fic - Johnny's & Associates - Like Crystal
Title: Like Crystal
Author: virdant
Length: 3089 words; one-shot
Rating: R
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Nakamaru/Taguchi
Summary: “I’ll tell the producers that you’re not feeling very well, Nakamaru-kun.” Nakamaru believes that everything will be alright. Maybe everything will be alright. Maybe everything won't.
Warning: Drug Use
Content Critique Level: No Holds Barred
Notes: This story was originally written as Like Crystal for elizajet on je_squickfic. Many thanks to: Diana, Beth, Kat, and reiicharu. (Yes, this story had 4 betas.) A remixed version, the same story in the actual chronology, can be found here
Like Crystal
The fluorescent lights are bright-like the sun, only the sun is infinitely hotter and he’s not sure if he even knows what the sun is anymore-floating in a pit of vast endlessness. He thinks that it could be peaceful like this, living in this state of emptiness-except there’s something wrong, he’s not supposed to be this empty, he is this empty, he wants to be this empty, this peaceful-
“Nakamaru-kun?”
Koyama’s worried, Nakamaru thinks. He shouldn’t worry so much. He’s alright. The performance will be alright. He tries to tell Koyama this-I’m alright, it’s alright, it’ll be alright-is on the tip of his tongue, but his throat’s dry and his tongue can’t seem to form the words.
Koyama’s voice is low and worried. “I’ll tell the producers that you’re not feeling very well, Nakamaru-kun.”
*
“Nakamaru-kun!” their choreographer snapped, and the rehearsal jolted to a stop. The choreographer took a deep breath, no doubt preparing to deliver a tirade that would scorch the ears of the poor juniors sitting to the side watching.
“Why don’t we take a break?” Kamenashi suggested before anybody else could speak. They had just started preparing for their upcoming tour, and tensions were running high. “Get some water, take a breather.” He slid himself between Nakamaru and the choreographer, and Nakamaru took the opportunity to duck away.
“You’ve been stressed out lately,” Taguchi commented as he passed Nakamaru his bottle of water.
“This is the fifth time you’ve stopped rehearsal,” Tanaka agreed. “Anything you want to tell us?”
Nakamaru shook his head. “Just tired, I guess.” He had been sloppy all day, and the only reason he could think of was the thick lethargy pulling at his muscles. Maybe he needed a break, a night to sleep instead of stress out over exams.
“Well, get some sleep,” Ueda said. He nodded towards Kamenashi, who was talking to the choreographer in heated tones. “If Kame keeps that up, the entire concert is going to involve fireworks and flowers and ropes-work all at once, and we know how much you hate ropes-work.”
Nakamaru grimaced. “I’ll sleep tonight,” he promised.
*
He feels empty, like nothing matters-and nothing does matter. It would be soothing, lying in bed and staring up and studying the dust motes floating in the air, except he can’t feel anything right now. If he reaches, he can connect them together-that one on the left to that one on the right, joined with an invisible thread that only he can see.
The whirling of the fan reminds him that there’s work to be done. He sits up, fumbling with his phone-Koyama’s called him, Taguchi’s mailed him, there’s even a message from the producers of Shounen Club. There’s work to be done, but he can’t seem to muster the energy to do it; he’s tired, but he can’t sleep; he’s hungry, but he can’t decide what he wants to eat. He’s so hungry, craving something that he can’t have.
He wonders if he should call Akanishi-ask him if this was how he felt after he came back from LA the first time, ask him if this was how he felt before he left the second time, but the thought of calling takes up so much energy that he flops back like a fish out of water, phone in hand, staring up at the ceiling.
The world seems so cold.
*
“Nakamaru-kun!”
He had slept. Fitfully, but he had slept the night before. It didn’t seem to make him any more coordinated, didn’t seem to make him any more able to sing while dancing. He braced himself on his knees, panting harshly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kamenashi preparing to interject, to offer a suggestion that would probably put all of them in a harnesses singing Real Face while floating above the audience.
“Sorry,” he managed, before Kamenashi could say anything. “Let me try that again.”
The choreographer huffed, but KAT-TUN took their positions and started again. Nakamaru concentrated on smiling, on performing each move when he was supposed to, on singing through a throat that seemed too dry.
Somehow, he managed to get through the rehearsal without stumbling on his feet. “You have Shounen Club recording in an hour,” his manager told him as he sank down into a chair. “Have you spoken to Koyama-kun about today’s recording yet?”
Nakamaru buried his face in his hands. “No. Give me a second.”
His manager sighed, oozing disapproval from his pores. “Be more professional, Nakamaru-kun. Are you an idol or not?”
“Right. I know,” he managed, sipping his water desperately, as if that would fix things. “Sorry.”
*
It’s tempting, so very tempting.
He’s hungry these days, even though he knows he shouldn’t be eating so much. It’s not healthy, it’s not idol-like. Idol-like. Those words remind of everything he has to lose.
“Nakamaru,” Taguchi murmurs, warm and comfortable where’s he’s draped over the chair, playing his DS and watching Nakamaru stare at the ceiling. “What are you thinking about?”
He answers easily, having thought about nothing else for the past few days. “Being happy.”
It’s hard to be happy, and it’s especially hard to be happy these days. He has to try, has to force himself to feel alive. Things that seemed fun before are becoming dull and lifeless. He thinks it might be easy to reach that state again, all he needs to do is give up on proper, well-mannered idol-like behavior. All he needs is to risk everything.
He listlessly taps his fingers on his leg, lethargically, because he doesn’t seem to have the energy these days. Waking up, making coffee, getting to work: everything is a trial.
“That’s good,” Taguchi says. He frowns at his game console. “Be happy.”
Nakamaru closes his eyes. He wants to. He really wants to, but he doesn’t know how anymore.
“This isn’t like you,” Taguchi says, strangely serious. “Maybe you’ve been trying too hard to be somebody you’re not. Maybe you should just be happy with who you are.”
“I am,” Nakamaru mutters, but he’s not. Guilt and uncertainty nag away at him, filled with bitter regret.
*
“Maybe you should go see a doctor,” Ueda suggested as they sat in their dressing room resting after a long practice. The others had cleared out a while already, and Nakamaru and Ueda were the only two who were left. “If you’re tired all the time.”
Nakamaru shrugged, faintly depreciating.. “Do we even have time for that?” He slouched in one of the low chairs that littered their dressing room. The ceiling was patchy-a popcorn ceiling that did nothing to disguise the fact that the paint was peeling. He had been staring up for a while already, thinking about the upcoming performances, the vocal practice he would need to do, the dance steps he was still having trouble memorizing, what he should do for the MC segments, and his studies, his studies that he always pushed to the side during these times but were so important. His studies, which he had neglected and had been emailed about.
“Your health is important,” Ueda said. “More important that KAT-TUN.”
Nakamaru shrugged, a little depreciating. “KAT-TUN is important,” he reminded Ueda. Was that what Ueda had stayed behind for? Ueda had been packed and ready to go at least ten minutes ago, but he had stayed, no doubt to deliver a message from the whole group.
“Very important,” Ueda agreed. “But you’re part of KAT-TUN too, so you’re important too.” It’s Ueda-logic, strange but strangely accurate.
Nakamaru shook his head.
Ueda laughed shortly. “Get some rest. Go see a doctor. Do something for yourself.”
Nakamaru sighed. It was one thing to say: do something for yourself, and it was a completely different matter to do something. How many hours were there in a day? How many of those hours could he sleep, and how many of those hours did he spend working?
Ueda clapped Nakamaru on the shoulder. “You’ve been thinking of something all day, haven’t you?”
Nakamaru bit his lip. “Just all the things I need to do.”
“Good luck,” Ueda said. “I mean it. Hopefully you manage to do everything that you want to do. We’re here for you.”
“I know.” I just don’t want to impose on you, on any of you.
“You wouldn’t.”
*
Imposing is a bad idea-he knows this because his mother’s given him lecture after lecture about how he needs to be a polite, well-mannered boy. He needs to be a polite, well-mannered idol.
But kissing Junno-kissing Junno is a good idea. It seems like it would be a bad idea, imposing on Junno, risking the band, risking his career and Junno’s career and the rest of the bands’ and their managers and choreographers and all those people that Nakamaru should care about, should worry about, but can’t find it in himself to be concerned about. But it’s a good idea. A very good idea, since kissing him is like fireworks in his brain exploding in a cacophony of colors. Junno’s warm and sweet, agreeable one moment and sharp the next.
“You’re funny,” Junno informs him, amused as he pulls away from Nakamaru’s kiss. He brushes a languid hand across Nakamaru’s face. “What brought this on?”
“It’s a good idea,” Nakamaru says, not wanting to talk-but even talking’s nicer than before, like this-wanting to do something like kissing Junno. He’s impatient, full of energy. He needs to be doing something. He taps his fingers on his leg as Junno steps back, a nervous habit he’s picked up.
Junno accepts Nakamaru’s kiss. “Alright,” he says agreeably. “It’s Member-Ai. That’s a good thing; don’t the fans always complain we don’t have enough Member-Ai?”
“Sure,” Nakamaru agrees, high off of kisses and good ideas. “Sure. Just kiss me. Kissing is good.”
“Sex is good too. Are we going to have sex?”
*
Nakamaru took his college classes online, but he had a certain number of hours of field-and-or-lab work he was required to do before he would be eligible to pass one of his Environmental Studies classes this time.
So on his afternoon off, instead of catching some sleep or even getting a solid meal into his body, he trudged to Waseda to talk to a professor about arranging his field-and-or-lab work times around the upcoming tour. He had disguised himself as best he could, but each shrill laugh made him start and glance around, worried that a fan had spotted him.
His manager would kill him if he was reported doing un-idol-like behavior on his day off.
He managed to make his way to the Environmental Studies building, a relatively small department nestled among other science departments, but from there he didn’t know where to go. He wandered the hallways listlessly, glancing at the walls covered in scientific posters as if that would lead him to his academic advisor.
“Hey,” He called, to a student pushing a cart of glassware around, labcoat stained along the sleeves and edges. “Do you know where....” he consulted his scrap of notebook paper, muttering his professor’s name. “I’m looking for his office.”
“Nope.” The guy studied him thoughtfully. “Wow... you look like shit.”
Nakamaru blanched. “I’m just a student,” he managed.
“Do I know you?”
Nakamaru blinked. “Uh.” Did he know? Young men usually didn’t follow idol groups other than Hello!Project and that 48 girl group, but did he know who Nakamaru was, even with the hat and Koyama’s sunglasses and the ugly brown sweater that he had borrowed from Taguchi?
“Look, you sure I haven’t seen you before?”
“Positive,” Nakamaru managed, glancing over his shoulder quickly, in case of a mob of fangirls happened to be behind him.
He watched Nakamaru twitch with amusement. “Now I really think that I know you.” He laughed shortly. “Look, who are you looking for? Nobody comes here, you should know that.”
Nakamaru blinked.
“Oh, so you don’t? Then maybe I really don’t know you? No, I recognize your face, I don’t get these things wrong. Look, I’m really busy, my professor’s in today, so I gotta do work before he catches me out here, I’ve been waiting long enough, alright? Look, here’s your dose.” The student rummaged around in a stained pocket with a gloved hand before pulling out a small plastic bag-barely large enough to hold 10 pills in it-with a pile of white crystals in it. “You know how to pay me,” he said before dropping the bag into Nakamaru’s hand and turning away.
“Wait,” Nakamaru began, clutching the bag. “I don’t. You have the wrong person. I’m not....”
The student paused. “Look, I realize that I’ve been dodging my professor for weeks so you look like death and you probably feel like shit, but just take your damn Speed and pay me the usual way, alright? It’ll make you feel better again, and I can stop attending Literature Department meetings for their free refreshments-they’re all vegetarian.”
Nakamaru stared as the student hurried away. “But it’s not mine,” he tried. Then he stared at the bag in his hand, at the tan crystals in the bag. “Speed?” he repeated.
“And look, I didn’t give it to you, alright?” the student called back. “I’m not synthesizing illegal drugs in my bathroom; that’s illegal, alright?”
*
Nakamaru’s full of nervous energy, wandering back and forth in the dressing room-he can’t seem to focus, but at least he’s no longer tired. Practice has yet to start, and usually at this time he would be tiredly trudging up the stairs or desperately trying to get his coffee machine to work, but he feels revitalized today.
Kamenashi stumbles into the dressing room, bags under his eyes. “You’re looking a lot better, Nakamaru,” he comments, almost absentmindedly. “Did you see a doctor?”
Nakamaru shrugs. “No.” He taps his fingers against his leg, taps his feet on the floor. “Just figured some things out.”
“That’s good,” Kamenashi mutters as he sticks his head in his bag and rummages around. “Look, don’t do anything stupid.”
Nakamaru laughs a little. “I won’t.”
“I heard you went out drinking with Koki-kun.”
Nakamaru laughs, unable to be upset at Kamenashi, unable to be upset at all. “Is drinking a problem?”
Kamenashi huffs. He jerks himself back, crosses his arms across his chest and scowls. “Look, I’ll be frank. I’m worried. You aren’t acting like yourself.”
He says, “Jealous, Kame-chan?” just to watch his fists clench, just to watch that mouth twist first into a frown and then a polite, strained smile, because Kamenashi’s the flawless idol, isn’t he?
Nakamaru smirks. “Don’t be.” He feels more free than he’s felt in months.
*
The bag sat on Nakamaru’s desk, reminding him that he still hadn’t managed to talk to his professor, he still had field-work assigned, there were rehearsals and performances coming up, and he hadn’t slept more than two hours the night before.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t thrown it out yet. It was tempting-to place a crystal of methamphetamine in his mouth and swallow, to dissolve the drug and drink it with his water, to wrap it in foil and smoke it.
He shuddered, pushing himself away from his laptop. Websites spread across his screen in tiny tabs: odorless, easy to hide, expensive, dangerous.
Very dangerous.
But it would make him feel better. More active. More energetic.
More idol-like.
Nakamaru closed his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “Not like this.”
*
He’s not hungry these days, more focused on doing. Doing this; doing that. Everything seems to be a good idea. He sings louder, dances harder, talks more and more than before. He’s still tired, a part of him, but sleeping no longer seems necessary-there’s so much to do, and everything seems right.
His manager’s pleased; Koyama’s pleased; his bandmates are pleased. Everybody is happier with this new Nakamaru, full of energy. “Finally taking your job seriously,” his manager says approvingly. “Keep it up.”
“To be completely honest, it’s a bit strange, you acting like Kamenashi,” Tanaka says when they meet after Nakamaru’s recording of Shounen Club, the two of them drinking beer at a nearby pub. “What happened to shy awkward Yucchi? Did Tamori-san tease you too much?”
Nakamaru laughs. “I’m just trying something new.”
“Well, that’s good. Just don’t lose yourself, alright? I happen to like you shy and awkward. And Taguchi’s got the Energizer bunny image, and he’ll cry if you take his images.”
Nakamaru laughs, but even Tanaka’s teasing tone doesn’t really matter. Everything feels perfect.
*
His room was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the flicker of his computer screen, shimmering off the crystals still lying in a small plastic bag. Nakamaru sat in his chair, staring at the screen full of tabs, staring at the crystals there.
What was it that Kamenashi had said to him today? “You’re so tense. Just relax. Enjoy life a bit.”
“And drugs will help?” he had asked, thinking of the crystals sitting on his desk.
“A doctor will help,” Kamenashi had informed him. “You’re worrying us.”
He closed his eyes. He hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t wanted to drive KAT-TUN to this point, hadn’t wanted to give in to the perfect crystals sitting on his desk.
“Sorry,” he murmured, before he picked up a single small crystal with careful fingers and placed it onto his tongue. Bitter regret flooded through him. “Let’s try harder from now on.”
*
The meth’s bitter, but he anticipated that from google and wikipedia and the many searches he had run. It’ll make him feel good, let him stop worrying, give him the energy he needs to get through the day, the week, the month. (He’ll stop eating, but that’s alright, he’s an idol, he can afford it.)
He swallows it with a gulp of water, closes his eyes and waits-
Waits for the drug to make him a real idol.
end.
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Author: virdant
Length: 3089 words; one-shot
Rating: R
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Nakamaru/Taguchi
Summary: “I’ll tell the producers that you’re not feeling very well, Nakamaru-kun.” Nakamaru believes that everything will be alright. Maybe everything will be alright. Maybe everything won't.
Warning: Drug Use
Content Critique Level: No Holds Barred
Notes: This story was originally written as Like Crystal for elizajet on je_squickfic. Many thanks to: Diana, Beth, Kat, and reiicharu. (Yes, this story had 4 betas.) A remixed version, the same story in the actual chronology, can be found here
Like Crystal
The fluorescent lights are bright-like the sun, only the sun is infinitely hotter and he’s not sure if he even knows what the sun is anymore-floating in a pit of vast endlessness. He thinks that it could be peaceful like this, living in this state of emptiness-except there’s something wrong, he’s not supposed to be this empty, he is this empty, he wants to be this empty, this peaceful-
“Nakamaru-kun?”
Koyama’s worried, Nakamaru thinks. He shouldn’t worry so much. He’s alright. The performance will be alright. He tries to tell Koyama this-I’m alright, it’s alright, it’ll be alright-is on the tip of his tongue, but his throat’s dry and his tongue can’t seem to form the words.
Koyama’s voice is low and worried. “I’ll tell the producers that you’re not feeling very well, Nakamaru-kun.”
*
“Nakamaru-kun!” their choreographer snapped, and the rehearsal jolted to a stop. The choreographer took a deep breath, no doubt preparing to deliver a tirade that would scorch the ears of the poor juniors sitting to the side watching.
“Why don’t we take a break?” Kamenashi suggested before anybody else could speak. They had just started preparing for their upcoming tour, and tensions were running high. “Get some water, take a breather.” He slid himself between Nakamaru and the choreographer, and Nakamaru took the opportunity to duck away.
“You’ve been stressed out lately,” Taguchi commented as he passed Nakamaru his bottle of water.
“This is the fifth time you’ve stopped rehearsal,” Tanaka agreed. “Anything you want to tell us?”
Nakamaru shook his head. “Just tired, I guess.” He had been sloppy all day, and the only reason he could think of was the thick lethargy pulling at his muscles. Maybe he needed a break, a night to sleep instead of stress out over exams.
“Well, get some sleep,” Ueda said. He nodded towards Kamenashi, who was talking to the choreographer in heated tones. “If Kame keeps that up, the entire concert is going to involve fireworks and flowers and ropes-work all at once, and we know how much you hate ropes-work.”
Nakamaru grimaced. “I’ll sleep tonight,” he promised.
*
He feels empty, like nothing matters-and nothing does matter. It would be soothing, lying in bed and staring up and studying the dust motes floating in the air, except he can’t feel anything right now. If he reaches, he can connect them together-that one on the left to that one on the right, joined with an invisible thread that only he can see.
The whirling of the fan reminds him that there’s work to be done. He sits up, fumbling with his phone-Koyama’s called him, Taguchi’s mailed him, there’s even a message from the producers of Shounen Club. There’s work to be done, but he can’t seem to muster the energy to do it; he’s tired, but he can’t sleep; he’s hungry, but he can’t decide what he wants to eat. He’s so hungry, craving something that he can’t have.
He wonders if he should call Akanishi-ask him if this was how he felt after he came back from LA the first time, ask him if this was how he felt before he left the second time, but the thought of calling takes up so much energy that he flops back like a fish out of water, phone in hand, staring up at the ceiling.
The world seems so cold.
*
“Nakamaru-kun!”
He had slept. Fitfully, but he had slept the night before. It didn’t seem to make him any more coordinated, didn’t seem to make him any more able to sing while dancing. He braced himself on his knees, panting harshly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kamenashi preparing to interject, to offer a suggestion that would probably put all of them in a harnesses singing Real Face while floating above the audience.
“Sorry,” he managed, before Kamenashi could say anything. “Let me try that again.”
The choreographer huffed, but KAT-TUN took their positions and started again. Nakamaru concentrated on smiling, on performing each move when he was supposed to, on singing through a throat that seemed too dry.
Somehow, he managed to get through the rehearsal without stumbling on his feet. “You have Shounen Club recording in an hour,” his manager told him as he sank down into a chair. “Have you spoken to Koyama-kun about today’s recording yet?”
Nakamaru buried his face in his hands. “No. Give me a second.”
His manager sighed, oozing disapproval from his pores. “Be more professional, Nakamaru-kun. Are you an idol or not?”
“Right. I know,” he managed, sipping his water desperately, as if that would fix things. “Sorry.”
*
It’s tempting, so very tempting.
He’s hungry these days, even though he knows he shouldn’t be eating so much. It’s not healthy, it’s not idol-like. Idol-like. Those words remind of everything he has to lose.
“Nakamaru,” Taguchi murmurs, warm and comfortable where’s he’s draped over the chair, playing his DS and watching Nakamaru stare at the ceiling. “What are you thinking about?”
He answers easily, having thought about nothing else for the past few days. “Being happy.”
It’s hard to be happy, and it’s especially hard to be happy these days. He has to try, has to force himself to feel alive. Things that seemed fun before are becoming dull and lifeless. He thinks it might be easy to reach that state again, all he needs to do is give up on proper, well-mannered idol-like behavior. All he needs is to risk everything.
He listlessly taps his fingers on his leg, lethargically, because he doesn’t seem to have the energy these days. Waking up, making coffee, getting to work: everything is a trial.
“That’s good,” Taguchi says. He frowns at his game console. “Be happy.”
Nakamaru closes his eyes. He wants to. He really wants to, but he doesn’t know how anymore.
“This isn’t like you,” Taguchi says, strangely serious. “Maybe you’ve been trying too hard to be somebody you’re not. Maybe you should just be happy with who you are.”
“I am,” Nakamaru mutters, but he’s not. Guilt and uncertainty nag away at him, filled with bitter regret.
*
“Maybe you should go see a doctor,” Ueda suggested as they sat in their dressing room resting after a long practice. The others had cleared out a while already, and Nakamaru and Ueda were the only two who were left. “If you’re tired all the time.”
Nakamaru shrugged, faintly depreciating.. “Do we even have time for that?” He slouched in one of the low chairs that littered their dressing room. The ceiling was patchy-a popcorn ceiling that did nothing to disguise the fact that the paint was peeling. He had been staring up for a while already, thinking about the upcoming performances, the vocal practice he would need to do, the dance steps he was still having trouble memorizing, what he should do for the MC segments, and his studies, his studies that he always pushed to the side during these times but were so important. His studies, which he had neglected and had been emailed about.
“Your health is important,” Ueda said. “More important that KAT-TUN.”
Nakamaru shrugged, a little depreciating. “KAT-TUN is important,” he reminded Ueda. Was that what Ueda had stayed behind for? Ueda had been packed and ready to go at least ten minutes ago, but he had stayed, no doubt to deliver a message from the whole group.
“Very important,” Ueda agreed. “But you’re part of KAT-TUN too, so you’re important too.” It’s Ueda-logic, strange but strangely accurate.
Nakamaru shook his head.
Ueda laughed shortly. “Get some rest. Go see a doctor. Do something for yourself.”
Nakamaru sighed. It was one thing to say: do something for yourself, and it was a completely different matter to do something. How many hours were there in a day? How many of those hours could he sleep, and how many of those hours did he spend working?
Ueda clapped Nakamaru on the shoulder. “You’ve been thinking of something all day, haven’t you?”
Nakamaru bit his lip. “Just all the things I need to do.”
“Good luck,” Ueda said. “I mean it. Hopefully you manage to do everything that you want to do. We’re here for you.”
“I know.” I just don’t want to impose on you, on any of you.
“You wouldn’t.”
*
Imposing is a bad idea-he knows this because his mother’s given him lecture after lecture about how he needs to be a polite, well-mannered boy. He needs to be a polite, well-mannered idol.
But kissing Junno-kissing Junno is a good idea. It seems like it would be a bad idea, imposing on Junno, risking the band, risking his career and Junno’s career and the rest of the bands’ and their managers and choreographers and all those people that Nakamaru should care about, should worry about, but can’t find it in himself to be concerned about. But it’s a good idea. A very good idea, since kissing him is like fireworks in his brain exploding in a cacophony of colors. Junno’s warm and sweet, agreeable one moment and sharp the next.
“You’re funny,” Junno informs him, amused as he pulls away from Nakamaru’s kiss. He brushes a languid hand across Nakamaru’s face. “What brought this on?”
“It’s a good idea,” Nakamaru says, not wanting to talk-but even talking’s nicer than before, like this-wanting to do something like kissing Junno. He’s impatient, full of energy. He needs to be doing something. He taps his fingers on his leg as Junno steps back, a nervous habit he’s picked up.
Junno accepts Nakamaru’s kiss. “Alright,” he says agreeably. “It’s Member-Ai. That’s a good thing; don’t the fans always complain we don’t have enough Member-Ai?”
“Sure,” Nakamaru agrees, high off of kisses and good ideas. “Sure. Just kiss me. Kissing is good.”
“Sex is good too. Are we going to have sex?”
*
Nakamaru took his college classes online, but he had a certain number of hours of field-and-or-lab work he was required to do before he would be eligible to pass one of his Environmental Studies classes this time.
So on his afternoon off, instead of catching some sleep or even getting a solid meal into his body, he trudged to Waseda to talk to a professor about arranging his field-and-or-lab work times around the upcoming tour. He had disguised himself as best he could, but each shrill laugh made him start and glance around, worried that a fan had spotted him.
His manager would kill him if he was reported doing un-idol-like behavior on his day off.
He managed to make his way to the Environmental Studies building, a relatively small department nestled among other science departments, but from there he didn’t know where to go. He wandered the hallways listlessly, glancing at the walls covered in scientific posters as if that would lead him to his academic advisor.
“Hey,” He called, to a student pushing a cart of glassware around, labcoat stained along the sleeves and edges. “Do you know where....” he consulted his scrap of notebook paper, muttering his professor’s name. “I’m looking for his office.”
“Nope.” The guy studied him thoughtfully. “Wow... you look like shit.”
Nakamaru blanched. “I’m just a student,” he managed.
“Do I know you?”
Nakamaru blinked. “Uh.” Did he know? Young men usually didn’t follow idol groups other than Hello!Project and that 48 girl group, but did he know who Nakamaru was, even with the hat and Koyama’s sunglasses and the ugly brown sweater that he had borrowed from Taguchi?
“Look, you sure I haven’t seen you before?”
“Positive,” Nakamaru managed, glancing over his shoulder quickly, in case of a mob of fangirls happened to be behind him.
He watched Nakamaru twitch with amusement. “Now I really think that I know you.” He laughed shortly. “Look, who are you looking for? Nobody comes here, you should know that.”
Nakamaru blinked.
“Oh, so you don’t? Then maybe I really don’t know you? No, I recognize your face, I don’t get these things wrong. Look, I’m really busy, my professor’s in today, so I gotta do work before he catches me out here, I’ve been waiting long enough, alright? Look, here’s your dose.” The student rummaged around in a stained pocket with a gloved hand before pulling out a small plastic bag-barely large enough to hold 10 pills in it-with a pile of white crystals in it. “You know how to pay me,” he said before dropping the bag into Nakamaru’s hand and turning away.
“Wait,” Nakamaru began, clutching the bag. “I don’t. You have the wrong person. I’m not....”
The student paused. “Look, I realize that I’ve been dodging my professor for weeks so you look like death and you probably feel like shit, but just take your damn Speed and pay me the usual way, alright? It’ll make you feel better again, and I can stop attending Literature Department meetings for their free refreshments-they’re all vegetarian.”
Nakamaru stared as the student hurried away. “But it’s not mine,” he tried. Then he stared at the bag in his hand, at the tan crystals in the bag. “Speed?” he repeated.
“And look, I didn’t give it to you, alright?” the student called back. “I’m not synthesizing illegal drugs in my bathroom; that’s illegal, alright?”
*
Nakamaru’s full of nervous energy, wandering back and forth in the dressing room-he can’t seem to focus, but at least he’s no longer tired. Practice has yet to start, and usually at this time he would be tiredly trudging up the stairs or desperately trying to get his coffee machine to work, but he feels revitalized today.
Kamenashi stumbles into the dressing room, bags under his eyes. “You’re looking a lot better, Nakamaru,” he comments, almost absentmindedly. “Did you see a doctor?”
Nakamaru shrugs. “No.” He taps his fingers against his leg, taps his feet on the floor. “Just figured some things out.”
“That’s good,” Kamenashi mutters as he sticks his head in his bag and rummages around. “Look, don’t do anything stupid.”
Nakamaru laughs a little. “I won’t.”
“I heard you went out drinking with Koki-kun.”
Nakamaru laughs, unable to be upset at Kamenashi, unable to be upset at all. “Is drinking a problem?”
Kamenashi huffs. He jerks himself back, crosses his arms across his chest and scowls. “Look, I’ll be frank. I’m worried. You aren’t acting like yourself.”
He says, “Jealous, Kame-chan?” just to watch his fists clench, just to watch that mouth twist first into a frown and then a polite, strained smile, because Kamenashi’s the flawless idol, isn’t he?
Nakamaru smirks. “Don’t be.” He feels more free than he’s felt in months.
*
The bag sat on Nakamaru’s desk, reminding him that he still hadn’t managed to talk to his professor, he still had field-work assigned, there were rehearsals and performances coming up, and he hadn’t slept more than two hours the night before.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t thrown it out yet. It was tempting-to place a crystal of methamphetamine in his mouth and swallow, to dissolve the drug and drink it with his water, to wrap it in foil and smoke it.
He shuddered, pushing himself away from his laptop. Websites spread across his screen in tiny tabs: odorless, easy to hide, expensive, dangerous.
Very dangerous.
But it would make him feel better. More active. More energetic.
More idol-like.
Nakamaru closed his eyes. “No,” he whispered. “Not like this.”
*
He’s not hungry these days, more focused on doing. Doing this; doing that. Everything seems to be a good idea. He sings louder, dances harder, talks more and more than before. He’s still tired, a part of him, but sleeping no longer seems necessary-there’s so much to do, and everything seems right.
His manager’s pleased; Koyama’s pleased; his bandmates are pleased. Everybody is happier with this new Nakamaru, full of energy. “Finally taking your job seriously,” his manager says approvingly. “Keep it up.”
“To be completely honest, it’s a bit strange, you acting like Kamenashi,” Tanaka says when they meet after Nakamaru’s recording of Shounen Club, the two of them drinking beer at a nearby pub. “What happened to shy awkward Yucchi? Did Tamori-san tease you too much?”
Nakamaru laughs. “I’m just trying something new.”
“Well, that’s good. Just don’t lose yourself, alright? I happen to like you shy and awkward. And Taguchi’s got the Energizer bunny image, and he’ll cry if you take his images.”
Nakamaru laughs, but even Tanaka’s teasing tone doesn’t really matter. Everything feels perfect.
*
His room was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the flicker of his computer screen, shimmering off the crystals still lying in a small plastic bag. Nakamaru sat in his chair, staring at the screen full of tabs, staring at the crystals there.
What was it that Kamenashi had said to him today? “You’re so tense. Just relax. Enjoy life a bit.”
“And drugs will help?” he had asked, thinking of the crystals sitting on his desk.
“A doctor will help,” Kamenashi had informed him. “You’re worrying us.”
He closed his eyes. He hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t wanted to drive KAT-TUN to this point, hadn’t wanted to give in to the perfect crystals sitting on his desk.
“Sorry,” he murmured, before he picked up a single small crystal with careful fingers and placed it onto his tongue. Bitter regret flooded through him. “Let’s try harder from now on.”
*
The meth’s bitter, but he anticipated that from google and wikipedia and the many searches he had run. It’ll make him feel good, let him stop worrying, give him the energy he needs to get through the day, the week, the month. (He’ll stop eating, but that’s alright, he’s an idol, he can afford it.)
He swallows it with a gulp of water, closes his eyes and waits-
Waits for the drug to make him a real idol.
end.
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