"The Softest Pillow" fanfic series, completed: Maotsujun
Maotsujun
Title: Strength
A/N: Special thank you to misswoodihut, sparkles_n15, ohcrepe, ohsyojdub, junbait, maea_maie, jodie26, and of course, novemberbaby for their incredible, valuable support in my last blog entry. Thank you, thank you. Cross-posted this fic to ebisu_midnights.
Matsumoto Jun turned a corner and walked down the hall in long, even strides.
Where are you always off to in such a hurry? she would tease. Each time, his response would be the same: To get away from your nosy questions.
A crew member walked by and nodded curtly at him when Jun spared her a glance. “Ah Matsumoto-san? Are you looking for Ninomiya-san?” she asked as he swept briskly passed.
Jun slowed his steps so he could respond over his shoulder. “Yes. Am I headed the right way?”
“You want to make a left at the next hall. He was two doors down in the break room a few minutes ago.”
Jun nodded his thanks and as soon as the woman was out of sight he turned right.
You don’t always have to hold people at an arm’s length, you know. People are friendly if you’re friendly. She was always bold with her observations. I am friendly, he defended. She giggled and corrected him without a second thought: No, you’re intimidating.
He opened a door that led out into a different wing of the building. This time not looking at any crew who milled about the set. They didn’t pay much attention to him either, even though he had no business being there.
Something he realized early in show business is that if you walk with purpose anywhere, no one will question where you’re going.
Do you always have to be so critical? He pressed, irritated. I just have high standards for you, Jun-kun. You’re one of the best people I know.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he reached to retrieve it as he shoved open a slightly ajar door. It was from Nino: Gotta keep your head down better than that.
He pocketed the phone, ignoring the itch to look over his shoulder and back into the studio where he knew Nino would be staring after him.
Of course Nino would know where he was going. Nino was the one who tipped him off.
One hallway and a staircase jog later he slowed to a stop in front of a Women’s Restroom at the end of the hall. It was an empty corridor but that was expected. Though, if anyone passed by and saw him there would be no question, no alibi for him to throw out. Tabloids would have his picture up in days. Hours. His career would be in serious jeopardy. Johnny would shell out sums of money to keep the unpublished worst of the photos to a minimum. His manager would never let him out of his sight again.
What’s that look for? His words had a bite to them. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, Jun-kun. There’s people here all around you-your friends… your friends are here to help you too. Well-thought out words, like she had been thinking about saying these few small sentences for a long time. It was too easy to dismiss her: Mind your own business.
Jun breathed in deeply. He lifted a tentative hand to the door.
I care about you. We all care about you.
Two gentle knocks, then waiting. He resisted the urge to pace like some caged animal. It was all he could do to hold himself back from shouldering into the room. A few years ago she would have called that heroic. A prince. Ouji.
He waited patiently.
You shouldn’t care. He told her. He could still remember how annoyed he was that she was still standing there, not allowing him peace and quiet. Then she had the nerve to sit down and say nothing at all. And a moment later, he broke down.
She hadn’t answered. He lifted his hand again, knocking two more times. He leaned unconsciously closer to the door. Small subdued sobs permeated from behind it. “Mao-chan,” he said softly, “It’s me. Jun.” Muffled sobs now. “I’m coming in.”
He entered the Women’s Restroom quietly, hand going to the door behind him to mute its close with a soft click.
The bathroom was well lit with a row of light blue stalls lining the wall to his right and across from them were a row of sinks with a rectangular mirror over each. Each of the stall doors stood slightly ajar, except for one. The sobs seemed to have stopped together, replaced with hiccups and deep, uneven breaths.
“Mao-chan?” Even though his voice was gentle it echoed back to him from the bathroom walls. He stepped past a full length mirror and approached the closed stall. His hand went up automatically to press gently on the door and he leaned his forehead on it a moment after. “Hey. You okay?”
A small sniffle followed by garbled hiccup interrupted speech. “Y-yeah. Hi Ju-n-kun.”
“What’re you doing in there?” he asked gently.
“J-just studyin-g my sc-script.”
“In a stall?” he asked.
“It’s q-quieter in here.”
He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “Can you come out?”
Silence. A few sniffles, then a stifled mix of coughing and hard breathing. He could imagine her shaking her head, burying her face in her knees that were drawn up to her chest as she sat on the closed toilet lid.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He paused. “I’m going to stay here with you, all right? I’m going to be right out here.” He turned around so he could lean on one of the panels between the stall doors.
There was a short succession of sharp intakes of air as Mao willed herself to stop crying.
He listened to her take unsuccessful deep breaths, could imagine her shoulders shuddering violently at the effort.
“Nino told me.” He said softly, distracting her efforts. “He texted me and told me you missed one of your scenes in filming.” Before she could worry he went on, “He covered for you and said that you had told him you had an emergency and had to leave right away so you didn’t get a chance to tell anyone about your absence. Luckily K-san agreed with him so you’re fully covered. She’s still your manager, right?”
“Y-yes.”
“She’s a good one.”
Another long pause. She coughed a few times, struggling to just breathe. Jun slid down the stall panel to sit on the tiled floor. Waiting. He didn't realize he had balled his hand into a fist until he noticed a numbness in his forearm. He unclasped his hand, ignoring how much it shook, the sharp pain of his blood flowing back into his fingers. He stood up again, irritated with his helplessness. The silence punctuated each desperate gasp of air from the stall behind him. Finally he placed his palm back on the door, the closest he can be with her at that moment.
“You can cry, Mao-chan.” he said.
“N-n-no.”
“It's okay.” he leaned his forehead onto the panel. “I'm here. I promise I won't let anything happen to you. Just let everything out.”
“I- I- I-” the sentence stuck in her throat and she took a deep shuddering breath and tried again, “I'm tired of-of crying.”
“Sometimes you need to.” Her words, quoted from his lips.
He had slammed his fist onto the table, squeezing his eyes shut against the sudden onslought of uninvited tears. I never cry damn it. Mao hadn't touched him but her words were like the softest caress: Sometimes you need to.
Mao sniffled. Silence again, so sudden Jun knew she must have been holding her breath. Then came the soft gasps of air, gradually increasing in frequency, and as if her body couldn't hold it in anymore she finally began to cry. Jun closed his eyes as her cries broke over one another in rolling rhythmless waves. He could feel his fingers slowly grate on the stall door as he pulled his fingers to his palm into another fist. Jun never felt so useless.
He listened as the once silent tears wracked into sobs. He listened as her breathing turn into anguished inhales, battered exhales, and halting coughs. He listened to her chest heave with the effort to gasp in more air, only to force it out again in choking sobs. He listened as her throat turned raspy and her crying fell into harsh sighs. Jun listened until the only thing he could hear were Mao's exhausted, subdued sniffles.
He opened his eyes slowly. “Hey, Mao-chan.” He began, his voice catching slightly around another lump that had formed in his throat. He swallowed and continued. “Do you think you can open this door?”
“N- Not yet.” She said through gentle sighs, her tone apologetic.
Jun closed his eyes again, his fist opening to flatten against the cool panel of the restroom door again. “Do… do you want to talk?”
“Do I- Do I have to?”
Jun shook his head, forehead still leaning against the panel. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” There was a pause as he deliberated on saying his next words, worried they might be too forceful and he should just let them fall unsaid. He knew it was contrary to his own methods of coping. Before the pause stretched out any further and the opportunity was lost he added, “But sometimes, it makes the burden lighter to talk about it.”
She sniffled. He heard the sound of toilet paper being rolled out and realized she was probably running low on her makeshift Kleenex. Jun went into the next stall, and ignored the pain that locked into his knees from standing for such a long period of time. He pulled yards of toilet paper out of the roll and then came back around to the front of Mao’s stall again. “I’m going to hand you toilet paper through the bottom of the door, okay?” he said.
“O- okay.”
He leaned down and put his arm under the door slowly, so not to startle her. He heard her make a small broken sound and it took him a moment for Jun to register Mao was laughing, just a little. “You’re so cautious.” She said. The toilet paper was picked gently from his hand and he straightened up and resumed his position on the bathroom door: forehead and shoulder leaning on the door. “Thank you.” she murmured.
She blew her nose a few times, coughed a little and Jun was torn with a decision to get her water or to stay with her. She made the decision for him, however.
“Jun-kun, I-” she began, hesitating.
Jun stood straighter, pressing his hand against the door again, as if it was some extension of his ear and he could listen to her better this way.
“I-he-please don’t-” she said, in chopped, unclear words. She started hiccupping again.
“It’s okay, Mao-chan, it’s okay.” He soothed. “Take as much time as you need.”
Sniffling again, and Jun could tell she was crying silent tears. “I- I-” her next words came out in a rushed sigh, “couldn’tkickhimoff.”
Jun furrowed his eyebrow, trying hard to decipher what felt like coded words.
“He- he-” she said, her words getting garbled with tears, “I tried, Jun. I tried-”
“Okay, it’s okay Mao-chan,” he said quickly, soothingly. “I know you tried, don’t worry, just tell me what happened.”
“He- he-stronger…” she took a large gasp of air and then coughed.
“Mao-chan, I’m going to get you water-”
“No, please-” she pleaded, “Don’t g-go.”
“Okay, okay. I’m right here. I’m not going.” His words were sticking in his throat again.
She gasped for air again and then coughed to clear her throat. She began again, almost detached. “I- I- he held me d-down. I- I told him, Jun… I told him to st-stop.” She swallowed, took a sharp draw of air, “He-he was so much stronger.” her words began speeding up, almost hysterical, “I could-couldn’t k-kick him off. He- he was- hurting. Jun… it hurts. Just… I strug-struggled tu-to push him… him off. So heav-heavy.”
Jun’s eyes widened as he listened to what she was describing to him. His hands began to shake.
“So I- please…I just- I just- lied there. Bro-broken doll… he… I was so scared. Jun, I’m s-so scared.” Her words disintegrated into weak, small sniffles.
Jun just stood there, powerless. He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to strangle something. He wanted to go out and rain justice on the damned world that allowed something so unforgiveable happen to the most precious. But most of all he just wanted to make Mao’s hurt go away. And he couldn’t.
He opened his mouth, willing himself to say something. Anything. Jun, anything. Any-fucking-thing. But he couldn’t. Nothing came out.
“M-maybe..” she began through rapid hiccups, “M-maybe i-if I- Iwas st-stronger…I could-”
“No!” Jun said, a little more forcefully than he intended. It was difficult to talk around all the anger inside of him. “It’s not your fault, Mao-chan. Don’t you ever think this is your fault.”
“B-but if I just… if I- I just ki-kicked him off..”
“No,” he said firmly, “Mao-chan this is not your fault. You understand? This is not your fault.”
She didn’t say anything. He heard her make small whimpering sounds, could imagine her shoulders shaking again from the effort not to cry.
“Mao-chan,” he said, gently, “Can you open this door please?” He breathed in deeply, “I promise I won’t touch you. I promise.”
Blessedly, he heard the door lock click open and he took an awkward step backward off the door so he wouldn’t fall forward onto her. The door swung slightly forward, away from him.
“I’m going to open this door, okay?” he said.
“Mmhmm.” Mao agreed through hiccups.
Jun placed a hand on the door and pushed it slowly open. His hand was still shaking. He stood slightly to the right of the door, so he wouldn’t appear as a towering dark shadow when the light cast from the bathroom behind illuminated the stall. His efforts were in vain because she wasn’t even looking up at him.
Mao had drawn her knees up to her chest just as he imagined. Her arms were around her legs as she hugged herself into as small a ball as she could muster. Occasionally her shoulders would jerk as her body tried to find an even rhythm of breathing again. What he hadn’t imagined was everything else. Her hair was in disarray, sticking out in awkward angles from when she attempted to push it out of her face. Parts of her hair still glistened with tears. There were balls of toilet paper strewn in a small pile to the left of the toilet. Her face was hidden under the cover of her knees, arms, and hair.
He crouched down so he was level with her, his anger fading into the background and replaced with great, indescribable sorrow.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hello.” She murmured into her knees.
“Can you look at me?” he asked softly.
She shook her head.
“Please?”
Slowly, she peeked just over her arm. Strands of hair stuck to her forehead, her eyes were incredibly large and puffy, red from all the rubbing and crying. He crossed his arms, fingernails biting into his palms, resisting the overwhelming urge to push the hair out of her eyes, to hold her in his arms, rub soothing circles into her back and rock her back and forth.
“Hey,” he said gently.
“Y- you look, so sad.” she said, her arm dampening the quality of her voice.
He nodded. “It’s because I am. Mao-chan, I want you to know that what happened was not your fault. Okay?”
She nodded, but he had a feeling she was just doing that to appease him. What had happened in society so that women felt like they had to blame themselves for such horrible atrocities?
“When did this happen?” he asked.
“L- last night.” She said, unable to meet his gaze.
Last night.
“What are you doing at work?” he said, as gently as possible.
“I- I thought I could just… ju-just forget abou-about it.”
His mind swore every terrible word and insult he knew. Out loud he said, “Where did this happen?”
She buried her face behind her arms again. “His house.”
His. House. It took a moment for him to register what this meant.
“You… know him?” he tried to keep his anger in check but even he could hear it boiling into his words.
She nodded rapidly.
“Who? Who is it?” Jun asked, trying to keep his words calm and his intentions out of the sentence.
Mao must have heard the promise of blood though because she just shook her head. The minute movement grounded Jun again and he took a deep breath.
“We need to report this to the authorities, all right?” He uncrossed an arm and ran a shaky hand through his head at the realization that he really could murder someone for this girl in front of him.
She shook her head again, lifting her head a little to look at him just over her arm again. She had dried paths of tears running from the edges of her eyes. “It’ll ruin his career…”
“Ruin…” Jun repeated. “Ruin his career? To hell with his career, Mao-chan.” He took a deep shuddering breath, “You know he could do this again, right? To other women. Is that worth a career?”
Mao looked down again, into the cradle of her arms, and started to cry again.
“Mao-chan…” he began, his voice a gentle plead, “You understand why we have to report this, right?”
She nodded again.
Jun felt utterly helpless once more. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Just… be here with me?” Such a small, tentative request.
His reply was just as soft. “For as long as you need me.”
Author's note: I know that was tough for Jun (and Mao), but I have a bias for this ship so I put it for a rough ride and wanted to see where it set sail. I'm proud of Jun.