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marineko's fanfiction
Arashi: Idolization (Part 1) 
22nd-Jan-2011 12:36 am
AUTHOR: Marineko/mylittlecthulhu
FANDOM: Arashi
PAIRING: Sakumoto
RATING: R-ish?
DATE: January 22nd, 2011
WORD COUNT: 12,717
NOTES/DISCLAIMERS: I do not own Arashi. This was prompted by salwaphoenix, who wanted a fic based on silverchair's Miss You Love. Some angst, some sap.


I'm not, not sure
Not too sure how it feels
To handle everyday
Like the one that just passed
In the crowds of all the people

- "Miss You Love" by silverchair


If it isn’t for the fact that Sho is pinning him against the wall, Jun probably would have sunk to the floor. He hates this, the way Sho makes him feel like he is losing everything, like he is strapped on the worst roller-coaster ride or like he is free-falling without a parachute and he can’t slow things down or pause or stop from falling, and all he is able to do in the end is close his eyes and pray that he survives. He loses control of himself the moment Sho reaches for him; it doesn’t matter how many times he tells himself he will stop this, that he will tell Sho ‘no’ this time, the moment contact happens, sometimes even the moment Sho gives him that urgent look that says he wants Jun, now... in that moment everything else falls away and he becomes nothing.


“Sho. Sho-kun, what are you doing? Did you just come back from filming?” Sho shouldn’t even be there, Jun thinks. He doesn’t live in the dormitories, so there’s no reason for Sho to be there. There’s especially no reason for Sho to be in his room, on his bed, drunk (but not really that drunk, Jun realises, noticing the gleam of intensity behind the slightly glazed eyes) and hands fumbling clumsily over Jun’s clothes. Fire and ice shoots up Jun’s spine and all he could do is stare at the other boy, wide-eyed. He doesn’t recognise this Sho - “his” Sho is smart and reliable and responsible and hardworking, even if he does have a temper that scares Jun at times, a temper that seems to get worse now that he’s filming this new drama of his. “His” Sho would not sneak into his room for a - he doesn’t even know what Sho wants, until Sho leans in and touches his lips experimentally to the hollow planes of Jun’s neck, causing Jun to suck in his breath in a hiss. “Sho-kun.”

“Shut up,” Sho mumbled. “You love me, anyway, don’t you? You should be happy, so shut up.”

Jun shakes his head and tries to push the older boy away, feeling more scared of this Sho than the angry one, the one who snaps at him for always being a pest. But Sho is stronger, and when Sho’s mouth moved from his neck to his lips Jun lets out a small whimper, closes his eyes, and lets it happen.

This isn’t what he means when he says he loves Sho, but it feels so good, despite the bitter taste on Sho’s lips that makes him think that he never wants to touch alcohol, even when he’s old enough.


It takes awhile for the blurry edges of his mind to sharpen again. When the pleasant glow thrumming through his entire self finally calms a little, he finds himself asking why does no one else make feel him the way Sho does. He hates it, but he misses it at the same time. His breathing has yet to steady, but Sho has somehow maneuvered him to the couch where he is sitting, and is now next to him, still looking at him with an odd expression he can’t place. “Sho,” he manages, always amazed at how incoherent he feels with Sho, how out of breath and mindless, to the point where speech takes such extraneous effort. “Sho. What the fuck?”

Sho seems to flinch away from his question, but it happens in a split second, and he could have been mistaken. “I’m -” Sho starts to say, but stops, and asks a question instead. “Did I hurt you?”

Jun feels the irony of it before he lets out a bark of a laugh, harsh and abrupt. “You’re asking me this, now?” What about when he had been nothing but a kid who wore his heart on his sleeve, who hero worships this person who was like no one he had known before? Sho’s question feels like eight years too late.

“It’s been awhile, and I didn’t -”

“I haven’t needed that kid-glove treatment in a long time, Sho,” Jun interrupts. “And it’s not like there haven’t been others. So stuff it.”

Jun is expecting anger, or perhaps indifference, or relief, but Sho’s eyes just dull over as he nods. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say now, how he is supposed to feel about the unexpected relapse. It has been too many years since the last time.


Sex hurts. Jun had always known this, in a vague kind of way, but it still surprises him when Sho pushes into him for the first time. The white-hot burning pain that explodes into him and causes him to let out a strangled cry - even Sho pauses, briefly, but he grits his teeth and reaches up for the older boy, willing Sho to continue, because he just wants it to be over as soon as possible.

“It’s going to hurt,” Sho had said earlier, even though Jun knows that Sho has no intention of stopping.

“I like the pain,” he had replied, with an easy confidence he doesn’t feel at all; after months of Sho sneaking into his room or dragging him into dark, enclosed spaces, he is learning.

He lies.


When Jun tries to remember the past he always gets it wrong. He doesn’t know, or accurately remember, how long his strange relationship with Sho lasted. It is like living a double life; triple, if one counts their private lives and their time as idols as separate. He remembers that - feeling like he is on Procrustes’ bed, having some stretching him to limits too painful to reach while others cut off parts that they think didn’t fit.

He remembers wishing that he was more like Sho, who seems to handle all his responsibilities effortlessly. He loved Sho, the way boys loved their older brothers - he had thought that Sho could never do wrong. He had followed Sho around the way annoying younger brothers do, but he isn’t Sho’s brother, and Sho had too much on his own plate to deal with Jun’s infatuation. He still remembers the times Sho had had enough and flared up at him. The first time Sho sneaks into his room - that’s probably just different kind of breakdown, something in Sho snapping and needing to hurt someone else in return. By then Sho had learned that Jun would endure anything for him.

It takes awhile, but after enough time has passed Jun starts to connect the ways their different lives affect each other.


“Rough day?” Jun asks, wondering if it’s a good thing that he loves the way Sho’s arms are wrapped oh so casually around his waist, Sho’s lips leaving trails of kisses on his shoulders and neck. He even likes the way Sho’s other hand is holding him, in a grip so tight he’s sure it will bruise. He doesn’t know what’s really going on between them, but as he slowly accepts that Sho isn’t quite the person he had always looked up to, he learns something new.

“Just a normal day, I suppose,” Sho replies, then laughs a little. “As if I know what ‘normal’ is. Can’t even get to fucking class in peace.”

“Is... is it true?”

“Is what true?” But Sho must know what Jun is thinking of. News travel fast; he must know that Johnny has already heard of his latest outburst, even though the tabloids aren’t going to hit the stands until the next morning. One of the juniors had been listening at the door - whether he had went with the intention of eavesdropping, or it was just a case of being conveniently at the right time and place, Jun will never know - and of course within minutes everyone else knows.

So Jun just looks at Sho; he doesn’t know yet how to be stern or scolding with this boy he admires so much who keeps insisting on disappointing him (or with anyone, really; Ninomiya always tells him he’s too much of a pushover) but there is a glimmer of it there, a promise of the person he might become one day. Something changes in the way Sho looks back at him, before Sho’s arms leaves his waist, reaches out to lock the door.

“Does it matter?” Sho asks.

He doesn’t care about the answer, and he doesn’t give Jun time or space to reply anyway. Jun knows the answer, and he knows that Sho knows, too. It doesn’t matter. What matters is this - behind closed doors, there is this dangerous game between them, one where he doesn’t even know the rules and Sho holds all the cards.

What matters is that he tries to hate Sho for it, but he knows that the opposite is happening. The nature of his love is changing, and he is afraid of what it might mean.


They sit in silence for what feels like a long time. Questions start filling his head, and he wishes that he is strong enough to ask them. Is this going to be a new pattern, or is it just a one time thing, a mistake? Are they going to be treating each other like normal again, and assuming the answer is yes, what does normal mean? Avoiding each other in their private lives and interacting as little as possible, the way they have in the last few years? Or are they supposed to learn to be friends again, assuming they had been friends once?

Too many questions. Jun’s pulse races just from the nearness of Sho; too many memories flood in and offer unwanted emotions and impulses. He could learn all the aloofness he wants, and Sho would still be able to turn him back into a silly boy with a silly infatuation. To anyone else he might be this impenetrable wall, but Jun knows that all it takes is one touch, one word from Sho, for him to fall to pieces. He stays quiet, until Sho speaks up and reminds him that they need to get ready to head for their next job.


Waiting rooms and vans. And then studios or concert halls, and more waiting rooms, and vans. He understands this much - he had sent in his application understanding this much. What he never expects is how it would make him feel so suffocated, sometimes. Like he is in a cage, but it’s even worse because it’s a cage of his own making. With every new single, every new endeavour the band makes, he is laying another brick, sealing himself into a wall.

He’s afraid that one day he would be sealed so completely, and he’d never be able to escape.

He smiles and waves at the throng of fans lined up outside. They wave back wildly, hands reaching out, and it is all he could do not to recoil. There are too many of them, and he’s overwhelmed and he’s scared.

“Wait until you get
really popular,” one of his senpais had said to him the other day. “Right now they’re only chasing after you because you’re one of us and you’ve been in a couple of pretty decent dramas. Just wait until you get really big, if you’re lucky enough to get big - that’s when things get really amazing.”

It’s enough to drive a person crazy.

He wonders if the others feel the same way, or if he’s the only one who isn’t sure what to do about what is happening to them. Because that’s how he feels sometimes - that things are merely happening to him, rather than him making things happen. Lately he’s taken to hiding at home on his free days instead of going out. He can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for Sho, who must face this crowd even when they’re not working.

That’s when it hits him, and he laughs, hard.

Sho and Aiba give him a strange look. Nino - for he’s just Nino now - ignores him completely, obviously too engrossed in whatever he’s reading in JUMP to care. Ohno, who has his face pressed against the window, fascinated by the sight of so many girls, seems oblivious.

“What’s so funny?” Aiba asks.

Jun is looking at Sho, who is looking back with an unreadable expression. “Nothing,” he says. “Just had a random thought.”

“A funny one?” Aiba persists. “If it’s funny then I want to know!”

“It’s not really that funny, now that I think of it.”

If he likens their situation to being in a cage, even if of their own making, then perhaps they are like animals trapped in it. One rages and snarls back at the hands reaching out to touch him; the other shrinks back in fear and intimidation. Either way, they’re both caught in some kind of circus or zoo.

It’s really not funny at all, Jun thinks.


Everything gets larger, grander, over time. It’s still waiting rooms and vans, except the waiting rooms are more comfortable and the vans are really limousines, one for each of them. So in the end, even the loneliness gets amplified. Not that Jun thinks the others think of it that way - Nino, for example, is perfectly happy with the game system in his car.

The fans are different, too. Jun is used to them by now, of course, and he is even grateful to them - their group has grown to be the thing he treasured most in his life, and he understands all too well that it is their fans that made their work possible at all. But there is a part of him, vestiges of the boy he used to be, who resents having to give up so much of himself for them. Everyone wants a piece of him, and there are times when he thinks that he has given all that he has to give.

Filming had went on like normal. Jun isn’t sure, but he thinks Sho is a little warmer towards him than usual. Perhaps that’s the answer - they’re going to be friends again, after so many years. He feels hope flare up in him, a small flame that feels almost unbearably bright.

He doesn’t show it, but he feels jumpy when Sho gives him little touches or says something even slightly suggestive - he’s seen Sho do that with the others, especially Aiba, and he himself have indulged in his own share of fanservice, which sometimes just translates to horsing around in public, really, but when it’s him and Sho he would stop short. They have history, even if it’s the kind neither of them would readily admit to anyone. It just doesn’t feel right to him - it’s like trying too hard, and it feels too fake. Sho apparently doesn’t always feel the same, and it takes him by surprise every time Sho pays special attention to him. And when or if Sho calls him by that nickname that is supposed to stay between them, he wishes the ground would swallow him up, he gets so embarrassed. It’s as if Sho is telling everyone everything they have ever done.


He’s laughing over something Aiba is saying when Sho walks into the room and he forgets what had been so funny in the first place. He drags his eyes away and focuses on Aiba, although he is distracted now, and the older boy notices.

Aiba lays a hand on his cheek, before reaching out to pull his glasses off, and sticks his face right in front of Jun. “You’ve got serious eye-bags,” Aiba says.

“Haven’t been sleeping well,” he says absently before he stops, a little horrified at what he is revealing. But Aiba doesn’t even guess what he’s thinking, because Aiba doesn’t know about Sho.

“Poor baby,” Aiba murmured, although there is a hint of amusement as Aiba speaks. This is what he likes about Aiba. Jun remembers once when Sho had a particularly bad episode with a fan, and the rest of them were gathered and worried about repercussions, and all Aiba did was laugh, saying that he wishes he could have seen it. The only way to keep sane is to be able to laugh at everything, Aiba had said to him once. “Girl problems? I can help you with that.”

I do not have girl problems,” Jun says, gritting his teeth, suddenly annoyed. This is why he doesn’t like Aiba, he decides. The older boy doesn’t know when to quit. He feels himself reddening as he thinks that Aiba’s guess is, perhaps, close enough to the truth.

“Oh, if it’s not, then is it school?”

School is safe enough, he supposes, so he shrugs as he picks up the glass of water a staff member had put out for him earlier. He feels Sho looking at him, but he doesn’t look back, sipping lightly.

Aiba continues, oblivious. “If you’re having school problems, then it’s easy. Ask Sho-chan for help!”

Jun barely manages to prevent himself from choking, but he isn’t able to stop the blood from rushing up to his face. “Sho... kun?”

“Yeah! He can tutor you, right, right?” Aiba is now looking inquisitively at Sho, who, unlike Jun, keeps a straight face.

“I already am,” Sho says. “Tutoring him, I mean.”

Sometimes Sho does that - hints to the others about what is really going on between them, although he does it so that only Jun really understands what he’s saying. Jun stops breathing as Aiba’s head whips back towards him, a suspicious look in his eye before settling on a grin. “Oh, then you’re okay, aren’t you, Jun.”

“Y-yeah,” Jun forces himself to speak, to breathe. “It’s just that I don’t want to impose on Sho-kun, that’s all.”

Sho walks over, then, and leans over Jun’s back so that they are cheek to cheek. “It’s not a problem,” he says. Out of Aiba’s sight, Sho’s hand slips under Jun’s shirt, and fingers caress the small of his back, finding his spine to trail down to his jeans - Jun bites his lips and grips the edge of his seat, hard, to prevent from making a sound or arching to the touch - before pulling away and settling on Jun’s shoulder. “I’m always here for the baby of our group.”

Usually Jun would snap at that; it’s a new thing, started by Nino (who else?), despite the fact that Nino isn't all that much older than him. Now all of them are calling him “the baby” or “the youngest” or “the kid” and even though he knows that they’ll forget all about it once it stops being fun, he resents it, the feeling that the rest of them are in some secret club he’ll never get in.

He’s still burning from Sho’s brief touch and he’s still finding it hard to find his voice, so he’s relieved when someone knocks on the door, peers in, and announces that it’s Sho’s turn. Sho leaves, and now it is just him and Aiba in the room.

Aiba looks at him pityingly, and it makes him think, in a burst of panic,
Aiba knows, but if the older boy does he’s not acknowledging it.

“You still have a crush on him, don’t you?” Aiba asks, and Jun just ducks his head. He wants to deny it, but it’s better for Aiba to think that it’s a crush than to know the truth. “Well, at least he’s less of a jerk about it these days,” Aiba goes on, without waiting for Jun’s reply. “Don’t worry; my brother went through one of those things, too. Followed me around for weeks and months, like a baby chick. It’s kind of cute, you know? Too bad now that he’s starting high school, he’s decided that he’s grown up and more level-headed than me,” Aiba finishes mournfully.

Jun doesn’t know how Aiba’s words are supposed to help him, but he smiles and feels himself relaxing anyway. Aiba has that effect on people, he supposes.

Not for the first time, he feels grateful to be blessed with the group members he has.


“Hey, Jun?”

Jun pauses on his way to the greenroom, and waits for Aiba to catch up. “Yeah?”

“You seemed a little weird at the filming today. Are you okay?”

He smiles. “I’m fine.”



Really, really?”

“Aiba,” he says, in a tone that is designed to shut his friend up. He knows that if he indulges, Aiba’s questioning could go on forever.

“Jun,” Aiba says, matching his tone.

Jun sighs. “What.”

“You know you could tell me anything, right?”

Aiba’s being sincere - he sees that, and he’s touched. It’s strange; among all of them, sometimes it’s Aiba who looks out for him the most. It’s annoying, but it’s sweet all the same. “I know,” he says, more gently than before. “But sometimes I need to sort things out by myself.”

Aiba nods. “Hmm. Okay.” Aiba pats him on the arm. “If you’re sure.” Then, looking behind them, Aiba smiles gleefully and lands a kiss on his cheek, dodging before Jun could hit him. He hurries the rest of the way to the greenroom, leaving Jun behind.

“What was that about?” a voice appears from behind, causing Jun to stumble forwards in surprise.

“Nothing,” he says. His tone couldn’t be any more different than the one he used with Aiba - cool, distant, indifferent. It makes his meaning clear - it’s none of Sho’s business.

“I see,” Sho murmurs, and moves onward without asking any more. For some reason, even though Jun is the one who refuses to answer, he feels like he’s the one who has been left hanging.

When Sho pauses, a few steps before Jun, and turns to him with a smile he hasn’t seen directed towards him in a long time, Jun feels that it isn’t just his heart that pauses; the whole world must have momentarily stopped spinning in that second. “Aren’t you coming?” Sho asks.

He nods uncertainly and steps forward, wondering if this is a new game Sho has come up with.


“I missed you,” Sho says, as he jerks Jun’s shirt upward in an attempt to get rid of it. Jun feels like every nerve in his body jumps with the movement, or rather, the words.

He lets Sho pull his shirt all the way off, and even as Sho’s attention moves to the next article of clothing, he asks in a thick voice, “really?”

“Of course. All that time, without you to get me off? I thought I’d explode.” Sho is impatient and exaggerating; Jun knows that Sho takes his studies seriously, and would have spent that time studying for his exams, which was why he had taken time off work in the first place. But all the same, something inside him deflates, or breaks, because he is suddenly devoid of emotion, and he feels like he is watching everything from afar. Sho doesn’t seem to notice his sudden detachment.

He hears his vocal response to Sho’s ministrations, he is vaguely aware of his hands half pushing, half pulling at Sho, but it’s like it isn’t him. He closes his eyes and thinks
this is a dream, but a voice speaks out in his mind that if it’s a dream then Sho would have loved him back.


Ohno’s sick and Sho is being a mother hen, hovering over their oldest all the time and smothering him with questions and careful instructions. Something in Jun clenches and twists; it’s like jealousy but not really, because he understands where Sho’s coming from and he loves and worries about Ohno too, but at the same time he wonders if Sho would ever be that attentive with him?

He buries the thought at the back of his mind, dismissing it as useless. Instead, he focuses on his worry for their leader, because while Ohno have been known to exaggerate his illnesses now and then to get out of work (or get out of being scolded for slacking off at work) when he’s practically stalwart and uncomplaining like the way he is that day, it means that it’s pretty serious.

Sho convinces Ohno to lie down in the greenroom while the rest of them do the final checks of the question list. Jun listens to them at first, but as Sho and Nino get into a debate over whether a story of one of their exploits should be “okay-ed” for public consumption or not, with Aiba playing referee, Jun slips away.

“Riida,” he says, pushing the door open, but the figure on the sofa was sleeping. Jun goes over and touches Ohno’s forehead; his temperature had yet to go down. There is a blanket covering Ohno that Jun knows is Sho’s doing, and he is warmed by the thought of Sho taking care of their leader even as the not-quite-jealousy resurfaces.

Ohno’s eyes flutter open and it takes awhile before he manages to croak out Jun’s name. Jun gets him some water to drink and tells him that he should have just told his manager to try to reschedule, or for them to do without him for a day, because he obviously isn’t in any condition to be working. Ohno dismisses his words and insists that he would be fine.

He just raises a disbelieving eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything, because he knows that Ohno wouldn’t back down. If he was Sho, perhaps he would’ve been able to talk Ohno into going home, he thinks. But then again, if he was Sho, he would have trusted Ohno to make the decision for himself, like Sho had done. He reaches up to play with the spikiness of Ohno’s hair as he tells the older man, affectionately, to go back to sleep.

Sometimes he thinks Ohno is his favourite. Ohno has always been like a refuge to him, a place he could go to when everything else gets overwhelming and he needs to calm down. Even now, sick as he is, Jun feels the tension from being in the same room as Sho dissipate, replaced by a soothing sort of emptiness. And even when he was younger, and the others revelled at treating him like the only kid in the group, Ohno hadn’t said much, even if he didn’t exactly come to Jun’s defence. Ironically, the fact that Ohno didn't treat him like a kid was also the thing that made him feel like he could act like the younger one, when it's just them. Over time Jun had developed a habit of choosing to be nearer to their leader whenever they’re together and allowed to sit wherever they want.

Ohno is also the one who had given Jun perspective, even if he’d be surprised if Jun ever told him. Jun realises that he loves Ohno, and that he rather likes it when Ohno, too, acts like a kid around him, despite the fact that he keeps reminding their leader of his age. “Act your age,” he would say, sternly, delighting at the way Ohno ignores his prickly exterior and snuggles up to him anyway.

He loves Ohno, as if their leader is family, friend, and - though he’d never admit it to anyone else - pet, all at once. But not the way he loves Sho. So the moment he accepts and understands his feelings for their oldest was also the moment he stops being confused about how he feels about Sho.

As Ohno tries to sleep, Jun speaks in a low, comforting voice, not really caring what he is talking about, because he knows that Ohno just needs the cadence of his voice. As Ohno drifts off, his hand reaches out for Jun’s, still playing with his hair, and pulls it away, keeping it in his. He gives Jun a small squeeze, indicating his thanks, and then he’s asleep.

He looks at the greenroom doorway, and Sho is there.

“How long have you been there?” he asks, as quietly as he could.

“Awhile. Didn’t want to say anything, since Satoshi needs his sleep.” Jun nods his agreement, and his hand leaves Ohno’s as he stands up.

“Is it time?”

“Yes.” Sho looks at the sleeping Ohno. “We’ll let him sleep. I checked; they’re letting him phone in for his interview later. We'll wake him up when we’re doing the photo shoot.”


“Come on, they’re waiting for us.” Sho reaches for Jun’s elbow; a simple gesture, really. But Jun smoothly steps aside, evading, and heads out.


He’s changed.

He knows he has. He feels it - it’s like he has a choice, now. He doesn’t have to just let things happen to him. He could use everything to his advantage. He could let his bursts of temper run its course and others would just give him space. He could show his displeasure openly. And most importantly, he knows now that just because he couldn’t help that he’s sometimes embarrassed, or scared, or both, it doesn’t mean that he has to let anyone else know. He learns to maintain a careful aloofness so that people can’t guess at his feelings, and he learns that there are ways to make people keep their distance (much less damaging ways than the ones Sho had used, that’s for sure).

Even the other members are starting to keep a small distance.

Sho is the last to arrive to the greenroom that day. Jun had arrived right after Aiba, almost forty minutes ago, and is already starting to get impatient. When Sho reaches out to ruffle his hair, an odd gesture even in normal circumstances, but not so odd that his reaction was justificable, he jerks away violently and tells Sho coolly not to mess his hair up; it had taken a lot of time to get right.

Perhaps if one just listens to his words it might not sound so bad, he thinks. But somehow, years of repressed hostility seeps through and colours his tone differently.

Everyone turns to stare at him, but he is just looking at Sho, who seems to understand.

This isn’t about what had just happened. This is about everything that has ever happened.

“My little brother’s all grown up,” Sho says. He knows that to the others it sounds like Sho’s making a joke out of it, but he’s the one who always listens when Sho speaks, and he’s the one who is looking at Sho in the eye. There is a thickness in Sho’s voice that Jun couldn’t place, an unfamiliar quality to the look in Sho’s eyes.

Sho is changing, too, although that only makes Jun feel more confused and unsure.

He wants to call out when Sho turns away. He wants to apologise, to say that he didn’t mean it. But he checks the impulse, and tells himself that it’s better this way. Sho is a weakness, one he couldn’t afford.

He’s starting to understand the rules of the game, and he’s refusing to play.


After three days have passed, Jun decides that Sho definitely has some kind of ulterior motive, because that’s the only explanation that makes sense. On the surface, it seems like Sho is just being friendly, but he thinks that Sho is trying to provoke him into something. He just doesn’t know what.

Sometimes when they find themselves alone, he feels the weight of their past bearing down on him, and he wonders if Sho feels it too. Then he feels like he, too, is waiting, for Sho to make a move, and let his intentions be known.

It gets so that just the thought of seeing Sho again – after all, these days they don’t really spend that much time with each other, even as a group – fills him with a sort of fervent anticipation, although Sho is never anything but perfectly nice to him, that he feels cheated and let down when it’s time to part.


It is awkward, and it is strange, and Jun knows everyone feels it. He feels it more than anyone else, more than anything he’s felt before. A wrench, like something important has been torn away from him.

Sho had finally grown bored of their game, and was now stepping aside, steering clear of Jun. He had known that the day would come, from the first time Sho came to him, but he had been trying to fool himself into thinking that it wouldn’t. It had lasted for long enough for him to even start believing his own lies. And now he’s left without even the friendship that they used to share.

Jun wonders if he picks up the pieces long enough, he’ll be able to find all of the fragments and piece what had been broken back together. It is awkward, and it is strange, and that first day of work with all of them together he thinks everyone feels the tension. Filming is easy enough, because he has the best friends and group members and even though they don’t quite understand what’s going on they are quick to fill in the gap where he and Sho used to be. Once they are off camera, though, is a different story.

He thinks about how his feelings for Sho had grown, or changed, or both. He would have done almost anything for the older boy, just to have Sho look back at him, or pay him any kind of attention. As their relationship changed, that part of him didn’t go away; it just got stored away somewhere inside of him, in a space painstakingly labeled with Sho’s name on it, and he keeps filling that space up with all of his hopes - that Sho would start to see him as more than a nuisance, that Sho would come to see him and actually want to see
him, that Sho would eventually start feeling the same way he did. But with a few words he had ruined the game for Sho, he had shown that he’s no longer the pushover Nino says he is, that he’s capable of fighting back, that he’s able to meet Sho on equal footing.

He is no longer that awkward, scrawny boy - even though he has to admit that he’s still rather scrawny - who worships the ground Sho walks on, which brings their precarious relationship to collapse upon itself. After all, the entire structure of that relationship had been built on that balance between Jun’s admiration and Sho’s irritation with said admiration.

He had thought that by taking a stand they could try to start over, but instead the very foundation of their relationship is destroyed, and he wonders if this is how people stop being alive, because he feels like something inside him had died.

On to Part Two

Marineko's Notes:
Comment in part 2, please ^^
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