[Pin] Timepiece
Title: Timepiece
Pairing/Group: Yamapi/Jin
Rating: R
Warnings: None; The Usual.
Notes: For anamuan wife-chan, for je_holiday. I forgot to mention I come with this fic as a holiday package deal. I love you and never leave me. Thank you innosense78 for being my muse, beta, for spending so much time on this fic with me. Love to grunhilda and trivialaffair for the encouragement and hypothetical "writing in a cafe on the night before the deadline". Thank you all for reading. Originally posted here.
Summary: Jin thinks it started the first time he thought Yamapi was a girl.
Friendship is based on love, otherwise people wouldn’t have another word to describe the inverse as “acquaintances”; love comes in the widest range of shades and tones that blend and clash, no one really understands it but everyone wants it anyway. It encompasses the delicate and raw passion, the mellow to the hard and edgy kinds of love.
-
Yamapi shows up at Jin’s apartment one night, almost unannounced except for that fact that he had texted Jin about his schedule for the week yesterday, so Jin was sure something was going to happen.
“Hey,” Yamapi licks his lips nervously, bobbing on the balls of his feet, and Jin’s heart vacillates between plummeting to the bottom of his gut and jumping into his throat. “Can I come in?”
Jin steps aside and lets him in, watching the streetlight play chasing shadows across Yamapi’s face as he toes off his shoes and hangs up his fall coat. “Yea, sure,” He says belatedly, shutting the door behind them.
The second it clicks shut, though, Yamapi says: “We need to talk,” his voice soft and reverberating in the hallway.
Yamapi’s cornering him, Jin’s pretty sure of that. He nods. It is kind of obvious, actually, when Yamapi’s face is an inch away from Jin’s, and he rests his hands gently on Jin’s shoulders. His body is angled in a way that puts him between Jin and wherever he might want to go, Jin notes. He holds his breath.
“Bakanishi,” Yamapi says suddenly after a slight pause, teasingly. “You want me.”
Jin’s jaw drops, because this wasn’t really what he had imagined. He had ground his expectations into the dirt after the silence that night, and expected some serious discussion, perhaps some life-shattering revelations to have been born by it.
Yamapi leans in and kisses him. Kisses him with soft lips and eyes shut, so Jin feels it’s only right to shut his too. The kiss is warm, like vanilla and brown sugar, and his knees are kind of soft when they part. This wasn’t what he had imagined it to be, the first kiss.
“Yamapi, we - ”
“Shut up.”
“But I - ”
They are both grabbing each other’s shirt collars by now, noses touching and breathing on each other’s face. Jin can count the number of Yamapi’s eyelashes. Yamapi’s doesn’t say anything else, letting Jin finish his sentence.
“I want you too.” Jin says it in a rush of breath and presses Yamapi up against the wall.
-
It’s a little bit awkward the first time Jin catches Yamapi jerking off in the privacy (or so he thinks) of his room -- his hands were halfway to the knob when he hears the restrained groans of his best friend that freezes his feet to the floor. Jin feels his face catch aflame although no one will see him, standing in the dark, teeth unconsciously aggravating his bottom lip. He barely remembers going back to bed.
He’s a mess for the next few days, because suddenly the world is tinged in a different shade, his hyperawareness switched on full, even Kame asks what’s wrong. (“Nothing, really, some girl - ” Koki slaps him on the back, congratulatory, “Oh you really are something.”) When the feelings cumulate in Jin jerking off in bed, the back of his wrist stuffed in his mouth and Yamapi’s name lodged in his throat, it becomes even worse. He doesn’t think its all that normal - Jin thinks it started the first time he thought Yamapi was a girl. Yamapi had a pretty blue kimono on, courtesy of one of those ridiculous magazine photo shoots: his eyes were lined in black, soft hair framing his face, and Jin couldn’t get the spread out of his mind for months.
Even though the image in his head has changed over the years, girl!Yamapi shedding her clothes and filling out her waifish feminine build to become distinctly male in physique, Jin wonders just how fucked up it was to jerk off to such an image of his best friend. How much worse is it with Yamapi as he is now, full pouty lips and honeyed skin, and it gets him off every time? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in the nude before, but at least when Yamapi was a girl in his mind, Jin could have rationalized his desire as wanting something he couldn’t have at that point of his life.
Now, it is different yet still the same when Jin has an arm flung across his best friend’s shoulders, sitting cross-legged on the couch with their knees bumping as they jostle for the television remote. Every touch, every thought burns his guilt into his skin and conscience, yet he just lets them draw him in further.
-
That night, Jin had been out late at a café, working on some music. He decides to make use of the guest room at Yamapi’s place because it’s late, and it would be easier to get to work tomorrow morning. They have this thing going where no one minds if they suddenly wake up one morning to find their best friend sleeping on the couch or the spare bed. He’s quiet when he enters the apartment with the spare key he finds under the doormat, not wanting to disturb Yamapi (perhaps also not wanting to announce his presence). He’s probably in bed, and Jin knows Yamapi has to get up early for a filming session.
He hears him, again. He hears Yamapi’s gasping breaths resonating in the silence, and he freezes, nearly dropping his belongings. Yamapi’s door is barely open but from Jin’s angle, he sees everything. The world wavers a little and Jin wonders if it’s real - all the times he’s heard him andgotofftothat, he doesn’t need a real image in his head. Jin doesn’t know what he would do with that.
Jin knows he should leave, that he should return to his own room, but he stays rooted to the spot, eyes trained on the sliver between door and frame. He can tell that Yamapi’s nearly there from the sharp edge his breathing takes. He is imagining the rise and fall of his chest, the graceful curve of his hipbone - when he distinctly hears his name rolling off Yamapi’s lips, hoarse and desperate. Jin.
For an entire second, Jin feels whatever’s holding him up and together buckle a little on it’s knees as he stares at Yamapi’s face, his eyelashes fringing his cheek and hair sticking to the sides. When it ends, that’s when those eyes fly open and meet his for a fraction of.
Oh, fuck. Strangely, Jin doesn’t panic, and he moves fluidly into the shadows, one step closer to his room. Somewhere at the back of his mind there is a muted screaming that Yamapi has definitely seen him and he’s so fucked. He must have, because the way Yamapi finally comes is in several quiet, short and shuttered gulps and swallows of insubstantial air. However, Jin freaks out when he hears him get out of bed, bedsheets crinkling softly. He bolts back into his room, Jin shutting his door not as quietly as he wished with trembling hands, holding his breath as he leans against the door, hearing the pad of feet outside.
Jin doesn’t know why he’s holding his breath and pretending that nothing had just happened, and why he hopes Yamapi will pretend, too. Yamapi and Jin are best friends, but he thinks that he has just witnessed a moment too private and delicate, things like self-pleasure are usually left implied in their conversations (even when drunk). What hits Jin the hardest is that Yamapi said his name, even if he hates to admit it, because Jin has never thought that it was possible, never thought that far ahead. Perhaps it was some girl Yamapi hasn’t introduced to him yet. But Yamapi had seen him standing there, outside his bedroom door, and there was nothing Jin could do about it. There was no way Yamapi could have missed the flash of movement outside his door.
For the longest time Jin stands there, and he almost thinks it's clear to go back to bed before he hears an unmistakable sigh. His heart wrenches and Jin is convinced he must have been hearing things.
-
Best friends do best friend-ish things, like staying over and up all night doing ridiculously useless things, playing the console and watching foreign movies. When Jin's body goes boneless against his side, Yamapi realizes his best friend is asleep. Jin’s breath is rolling warm and wet over the open collar of Yamapi's shirt and his exposed clavicles, his wild hair curling and tickling the sensitive skin behind Yamapi's ear. He feels the curl rise from the tip of his toes through the arch of his feet, extending itself thickly inside him until it raises the hair at the back of his neck.
"Jin," Yamapi whispers through a smile, "We should be in bed."
“Mmnrrgh,” Jin grunts, and his head lolls forward over Yamapi’s chest. Yamapi has to stifle the sudden urge to laugh.
A jarring alarm in the form of Jin’s cellphone going off loudly wakes him up in the morning, and the boy gets up with a jolt. He bangs his head as he extricates himself from his sleeping position, nearly tripping over the blanket when he realizes he had fallen asleep on the couch last night, and he’s been sleeping on Yamapi’s lap, judging from how his friend is groaning and rubbing his chin.
“Bakanishi~” Yamapi says crossly, eyes still only half-open with sleep. “Answer your phone!”
-
Jin watches him out of the corner of his eye, observing the way Yamapi's back molds casually into the leather of the seat. The way the younger man hooks two fingers in the groove where spoke meets ring and rests the palm of his left hand lightly against the gearstick. The way the tips of his fingers curl and the shift and flow of muscle that it initiates -
"You're staring at me," Yamapi notes casually, without taking his eyes off the road.
"Yeah, I am," Jin's cocks his chin up and turns to take a drag of his cigarette, looking out at the scenery of ragged mountains and clusters of houses speeding by. He can’t hear the pounding of his heart over the noise.
“I’m sorry,” Jin flicks the ash from the end of the cigarette with a flick of his thumb, a flick of his arm over the side of the convertible. He lets his hand dangle like that for a while, feeling the cool flow of air toy with him. “I shouldn’t. I couldn’t help myself.” Like always, Jin almost blurts out as well, but he manages to catch himself in time.
Yamapi is silent for so long that Jin starts to think the roar of wind in their ears must have been greedy and stolen the words from his mouth. Perhaps Yamapi didn’t hear him, but the way he purses his lips indicates he did. Jin examines his friend’s face out of the corner of his eyes, and he knows he starts to think too much into every twitch of muscle, every unconscious frown and wrinkle. He’s giving in to the fear that’s been haunting his thoughts for a while that Yamapi would be disappointed with him for what he has become.
When they reach their destination, the parking lot is deserted and dimly lit by flickering streetlights, the sky hanging so dark above them. Jin hasn’t seen so many stars in a while, busied with work and blinded by the bright technicoloured lights of well-lit Tokyo.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Yamapi says, putting his car into park and killing its engine.
“No,” Jin starts, painfully aware of the issue that they are both trying to brush aside. “I should have let you know I was coming over to crash.” Maybe Yamapi’s being indirect on purpose, but there was nobody else around he could put up a façade for. Jin’s heart flutters a little in his tummy when he thinks he catches the insecure undertone in his best friend’s voice.
“It’s alright,” Yamapi says, more confident this time. Something drops into Jin’s stomach. “Ah, the sky is so pretty!”
Jin doesn’t answer immediately, shifting in his seat. Yamapi turns to look at him. Jin can’t help but look away from those eyes, so he tilts his head up towards the sky and shuts his eyes, imagining bright spots on the back of his eyelids where stars would be. He takes a lungful of air and gathers the courage.
“I like you,” he says loudly into the night so it makes him feel less like a wimp. “I like you, Yamashita Tomohisa. That way,” Jin emphasizes, before Yamapi can react. There, it’s out in the open now, and there is a moment’s hesitation in the air.
“Oh,” is all Yamapi says, biting on his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. He reaches out to hold Jin’s hand, running fingertips over his large palm, skittering over his knuckles. Jin lowers his eyes to watch Yamapi’s thumbs trace circular spiraling patterns in the depression between his thumb and forefinger. Jin doesn’t understand why it is vaguely comforting, and his mouth is dry, words expended. The conversation slips away from them completely when Yamapi’s favourite Mr. Children song comes on over the car radio, the strain of guitar riffs wrapping around them.
They fall deep into their own thoughts, and when Yamapi finally suggests going back, they drive into the sunrise.
-
"I've got you," Yamapi says reassuringly over the phone he's keeping pressed between his right cheek and shoulder as he jiggles the doorknob, trying to find the correct key to Jin's apartment. They must have been reproducing in the bottom of his bag, it has been a while and Yamapi recently got his own apartment, so he hasn’t been to Jin’s empty one. "Where did you say you left them?"
“I think they are in the drawer of my desk, no, maybe under the coffee table - ah I don’t know!” Jin’s panicky voice is tinny and scratchy over the distance. Yamapi rolls his eyes.
“Calm down, I’ll look in all places,” Yamapi soothes, then groans when he finally gets the door open. “What the hell, Jin. No wonder you called me.” His place is a mess, like a tornado had swept through it.
“My mother will kill me, you know how I have things all over - I won’t be able to find anything when I come back!”
“Excuses, Bakanishi. Now tell me where you think it is again?”
When Jin comes back from America, he finds his apartment clean, yet he still finds things exactly where he left them, perhaps just arranged more neatly, and he finds things exactly where and when he needs them. Yamapi does know him so well, after all.
-
They stumble through the hallway towards the bedroom, fumbling with belt buckles and losing a button or two under the couch. Jin’s hands roam over Yamapi’s cool skin, palming the small of Yamapi’s back as they kiss, pulling him closer. Yamapi’s body is warm by the time they are standing next to Jin’s bed, and he kisses the back of Jin’s neck as he fumbles in the drawer for lube and condoms.
Before Jin knows it, they are both ready and he’s between his best friend’s knees, hard and aching. He pushes in slowly and tries to hold himself steady, and it’s the most difficult thing in the world for him right then to hold himself back, instead of fucking, wanting to shag the life out of his best friend. He feels that it may be even harder than the week he received his acceptance letter from the university of his dreams, but because it’s Yamapi and not some eager girl below him, he tries his best. The body below him is tangible and golden, not soft and creamy skin, but all power and full of life.
(Jin wants Yamapi more than he had ever wanted any girl - so Jin thinks there must be something about the world that isn’t fair, because you always want what you can’t get. Or so it seemed. Yamapi’s no girl and he is Jin’s best friend, yet, they are here now.)
Jin wants Yamapi; he wants him so badly his entire body aches and shudders, his soul tearing at his skin from the inside. He’s nearly bitten through his lip, but he clings on tightly to Yamapi’s hips, hands hot and burning on the skin pulled taut over the ridge of bone. Jin perseveres, because when he looks up, he sees Yamapi’s eyes flutter shut and his lashes curl against his cheek, his full lips are wet and slightly parted. His body is tense as Jin mouths his way down the edge of his jaw to the groove between his collarbones, scraping teeth over the protruding bones and sucking at his skin, ending at a nipple, which he sucks at until Yamapi cries out in frustration. Jin wants to swallow him whole.
-
“You don’t love me,” Jin thinks he finally understands why they always say that when they leave him. They were mostly amicable, and he vaguely remembers their eyes being a little sad, not angry, and back then he had found that strange.
Jin didn’t have the right kind of love for them, apparently. He has shared himself with many girls, all different kinds of girls. They learned each other, bits of their family and close friends, and how they each came to be their own person as they curled up together in the middle of the night on his bed, his arms around her waist. One of them told him: best friends share stories and hold each other through their troubles, because that’s what they do. But perhaps the line that marks the boundary between platonic relationships and romantic relations is thin and nearly transparent.
Perhaps he doesn’t need them to be more than friends, Jin muses wryly as he bumps into one of them after work. She’s the only one he knows from the industry, but meeting her was still a rare occurrence.
“Fancy seeing you again,” Maki laughs, loud and bubbling and echoing down the hallway.
She had punched him in the arm one day, and told him, “I think we should move on, ne?”
“Hey,” Jin doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so awkward, a shy boy around the class beauty. He pulls a grin that tries to cover his teeth but reaches his ears anyway.
“How are you?”
She looks over him carefully and breaks into a smile. “Good!” She exclaims cheerfully. She sweeps her bangs away from her face, then reaches over to swipe Jin’s unruly fringe from his eyes.
“Who is it?”
She knows, Jin thinks. Well, she was one of his closest girlfriends when they were still together, so he isn’t really surprised.
“Yamapi,” He mumbles after a questionable pause.
“Idiot,” Kame’s voice comes from behind them as he breezes past them in the corridor, making Jin jump. (“You were eavesdropping!” Jin accuses. Kame rolls his eyes. “You’re so loud.”) Maki just laughs at him again.
(Later on, when he repeats Yamapi’s name under his breath on a sudden whim, the name suddenly sounds foreign to his ears, and he raises fingers to his lips to check if they still belonged to him.)
-
Jin thinks Yamapi looks breakable, so illusively fragile with the way he looks with his dark, dark eyes, dark hair grown out and falling over his face. It curls at the ends and splays across the sheets as Jin sweeps it away from Yamapi’s face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “Jin,” Yamapi gasps and it almost breaks him with the sound of it, his breath hot and rushed against Jin’s skin as Yamapi loops his hand around his neck and pulls him close, burying his face into the crook where it meets his torso. He shudders and shifts beneath Jin, Jin feeling every bit and too much of it, of Yamapi’s emotion coiled tightly into his bones, shoulder blades pushing against the sheets and hips arching off the bed. Jin exhales a strangled rush of air in response; fighting the way his world is closing in on him as Yamapi’s muscles tense around him.
“May I,” Jin begs, because he doesn’t think he can stay reasonable for much longer, dragging his teeth across the lobe of Yamapi’s ear, catching on the silver hoop and tugging at it. He tries to think; tries to distract himself by thinking of nasty things (undesirable contents of a fridge), painful things (losing at soccer), but the feel of Yamapi’s nails digging into his skin grounds him.
“Jin,” Yamapi breathes again, long and deep, but this time he hears his name differently: reassuring, full of trust, something precious.
Jin barely manages to grunt a response before he cracks; he lets go and pushes forward, further into Yamapi, who bucks his hips upwards at the same instant. That moment where they meet and their bodies clash is real: Yamapi is not a girl, they aren’t just best friends - they are Jin and Yamapi and together they are so much more. He becomes fearless, he becomes confident. He trusts; Jin trusts that everything will be all right. He may still worry in the future, but he doesn’t worry now. Because nothing can change that fact that Yamapi’s hand is linked in his and they are rocking together, breaking springs and lifting sheets off the bed, lives entwined. All Jin can think of at that moment is how incredible it feels to be having sex with Yamapi, neither of them holding back, just pure power and lust.
They start slow, curiously horny and experimental, but Jin is aggressive and almost possessive with a hard hand on Yamapi’s hip, so it spirals out of control quickly. Yamapi keens impatiently beneath him, gasping and rolling his hips with each push and pull. Yamapi makes incoherent noises when Jin starts to touch him, stroking him slightly off rhythm to his thrusts. “Harder,” he demands, eyes black, and Jin just pins him harder against the bed with his free hand and fucks him harder. When it comes, it is at the tip of their frenzy: Yamapi gasping into the suffocating kiss they were sharing, clipping Jin’s lip with his teeth, coming wet and hot in Jin’s hands. He has Jin’s face in his hands when Jin follows, a quick beat later, shuddering hard and uttering his name, syllables tripping and loaded.
Afterwards, they curl up, sweaty skin sticking and breaths mixing. Arms are draped over the other’s necks and ankles tangled under the mussed up sheets. The mood between them is sated and unsuitable for conversation, so they take turns to nuzzle softly at each other’s necks until they both drift off to sleep. Of course, Jin goes first. Yamapi pulls up the sheets to their neck before he finally gives in, too.
-
When Yamapi finally gets out of the tub, the water is lukewarm and cooling fast. Jin is fast asleep on the couch, with his head resting awkwardly against the armrest and arms sticking out oddly from under him, hanging out over the cushion-strewn floor.
A smile creeps onto Yamapi’s face at the sight as he smoothes his hands over Jin's face, he feels something swell within him like the roiling surf on the beach but there is no resounding crash as the mass of water hits the beach, not yet. Jin stirs as Yamapi tucks the soft curls of his hair behind his ears, fingertips lingering for a heartbeat too long on the shell of Jin’s ears. Jin opens his eyes and blinks fuzzily but isn’t sleepy enough to not swat at Yamapi’s hands.
“Hey!” Yamapi pouts, but the snarl on Jin’s face is a grin in disguise, the curve of his mouth too honest.
“You owe me for this,” Jin draws him closer with a light nudge of hand on Yamapi’s exposed hip.
Yamapi tangles his fingers into Jin’s hair, the locks still curly from his most recent perm. He leans over and breathes wetly into Jin’s ear. “Do I.” Gently, he tugs Jin’s head backwards to expose more of his neck, running a finger affectionately down the uneven line of Jin’s throat. Jin’s eyes flutter almost-shut and he looks at Yamapi through his lashes.
“I guess I’ll just have to pay you back in kind,” Yamapi drawls, and licks a liquid line down the shell of his ear, under his jaw, nipping at his throat with teeth bared, making Jin yelp and attempt to scramble away.
“What are you, a vampire?” Jin makes an unimpressed face as he brings his hands up to try and fend Yamapi off, suspecting him of trying to attack his collarbones. He thinks Yamapi likes it when Jin screams like a girl. Funny, because Jin usually thinks Yamapi's more like the girl in their relationship, sensitive and careful (even though Yamapi is still proud and stubborn as ever).
-
“I know you like mirrors, Pi~”, Jin says sweetly, grabbing Yamapi’s hips with both hands and shoving him up onto to the dance bar, pressing his back against the cold glass.
Jin peppers kisses on the side of his neck and he shivers, spine knocking against the glass a little painfully. He wonders who in this industry doesn’t like mirrors, always seeing their own faces staring back at them yet they never really get sick of it, or they wouldn’t still be here. They were practicing their dance together for Countdown under Johnny’s instructions, created in order to milk the popularity they had gained from the Popolo interview. They had worked up a sweat to the quick and finger snappish tempo of the song, with its twirls and hiprolls, close brushes of skin that was blatant fanservice. Yamapi squirms and starts calling Jin names when the other man drags his shirt over his head while grinding hips against his own, hard and dirty.
“Fuck, Jin, it’s cold!” Yamapi gasps, and Jin retaliates by shoving a hand against the front of his jeans. “People will find us here!" Yamapi hisses at Jin. "Stop it!" Yamapi tries to pry Jin off him, his sneakers squeaking against the glass as he struggles for purchase. But there is barely any conviction in his voice, and instead there is a breathless tinge of want. Based on the smirk Yamapi feels against his skin as Jin mouths his way over his sternum, down his abs, he has obviously noticed. The dance studio is a circle of mirrors, yet Yamapi can't see what Jin is doing to him (but he can, oh god, feel it). It makes him ridiculously hard and his throat suddenly dry. Because they are pressed together so closely, he can feel the expansion and contraction of Jin’s chest as he breathes.
“I’ll fuck you, that’s for sure,” Jin gropes him hard, yielding another string of curses from him. “I’d fuck that mouth, too.” That earns him a hard scratch down his back, so he puts on his most wounded face, which unfortunately, does not work on Yamapi.
“Akanishi Jin!” Yamapi grumbles at him and bites down on Jin’s shoulder, pleased when he elicits a moan from the older man, the raw guttural sound resonating through his body, all the way down.
Two can play this game.
-
“Yamapi!” Jin yells, fiddling with a weird contraption in his hand. It seemed like one of those newfangled, artistically designed wine-openers that are not made to be understood at first glance.
“How do you use this?”
“What? Use what?” Yamapi calls from the other room, voice muffled. There is a crash, followed by even bigger crashes and a distressed groan.
Jin pokes his head around the door to see Yamapi on the floor, tripped over laundry baskets and upended buckets, various poles and brooms scattered all over the floor at random.
“Whoa, what did you do, Yamapi?” Jin can’t help but smile at the way Yamapi’s hair is in a mess, even with a headband trying to hold the curls in check.
“Help me~” Yamapi whines at him, pouting. Jin goes over and squats down next to him. “The curtains need to be up before the party, ne, and we have to fold all these clothes, too.” He gestures at the warm heap of clothes on the tiled floor, freshly out of the dryer.
“Then we have to go shopping for the beer, what kind do you think we should get - ” Yamapi says, before Jin grabs him by the hair on the back of his neck, pulling him forward to smush their lips together.
“Oi,” Yamapi punches his shoulder, “What the hell?”
“You sound like my mom,” Jin smirks, and runs a hand up the side of the shorts Yamapi wears at home, making him squeak in surprise. Yamapi retaliates by shoving him backwards into the pile of laundry.
“Help me, or I’m not buying your favourite vodka,” Yamapi grumbles, flinging shirts in Jin’s face. Jin really likes the brand of softener they use, it smells really good. Jin just leaves them on his face and breathes through them until Yamapi swipes them off to fold them.
“But it’s Christmas!” Jin whines and sticks out his bottom lip, Yamapi crosses his arms and kicks at his ankle.
“Okay,” Jin relents, making to get up, “I will already.”
But as soon as Yamapi turns away to pick up the laundry basket, he yanks Yamapi backwards onto him, toppling them both into the pile of laundry, earning him a sharp jab in the ribs. They struggle and yank and call each other stupid, filling up the apartment with noise and laughter.
By the time their stomachs start growling, the laundry has been folded and re-folded at least three times, and they have less clothes on themselves and more laundry to do.
Everything (It's you) - Mr. Children
If there's one thing I'll sacrifice anything to have
I think for me, that one thing is you
Pairing/Group: Yamapi/Jin
Rating: R
Warnings: None; The Usual.
Notes: For anamuan wife-chan, for je_holiday. I forgot to mention I come with this fic as a holiday package deal. I love you and never leave me. Thank you innosense78 for being my muse, beta, for spending so much time on this fic with me. Love to grunhilda and trivialaffair for the encouragement and hypothetical "writing in a cafe on the night before the deadline". Thank you all for reading. Originally posted here.
Summary: Jin thinks it started the first time he thought Yamapi was a girl.
Friendship is based on love, otherwise people wouldn’t have another word to describe the inverse as “acquaintances”; love comes in the widest range of shades and tones that blend and clash, no one really understands it but everyone wants it anyway. It encompasses the delicate and raw passion, the mellow to the hard and edgy kinds of love.
-
Yamapi shows up at Jin’s apartment one night, almost unannounced except for that fact that he had texted Jin about his schedule for the week yesterday, so Jin was sure something was going to happen.
“Hey,” Yamapi licks his lips nervously, bobbing on the balls of his feet, and Jin’s heart vacillates between plummeting to the bottom of his gut and jumping into his throat. “Can I come in?”
Jin steps aside and lets him in, watching the streetlight play chasing shadows across Yamapi’s face as he toes off his shoes and hangs up his fall coat. “Yea, sure,” He says belatedly, shutting the door behind them.
The second it clicks shut, though, Yamapi says: “We need to talk,” his voice soft and reverberating in the hallway.
Yamapi’s cornering him, Jin’s pretty sure of that. He nods. It is kind of obvious, actually, when Yamapi’s face is an inch away from Jin’s, and he rests his hands gently on Jin’s shoulders. His body is angled in a way that puts him between Jin and wherever he might want to go, Jin notes. He holds his breath.
“Bakanishi,” Yamapi says suddenly after a slight pause, teasingly. “You want me.”
Jin’s jaw drops, because this wasn’t really what he had imagined. He had ground his expectations into the dirt after the silence that night, and expected some serious discussion, perhaps some life-shattering revelations to have been born by it.
Yamapi leans in and kisses him. Kisses him with soft lips and eyes shut, so Jin feels it’s only right to shut his too. The kiss is warm, like vanilla and brown sugar, and his knees are kind of soft when they part. This wasn’t what he had imagined it to be, the first kiss.
“Yamapi, we - ”
“Shut up.”
“But I - ”
They are both grabbing each other’s shirt collars by now, noses touching and breathing on each other’s face. Jin can count the number of Yamapi’s eyelashes. Yamapi’s doesn’t say anything else, letting Jin finish his sentence.
“I want you too.” Jin says it in a rush of breath and presses Yamapi up against the wall.
-
It’s a little bit awkward the first time Jin catches Yamapi jerking off in the privacy (or so he thinks) of his room -- his hands were halfway to the knob when he hears the restrained groans of his best friend that freezes his feet to the floor. Jin feels his face catch aflame although no one will see him, standing in the dark, teeth unconsciously aggravating his bottom lip. He barely remembers going back to bed.
He’s a mess for the next few days, because suddenly the world is tinged in a different shade, his hyperawareness switched on full, even Kame asks what’s wrong. (“Nothing, really, some girl - ” Koki slaps him on the back, congratulatory, “Oh you really are something.”) When the feelings cumulate in Jin jerking off in bed, the back of his wrist stuffed in his mouth and Yamapi’s name lodged in his throat, it becomes even worse. He doesn’t think its all that normal - Jin thinks it started the first time he thought Yamapi was a girl. Yamapi had a pretty blue kimono on, courtesy of one of those ridiculous magazine photo shoots: his eyes were lined in black, soft hair framing his face, and Jin couldn’t get the spread out of his mind for months.
Even though the image in his head has changed over the years, girl!Yamapi shedding her clothes and filling out her waifish feminine build to become distinctly male in physique, Jin wonders just how fucked up it was to jerk off to such an image of his best friend. How much worse is it with Yamapi as he is now, full pouty lips and honeyed skin, and it gets him off every time? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in the nude before, but at least when Yamapi was a girl in his mind, Jin could have rationalized his desire as wanting something he couldn’t have at that point of his life.
Now, it is different yet still the same when Jin has an arm flung across his best friend’s shoulders, sitting cross-legged on the couch with their knees bumping as they jostle for the television remote. Every touch, every thought burns his guilt into his skin and conscience, yet he just lets them draw him in further.
-
That night, Jin had been out late at a café, working on some music. He decides to make use of the guest room at Yamapi’s place because it’s late, and it would be easier to get to work tomorrow morning. They have this thing going where no one minds if they suddenly wake up one morning to find their best friend sleeping on the couch or the spare bed. He’s quiet when he enters the apartment with the spare key he finds under the doormat, not wanting to disturb Yamapi (perhaps also not wanting to announce his presence). He’s probably in bed, and Jin knows Yamapi has to get up early for a filming session.
He hears him, again. He hears Yamapi’s gasping breaths resonating in the silence, and he freezes, nearly dropping his belongings. Yamapi’s door is barely open but from Jin’s angle, he sees everything. The world wavers a little and Jin wonders if it’s real - all the times he’s heard him andgotofftothat, he doesn’t need a real image in his head. Jin doesn’t know what he would do with that.
Jin knows he should leave, that he should return to his own room, but he stays rooted to the spot, eyes trained on the sliver between door and frame. He can tell that Yamapi’s nearly there from the sharp edge his breathing takes. He is imagining the rise and fall of his chest, the graceful curve of his hipbone - when he distinctly hears his name rolling off Yamapi’s lips, hoarse and desperate. Jin.
For an entire second, Jin feels whatever’s holding him up and together buckle a little on it’s knees as he stares at Yamapi’s face, his eyelashes fringing his cheek and hair sticking to the sides. When it ends, that’s when those eyes fly open and meet his for a fraction of.
Oh, fuck. Strangely, Jin doesn’t panic, and he moves fluidly into the shadows, one step closer to his room. Somewhere at the back of his mind there is a muted screaming that Yamapi has definitely seen him and he’s so fucked. He must have, because the way Yamapi finally comes is in several quiet, short and shuttered gulps and swallows of insubstantial air. However, Jin freaks out when he hears him get out of bed, bedsheets crinkling softly. He bolts back into his room, Jin shutting his door not as quietly as he wished with trembling hands, holding his breath as he leans against the door, hearing the pad of feet outside.
Jin doesn’t know why he’s holding his breath and pretending that nothing had just happened, and why he hopes Yamapi will pretend, too. Yamapi and Jin are best friends, but he thinks that he has just witnessed a moment too private and delicate, things like self-pleasure are usually left implied in their conversations (even when drunk). What hits Jin the hardest is that Yamapi said his name, even if he hates to admit it, because Jin has never thought that it was possible, never thought that far ahead. Perhaps it was some girl Yamapi hasn’t introduced to him yet. But Yamapi had seen him standing there, outside his bedroom door, and there was nothing Jin could do about it. There was no way Yamapi could have missed the flash of movement outside his door.
For the longest time Jin stands there, and he almost thinks it's clear to go back to bed before he hears an unmistakable sigh. His heart wrenches and Jin is convinced he must have been hearing things.
-
Best friends do best friend-ish things, like staying over and up all night doing ridiculously useless things, playing the console and watching foreign movies. When Jin's body goes boneless against his side, Yamapi realizes his best friend is asleep. Jin’s breath is rolling warm and wet over the open collar of Yamapi's shirt and his exposed clavicles, his wild hair curling and tickling the sensitive skin behind Yamapi's ear. He feels the curl rise from the tip of his toes through the arch of his feet, extending itself thickly inside him until it raises the hair at the back of his neck.
"Jin," Yamapi whispers through a smile, "We should be in bed."
“Mmnrrgh,” Jin grunts, and his head lolls forward over Yamapi’s chest. Yamapi has to stifle the sudden urge to laugh.
A jarring alarm in the form of Jin’s cellphone going off loudly wakes him up in the morning, and the boy gets up with a jolt. He bangs his head as he extricates himself from his sleeping position, nearly tripping over the blanket when he realizes he had fallen asleep on the couch last night, and he’s been sleeping on Yamapi’s lap, judging from how his friend is groaning and rubbing his chin.
“Bakanishi~” Yamapi says crossly, eyes still only half-open with sleep. “Answer your phone!”
-
Jin watches him out of the corner of his eye, observing the way Yamapi's back molds casually into the leather of the seat. The way the younger man hooks two fingers in the groove where spoke meets ring and rests the palm of his left hand lightly against the gearstick. The way the tips of his fingers curl and the shift and flow of muscle that it initiates -
"You're staring at me," Yamapi notes casually, without taking his eyes off the road.
"Yeah, I am," Jin's cocks his chin up and turns to take a drag of his cigarette, looking out at the scenery of ragged mountains and clusters of houses speeding by. He can’t hear the pounding of his heart over the noise.
“I’m sorry,” Jin flicks the ash from the end of the cigarette with a flick of his thumb, a flick of his arm over the side of the convertible. He lets his hand dangle like that for a while, feeling the cool flow of air toy with him. “I shouldn’t. I couldn’t help myself.” Like always, Jin almost blurts out as well, but he manages to catch himself in time.
Yamapi is silent for so long that Jin starts to think the roar of wind in their ears must have been greedy and stolen the words from his mouth. Perhaps Yamapi didn’t hear him, but the way he purses his lips indicates he did. Jin examines his friend’s face out of the corner of his eyes, and he knows he starts to think too much into every twitch of muscle, every unconscious frown and wrinkle. He’s giving in to the fear that’s been haunting his thoughts for a while that Yamapi would be disappointed with him for what he has become.
When they reach their destination, the parking lot is deserted and dimly lit by flickering streetlights, the sky hanging so dark above them. Jin hasn’t seen so many stars in a while, busied with work and blinded by the bright technicoloured lights of well-lit Tokyo.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Yamapi says, putting his car into park and killing its engine.
“No,” Jin starts, painfully aware of the issue that they are both trying to brush aside. “I should have let you know I was coming over to crash.” Maybe Yamapi’s being indirect on purpose, but there was nobody else around he could put up a façade for. Jin’s heart flutters a little in his tummy when he thinks he catches the insecure undertone in his best friend’s voice.
“It’s alright,” Yamapi says, more confident this time. Something drops into Jin’s stomach. “Ah, the sky is so pretty!”
Jin doesn’t answer immediately, shifting in his seat. Yamapi turns to look at him. Jin can’t help but look away from those eyes, so he tilts his head up towards the sky and shuts his eyes, imagining bright spots on the back of his eyelids where stars would be. He takes a lungful of air and gathers the courage.
“I like you,” he says loudly into the night so it makes him feel less like a wimp. “I like you, Yamashita Tomohisa. That way,” Jin emphasizes, before Yamapi can react. There, it’s out in the open now, and there is a moment’s hesitation in the air.
“Oh,” is all Yamapi says, biting on his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. He reaches out to hold Jin’s hand, running fingertips over his large palm, skittering over his knuckles. Jin lowers his eyes to watch Yamapi’s thumbs trace circular spiraling patterns in the depression between his thumb and forefinger. Jin doesn’t understand why it is vaguely comforting, and his mouth is dry, words expended. The conversation slips away from them completely when Yamapi’s favourite Mr. Children song comes on over the car radio, the strain of guitar riffs wrapping around them.
They fall deep into their own thoughts, and when Yamapi finally suggests going back, they drive into the sunrise.
-
"I've got you," Yamapi says reassuringly over the phone he's keeping pressed between his right cheek and shoulder as he jiggles the doorknob, trying to find the correct key to Jin's apartment. They must have been reproducing in the bottom of his bag, it has been a while and Yamapi recently got his own apartment, so he hasn’t been to Jin’s empty one. "Where did you say you left them?"
“I think they are in the drawer of my desk, no, maybe under the coffee table - ah I don’t know!” Jin’s panicky voice is tinny and scratchy over the distance. Yamapi rolls his eyes.
“Calm down, I’ll look in all places,” Yamapi soothes, then groans when he finally gets the door open. “What the hell, Jin. No wonder you called me.” His place is a mess, like a tornado had swept through it.
“My mother will kill me, you know how I have things all over - I won’t be able to find anything when I come back!”
“Excuses, Bakanishi. Now tell me where you think it is again?”
When Jin comes back from America, he finds his apartment clean, yet he still finds things exactly where he left them, perhaps just arranged more neatly, and he finds things exactly where and when he needs them. Yamapi does know him so well, after all.
-
They stumble through the hallway towards the bedroom, fumbling with belt buckles and losing a button or two under the couch. Jin’s hands roam over Yamapi’s cool skin, palming the small of Yamapi’s back as they kiss, pulling him closer. Yamapi’s body is warm by the time they are standing next to Jin’s bed, and he kisses the back of Jin’s neck as he fumbles in the drawer for lube and condoms.
Before Jin knows it, they are both ready and he’s between his best friend’s knees, hard and aching. He pushes in slowly and tries to hold himself steady, and it’s the most difficult thing in the world for him right then to hold himself back, instead of fucking, wanting to shag the life out of his best friend. He feels that it may be even harder than the week he received his acceptance letter from the university of his dreams, but because it’s Yamapi and not some eager girl below him, he tries his best. The body below him is tangible and golden, not soft and creamy skin, but all power and full of life.
(Jin wants Yamapi more than he had ever wanted any girl - so Jin thinks there must be something about the world that isn’t fair, because you always want what you can’t get. Or so it seemed. Yamapi’s no girl and he is Jin’s best friend, yet, they are here now.)
Jin wants Yamapi; he wants him so badly his entire body aches and shudders, his soul tearing at his skin from the inside. He’s nearly bitten through his lip, but he clings on tightly to Yamapi’s hips, hands hot and burning on the skin pulled taut over the ridge of bone. Jin perseveres, because when he looks up, he sees Yamapi’s eyes flutter shut and his lashes curl against his cheek, his full lips are wet and slightly parted. His body is tense as Jin mouths his way down the edge of his jaw to the groove between his collarbones, scraping teeth over the protruding bones and sucking at his skin, ending at a nipple, which he sucks at until Yamapi cries out in frustration. Jin wants to swallow him whole.
-
“You don’t love me,” Jin thinks he finally understands why they always say that when they leave him. They were mostly amicable, and he vaguely remembers their eyes being a little sad, not angry, and back then he had found that strange.
Jin didn’t have the right kind of love for them, apparently. He has shared himself with many girls, all different kinds of girls. They learned each other, bits of their family and close friends, and how they each came to be their own person as they curled up together in the middle of the night on his bed, his arms around her waist. One of them told him: best friends share stories and hold each other through their troubles, because that’s what they do. But perhaps the line that marks the boundary between platonic relationships and romantic relations is thin and nearly transparent.
Perhaps he doesn’t need them to be more than friends, Jin muses wryly as he bumps into one of them after work. She’s the only one he knows from the industry, but meeting her was still a rare occurrence.
“Fancy seeing you again,” Maki laughs, loud and bubbling and echoing down the hallway.
She had punched him in the arm one day, and told him, “I think we should move on, ne?”
“Hey,” Jin doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so awkward, a shy boy around the class beauty. He pulls a grin that tries to cover his teeth but reaches his ears anyway.
“How are you?”
She looks over him carefully and breaks into a smile. “Good!” She exclaims cheerfully. She sweeps her bangs away from her face, then reaches over to swipe Jin’s unruly fringe from his eyes.
“Who is it?”
She knows, Jin thinks. Well, she was one of his closest girlfriends when they were still together, so he isn’t really surprised.
“Yamapi,” He mumbles after a questionable pause.
“Idiot,” Kame’s voice comes from behind them as he breezes past them in the corridor, making Jin jump. (“You were eavesdropping!” Jin accuses. Kame rolls his eyes. “You’re so loud.”) Maki just laughs at him again.
(Later on, when he repeats Yamapi’s name under his breath on a sudden whim, the name suddenly sounds foreign to his ears, and he raises fingers to his lips to check if they still belonged to him.)
-
Jin thinks Yamapi looks breakable, so illusively fragile with the way he looks with his dark, dark eyes, dark hair grown out and falling over his face. It curls at the ends and splays across the sheets as Jin sweeps it away from Yamapi’s face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “Jin,” Yamapi gasps and it almost breaks him with the sound of it, his breath hot and rushed against Jin’s skin as Yamapi loops his hand around his neck and pulls him close, burying his face into the crook where it meets his torso. He shudders and shifts beneath Jin, Jin feeling every bit and too much of it, of Yamapi’s emotion coiled tightly into his bones, shoulder blades pushing against the sheets and hips arching off the bed. Jin exhales a strangled rush of air in response; fighting the way his world is closing in on him as Yamapi’s muscles tense around him.
“May I,” Jin begs, because he doesn’t think he can stay reasonable for much longer, dragging his teeth across the lobe of Yamapi’s ear, catching on the silver hoop and tugging at it. He tries to think; tries to distract himself by thinking of nasty things (undesirable contents of a fridge), painful things (losing at soccer), but the feel of Yamapi’s nails digging into his skin grounds him.
“Jin,” Yamapi breathes again, long and deep, but this time he hears his name differently: reassuring, full of trust, something precious.
Jin barely manages to grunt a response before he cracks; he lets go and pushes forward, further into Yamapi, who bucks his hips upwards at the same instant. That moment where they meet and their bodies clash is real: Yamapi is not a girl, they aren’t just best friends - they are Jin and Yamapi and together they are so much more. He becomes fearless, he becomes confident. He trusts; Jin trusts that everything will be all right. He may still worry in the future, but he doesn’t worry now. Because nothing can change that fact that Yamapi’s hand is linked in his and they are rocking together, breaking springs and lifting sheets off the bed, lives entwined. All Jin can think of at that moment is how incredible it feels to be having sex with Yamapi, neither of them holding back, just pure power and lust.
They start slow, curiously horny and experimental, but Jin is aggressive and almost possessive with a hard hand on Yamapi’s hip, so it spirals out of control quickly. Yamapi keens impatiently beneath him, gasping and rolling his hips with each push and pull. Yamapi makes incoherent noises when Jin starts to touch him, stroking him slightly off rhythm to his thrusts. “Harder,” he demands, eyes black, and Jin just pins him harder against the bed with his free hand and fucks him harder. When it comes, it is at the tip of their frenzy: Yamapi gasping into the suffocating kiss they were sharing, clipping Jin’s lip with his teeth, coming wet and hot in Jin’s hands. He has Jin’s face in his hands when Jin follows, a quick beat later, shuddering hard and uttering his name, syllables tripping and loaded.
Afterwards, they curl up, sweaty skin sticking and breaths mixing. Arms are draped over the other’s necks and ankles tangled under the mussed up sheets. The mood between them is sated and unsuitable for conversation, so they take turns to nuzzle softly at each other’s necks until they both drift off to sleep. Of course, Jin goes first. Yamapi pulls up the sheets to their neck before he finally gives in, too.
-
When Yamapi finally gets out of the tub, the water is lukewarm and cooling fast. Jin is fast asleep on the couch, with his head resting awkwardly against the armrest and arms sticking out oddly from under him, hanging out over the cushion-strewn floor.
A smile creeps onto Yamapi’s face at the sight as he smoothes his hands over Jin's face, he feels something swell within him like the roiling surf on the beach but there is no resounding crash as the mass of water hits the beach, not yet. Jin stirs as Yamapi tucks the soft curls of his hair behind his ears, fingertips lingering for a heartbeat too long on the shell of Jin’s ears. Jin opens his eyes and blinks fuzzily but isn’t sleepy enough to not swat at Yamapi’s hands.
“Hey!” Yamapi pouts, but the snarl on Jin’s face is a grin in disguise, the curve of his mouth too honest.
“You owe me for this,” Jin draws him closer with a light nudge of hand on Yamapi’s exposed hip.
Yamapi tangles his fingers into Jin’s hair, the locks still curly from his most recent perm. He leans over and breathes wetly into Jin’s ear. “Do I.” Gently, he tugs Jin’s head backwards to expose more of his neck, running a finger affectionately down the uneven line of Jin’s throat. Jin’s eyes flutter almost-shut and he looks at Yamapi through his lashes.
“I guess I’ll just have to pay you back in kind,” Yamapi drawls, and licks a liquid line down the shell of his ear, under his jaw, nipping at his throat with teeth bared, making Jin yelp and attempt to scramble away.
“What are you, a vampire?” Jin makes an unimpressed face as he brings his hands up to try and fend Yamapi off, suspecting him of trying to attack his collarbones. He thinks Yamapi likes it when Jin screams like a girl. Funny, because Jin usually thinks Yamapi's more like the girl in their relationship, sensitive and careful (even though Yamapi is still proud and stubborn as ever).
-
“I know you like mirrors, Pi~”, Jin says sweetly, grabbing Yamapi’s hips with both hands and shoving him up onto to the dance bar, pressing his back against the cold glass.
Jin peppers kisses on the side of his neck and he shivers, spine knocking against the glass a little painfully. He wonders who in this industry doesn’t like mirrors, always seeing their own faces staring back at them yet they never really get sick of it, or they wouldn’t still be here. They were practicing their dance together for Countdown under Johnny’s instructions, created in order to milk the popularity they had gained from the Popolo interview. They had worked up a sweat to the quick and finger snappish tempo of the song, with its twirls and hiprolls, close brushes of skin that was blatant fanservice. Yamapi squirms and starts calling Jin names when the other man drags his shirt over his head while grinding hips against his own, hard and dirty.
“Fuck, Jin, it’s cold!” Yamapi gasps, and Jin retaliates by shoving a hand against the front of his jeans. “People will find us here!" Yamapi hisses at Jin. "Stop it!" Yamapi tries to pry Jin off him, his sneakers squeaking against the glass as he struggles for purchase. But there is barely any conviction in his voice, and instead there is a breathless tinge of want. Based on the smirk Yamapi feels against his skin as Jin mouths his way over his sternum, down his abs, he has obviously noticed. The dance studio is a circle of mirrors, yet Yamapi can't see what Jin is doing to him (but he can, oh god, feel it). It makes him ridiculously hard and his throat suddenly dry. Because they are pressed together so closely, he can feel the expansion and contraction of Jin’s chest as he breathes.
“I’ll fuck you, that’s for sure,” Jin gropes him hard, yielding another string of curses from him. “I’d fuck that mouth, too.” That earns him a hard scratch down his back, so he puts on his most wounded face, which unfortunately, does not work on Yamapi.
“Akanishi Jin!” Yamapi grumbles at him and bites down on Jin’s shoulder, pleased when he elicits a moan from the older man, the raw guttural sound resonating through his body, all the way down.
Two can play this game.
-
“Yamapi!” Jin yells, fiddling with a weird contraption in his hand. It seemed like one of those newfangled, artistically designed wine-openers that are not made to be understood at first glance.
“How do you use this?”
“What? Use what?” Yamapi calls from the other room, voice muffled. There is a crash, followed by even bigger crashes and a distressed groan.
Jin pokes his head around the door to see Yamapi on the floor, tripped over laundry baskets and upended buckets, various poles and brooms scattered all over the floor at random.
“Whoa, what did you do, Yamapi?” Jin can’t help but smile at the way Yamapi’s hair is in a mess, even with a headband trying to hold the curls in check.
“Help me~” Yamapi whines at him, pouting. Jin goes over and squats down next to him. “The curtains need to be up before the party, ne, and we have to fold all these clothes, too.” He gestures at the warm heap of clothes on the tiled floor, freshly out of the dryer.
“Then we have to go shopping for the beer, what kind do you think we should get - ” Yamapi says, before Jin grabs him by the hair on the back of his neck, pulling him forward to smush their lips together.
“Oi,” Yamapi punches his shoulder, “What the hell?”
“You sound like my mom,” Jin smirks, and runs a hand up the side of the shorts Yamapi wears at home, making him squeak in surprise. Yamapi retaliates by shoving him backwards into the pile of laundry.
“Help me, or I’m not buying your favourite vodka,” Yamapi grumbles, flinging shirts in Jin’s face. Jin really likes the brand of softener they use, it smells really good. Jin just leaves them on his face and breathes through them until Yamapi swipes them off to fold them.
“But it’s Christmas!” Jin whines and sticks out his bottom lip, Yamapi crosses his arms and kicks at his ankle.
“Okay,” Jin relents, making to get up, “I will already.”
But as soon as Yamapi turns away to pick up the laundry basket, he yanks Yamapi backwards onto him, toppling them both into the pile of laundry, earning him a sharp jab in the ribs. They struggle and yank and call each other stupid, filling up the apartment with noise and laughter.
By the time their stomachs start growling, the laundry has been folded and re-folded at least three times, and they have less clothes on themselves and more laundry to do.
Everything (It's you) - Mr. Children
If there's one thing I'll sacrifice anything to have
I think for me, that one thing is you