himself. Shige swallows down how badly he wants to run his hands over the other man's face and take all that weariness away. He looks at Yamashita's hand, at the wedding band, and finds his reserve.
"I'll go get ready for the first appointment," he says, and leaves his superior staring at the corner, at nothing.
[Part Two]
Movie: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Author: katmillia
Rating: NC-17 (though the majority of it is PG-13/R)
Summary: In 2009, two people find each other as two more erase their memories of each other completely. In 2011, four people struggle with living, falling, and dealing with everything they know- and the things that they no longer remember. You can erase someone from your mind, but what if you can't erase them from your heart?
Warnings: Language, alcohol abuse, sexual situations of both het and slash varieties, angst (please note this one)
Pairings: Jin/Kame, Shige/Yamapi, Yamapi/Horikita Maki
Soundtrack: Cover | Track Listing | Download
Notes: My god, there are so many people that need to be thanked for helping with this. threewalls, astrangerenters, takethatsuckah, greatfountain, meissa, and becquinho have all contributed not only to this idea, but even just to me finishing this when things got ugly and I started to panic and I didn't think I was going to get it done in time. This literally would not exist if not for their support and cheerleading and encouragement, because I struggled with this one in every possible way. They are the reason this got completed. I really owe them everything for getting me back to finish this when I didn't think I was going to. ♥ I guess... in a way, this is the story I've always wanted to tell. I just hope it lives up to expectations! :)
The biggest thanks of all has to go towards threewalls, who gamely took up the giant undertaking of beta-ing this massive, massive monster. ♥ Thank you so much for doing so much for me and being so amazing. :3 Without you, this story would be nowhere near as good, and you know it.
2011
The lights are almost painfully bright in the banquet hall, and Yamapi keeps his gaze on the still half-full plate of food in front of him, the whiteness of the china seeming harsh and out of place against the dark maroon of the tablecloth. It's easy to drift off while staring down at the patterns on the fabric, hand still loosely curled around the flute of his wine glass. To his left, Maki is talking happily; he can tell she is pleased by the way she keeps pushing her hair behind her ear demurely, fingernails glinting in the lamplight.
One of the waiters comes past with another tray of glasses, and Pi sticks his arm out to stop him, gesturing for another to replace his own empty one.
"Dear, this is Higashiyama," Maki says. Her hand makes contact with Pi's forearm, fingers resting against his skin lightly. "He's the one I told you about; I spoke with him the other day about the script."
"I remember," Pi says.
Higashiyama's handshake is curt and perfunctory. Next to him, Maki is beaming. The wine goes down easily, and doesn't even burn.
"He's thinking about working with more history again," Maki continues.
"I think the history of Japan is something that really adds depth to the cinema," Higashiyama says. There is something about his manner, the set of his jaw- it reminds Pi of things he doesn't want to be reminded of. He picks up his fork and moves around some of the food on his plate, letting the sauce bleed into the leftover bits of meat. They soak up the juice and slowly turn red around the edges, bit by bit.
Maki is laughing. "I agree completely. It's rich and complex, and isn't that what makes equally compelling movies?"
There's a man at the table nearest to them that Pi recognizes from the dramas he watches late at night, after Maki is asleep and he has the television turned down low. He sees a woman he knows from one of his favorite old films as a child, wearing a silk kimono and a soft smile. Everything around him is glitz and glamour and people who are laughing. They are past a barrier that he can no longer reach, and he wonders when it was, exactly, that he stopped trying.
The waiter comes around again, and Pi wordlessly takes another glass of wine.
"I do have to warn you," Maki says, startling Pi back into reality once more. "The timing may not be right. We're trying to start a family, and it may make things difficult."
Her hand is on Pi's wrist again, curling around the joint with delicate fingers.
"What?" Pi asks, but it comes out much too soft, muffled by the fact that he can no longer breathe, and neither of them hear.
"I'm very happy for you," Higashiyama says, and bows slightly in his seat. "I hope that we can work something out together. It would be an honor to work with you."
Pi's stomach is threatening to send up the bits and pieces of the catered meal that he actually ate. He stands up, fumbling a bit, and tries not to catch his foot on the train of Maki's dress, draped over the side and curled in loose waves on the floor.
"Sorry," he mumbles, when Maki looks at him with confusion written all over her features. "Need to use the restroom."
There's no one in the bathroom when he enters. He stands for a long time with his hands propped up on either side of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. It's warbled and blurred. He can't even focus on his eyes in the glass, not even when he lifts a hand to his face to touch his own cheek.
At some point, he lost control of everything. He can't even remember what it was like before that.
His flask is in his jacket, and he takes a long swig from it, and then another. It's easy to empty it, and once it's gone, he feels acutely alone. The fogginess helps him keep his composure. He runs his hands underneath the water in the sink and splashes it onto his face, disregarding the fact that he's gotten his hair wet, too.
He stays in the bathroom too long. He knows Maki will have noticed it, and he can't bring himself to care; maybe he can say there was a line, or that he wasn't feeling well. If he is lucky, the fuzziness of the movie-saturated world around them will keep her attention away from his absence, and he'll be able to slip back to the table without a fuss.
The bar is between the men's room and their table, and he stops there to get another drink. Vodka tonic, light on the tonic- he still can't taste the burn, which is both a blessing and a curse. It goes down easier, but will haunt him longer later.
Maki has moved on to Tatsuro, the actor who played her brother in her last drama. Her cheeks are bright and her eyes are shining, and the diamond earrings twinkle coyly from behind wavy locks of dark hair.
"Dear, you remember Tatsuro?" she says, before Pi even has a chance to sit down again.
It's all pointless, but no one else seems to realize it. Pi just fakes the smile and hopes that no one can tell it doesn't reach his eyes, finishing his drink before holding his hand out.
Later, he'll sip at the melted ice cubes just to get the last remaining vestiges of liquor.
--
There are brown moving boxes spilling into the hallway when Kame comes home from the studio. At first glance, he can't tell if they are coming or going- a second later and there is a muffled 'oof!' from inside the slightly ajar door, and it appears they are coming. Kame's apartment key is in his hand but his curiosity has more power than the hungry growling in his belly. He shifts a few feet towards the motion and the noise, and glances inside when he's close enough to do so.
Ito-san is an elderly woman with a kind smile that Kame likes, and he's surprised when he looks inside the opening to see a young man instead of Ito-san's usual slightly curved shoulders. Surprised and a little upset, though the guilt flashes through him quicker than he thought possible. He's moving back towards his own door again when the figure in question half-walks, half-stumbles out of the door into the hallway, pushing shockingly blue hair out of his face.
"Oh!" he says, and there's a long moment of silence that is almost painfully awkward. "I'm sorry, was I making too much noise?"
"No, no," Kame reassures him. "I just came home, and I heard the movement, and I thought that maybe Ito-san needed help-"
At the name, the stranger perks. "Ah, that's my grandma! Yeah, she's letting me crash here for awhile, while she goes up to the mountains to spend time with my mom."
The informalness rolls off his tongue with every syllable, and it catches Kame off-guard. He's not used to people who don't know who he is; ever since he got bumped up to the evening anchor spot and NTV handily beat out the other programs at the same hour, he can't even get coffee in the morning without someone recognizing him. It's odd and off-putting and, underneath all that, slightly refreshing.
Ito-san's grandson, with his bright, blinding cerulean hair, is still talking.
"Anyway, I'm really sorry, I swear I'll get these boxes out of the hallway so you don't trip over them," he continues, and he tries to pick one up only to find that it's too heavy. Kame can see the strain of his muscles below the fraying sleeve-hem of his mottled t-shirt.
Kame leans forward without thinking. "Here, let me help."
The two of them get the remaining boxes into the foyer of the apartment; the inside looks the same as it had the last time Kame had been inside, when Ito-san had needed something from the top shelf and couldn't reach it herself. There are clothes strewn around with splashes of color and English band names that Kame can't read, and more boxes in corners of the room, shoved beneath tables and countertops.
Everything about it reeks of strangeness.
"You're moving?" Kame asks, and then mentally slaps himself, because it's an awfully intrusive question to someone he literally just met.
"Ah, well, sorta," the other man says. He laughs a bit and shrugs and runs a hand through the back of his hair like a nervous tic. "It's more like I'm finally getting all my stuff from storage and getting rid of it. Or sending it back home."
Upon closer inspection, it does seem that some of the boxes are still covered in layers of grimy dust. They had to have been sitting somewhere for awhile, at least. "Storage?"
"I've been in L.A.," the man explains.
"Los Angeles?" Kame asks. "California?"
Blue-hair looks surprised for a moment, and then pleased, face splitting into a wide, lopsided grin. "Yeah, California. Have you been?"
"No," Kame says, shaking his head, "but- I want to. I've been planning a trip there for years."
Ito-san's grandson looks even happier with Kame's response. He leans against the counter with one elbow propped against the marbled surface- there are smears on his cheeks that look like oil and dirt, and another one streaking up the front of his shirt, mingling with the design on the front. He looks like something out of a movie, some dark hero that will show pluck and determination at the last moment to save the day and win the girl.
"That's awesome!" he enthuses. He seems to mean it; his hands are moving up and down in time with his words. "Seriously, that's just so cool. Listen, I'll tell you about it, yeah? I'll tell you everything you need to know, like where to eat and where to get a good drink, okay?"
Kame knows he should go back to his apartment. He's already intruding, and he's got a location shoot the next morning he has to get ready for.
"Okay," he says, despite himself, and bows a little. "I- okay. I'd like that."
"No, seriously," the other man repeats. Kame is inching towards the door, heel hitting the slight bump where the tile and carpet meet. "Don't just say okay because you want an easy out!"
"I'm not," Kame laughs.
Ito-san's grandson follows him to the door and then, when Kame is in the hallway again, props his hands on either side of the frame. He's still grinning, and a lock of shockingly blue hair has fallen into his face. Kame wonders if the world looks like the sea when he tries to see through the strands.
"I'm Jin," he says.
Kame bows again. "Kamenashi."
"Ah, fuck," Jin shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm just not used to- Akanishi. You can call me Akanishi."
Akanishi Jin with his colored hair and glinting hoop on his lower lip. He's not at all what Kame would have expected Ito-san's grandson to be like; he was expecting, if he'd thought of it at all, a salary-man or an eager technician. Someone polite and calm like Ito-san herself, who always remembers birthdays and gets Kame's mail when he is out of town for more than two days.
Akanishi Jin is none of those things. And he's grinning at Kame expectantly from the doorway, in a way that simply cannot be deterred.
"Okay," Kame just says, again. "Akanishi."
"Seeya round, Kame-chan," Jin tells him, and shuts the apartment door with a soft click.
--
Maki is quiet on the way home. Pi rests his head against the window and tries not to think about the throbbing just behind his ears, spreading back from his temples like spider webs.
"You didn't talk much at the party," she says finally, without looking at him. She has taken her earrings off, and in her palm, they don't sparkle as much as they did in her ears.
Pi stares at the lights past the glass. The colors are blurring together so that he can't tell one sign from the next. "Didn't have much to say," he answers.
"You drank too much," she says.
When he doesn't answer, she shifts, glancing over at him, and he can see the movement out of the corner of his eye. He should say something, to make her feel less guilty, because he knows she carries the burden around, heavy and demanding. But he can't think of anything to say, and the alcohol is buzzing in his ears. It's pleasant, the feeling of nothingness and everything at the same time.
"Tomo," she sighs.
"Yeah," he finally replies. He lifts a hand to the window, to touch the colors flashing by outside the car. He can smell her perfume, and it's sickeningly sweet. It smells like a screwdriver made with too ripe oranges, or like a fruity cocktail decorated with a little umbrella.
He can't touch the signs outside, just like he can't touch everything else that's just beyond his reach. Maki is there, and he could move across the backseat to sit next to her.
He doesn't.
"Why do you always do that?" she asks, and her voice is very soft. It sounds like she might be struggling to hold back tears. Tomorrow, her girlish whimper and silent cries will wrench all the food out of his stomach until his throat burns, twisting and turning and knotting, but not now. Not tonight. Tonight Pi can't feel the waves of sorrow he knows are seeping out of her like waves.
He can see images in the warbling motion of hues from outside the car. The lights of the city make up a thousand faces, but he can only see one. It's on the other side of the glass. He can't touch it- his fingers are stopped against the surface.
"Tomo," Maki tries again, and there is more force this time. More force and sobs that are barely contained.
"I'll be better tomorrow," Pi whispers against the window. His breath fogs up little puffs of clouds on the glass. "I'll be a better person for you then."
She starts to say something and stops before the words get out. There's still a small sliver of noise and a rush of air from her throat; Pi can hear her swallow. He can hear her fingers sliding across the fabric of her dress to crush the material between her palms.
"You always say that," she says. It sounds horrible. It sounds broken. "You say that every time."
He knows it won't do any good to tell her that he means it every time, too. She doesn't look at him again for the rest of the ride. When they get home, she goes straight to their bedroom and closes the door, and Pi doesn't go in after her. He leans over the kitchen sink and retches into it, sake and wine and stomach acid setting his throat on fire. It burns when he spits after it, and he leans his forehead against the silver faucet.
He empties everything in his stomach into the basin, and still, he can't get rid of a thing.
He doesn't make it to the bedroom. He passes out on the couch and is asleep as soon as his head hits the lumpy, familiar pillow. When he wakes the next morning, his head is aching and his fingers are shaky from dehydration, but at least that's something he can rely on to be there every time.
It's the only thing, really.
2009
Every inch of Kame's body aches with desperation. He can feel it with every nerve, doubling with every breath, and he can't get away from it. It's impossible to run from the feeling gripping his chest and squeezing until he's gasping and choking and trying just to stay alive. He swears that each next beat of his heart will be his last. He thinks it must be possible to die from heartbreak.
"Why would he do this?" he moans into his hands, and he isn't sure how Koki understands a word of it when it's so muffled and garbled. It's more noise than words, really, because the sound is wrenching itself out of his lips of its own accord. Maybe if he just lets it out, the pain will lessen and he'll be able to breathe again, grieving for the only thing he's ever thought was necessary for him to live.
Koki's hand is on his shoulder, rubbing circles on the joint. "Because he just- that's how he is. You know that's how he is."
"He left," Kame sobs. There's snot all over his palms. Those actors and actresses who can cry beautifully with perfect, delicate tears are something that's only in the movies; Kame's tears are ugly and blotchy, catching in his throat and coming out in gasps. He can't even think about what he must look like at that very second, making a mess all over himself. "He fucking left and he didn't even say goodbye. Who does that? Who fucking does that?"
"Kazu," Koki says. His voice trails off like there's something more he wants to say, but he never finishes.
Every second feels like an eternity. And Kame knows he will have to live through each and every one, praying that the next moment, the next tick of the clock, will be a little bit better and knowing that it won't be.
"Who fucking does that?" he repeats, and it's just another wave, fresh grief and anguish rolling through his body again.
"We should-" Maru starts. Koki turns with so much momentum that Kame can feel it through Koki's fingers still curled around his shoulder.
"Don't," Koki cuts him off.
Kame tries to wipe at his eyes, but it's a lost cause. He wonders if Maru and Koki will think less of him now, after he showed up on their apartment doorstep barely able to keep himself upright. It's agony, he thinks- absolute agony. It's like someone took a knife into his stomach and twisted it, carving out all the parts that make him who he is.
"We have to tell him," Maru gets out.
Koki's fingers tighten around Kame's arm. "Seriously, shut the fuck up."
"Tell me what?" Kame asks.
"No, I- he deserves to know!" Maru says. He crosses the room, hands held in front of him like he's in the middle of thinking to himself. "I'm not-"
"It said not to fucking do this," Koki growls, and then he's up and moving away from Kame's seated form. The absence is keen and cold, even though Koki was offering nothing more than a few pats to Kame's back. With everything else, it just feels like so much more.
The tears are blurring most of Kame's vision and he drags his arm across his face to dislodge them. "What are you talking about? What should I know?"
Maru opens one of the end tables with enough force to pull the whole thing up from the carpet. Kame can't see what he pulls out and Koki reaches for it, trying to take it, and Maru smacks him away and dances around his figure. By the time he has crossed the room again, Kame identifies the object in his hand as a small piece of paper, the size of a business card.
Akanishi Jin has erased Kamenashi Kazuya from his memory. Please do not mention Kamenashi or anything about their relationship to Akanishi again.
"What is this?" Kame gasps. His tears are splattering on the cardstock and puckering it into tiny dips. "What the fuck is this, what are you playing at?"
"Nothing, dude, it's real," Koki says. He sounds tired. He takes a seat on the chair next to the one Kame is perched in and folds his hands in his lap, elbows balanced loosely on his knees. "It's just this thing. This doctor can wipe minds or something, I don't know. We got it in the mail about two days before Jin left."
Maru is watching them both, still pacing across the floor. Kame flips the card over, but there is nothing on the back, and when he turns it again, the front still hasn't changed. His lungs are burning when he tries to inhale.
"They told us not to show you that," Maru says.
"It's why he didn't say goodbye," Koki adds. There's pity on his face, and it makes Kame's stomach roll. He doesn't want pity. He just wants his life back- the warmth on the other side of the bed when he wakes up and the fingers that tease playful paths across his stomach.
Thinking about it makes his head throb again. The memories play over and over like a skipping reel of film.
"Where?" he chokes out. He wants to rip the card into a thousand tiny pieces and can't bring himself to do anything other than stare at the words until they blur. "Where is this place?"
--
The office gets busy after the holiday season. Shige isn't sure if it's because of the weather, or the nostalgia factor; whatever the case, he spends at least half his time on the phone scheduling appointments, and it's his least favorite part of the job. He hopes the warm weather will resolve most people's issues and lessen the load again.
They should hire a full-time receptionist. It's hard enough trying to go back and forth between the lab and the front desk, but when Yamashita is with a client, Shige doesn't have much of a choice.
"Yes, we can get you in on Thursday of next week," he says into the receiver, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his jaw. "1 PM. Well, we're booked before noon. Yes, alright, we'll see you then. Thank you."
The door opens, and the irritating bell that Yamashita placed there dingles. Most of the time by the end of the day, Shige wants to rip the whole thing down and run over it with his car.
"If you'll hold on just a moment, we'll be right with you," he says over his shoulder. The folders behind the desk are a mess, and he can't be bothered to care at the moment. When he turns around again, he finds himself face to face with a young man with red, swollen eyes. The man wordlessly slides a card across the desk's surface.
Shige looks down at it. "Oh," he says.
He doesn't remember printing that exact one, but he's done a lot in the past week.
"I'm here to talk to someone," the man says. He's vaguely familiar, like maybe Shige has seen his face on television before, but Shige doesn't have a lot of time and can't place it.
"You shouldn't have seen this," Shige tells him, lifting up the card. "I assume you are Kamenashi?"
Kamenashi nods wordlessly. He looks like hell. From the size of the bags under his eyes, he didn't sleep much last night.
"Wait here, okay?" Shige says. He doesn't wait for a response, and just turns around, heading back towards Yamapi's office. He knows there isn't a meeting going on at the moment, and Yamapi is probably just bent over paperwork like normal. It has to be hard, taking up one's father's business just to keep his work alive without really knowing much about it. Yamapi tries hard.
Shige raps his knuckles against the door, opening it a crack. "Pi?"
The man in question looks up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
"There's someone here, he saw one of the cards. I think you should talk to him," Shige says.
Yamapi gets up. He's wearing a white lab coat, which Shige knows he only does to put clients more at ease. He's spent a long time reading up on what exactly the company does; Shige was hired by his father two years back, fresh out of technical school, and sometimes he sees Yamashita-san's habits in the things that Yamapi does. The business is Yamashita's legacy, and he knows how much Yamapi cares about keeping it running and open, the way his father would have wanted.
"Sorry," Yamapi says, with a small smile.
"For what?" Shige asks. He pushes the door open, because it seems Pi is going to follow him back out into the reception lobby.
Pi just sort of shrugs. "You have to do secretary duties, and I'm sorry. I know it takes a lot of time."
"No, I don't mind," Shige says. And the truth is, he doesn't. He doesn't mind as long as Yamapi keeps smiling, as long as Pi stays happy. Shige doesn't mind putting in more hours than he gets paid for working with Pi in the labs while they comb through technical readouts of the brains, maps of memories that look like starbursts when the connections print out in vivid coded colors.
He ducks his head, and starts walking back out to the receptionist's desk.
"Kamenashi?" he says. The man hasn't moved from his position. "This is Yamashita."
Pi's fringe is in his eyes when he leans forward to shake Kamenashi's hand. There's something about him, something open- it draws people in and makes them trust him. Pi gives his everything to his father's one remaining dream, and if they can't afford to hire a receptionist, then Shige will do the duties without being asked. It's okay. It's all okay as long as Pi keeps smiling at him.
Pi does just that as he turns to usher Kamenashi back into the office with him. For a split second, Pi's gaze meets Shige's own, and there's warmth there.
When they disappear back into the hallway, Shige sits down on the chair and stares at the files he was sorting earlier. It always takes awhile for the butterflies to disappear again.
--
"This can't be real," Kamenashi says, as soon as Pi shuts the office door.
"I assure you, it is," Pi replies. He rounds the desk and takes a seat, motioning for Kamenashi to do the same. The other man does, but from the set of his jaw, Pi can tell he isn't happy. He's seen that look before on other people. People who don't believe, people who don't want to believe. It's unfortunate that Kamenashi was shown one of the cards, but it isn't unheard of.
Kamenashi's hands are in tight fists, balled on his thighs. "This- it can't happen. You can't just erase someone."
"My father built this company," Pi says. "He was a doctor and a scientist, and he built this. He developed this. He spent years figuring out how to isolate individual memories connected to a common idea- and in this case, an individual."
"You can't just erase someone from your life," Kamenashi chokes out. It's obvious that he's having trouble with it. And Pi remembers the young man who erased him, with vivid dyed-blue hair and a lip ring he kept touching with the tip of his tongue, like a reminder that it was still there. He'd been upset, and rattled, and insistent.
Pi sighs a little, and leans forward. "Not from your life. Just from your mind."
"Do you know what he did to me?" Kamenashi says suddenly, surging upwards. His hands are shaking visibly. "Do you know? He erased me and he left. He fucking left the country. And now, I'm here picking up the god damn pieces that he left behind, and-" He sucks in a low hiss of air. His face looks like he's just revealed a lot of things that he shouldn't have, and Pi doesn't have the heart to blame him.
It takes a few seconds, but Kamenashi slumps back down into the chair. "Are you single?" he asks.
"I'm married," Pi says.
This seems to make Kamenashi feel worse. He drags his finger under his bottom lip, eyes focused on the corner of the office with the potted plant. "What would you do?" he asks, quietly.
"You have some options," Pi replies. He doesn't allow himself to think of anything but the papers in front of him, and the nameplate resting on the far edge of the desk. There is too much at stake; at least he's had practice at blanking everything from his thoughts.
"You mean, I can do the same thing," Kamenashi says.
He's still not looking at Pi, but Pi can practically hear the gears turning in the others' head. It's the common choice. Quid pro quo- human nature is vindictive at its core, ripe with jealousy and feelings of inadequacy, and he's seen it before. Sometimes it churns his stomach. But in the end, it doesn't matter: they are a business, and they depend on clients to stay running, and Pi owes it to his father- and himself- to see that it happens. Pushing Kamenashi could go one of two ways, but he seems to be close enough to the edge to make the leap without prodding.
Pi's fingers tap out a soft rhythm on the forms, to be ready.
"So, it'll all be gone?" Kamenashi asks. "Everything? The last year, it'll just disappear? And I won't remember Jin, or him leaving for L.A., or-"
"Or ever knowing him at all," Pi finishes.
Kamenashi draws in a long breath, and then exhales. He folds his arms over his chest, and in the light from outside, shining in through the blinds, he looks small. He looks like a man who's had everything stripped from him and found the wound to be bleeding and pulsing with every beat of his heart.
Yamapi waits with his hands on the desk.
"Okay," Kamenashi says. There's a sheen in his eyes that's shimmering slightly. "Okay. I want it done. I want to forget everything."
2011
Jin is outside Kame's door two days later with a bag of take-out ramen and a wide-billed trucker hat. He just grins when Kame answers the door, holding up the offered goods. "Dinner plans?"
It's interesting to sit in Kame's living room and eat next to him. From the tips of Jin's blue hair peeking out from beneath the cap all the way down to his Chuck Taylor-clad feet, he's nothing like the people that Kame spends most of his time with. Jin is loud and informal and infectious. He brings with him an air of serendipity that Kame finds he likes, despite his better judgment.
"I'm a musician," Jin explains, through mouthfuls of noodles, when Kame inquires about the hue of his hair. "It's cool."
"It seems like you would really stand out," Kame says.
Jin looks at him over the top of his bowl, but Kame can't read the expression. "I don't mind standing out," Jin replies.
Kame doesn't respond. For a few minutes more, they eat in silence; Kame is actually glad for the food, because he's been lax in buying groceries recently, and his cupboards are alarmingly empty.
"You know," Jin says, "I saw you on TV last night." When Kame just stares at him, Jin gives him a little nod that might be for the suit Kame is still wearing, even though he's loosened the tie. "On the news. I didn't know you were an anchor."
"I was surprised you didn't recognize me initially," Kame admits.
Jin laughs loudly and turns his head away a bit, almost like his own action surprised him and he's suddenly shy. Kame watches as his fingers flit across his lips, checking for remnants of food. "I haven't been here for a long time," Jin says. "I'm way behind with Japanese pop culture."
Kame doesn't think he counts in pop culture. His cheeks heat despite it.
"A long time?" he asks, eager to get on less uncomfortable ground.
"I've been in California," Jin says. "I've been performing there- music festivals, little gigs. It's nothing big, but it was something, you know? You've gotta start somewhere."
The ramen is gone, and Kame wishes he hadn't eaten so quickly. Without anything to keep his hands occupied, he feels stiff and awkward sitting on the couch next to Jin, who is leaning back against the cushions like he already owns the place. It must be nice, Kame thinks, to feel instantly at ease no matter where one goes. That feeling of contentedness isn't something he is very familiar with.
"So you speak English?"
Jin gives him a cheeky salute. "Not great, but yeah, I do."
"I can't imagine doing that," Kame says, leaning forward on his hands.
"Doing what?"
Kame shrugs. "Leaving. I mean, just- going somewhere else to live like that. Leaving behind what you knew. Isn't it terrifying?"
Jin seems to contemplate this for a moment. When he thinks, he frowns slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking downwards. His eyes are focused on the empty take-out containers but Kame doesn't think he's really looking at them; he seems far away, lost in his own world. A world filled, no doubt, with American food and American girls and American life.
"Yeah," he says, finally. "It is kind of. But, I dunno, it makes it worth it, don't you think?"
Kame doesn't answer, because he doesn't have one.
"Besides," Jin continues with a laugh, "didn't you say you wanted to go to L.A., too?"
"Just to visit," Kame tells him.
"Why?" Jin asks.
It's hard to explain, the feeling Kame gets in his chest when he thinks about Los Angeles. It's almost like it's calling him, and even if he doesn't really want to go, he knows he needs to. The idea has been in his head for years, and at this point, it doesn't matter where it came from; it's just there, waiting, hovering always behind Kame's actions.
"I don't know," Kame says. "I just do."
"I'll show you around," Jin tells him, just like that, like it's that easy. Like they'll keep in touch enough for it to happen, like he's promising Kame that he'll water his plants the next day.
The worst thing is that Kame is pretty sure he believes him.
"You're a musician?" he asks, and it's embarrassing because his voice cracks a little.
Jin just levels him with a gaze like he knows, as if he can see right through Kame's skin. "Yeah," he says. His voice is a lot softer than it was. "I'll play for you sometime."
He busies himself with cleaning up the trash, and Jin helps. Kame is afraid he'll have to make an excuse to get Jin to leave again- early mornings come so much sooner than he expects, every single time- but the other man moves towards the front door on his own with both hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
"Stop by sometime, okay?" Jin says.
Kame should tell him no. He knows what is at stake; oh, he knows, right down to his bones, what he could do to himself. To his career. He's worked so hard to get to where he is, at the top, and if he shoots himself in the foot, he knows he'll hate himself forever. He still remembers the office memo that went out after those pictures of Natsuki leaked onto the internet from her blog. It didn't matter how popular of a weather anchor she was- that was it. The company can't take chances with scandals.
But Kame just stares across the kitchen at Jin, Jin with his slightly hunched shoulders and too-loose belt. "Okay," he agrees. "I will."
Jin flashes him a blinding, winning smile.
"'Kay. I'll be waiting."
He leaves, and Kame scrubs at the countertops for ten minutes before he realizes that there's nothing on the surface that needs to be cleaned.
--
Shige arrives at work every day five minutes early. It was ingrained in him during university that punctuality is important and reflects on him as an employee, as an asset, and as a worker. Shige gets to the small blue door of the office, tucked away behind a turn in a side street and a large sign for the okonomiyaki place across the street, and unlocks it with the master set of keys he has. He starts coffee, checks overnight messages, and gets the files ready for the day, in order by appointment times.
He does this every day.
Yamashita is always late. Anywhere from ten minutes to thirty, and he usually stumbles in with bags under his eyes and lines on his face. Shige can't remember it always being like this- he thinks it's gotten worse recently. But Yamashita is his boss, is the legal owner of the company, and Shige wants to impress him. Shige wants to show him that he is capable at handling matters when he's the only employee present.
Every time Yamashita walks in with a mumbled greeting and collapses on his desk before the first appointments start, Shige feels bad. He feels like he should do something.
Yamashita is only ten minutes late today- it's a good day. But there are dark circles beneath his eyes and his fingers shake when he pours himself a cup of coffee.
"Yamashita, your first appointment is at nine," Shige says, handing him the file to look over. Yamashita slips it under his arm and rolls his teeth over his bottom lip as he pours packets of sugar into his mug.
"I know you're busy, Kato-kun," he says, without looking in Shige's direction, "but before this appointment, can you come talk to me? I have something to discuss."
He doesn't sound angry, but the words still make Shige nervous. "Of course," Shige replies, and Yamashita disappears into the back office without another word.
Shige busies himself with the paperwork. He gets two calls and sets up appointments for the following week, and starts printing out a batch of erasing notice cards to send out. At 8:40, he knocks on Yamashita's office door and goes inside.
"Sorry, if you're busy-" Shige begins, and the other man just waves somewhat wearily at him to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk.
"The visualization and mapping," Yamashita starts, "all the things you do on the machine."
Shige doesn't know where this is going. "Yes?"
"It takes you to be there to work the process through, right? It can't run on its own, you have to manually enter in the coordinates taken from the map and execute them line by line to make sure the erasure is only taking certain pieces."
But Yamashita knows all of this already. Shige isn't uncomfortable any longer, but Yamashita looks distracted and far away, somewhere that Shige can't touch.
"Yes," Shige says again, slowly.
"Is it possible to write a program to do this all automatically?" the other man asks. "Is it possible to write something that takes those lines and enters them in, tracking the progress on the read-outs and adjusting according to any potential hiccups?"
"In... theory," Shige replies. "I- it might be possible. With the right amount of processes in the program. You'd need a lot of contingencies. You'd have to code a response for everything that could go wrong."
Yamashita stares out the window. It's covered with drawn blinds and cobwebs that he's never bothered to clear out, and the plant sitting on the windowsill has been dead for weeks. The brown, wilted leaves hang low and gnarled against the white paint.
"Could you do it?" Yamashita asks after a long while, after Shige is half afraid the other man has fallen asleep entirely. His voice is very quiet. He doesn't look away from the window.
"I don't know," Shige answers honestly. "I don't know if I have the qualifications to do it. It would take a lot of work, and a lot of trial and error-"
"I'll help you with that," Yamashita says. Suddenly, he's back again, wide-eyed and gripped with newfound enthusiasm. His palms flatten against the table and Shige can see the veins in his arms shift with the pressure.
They have appointments. They have already more than enough work than they can handle on their own, and Yamashita hasn't been 100% at work for longer than Shige cares to think about. But the other man's face is pleading and open, and Shige looks away because he's afraid Yamashita can read everything with those eyes. He's afraid the man can tear him open and strip him down to nothing, with all his thoughts laid bare.
"I don't," Shige starts, and can't finish. There's a lump in his throat he can't swallow down.
"Shige," Yamashita says. Shige has never heard him say that- it's always Kato-kun. It's always formal and polite and distant, and now Yamashita is leaning against his desk with his hands pressed flat against it. Shige has never heard that tone. Yamashita looks- he looks desperate. There are so many things there that Shige can't pin them all down and he isn't even sure he wants to. He feels both powerful and powerless at the same time.
Shige can't answer and Yamashita seems to take it as further hesitation. He brings a hand up to his face, fingertips dragging beneath his eyes, over the bruised and darkened skin there, and he looks away. "Shige, please."
"Okay," Shige says, in a rush. It comes out more like a breath than an agreement, so he swallows thickly and tries again, with more force, "Yes, okay. I can try."
Yamashita sits back against his chair and lets out a long breath. He doesn't make eye contact with Shige again. Instead he runs a hand through his hair that looks like it hasn't been washed in awhile. He looks exhausted. In the light from the desk lamp, he looks old.
"Thank you," he says. A switch has been flipped, and he's miles away again. "We'll start work on it during the open appointment hours, okay? I don't want to keep you here longer than you have to be."
"I don't mind," Shige replies, too quickly.
He thought it would help, but it only seems to make Yamashita retreat further into himself. Shige swallows down how badly he wants to run his hands over the other man's face and take all that weariness away. He looks at Yamashita's hand, at the wedding band, and finds his reserve.
"I'll go get ready for the first appointment," he says, and leaves his superior staring at the corner, at nothing.
[Part Two]