[fic] arashi - aiba/jun - stand-by
Jul. 12th, 2009 01:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cupcake4mafiaTitle: Stand-by
Pairing: Aiba/Jun
Rating: PG-13ish
Disclaimer: In no way do I claim the following is/has/will happen. This is only fiction written for fun.
Summary: Ten years later, Jun still has something to say. 1,126 words.
(because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
omnipresentdmat asked for it)
7/27/15: added to AO3
---
The trap floor drops and the stage closes over Jun’s head. In dim green light, women rush to strip off his clothes. Someone hands him a towel and he buries his face in it. For a moment, everything is white and soft and smells like detergent, but then his legs are being tugged into two layers of pants and he snaps back to reality. Ohno’s voice echoes in the empty space over their heads and the crowd roars in response. To the left, an assistant is asking sweetly, quietly, if Nino could not smoke under the stage because it’s a fire hazard. Jun glances over in time to see Nino laugh curls of smoke into her face.
They’re not as young as they used to be.
Finally, the staff disperses with a minute to spare and Jun sits in his little color-coded chair, foot tapping impatiently. Aiba realizes that his second shirt is on backwards and there’s a sudden scuffle to set him right again. Jun studies the shapes of Aiba’s back, painted in green and shadow. Nino hands him the half-burnt cigarette and he takes a long drag.
“You’re going to fuck up your voices before we even get to the MC,” Sho mumbles, chin tucked into Nino’s shoulder.
“What voices?” Nino chuckles.
Aiba tiptoes over to the group and leans in close to Jun’s ear.
“What are we whispering about?”
“Stand-by,” travels in a murmur across the floor and they step into place.
The trapdoor opens up and the light shines down on them. Jun looks at Aiba. Aiba always looks up.
---
Aiba marries a pretty comedian named Aya with horrible fashion sense and an infectious giggle. Their baby makes his first television appearance at 12 months, celebrities laughing in the split-screen as Aiba demonstrates the various faces he makes to get his son to smile. His wife is wary, though. The press raked her over when they announced their engagement and she sees her son’s future written in tabloid headlines. When he starts to walk, Aiba jokes about learning dance steps, and Aya moves back to her mother’s house. Aiba is devastated without his son, and Jun cringes to hear the names he calls Aya over the phone.
Of course, the shows go on. There’s a new single and a new dance and a new set of scarves and hats, and Aiba tells stories of domestic bliss so sweet and funny and believable that the rest of them are left speechless.
Jun knows he uses Aiba’s unhappiness as an excuse, but that doesn’t change the fact that Aiba is unhappy. Aiba is unhappy and lonely and growing angrier every day.
Jun needs it just as much as he wants it to stop.
---
Jun is sitting on the couch in the mixing booth as Nino plays the song he’s written for Ohno’s wedding reception. They’re just recording the guitar, now, and Jun has yet to hear the lyrics. He’s sure it will go on the album though. For the last two albums, Nino’s written three songs each.
Jun’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he looks down at the screen. It’s Aiba.
Nino starts to sing and he stares at Jun through the glass of the recording booth. He sings the words straight into Jun’s eyes and Jun knows they’re not the lyrics that will be printed in the liner notes.
The sound technician doesn’t speak up, just takes this time to flip through his notes; Jun can see him just out of the corner of his eye.
Nino glances down at his strings and this is Jun’s opportunity to look away.
When they were teenagers, Nino cornered Jun in a hotel hallway.
“You should forget what you saw,” he warned. “I’m not the same as you.”
Twenty years later, Jun wishes he could use the same lie.
---
It’s Christmas and the streets are packed. With their scarves pulled up over their mouths, Jun and Aiba weave through unnoticed, Aiba grabbing Jun’s gloved hand and tugging him through the café door. They sit in a private-looking corner tucked behind the stairs. A starry-eyed waitress in an elf hat tells them that their peppermint mochas are on the house. Cheerful English music pipes through the speakers as Aiba burns his hand on his mug and reels back, sticking his thumb in his mouth.
This is perfect. This is just how Jun would have wanted it, five years ago.
“Masaki,” he says.
Aiba presses his wet thumb to his napkin, waiting expectantly. His cheeks are still red from the cold.
“I have to tell you something important.”
“Are you getting married?” Aiba asks.
Jun shakes his head, the blood rushing to his ears and drowning out the last chorus of Silver Bells.
“Are you getting another dog?”
Jun closes his eyes for a moment and Janet flashes behind them, waiting patiently by the door for her master to come home. How much of her life was spent waiting?
“I’m sorry,” Aiba says.
“It’s fine. I’m just,” Jun sighs, spooning a little bit of whipped cream off the top of his coffee. “Not ready yet.”
“I understand.”
“Aya signed the papers?” Jun asks.
It’s not a question, really. Sho told them two days ago.
“I have Ichidai next week,” Aiba says, disappearing behind his drink.
“Any plans?”
“Might take him to the restaurant,” Aiba muses, shrugging. “You should come.”
“Why?”
Diana Ross sings through the silence. There’s just one lonely present beneath her Christmas tree. Jun’s been watching Aiba’s eyes for so long he doesn’t know when the small sad smile crept across Aiba’s mouth until it opens again.
“I like having you with me, you know,” he says. “I’m not pretending.”
They’re not as young as they used to be.
“Are you okay?” Aiba asks, reaching across the table to put his hand over Jun’s.
Then, suddenly, Aiba laughs.
Jun looks down. He’s still wearing his gloves.
“I didn’t think about what I would say, exactly,” Jun admits, staring at his hand.
“And now?”
“I want another dog, but a small one; one that doesn’t need to be walked. It’s not fair to put a big dog in an apartment.”
“There’s a dog park close to my place.”
“I know.”
“Let’s go there.”
“The dog park?”
“My place.”
Jun thinks he must look pathetic, dripping tears into a peppermint mocha held in green suede gloves, but then Aiba’s fingers are strong and sure around his wrist.
“This kind of thing is messy,” Aiba says.
“Everything involving you is messy,” Jun returns, taking off his gloves so that he can wipe his face.
They leave five minutes later, Aiba holding Jun's bare left hand inside his coat pocket.
When they stop at a crosswalk, Jun looks at Aiba. Aiba looks up at the light.
“It's funny,” he says, just loud enough for Jun to hear. “I've waited so long, but now I can't stand these sixty seconds.”
Pairing: Aiba/Jun
Rating: PG-13ish
Disclaimer: In no way do I claim the following is/has/will happen. This is only fiction written for fun.
Summary: Ten years later, Jun still has something to say. 1,126 words.
(because
omnipresentdmat asked for it)7/27/15: added to AO3
---
The trap floor drops and the stage closes over Jun’s head. In dim green light, women rush to strip off his clothes. Someone hands him a towel and he buries his face in it. For a moment, everything is white and soft and smells like detergent, but then his legs are being tugged into two layers of pants and he snaps back to reality. Ohno’s voice echoes in the empty space over their heads and the crowd roars in response. To the left, an assistant is asking sweetly, quietly, if Nino could not smoke under the stage because it’s a fire hazard. Jun glances over in time to see Nino laugh curls of smoke into her face.
They’re not as young as they used to be.
Finally, the staff disperses with a minute to spare and Jun sits in his little color-coded chair, foot tapping impatiently. Aiba realizes that his second shirt is on backwards and there’s a sudden scuffle to set him right again. Jun studies the shapes of Aiba’s back, painted in green and shadow. Nino hands him the half-burnt cigarette and he takes a long drag.
“You’re going to fuck up your voices before we even get to the MC,” Sho mumbles, chin tucked into Nino’s shoulder.
“What voices?” Nino chuckles.
Aiba tiptoes over to the group and leans in close to Jun’s ear.
“What are we whispering about?”
“Stand-by,” travels in a murmur across the floor and they step into place.
The trapdoor opens up and the light shines down on them. Jun looks at Aiba. Aiba always looks up.
---
Aiba marries a pretty comedian named Aya with horrible fashion sense and an infectious giggle. Their baby makes his first television appearance at 12 months, celebrities laughing in the split-screen as Aiba demonstrates the various faces he makes to get his son to smile. His wife is wary, though. The press raked her over when they announced their engagement and she sees her son’s future written in tabloid headlines. When he starts to walk, Aiba jokes about learning dance steps, and Aya moves back to her mother’s house. Aiba is devastated without his son, and Jun cringes to hear the names he calls Aya over the phone.
Of course, the shows go on. There’s a new single and a new dance and a new set of scarves and hats, and Aiba tells stories of domestic bliss so sweet and funny and believable that the rest of them are left speechless.
Jun knows he uses Aiba’s unhappiness as an excuse, but that doesn’t change the fact that Aiba is unhappy. Aiba is unhappy and lonely and growing angrier every day.
Jun needs it just as much as he wants it to stop.
---
Jun is sitting on the couch in the mixing booth as Nino plays the song he’s written for Ohno’s wedding reception. They’re just recording the guitar, now, and Jun has yet to hear the lyrics. He’s sure it will go on the album though. For the last two albums, Nino’s written three songs each.
Jun’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he looks down at the screen. It’s Aiba.
Nino starts to sing and he stares at Jun through the glass of the recording booth. He sings the words straight into Jun’s eyes and Jun knows they’re not the lyrics that will be printed in the liner notes.
The sound technician doesn’t speak up, just takes this time to flip through his notes; Jun can see him just out of the corner of his eye.
Nino glances down at his strings and this is Jun’s opportunity to look away.
When they were teenagers, Nino cornered Jun in a hotel hallway.
“You should forget what you saw,” he warned. “I’m not the same as you.”
Twenty years later, Jun wishes he could use the same lie.
---
It’s Christmas and the streets are packed. With their scarves pulled up over their mouths, Jun and Aiba weave through unnoticed, Aiba grabbing Jun’s gloved hand and tugging him through the café door. They sit in a private-looking corner tucked behind the stairs. A starry-eyed waitress in an elf hat tells them that their peppermint mochas are on the house. Cheerful English music pipes through the speakers as Aiba burns his hand on his mug and reels back, sticking his thumb in his mouth.
This is perfect. This is just how Jun would have wanted it, five years ago.
“Masaki,” he says.
Aiba presses his wet thumb to his napkin, waiting expectantly. His cheeks are still red from the cold.
“I have to tell you something important.”
“Are you getting married?” Aiba asks.
Jun shakes his head, the blood rushing to his ears and drowning out the last chorus of Silver Bells.
“Are you getting another dog?”
Jun closes his eyes for a moment and Janet flashes behind them, waiting patiently by the door for her master to come home. How much of her life was spent waiting?
“I’m sorry,” Aiba says.
“It’s fine. I’m just,” Jun sighs, spooning a little bit of whipped cream off the top of his coffee. “Not ready yet.”
“I understand.”
“Aya signed the papers?” Jun asks.
It’s not a question, really. Sho told them two days ago.
“I have Ichidai next week,” Aiba says, disappearing behind his drink.
“Any plans?”
“Might take him to the restaurant,” Aiba muses, shrugging. “You should come.”
“Why?”
Diana Ross sings through the silence. There’s just one lonely present beneath her Christmas tree. Jun’s been watching Aiba’s eyes for so long he doesn’t know when the small sad smile crept across Aiba’s mouth until it opens again.
“I like having you with me, you know,” he says. “I’m not pretending.”
They’re not as young as they used to be.
“Are you okay?” Aiba asks, reaching across the table to put his hand over Jun’s.
Then, suddenly, Aiba laughs.
Jun looks down. He’s still wearing his gloves.
“I didn’t think about what I would say, exactly,” Jun admits, staring at his hand.
“And now?”
“I want another dog, but a small one; one that doesn’t need to be walked. It’s not fair to put a big dog in an apartment.”
“There’s a dog park close to my place.”
“I know.”
“Let’s go there.”
“The dog park?”
“My place.”
Jun thinks he must look pathetic, dripping tears into a peppermint mocha held in green suede gloves, but then Aiba’s fingers are strong and sure around his wrist.
“This kind of thing is messy,” Aiba says.
“Everything involving you is messy,” Jun returns, taking off his gloves so that he can wipe his face.
They leave five minutes later, Aiba holding Jun's bare left hand inside his coat pocket.
When they stop at a crosswalk, Jun looks at Aiba. Aiba looks up at the light.
“It's funny,” he says, just loud enough for Jun to hear. “I've waited so long, but now I can't stand these sixty seconds.”
