[FIC] NewS - The Fic About the Dating Site
Title: The Fic About the Dating Site (Or, why Cici and Misa fail at titling fanfics)
Fandom: NewS
Pairing: Masuda/Tegoshi
Rating: PG-15 (mentions of sex)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Two and a half months later, and Masuda finds himself eating his own words.
A/N: Much love goes out to yuukarin for checking this for errors :3 I'm taking a break from multi-chaptered fics in favor of getting out some of the oneshots/drabbles that are starting to stack up in my list of "to do" fics X.x I hope you like it!
“This is a dumb idea,”
“Oh, hush,” Koyama pointedly ignores him, continuing to type in an unbothered manner. Behind him, Masuda resists the urge to petulantly cross his arms and pout, feeling vaguely violated by the idea of the older man putting all of his personal information on the internet without his consent. “Shige, tell him it’s a perfectly good idea.”
Kato glances up from the textbook he’s been studying, entirely unimpressed. “He’s right. It is a dumb idea.” Koyama stops typing long enough to give him an insulted look, to which Kato rolls his eyes. “Those dating sites never work, Keii.”
“Hey, we met on one of those sites!”
“No, we reconnected on one of those sites,” This is a familiar argument, and Masuda chuckles at it. He’s heard the story of how they met several times-best friends in high school, separated in college, reconnected through the internet-and somehow, whenever they talk about it, they always end up bickering.
Koyama pouts, unhappy with his answer, but after a few moments goes back to his previous task. Masuda continues to look disgruntled.
Kato sighs. “As misguided as Keii is,” he starts, smiling innocently when the man in question sends him a sharp look, “he has a point.” Masuda looks a little bit betrayed, and the slightly younger man explains, “You’ve been kind of a hermit ever since… well, you know.” Masuda grimaces at the reminder of his last relationship, which had ended rather badly. “It’s not a bad idea for you to be a little more social.”
“That’s right,” Koyama says with a sage nod. When Masuda continues to look skeptical, he adds, “If nothing else, it will be good publicity, Massu.”
“Don’t call me that.” Masuda half-snaps, deflating almost immediately after. He hates it when his friends use his stage name like that; admittedly, it’s a little bit paranoid, but he can’t stand the idea of his professional life getting mixed in with his personal one. And Koyama knows that. “And this is absolutely not going to be a publicity stunt.”
He’s already decided, if he’s going to be doing this at all, it will be on his terms. And one of those terms -the most important one, in his opinion-is that this whole fiasco have not a trace of his alter ego; he doesn’t want half the world to know that one of Japan’s biggest superstars has resorted to using a dating website, albeit under protest. And he certainly doesn’t want to deal with the freaks that will no doubt crawl out of the woodwork to stalk him when word gets out.
And anyway, if he’s going to date someone, he wants it to be actually him -Masuda Takahisa, semi-small town boy who happened to get lucky at an audition he entered on a dare-not the idol that the media has turned him into.
Koyama debates this with him for a few minutes -because as Masuda’s manager, it’s his duty to encourage anything that might increase his popularity, but as his friend, he kind of understands where the other is coming from-but after a few half-hearted attempts gives in and let’s Masuda fill out the rest of the form with proper, personal information.
When he finally submits the profile, Masuda sits back with a sigh, looks at the screen of his laptop and feels a surge of skepticism. It isn’t going to work, he knows, and he’s going to end up feeling like a fool for even trying.
~***~
Two and a half months later, and Masuda finds himself eating his own words, sitting nervously in front of his laptop and fidgeting with his hair, collar, anything within reach, waiting anxiously for a webcam chat to begin. This is the first time they’ll be talking face to face, and he’s admittedly feeling a little bit shy.
They’ve talked on the phone already, of course; exchanged text messages, traded pictures. There hasn’t been a day yet that Masuda hasn’t woken up to a message on his cellphone, cheerful and pleasant, or an email in his inbox wishing him a good day.
But this is different. A video chat is only a step away from meeting in person, and Masuda would be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried about the impression he’s about to make.
Before he can worry any farther, the screen in front of him abruptly flickers on, and he nearly jumps in surprise. A giggle follows it, and despite the fact that it makes him flush in embarrassment, it’s too cute a sound for him to really be frustrated or bothered by it. He leans back, then forward a bit, finally readjusts his monitor so he can properly see. And there he is, wearing the same smile Masuda has seen in every picture sent, eyes sparkling prettily.
Masuda wonders how he got so lucky.
“Taka~!” The young man hums excitedly, sitting forward a bit. “I can see you!”
He sounds so honestly astonished by this that it makes Masuda laugh. “I can see you too,” he affirms, still chucking. The other looks unabashed. Masuda blushes, feeling a little bit shy as he murmurs, “You look… really good, Yuya,”
Tegoshi Yuya, the young man that has managed to so thoroughly capture his attention, beams at the compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself,”
They spend the next hour like that, talking pleasantly. Admittedly, Tegoshi does most of the talking -he usually does-but Masuda enjoys every moment of it. There’s something oddly simplistic about the younger man that appeals to Masuda; he wears his heart on his sleeve, unashamed of his faults, and that’s a rare trait among the people Masuda is used to handling.
And, most importantly of all, he’s completely out of touch with the current media frenzy in Japan. As a psychology student attending school in America, Tegoshi only knows him as ‘Taka’. He doesn’t even know that Massu exists.
And that’s probably what attracts Masuda the most. Tegoshi likes him for him, not for what he’s imagined to be. And that feels kind of amazing.
~***~
Three months later and Masuda finds himself obsessively checking his phone for text messages in between the various sessions of a photo shoot. He’s a little bit worried, honestly. It’s unusual for them to go this long with out some form of communication, even if it’s just a quick text to let the other know they won’t be available that day. But today there’s been nothing, and that makes him uncomfortable, concerned.
It isn’t until after the shoot finishes, when he’s slipping into his jacket and saying his goodbyes, that his phone chimes awake in his pocket. He nearly trips over himself, scrambling to get to it. The message there is short, simple, but it sends a spark down Masuda’s spine, excitement and nervousness mingling all at once in a way that he hasn’t felt since their first few phone calls.
I’ll be in town this Saturday.
Want to meet up?
~***~
Masuda picks a small, out of the way little restaurant, one that he frequents on his own time fairly often, particularly when he wants a quiet night without any hounding from the media. It’s a quaint little place, reserved mostly for locals who know about it, run by a friendly family that doesn’t mind occasionally sheltering a harried idol. He’s been coming here for years, and can easily admit that it’s his favorite spot.
Which is why he thinks it’s the perfect place for his and Tegoshi’s first “real” date. They’ve had plenty over webcams and phone calls, but this time it’s special.
Because this time, there won’t be the static of a faulty connection, or the awkward silences that come with being unable to see each other. This time they can touch, feel, experience it properly. The thought of it alone makes Masuda want to shiver, excited, anxious. He’s looked forward to this for months, and now, he’s waiting at his usual table, absently toying with his napkin, trying not to look too eager.
Tegoshi is late in showing up. Not overly so, but a little too much to be considered fashionable. Masuda is just starting to feel a bit disheartened when he finally arrives, looking far better in real life than he ever did on a computer screen.
Masuda stands to greet him, manages to bang his knee on the table in the process. It’s embarrassing, but Tegoshi glances over at the sound of it, smiles widely, looking delighted and a little bit amused, and Masuda can’t bring himself to care that he might look like a bit of a fool.
Tegoshi approaches, smiling cheerfully, and Masuda stumbles over his greeting, a little too star-struck to get it right.
The date goes well. It’s no better or worse than their usual fare, but there’s something ridiculously enchanting about being able to see Tegoshi right in front of him; to hold his hand shyly under the table; to kiss his cheek when he smiles in that way that makes Masuda’s knees quiver. It feels a little bit like magic.
They leave together, shoulders bumping, talking in quiet voices while Masuda pays the check and then leads him out.
Tegoshi drops hints; tiny, sly ones that it takes Masuda a few moments to start catching. But when he does, he smiles, remembers the late night phone calls that had tipped into more risqué subject matter with a small shudder of excitement, and ten minutes later, they’re kissing frantically, safely ensconced in the privacy of a high end hotel room, pawing at each other’s clothes and making a steady beeline for the bed.
Masuda thinks, for maybe a few seconds, that they’re moving too fast. And then Tegoshi’s hand wiggle’s its way into his pants, and he doesn’t do much more thinking after that.
~***~
Afterwards, they lay together, Tegoshi curled up against Masuda’s chest, nose pressing against his neck, tracing hearts along his skin sleepily. It’s a cozy sort of moment, with Masuda feeling warm and sated, Tegoshi’s weight comfortable against him, and he thinks he might be able to doze off just like this.
But something is bothering him, nagging at the back of his mind incessantly, and he knows that it’s not going to leave him alone. Especially not now.
“Yuya?”
The younger makes a soft noise, nuzzles at his shoulder plaintively for a moment before answering. “Hm?”
Masuda sighs, drapes an arm around Tegoshi’s bare shoulders. Their skin is still damp, slick and shiny from sweat, and while ordinarily Masuda would be pushing them both towards the shower, on Tegoshi it’s less disgusting and more… fascinating. (In a gross sort of way.) “…I need to tell you something,”
Tegoshi hums, draws a line down Masuda’s chest with a finger, like he can’t hear the vaguely grim tone the older is using. “What is it?”
Masuda grunts, catches his hand before he can go about turning him into some sort of human canvas, mostly because it’s kind of ridiculously distracting, having Tegoshi’s fingers dancing across his skin, and he thinks that they’ll never have this conversation if he keeps it up. “I haven’t…” Tegoshi’s fingers wiggle against his own, eventually sliding into place and intertwining them together, and Masuda smiles, “…I haven’t told you what I do for a living yet.”
This apparently perks Tegoshi’s interest, because he lifts his head up and fixes Masuda with a curious look. “No,” he confirms, “Every time I ask, Taka changes the subject and then we both pretend that I don’t notice,”
Masuda thinks he would laugh at that, if it didn’t make the butterflies already fluttering around in his stomach kick into overdrive. “Well…” Why is this so hard? “I… you’ve heard of… ‘Massu’… right?” Tegoshi is watching him with an impossible to read expression, and for some reason, it only makes Masuda even more nervous. “I mean, I know you’ve been in America for the last couple of years, but--”
“I’ve heard of him,” Tegoshi interrupts, face still blank. Masuda wants to squirm under that look, but thinks that if he does so, he’ll end up falling off the bed.
“I’m… Yuya…” He wonders why this is so difficult; it should be easy. It’s his life, after all, the world that he’s lived in for years now. And he kind of wants Tegoshi to be apart of that life, especially now. But somehow actually choking out the words seems almost impossible. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “That’s me, Yuya. I’m… Massu.”
He glances, a bit nervously, at Tegoshi out of the corner of his eye; sees the younger smile, slow and sly, and all at once he realizes what that sounded like. And then he groans, because now Tegoshi must think he’s a freak of some kind, some lunatic who stalks online sites and lies about who he is. Because it does sound kind of unreal, he realizes, and he’s really not sure how to explain it.
He’s so wrapped up in his inner panic that he almost doesn’t hear it, Tegoshi’s voice, quietly amused, “I know.”
It takes his mind a moment to catch up, but when it does, he stiffens, turns to look at Tegoshi with slightly narrowed eyes, because he couldn’t have heard that right; there’s no way… “What?”
Tegoshi sits up, just enough so that he can see Masuda’s face properly. “I already knew about that.” He repeats casually, like this is perfectly normal.
And all at once, Masuda feels his whole world tossed onto its side. He thinks he can feel the cold realization as it dawns on him slowly, pieces fitting together, coming to a conclusion that hurts more than anything else in the world.
He sits up properly, nearly tossing Tegoshi off balance. “How long?” He demands sharply, and when Tegoshi hesitates, asks again, “How long did you know?”
Tegoshi looks surprised, shocked, like he can’t believe it, and Masuda is struck with an overwhelming urge to shake him, just to make him stop, because damn it, he doesn’t get to look heartbroken right now. “I…” Masuda doesn’t think he’s ever heard the younger stutter before, or even falter when speaking. Oddly enough, it gives him no pleasure to hear it now. “Since the beginning. I’ve known the whole time.”
And that’s too much. Masuda thinks he can actually feel his heart breaking at the very thought; the idea that the person he’s come to truly care for has been playing him the entire time, just like everyone else, shakes his world to it’s core.
He doesn’t think he can handle anymore.
Shakily, he tosses the blankets off, starts searching for his pants, his mind focused only on getting away from Tegoshi. “I can’t believe this,” he says angrily, more to himself than anything else. “I can’t believe I… I trusted you. And you’re just like all the others…”
Tegoshi scrambles, tries to get a purchase on his arm, his torso. “Taka, please, wait!” But Masuda simply shakes him off, maybe a little bit more roughly than he’d intended, not looking back. He tosses his shirt on, is steps away from the door when Tegoshi’s voice hits him again, a near shout this time, sounding so frustrated that he’s near tears, “Massu, stop!”
And for a reason he can’t fathom, Masuda does.
“You idiot,” Tegoshi goes on, and Masuda thinks that he really is crying, if the trembling of his voice is any indication, but he can’t bring himself to look. “Don’t you remember who gave you that nickname in the first place?”
He does. Not very well, admittedly; it’s an old memory, one he’s only held onto for all these years because it’s so important. He can’t remember why it’s important, just that it is; very, very important, fundamental to his very being, part of what turned him into who he is today. But the details are fuzzy, vague, like something out of a dream…
“You were seven years old,” he hears, and it takes Masuda a moment to realize that it’s Tegoshi talking, not his own subconscious. “And you’d just moved with your family to a new town.” Masuda wants to turn around now, to face the younger man, watch his face while he talks, but some small part of him refuses to let him; is too busy remembering in sudden vivid detail that it’s paralyzing. “And you were the new kid, and you were strange, and no one wanted to talk to you. Except… except for one little boy.” Tegoshi’s voice hitches, and he sniffles. “A little boy that had to move away the next year.”
That’s what breaks the spell, what grounds him back into reality; the harsh reminder of what he lost. It seems like such a small thing now, but at the time, it had been earth shattering for him.
He turns, swings back around to face the bed again. Tegoshi is half-crumbled it, rubbing at his eyes, looking small and vulnerable and all kinds of other things that Masuda has never associated with him before. And for a very small instant, Masuda can see it; can see the resemblance to the little boy that he’d nearly forgotten about, the similarities.
And oddly enough, the only thing he can really think to do is marvel at how well he’s grown up, how beautiful he’s become.
“I’d hoped,” Tegoshi says, voice wavering just a bit. He’s not looking at Masuda, and the older really wishes he would, “that I’d find you again, you know? We were just kids, but… Massu was my first friend.” He shrugs vaguely, as though that explains it completely, even though it barely even scratches the surface. “I heard about… you. The singer you, I mean.” Tegoshi smiles faintly here, amused. “And I thought… it was just a coincidence, you know? There’s no way; Massu’s too shy for that. And then I found your name on that website, and…”
He trails off, and Masuda realizes somewhat belatedly that sometime during his story he’d come closer, his legs moving of their own accord, until he’s standing right in front of Tegoshi, the younger looking up at him with large, familiar eyes.
And all of a sudden, Masuda wonders how he never saw it earlier. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, although whether it’s at his own obliviousness or his sudden realization, it’s impossible to tell. He reaches out, hands touching Tegoshi’s cheeks, holding him steady, striving to get as good a look as he possibly can. “You… why didn’t you say something?”
Tegoshi smiles, small and sad. “You didn’t remember,”
And it’s not enough, not really, but Masuda thinks he understands; thinks he’d probably do the same thing, in that situation. And all at once, he’s reaching out, tugging Tegoshi to him, pressing his face into the crook of the younger’s neck. Tegoshi is tense in his arms for all of two seconds before he melts into it, arms curling up, encircling Masuda’s waist loosely as he murmurs softly against the older man’s hair, “Massu…”
And Masuda nearly snaps at him, just like everyone else; nearly tells him to shut up, not to call him that; no one calls him that off stage. Except he stops, because, he realizes with alarming surprise, he doesn’t mind it so much. Not when it’s Tegoshi, who says it like it’s real, without the ridiculous adoration that comes from the fans, the stern tones that comes from the people he works with. It feels normal when Tegoshi calls him that. Like it’s simply a fact of the universe; to Tegoshi, he’s Massu. He always has been.
He always will be.
~***~
They spend another day in the hotel, neither of them willing to head back to the real world just yet. Surprisingly, only a third of the time is spent on sex. The rest they spend curled up together, catching up on each other’s lives, talking in low voices like they used to back when they were children, when they’d hide under the blankets and trade secrets and giggles.
They sleep, too, in little spurts here and there, usually waking up after an hour or two only to start the cycle again. Masuda thinks he could live like this, spending all of his time with Tegoshi, cuddled up in bed, sleeping occasionally, but otherwise just existing.
It’s a nice thought.
Late in the afternoon, he wakes up alone. It’s startling, after having spent so much time practically attached to the younger, and he sits up groggily, searches the room for any sign of Tegoshi. He catches a flash of movement from behind the door leading out of the bedroom, blinks tiredly and starts attempting to roll out of bed. “Yuya?”
There’s a bit of a racket from just outside of where Masuda can see, and a few seconds later, Tegoshi pops his head in, beams at Masuda happily as he slips in and moves towards the bed. He’s wearing pants now, the older notes in some sleepy rendition of dismay.
“Hey,” Tegoshi murmurs, climbing onto the bed. Masuda is hardly fazed when he feels the younger drape himself across his back, arms worming around his neck, hugging him pleasantly. He does, however, smile when he feels a kiss being pressed to the shell of his ear. “You were sleeping; I didn’t want to wake you.”
Masuda just shakes his head, rubs at his eyes tiredly, contemplates dragging Tegoshi back into bed for another nap. “What time is it?”
“Around three,”
He groans, realizes that he had an interview scheduled for that morning. An interview that he blew off for good reasons, granted. But still… “Koyama’s going to kill me…” He mumbles, wonders why his manager hadn’t called him to remind him about it. He starts searching for his cellphone, and stops short when Tegoshi reaches around and dangles it in front of him loosely.
“You mean Kei-chan?” He says, ever cheerful, not at all bothered by the fact that he’s just managed to thoroughly confuse Masuda. “He called you earlier. He’s really nice, you know. He said he’d reschedule the stuff you had to do today, and that you can have the day off.” Another kiss is pressed against his skin, this time to his shoulder. “Isn’t that nice?”
It takes Masuda a moment to realize, much to his horror, that Tegoshi had answered his phone. Without permission. “I… Yuya…” His voice is somewhat strangled as he reaches out to take his phone back. “…you and I are going to have to have a serious talk about personal space.”
Tegoshi pouts; Masuda can’t see it, but he can feel it, and despite himself, finds that it doesn’t really bother him as much as it might with someone else. He can live with an invasion of his privacy, he decides. And he can live with maybe, just this once, mixing his career with his love life. He thinks he wouldn’t mind if a couple of magazines caught them out on a date sometime, printed pictures and stories. It startles him, but he thinks that he could easily let it all go, just this once.
But then, Tegoshi seems to be the exception to every rule he’s ever made. So he’s not really sure why he’s surprised.
----
A/N: To the members of my community: the drabble requests are coming next! This fic was already in progress when I started the event; now that it's out of the way, the requests are next on my plate :3
Fandom: NewS
Pairing: Masuda/Tegoshi
Rating: PG-15 (mentions of sex)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Two and a half months later, and Masuda finds himself eating his own words.
A/N: Much love goes out to yuukarin for checking this for errors :3 I'm taking a break from multi-chaptered fics in favor of getting out some of the oneshots/drabbles that are starting to stack up in my list of "to do" fics X.x I hope you like it!
“This is a dumb idea,”
“Oh, hush,” Koyama pointedly ignores him, continuing to type in an unbothered manner. Behind him, Masuda resists the urge to petulantly cross his arms and pout, feeling vaguely violated by the idea of the older man putting all of his personal information on the internet without his consent. “Shige, tell him it’s a perfectly good idea.”
Kato glances up from the textbook he’s been studying, entirely unimpressed. “He’s right. It is a dumb idea.” Koyama stops typing long enough to give him an insulted look, to which Kato rolls his eyes. “Those dating sites never work, Keii.”
“Hey, we met on one of those sites!”
“No, we reconnected on one of those sites,” This is a familiar argument, and Masuda chuckles at it. He’s heard the story of how they met several times-best friends in high school, separated in college, reconnected through the internet-and somehow, whenever they talk about it, they always end up bickering.
Koyama pouts, unhappy with his answer, but after a few moments goes back to his previous task. Masuda continues to look disgruntled.
Kato sighs. “As misguided as Keii is,” he starts, smiling innocently when the man in question sends him a sharp look, “he has a point.” Masuda looks a little bit betrayed, and the slightly younger man explains, “You’ve been kind of a hermit ever since… well, you know.” Masuda grimaces at the reminder of his last relationship, which had ended rather badly. “It’s not a bad idea for you to be a little more social.”
“That’s right,” Koyama says with a sage nod. When Masuda continues to look skeptical, he adds, “If nothing else, it will be good publicity, Massu.”
“Don’t call me that.” Masuda half-snaps, deflating almost immediately after. He hates it when his friends use his stage name like that; admittedly, it’s a little bit paranoid, but he can’t stand the idea of his professional life getting mixed in with his personal one. And Koyama knows that. “And this is absolutely not going to be a publicity stunt.”
He’s already decided, if he’s going to be doing this at all, it will be on his terms. And one of those terms -the most important one, in his opinion-is that this whole fiasco have not a trace of his alter ego; he doesn’t want half the world to know that one of Japan’s biggest superstars has resorted to using a dating website, albeit under protest. And he certainly doesn’t want to deal with the freaks that will no doubt crawl out of the woodwork to stalk him when word gets out.
And anyway, if he’s going to date someone, he wants it to be actually him -Masuda Takahisa, semi-small town boy who happened to get lucky at an audition he entered on a dare-not the idol that the media has turned him into.
Koyama debates this with him for a few minutes -because as Masuda’s manager, it’s his duty to encourage anything that might increase his popularity, but as his friend, he kind of understands where the other is coming from-but after a few half-hearted attempts gives in and let’s Masuda fill out the rest of the form with proper, personal information.
When he finally submits the profile, Masuda sits back with a sigh, looks at the screen of his laptop and feels a surge of skepticism. It isn’t going to work, he knows, and he’s going to end up feeling like a fool for even trying.
~***~
Two and a half months later, and Masuda finds himself eating his own words, sitting nervously in front of his laptop and fidgeting with his hair, collar, anything within reach, waiting anxiously for a webcam chat to begin. This is the first time they’ll be talking face to face, and he’s admittedly feeling a little bit shy.
They’ve talked on the phone already, of course; exchanged text messages, traded pictures. There hasn’t been a day yet that Masuda hasn’t woken up to a message on his cellphone, cheerful and pleasant, or an email in his inbox wishing him a good day.
But this is different. A video chat is only a step away from meeting in person, and Masuda would be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried about the impression he’s about to make.
Before he can worry any farther, the screen in front of him abruptly flickers on, and he nearly jumps in surprise. A giggle follows it, and despite the fact that it makes him flush in embarrassment, it’s too cute a sound for him to really be frustrated or bothered by it. He leans back, then forward a bit, finally readjusts his monitor so he can properly see. And there he is, wearing the same smile Masuda has seen in every picture sent, eyes sparkling prettily.
Masuda wonders how he got so lucky.
“Taka~!” The young man hums excitedly, sitting forward a bit. “I can see you!”
He sounds so honestly astonished by this that it makes Masuda laugh. “I can see you too,” he affirms, still chucking. The other looks unabashed. Masuda blushes, feeling a little bit shy as he murmurs, “You look… really good, Yuya,”
Tegoshi Yuya, the young man that has managed to so thoroughly capture his attention, beams at the compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself,”
They spend the next hour like that, talking pleasantly. Admittedly, Tegoshi does most of the talking -he usually does-but Masuda enjoys every moment of it. There’s something oddly simplistic about the younger man that appeals to Masuda; he wears his heart on his sleeve, unashamed of his faults, and that’s a rare trait among the people Masuda is used to handling.
And, most importantly of all, he’s completely out of touch with the current media frenzy in Japan. As a psychology student attending school in America, Tegoshi only knows him as ‘Taka’. He doesn’t even know that Massu exists.
And that’s probably what attracts Masuda the most. Tegoshi likes him for him, not for what he’s imagined to be. And that feels kind of amazing.
~***~
Three months later and Masuda finds himself obsessively checking his phone for text messages in between the various sessions of a photo shoot. He’s a little bit worried, honestly. It’s unusual for them to go this long with out some form of communication, even if it’s just a quick text to let the other know they won’t be available that day. But today there’s been nothing, and that makes him uncomfortable, concerned.
It isn’t until after the shoot finishes, when he’s slipping into his jacket and saying his goodbyes, that his phone chimes awake in his pocket. He nearly trips over himself, scrambling to get to it. The message there is short, simple, but it sends a spark down Masuda’s spine, excitement and nervousness mingling all at once in a way that he hasn’t felt since their first few phone calls.
I’ll be in town this Saturday.
Want to meet up?
~***~
Masuda picks a small, out of the way little restaurant, one that he frequents on his own time fairly often, particularly when he wants a quiet night without any hounding from the media. It’s a quaint little place, reserved mostly for locals who know about it, run by a friendly family that doesn’t mind occasionally sheltering a harried idol. He’s been coming here for years, and can easily admit that it’s his favorite spot.
Which is why he thinks it’s the perfect place for his and Tegoshi’s first “real” date. They’ve had plenty over webcams and phone calls, but this time it’s special.
Because this time, there won’t be the static of a faulty connection, or the awkward silences that come with being unable to see each other. This time they can touch, feel, experience it properly. The thought of it alone makes Masuda want to shiver, excited, anxious. He’s looked forward to this for months, and now, he’s waiting at his usual table, absently toying with his napkin, trying not to look too eager.
Tegoshi is late in showing up. Not overly so, but a little too much to be considered fashionable. Masuda is just starting to feel a bit disheartened when he finally arrives, looking far better in real life than he ever did on a computer screen.
Masuda stands to greet him, manages to bang his knee on the table in the process. It’s embarrassing, but Tegoshi glances over at the sound of it, smiles widely, looking delighted and a little bit amused, and Masuda can’t bring himself to care that he might look like a bit of a fool.
Tegoshi approaches, smiling cheerfully, and Masuda stumbles over his greeting, a little too star-struck to get it right.
The date goes well. It’s no better or worse than their usual fare, but there’s something ridiculously enchanting about being able to see Tegoshi right in front of him; to hold his hand shyly under the table; to kiss his cheek when he smiles in that way that makes Masuda’s knees quiver. It feels a little bit like magic.
They leave together, shoulders bumping, talking in quiet voices while Masuda pays the check and then leads him out.
Tegoshi drops hints; tiny, sly ones that it takes Masuda a few moments to start catching. But when he does, he smiles, remembers the late night phone calls that had tipped into more risqué subject matter with a small shudder of excitement, and ten minutes later, they’re kissing frantically, safely ensconced in the privacy of a high end hotel room, pawing at each other’s clothes and making a steady beeline for the bed.
Masuda thinks, for maybe a few seconds, that they’re moving too fast. And then Tegoshi’s hand wiggle’s its way into his pants, and he doesn’t do much more thinking after that.
~***~
Afterwards, they lay together, Tegoshi curled up against Masuda’s chest, nose pressing against his neck, tracing hearts along his skin sleepily. It’s a cozy sort of moment, with Masuda feeling warm and sated, Tegoshi’s weight comfortable against him, and he thinks he might be able to doze off just like this.
But something is bothering him, nagging at the back of his mind incessantly, and he knows that it’s not going to leave him alone. Especially not now.
“Yuya?”
The younger makes a soft noise, nuzzles at his shoulder plaintively for a moment before answering. “Hm?”
Masuda sighs, drapes an arm around Tegoshi’s bare shoulders. Their skin is still damp, slick and shiny from sweat, and while ordinarily Masuda would be pushing them both towards the shower, on Tegoshi it’s less disgusting and more… fascinating. (In a gross sort of way.) “…I need to tell you something,”
Tegoshi hums, draws a line down Masuda’s chest with a finger, like he can’t hear the vaguely grim tone the older is using. “What is it?”
Masuda grunts, catches his hand before he can go about turning him into some sort of human canvas, mostly because it’s kind of ridiculously distracting, having Tegoshi’s fingers dancing across his skin, and he thinks that they’ll never have this conversation if he keeps it up. “I haven’t…” Tegoshi’s fingers wiggle against his own, eventually sliding into place and intertwining them together, and Masuda smiles, “…I haven’t told you what I do for a living yet.”
This apparently perks Tegoshi’s interest, because he lifts his head up and fixes Masuda with a curious look. “No,” he confirms, “Every time I ask, Taka changes the subject and then we both pretend that I don’t notice,”
Masuda thinks he would laugh at that, if it didn’t make the butterflies already fluttering around in his stomach kick into overdrive. “Well…” Why is this so hard? “I… you’ve heard of… ‘Massu’… right?” Tegoshi is watching him with an impossible to read expression, and for some reason, it only makes Masuda even more nervous. “I mean, I know you’ve been in America for the last couple of years, but--”
“I’ve heard of him,” Tegoshi interrupts, face still blank. Masuda wants to squirm under that look, but thinks that if he does so, he’ll end up falling off the bed.
“I’m… Yuya…” He wonders why this is so difficult; it should be easy. It’s his life, after all, the world that he’s lived in for years now. And he kind of wants Tegoshi to be apart of that life, especially now. But somehow actually choking out the words seems almost impossible. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “That’s me, Yuya. I’m… Massu.”
He glances, a bit nervously, at Tegoshi out of the corner of his eye; sees the younger smile, slow and sly, and all at once he realizes what that sounded like. And then he groans, because now Tegoshi must think he’s a freak of some kind, some lunatic who stalks online sites and lies about who he is. Because it does sound kind of unreal, he realizes, and he’s really not sure how to explain it.
He’s so wrapped up in his inner panic that he almost doesn’t hear it, Tegoshi’s voice, quietly amused, “I know.”
It takes his mind a moment to catch up, but when it does, he stiffens, turns to look at Tegoshi with slightly narrowed eyes, because he couldn’t have heard that right; there’s no way… “What?”
Tegoshi sits up, just enough so that he can see Masuda’s face properly. “I already knew about that.” He repeats casually, like this is perfectly normal.
And all at once, Masuda feels his whole world tossed onto its side. He thinks he can feel the cold realization as it dawns on him slowly, pieces fitting together, coming to a conclusion that hurts more than anything else in the world.
He sits up properly, nearly tossing Tegoshi off balance. “How long?” He demands sharply, and when Tegoshi hesitates, asks again, “How long did you know?”
Tegoshi looks surprised, shocked, like he can’t believe it, and Masuda is struck with an overwhelming urge to shake him, just to make him stop, because damn it, he doesn’t get to look heartbroken right now. “I…” Masuda doesn’t think he’s ever heard the younger stutter before, or even falter when speaking. Oddly enough, it gives him no pleasure to hear it now. “Since the beginning. I’ve known the whole time.”
And that’s too much. Masuda thinks he can actually feel his heart breaking at the very thought; the idea that the person he’s come to truly care for has been playing him the entire time, just like everyone else, shakes his world to it’s core.
He doesn’t think he can handle anymore.
Shakily, he tosses the blankets off, starts searching for his pants, his mind focused only on getting away from Tegoshi. “I can’t believe this,” he says angrily, more to himself than anything else. “I can’t believe I… I trusted you. And you’re just like all the others…”
Tegoshi scrambles, tries to get a purchase on his arm, his torso. “Taka, please, wait!” But Masuda simply shakes him off, maybe a little bit more roughly than he’d intended, not looking back. He tosses his shirt on, is steps away from the door when Tegoshi’s voice hits him again, a near shout this time, sounding so frustrated that he’s near tears, “Massu, stop!”
And for a reason he can’t fathom, Masuda does.
“You idiot,” Tegoshi goes on, and Masuda thinks that he really is crying, if the trembling of his voice is any indication, but he can’t bring himself to look. “Don’t you remember who gave you that nickname in the first place?”
He does. Not very well, admittedly; it’s an old memory, one he’s only held onto for all these years because it’s so important. He can’t remember why it’s important, just that it is; very, very important, fundamental to his very being, part of what turned him into who he is today. But the details are fuzzy, vague, like something out of a dream…
“You were seven years old,” he hears, and it takes Masuda a moment to realize that it’s Tegoshi talking, not his own subconscious. “And you’d just moved with your family to a new town.” Masuda wants to turn around now, to face the younger man, watch his face while he talks, but some small part of him refuses to let him; is too busy remembering in sudden vivid detail that it’s paralyzing. “And you were the new kid, and you were strange, and no one wanted to talk to you. Except… except for one little boy.” Tegoshi’s voice hitches, and he sniffles. “A little boy that had to move away the next year.”
That’s what breaks the spell, what grounds him back into reality; the harsh reminder of what he lost. It seems like such a small thing now, but at the time, it had been earth shattering for him.
He turns, swings back around to face the bed again. Tegoshi is half-crumbled it, rubbing at his eyes, looking small and vulnerable and all kinds of other things that Masuda has never associated with him before. And for a very small instant, Masuda can see it; can see the resemblance to the little boy that he’d nearly forgotten about, the similarities.
And oddly enough, the only thing he can really think to do is marvel at how well he’s grown up, how beautiful he’s become.
“I’d hoped,” Tegoshi says, voice wavering just a bit. He’s not looking at Masuda, and the older really wishes he would, “that I’d find you again, you know? We were just kids, but… Massu was my first friend.” He shrugs vaguely, as though that explains it completely, even though it barely even scratches the surface. “I heard about… you. The singer you, I mean.” Tegoshi smiles faintly here, amused. “And I thought… it was just a coincidence, you know? There’s no way; Massu’s too shy for that. And then I found your name on that website, and…”
He trails off, and Masuda realizes somewhat belatedly that sometime during his story he’d come closer, his legs moving of their own accord, until he’s standing right in front of Tegoshi, the younger looking up at him with large, familiar eyes.
And all of a sudden, Masuda wonders how he never saw it earlier. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, although whether it’s at his own obliviousness or his sudden realization, it’s impossible to tell. He reaches out, hands touching Tegoshi’s cheeks, holding him steady, striving to get as good a look as he possibly can. “You… why didn’t you say something?”
Tegoshi smiles, small and sad. “You didn’t remember,”
And it’s not enough, not really, but Masuda thinks he understands; thinks he’d probably do the same thing, in that situation. And all at once, he’s reaching out, tugging Tegoshi to him, pressing his face into the crook of the younger’s neck. Tegoshi is tense in his arms for all of two seconds before he melts into it, arms curling up, encircling Masuda’s waist loosely as he murmurs softly against the older man’s hair, “Massu…”
And Masuda nearly snaps at him, just like everyone else; nearly tells him to shut up, not to call him that; no one calls him that off stage. Except he stops, because, he realizes with alarming surprise, he doesn’t mind it so much. Not when it’s Tegoshi, who says it like it’s real, without the ridiculous adoration that comes from the fans, the stern tones that comes from the people he works with. It feels normal when Tegoshi calls him that. Like it’s simply a fact of the universe; to Tegoshi, he’s Massu. He always has been.
He always will be.
~***~
They spend another day in the hotel, neither of them willing to head back to the real world just yet. Surprisingly, only a third of the time is spent on sex. The rest they spend curled up together, catching up on each other’s lives, talking in low voices like they used to back when they were children, when they’d hide under the blankets and trade secrets and giggles.
They sleep, too, in little spurts here and there, usually waking up after an hour or two only to start the cycle again. Masuda thinks he could live like this, spending all of his time with Tegoshi, cuddled up in bed, sleeping occasionally, but otherwise just existing.
It’s a nice thought.
Late in the afternoon, he wakes up alone. It’s startling, after having spent so much time practically attached to the younger, and he sits up groggily, searches the room for any sign of Tegoshi. He catches a flash of movement from behind the door leading out of the bedroom, blinks tiredly and starts attempting to roll out of bed. “Yuya?”
There’s a bit of a racket from just outside of where Masuda can see, and a few seconds later, Tegoshi pops his head in, beams at Masuda happily as he slips in and moves towards the bed. He’s wearing pants now, the older notes in some sleepy rendition of dismay.
“Hey,” Tegoshi murmurs, climbing onto the bed. Masuda is hardly fazed when he feels the younger drape himself across his back, arms worming around his neck, hugging him pleasantly. He does, however, smile when he feels a kiss being pressed to the shell of his ear. “You were sleeping; I didn’t want to wake you.”
Masuda just shakes his head, rubs at his eyes tiredly, contemplates dragging Tegoshi back into bed for another nap. “What time is it?”
“Around three,”
He groans, realizes that he had an interview scheduled for that morning. An interview that he blew off for good reasons, granted. But still… “Koyama’s going to kill me…” He mumbles, wonders why his manager hadn’t called him to remind him about it. He starts searching for his cellphone, and stops short when Tegoshi reaches around and dangles it in front of him loosely.
“You mean Kei-chan?” He says, ever cheerful, not at all bothered by the fact that he’s just managed to thoroughly confuse Masuda. “He called you earlier. He’s really nice, you know. He said he’d reschedule the stuff you had to do today, and that you can have the day off.” Another kiss is pressed against his skin, this time to his shoulder. “Isn’t that nice?”
It takes Masuda a moment to realize, much to his horror, that Tegoshi had answered his phone. Without permission. “I… Yuya…” His voice is somewhat strangled as he reaches out to take his phone back. “…you and I are going to have to have a serious talk about personal space.”
Tegoshi pouts; Masuda can’t see it, but he can feel it, and despite himself, finds that it doesn’t really bother him as much as it might with someone else. He can live with an invasion of his privacy, he decides. And he can live with maybe, just this once, mixing his career with his love life. He thinks he wouldn’t mind if a couple of magazines caught them out on a date sometime, printed pictures and stories. It startles him, but he thinks that he could easily let it all go, just this once.
But then, Tegoshi seems to be the exception to every rule he’s ever made. So he’s not really sure why he’s surprised.
----
A/N: To the members of my community: the drabble requests are coming next! This fic was already in progress when I started the event; now that it's out of the way, the requests are next on my plate :3