[FIC] A Rainy Day
Oct. 13th, 2013 01:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
frameofmind6Title: A Rainy Day
Author: FrameofMind
Pairing: Akame
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1,800
Genre: Catharsis
Warnings: Self-indulgent authorial moping.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Summary: And then there were four.
Author’s Note: I wrote this a few days ago, at the low point (for me) of the Koki business, because writing is how I process things, and Akame is comfort food. I debated whether or not I should bother posting it, because it’s really more about me dealing than anything—but I figured what the hell. Closure is good, right? Better out than in. ;)
So here, for anyone who might be interested.
(P.S. For anyone waiting for an update on Real Life, it’s coming soon. Probably either today or tomorrow… ;)
A Rainy Day
Kame is standing in the middle of his living room with the phone to his ear and a dish towel clutched in one hand. He can’t remember why. He can’t remember what he was doing. Nakamaru is still talking in his ear, but he’s not listening anymore, can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Out.
Not just out.
Gone.
“You’d better get over here.”
Kame nearly hangs up on the end of the sentence, drops the phone and the dish towel onto the couch and grabs his wallet and keys from the table by the door. Steps into his shoes and tugs them over his heels, grabs a jacket from the hook on his way out. He’s halfway down the hall when he remembers to go back and lock the door behind him.
It’s dark outside, much too dark for the time of day. The windshield wipers can’t keep up with the downpour even at full speed, and Kame blinks, keeps his eyes on the road and the thoughts out of his head, because it won’t solve anything if he gets himself killed halfway there. He can just about pay attention to what’s in front of him, but that leaves no attention left to think about where he’s going. Luckily his hands already know the way.
The shoulders and hood of his jacket are soaked, but he doesn’t even feel it until he’s there, pushing the hood off his head. The other three are standing outside the office door, look over when he appears at the end of the hall, and it hits him like a punch when his brain tries to tally up who’s missing and comes up with no one. Not anymore.
They’re all looking grim, watching him approach. Junno looks hopeful, Nakamaru opens his mouth to bring Kame up to speed, but Kame ignores them both and reaches straight for the door.
“He told us to wait out—” Ueda says, but Kame is already inside, and he doesn’t care if the others are following him.
Johnny looks up from the desk when he walks into the room. He looks a little surprised, until he sees Kame’s face, and then he seems to settle, resigned. Koki is sitting in the chair opposite the desk. He doesn’t move.
“You can’t do this,” Kame says. “You just can’t. There’s got to be some way we can work this out.”
“It’s already done,” Johnny says calmly. “You know the situation. There were warnings. The problems continued.”
“But it’s not fair!” Kame shouts. If his hands weren’t empty he’d throw something.
“Kame, calm d—”
“I won’t fucking calm down,” Kame snaps back at Nakamaru, barely turning over his shoulder. It doesn’t feel any better. It only makes him feel more desperate. Holding on to nothing. “This is bullshit, and I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen—not this time.”
“What are you going to do?” Ueda says. “Walk?”
Kame’s stomach clenches. “I don’t know,” he bristles, still looking at Johnny. His hands fidget. Too empty. “Maybe.”
Johnny just looks back at him. They both know he won’t.
“Please,” Kame says, taking a breath and trying to take his runaway brain and his runaway mouth and put them on the same trajectory. There’s got to be something. “Just give him one more chance. The five of us, we’ll work this out, we can—”
“There are no more chances,” Johnny says.
“Why not?” he demands, losing ground again, and everything spins. “You make the chances—don’t act like it’s out of your hands. It’s you, you’re doing this. Just don’t!”
Someone’s hand is on his elbow—“Kame…”—but he shrugs them off.
“One more chance. Just one more, I won’t ask again, just don’t—”
“Kame, stop.”
Koki.
He doesn’t look up. Kame doesn’t look over at him, but he stops—everything stops. Koki sounds rough and haggard, like he hasn’t spoken in a year and he’s just tired, like he really wants to be drunk right now but that won’t solve anything. Kame wants to get drunk. He wants this all to go away. He wants it to be yesterday and everything to be fine again.
“Tanaka’s contract will remain in effect until the end of September. You have until then to prepare and make decisions about what you intend to do next. As I’m sure you know, there is to be no public mention of Tanaka’s release until you receive explicit instructions from management.”
And that’s it. The sentence is read, no appeals, no parole. It’s already done.
Kame stays there, trying to think of something more he can say, but there’s nothing. When Nakamaru takes him by the elbow this time, he doesn’t shake him off. Just lets himself be pulled from the room.
They congregate in the dressing room. No one says that’s where they’re going, but it’s the only place. Where else would they go?
Koki sits on the couch with his face in his hands, Junno sitting next to him, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. Ueda is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His face is shut down, and Kame can’t tell if he’s pissed off or on the verge of tears. Nakamaru sits in the armchair at the side of the couch, one ankle resting on the other knee, aimlessly tugging at a pant cuff. Kame sits with his back to the long dressing table, hands on his knees. No one says anything.
Nakamaru makes an abortive attempt to do as they were told. Plan for the future. Ueda mutters a vague assent to some suggestion no one is listening to. Kame can’t get his head around any words except for the ones he should have said back in the office. Wondering if anything he could have said might have made a difference.
Koki keeps apologizing. After a while no one even acknowledges it anymore. Except Junno, who just keeps patting him on the shoulder. When Koki drops his hands away from his face he looks like he wants to hug him.
Junno makes an unfortunate reference to the past, trying to lighten the mood. Kame glares at him and he falls silent again.
Ueda is the first to leave, saying something about an appointment. Nakamaru follows with a sigh when it becomes evident that no one is really up to productive discussion at this point. Junno lingers a while longer, seeming concerned about Koki. But eventually he leaves too. The silence is deafening when the latch clicks behind him.
There’s a row of empty hooks to Kame’s left. The ones to the right are all full, straight across too.
More empty hooks. More holes to fill.
“I’m really sorry, Kame,” Koki says. Again.
Kame has his elbows on his knees, the bridge of his nose pinched between his two index fingers. “I know you are.”
Kame stays for a while even after Koki has left. Not thinking anymore, not looking for solutions. There’s nothing to find. It’s already done.
The rain is coming down as hard as ever on the way back, and Kame drives carefully. Keeps his eyes on the road, windshield wipers flicking back and forth. Thinks about turning on the radio, but then doesn’t want any music. Doesn’t know what he wants.
He closes the front door behind him, drops his keys on the table. Steps out of his shoes. He’s halfway through shrugging out of his jacket when he realizes there’s someone standing in his living room, staring at him. He stares back. Kind of the last person he wants to see right now, actually, and it makes him feel sick all over again.
“I heard,” Jin says unnecessarily. Obviously he heard. That’s why he’s here.
Kame drops his gaze again and finishes peeling out of his wet jacket. Hangs it on the empty hook. Tugs at his sleeves as he heads toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, well—it’s been sort of a long day, so could you just—”
Jin catches up to him halfway to the fridge, slips arms around his waist and pulls Kame back against his chest. Kame tries to squirm away, elbows Jin in the ribs and mutters something about “seriously” and “stressful” and “I don’t need.” But Jin doesn’t let go.
“I’m really sorry, Kame,” Jin says in his ear. And it’s now, but it’s also then. And everything before, and all the stuff that isn’t there anymore. Everything that’s fraying at the edges. Everything that’s broken and can’t be fixed. How much longer will it last? What is it worth now if it’s not what it was?
Kame drops his head back against Jin’s shoulder and gives up the struggle. Just gives up.
“I can’t do this,” he mumbles, voice rough and quiet. “I can’t take this shit anymore, I just can’t. I can’t do this all over again.”
“You can,” Jin says.
Kame shakes his head. “They keep disappearing. Everybody keeps disappearing. Someday I’ll be the only one left, and I’ll have to pretend none of you exist, and you’ll all have to pretend I don’t exist, and then I won’t. I’ll just disappear.”
He feels Jin’s smile against his neck. He’s glad Jin is here. He’s glad he’s not alone. He’s glad he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.
“You won’t disappear,” Jin says. “None of us disappear. It’s just the game, you know that. You have to play the game.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Kame grumbles.
Jin kisses his neck again. It helps, a little. The warmth against his clammy skin. The not-alone.
“You were always better at it than I was.”
Kame sighs. He leans back against Jin’s sturdy support and just stays there. Not thinking.
“What are we going to do now?” he asks.
“You’re going to do the same thing you’ve always done,” Jin answers. “You’re going to pick up the hand you’ve been dealt and you’re going to play it the best you can. You’re going to get up every day and go to work and love what you do and be good at it, and try not to let the idiots around you beat that out of you. You’re going to keep being KAT-TUN’s Kamenashi, and you’re not going to forget even if you have to pretend you have. You’re good at that.”
Kame nods, eyes closed. Tries to believe it. It sounds more possible when Jin says it.
“And the idiots?” Kame asks.
Jin smiles again. Kame can feel it. Holds him a little closer. Out of sight, but right now he’s the only thing keeping Kame up off the floor. And the kiss on his neck this time is like a promise.
“We’ll still be here.”
[end.]
Author: FrameofMind
Pairing: Akame
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1,800
Genre: Catharsis
Warnings: Self-indulgent authorial moping.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
Summary: And then there were four.
Author’s Note: I wrote this a few days ago, at the low point (for me) of the Koki business, because writing is how I process things, and Akame is comfort food. I debated whether or not I should bother posting it, because it’s really more about me dealing than anything—but I figured what the hell. Closure is good, right? Better out than in. ;)
So here, for anyone who might be interested.
(P.S. For anyone waiting for an update on Real Life, it’s coming soon. Probably either today or tomorrow… ;)
A Rainy Day
Kame is standing in the middle of his living room with the phone to his ear and a dish towel clutched in one hand. He can’t remember why. He can’t remember what he was doing. Nakamaru is still talking in his ear, but he’s not listening anymore, can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears. Out.
Not just out.
Gone.
“You’d better get over here.”
Kame nearly hangs up on the end of the sentence, drops the phone and the dish towel onto the couch and grabs his wallet and keys from the table by the door. Steps into his shoes and tugs them over his heels, grabs a jacket from the hook on his way out. He’s halfway down the hall when he remembers to go back and lock the door behind him.
It’s dark outside, much too dark for the time of day. The windshield wipers can’t keep up with the downpour even at full speed, and Kame blinks, keeps his eyes on the road and the thoughts out of his head, because it won’t solve anything if he gets himself killed halfway there. He can just about pay attention to what’s in front of him, but that leaves no attention left to think about where he’s going. Luckily his hands already know the way.
The shoulders and hood of his jacket are soaked, but he doesn’t even feel it until he’s there, pushing the hood off his head. The other three are standing outside the office door, look over when he appears at the end of the hall, and it hits him like a punch when his brain tries to tally up who’s missing and comes up with no one. Not anymore.
They’re all looking grim, watching him approach. Junno looks hopeful, Nakamaru opens his mouth to bring Kame up to speed, but Kame ignores them both and reaches straight for the door.
“He told us to wait out—” Ueda says, but Kame is already inside, and he doesn’t care if the others are following him.
Johnny looks up from the desk when he walks into the room. He looks a little surprised, until he sees Kame’s face, and then he seems to settle, resigned. Koki is sitting in the chair opposite the desk. He doesn’t move.
“You can’t do this,” Kame says. “You just can’t. There’s got to be some way we can work this out.”
“It’s already done,” Johnny says calmly. “You know the situation. There were warnings. The problems continued.”
“But it’s not fair!” Kame shouts. If his hands weren’t empty he’d throw something.
“Kame, calm d—”
“I won’t fucking calm down,” Kame snaps back at Nakamaru, barely turning over his shoulder. It doesn’t feel any better. It only makes him feel more desperate. Holding on to nothing. “This is bullshit, and I’m not going to stand by and watch this happen—not this time.”
“What are you going to do?” Ueda says. “Walk?”
Kame’s stomach clenches. “I don’t know,” he bristles, still looking at Johnny. His hands fidget. Too empty. “Maybe.”
Johnny just looks back at him. They both know he won’t.
“Please,” Kame says, taking a breath and trying to take his runaway brain and his runaway mouth and put them on the same trajectory. There’s got to be something. “Just give him one more chance. The five of us, we’ll work this out, we can—”
“There are no more chances,” Johnny says.
“Why not?” he demands, losing ground again, and everything spins. “You make the chances—don’t act like it’s out of your hands. It’s you, you’re doing this. Just don’t!”
Someone’s hand is on his elbow—“Kame…”—but he shrugs them off.
“One more chance. Just one more, I won’t ask again, just don’t—”
“Kame, stop.”
Koki.
He doesn’t look up. Kame doesn’t look over at him, but he stops—everything stops. Koki sounds rough and haggard, like he hasn’t spoken in a year and he’s just tired, like he really wants to be drunk right now but that won’t solve anything. Kame wants to get drunk. He wants this all to go away. He wants it to be yesterday and everything to be fine again.
“Tanaka’s contract will remain in effect until the end of September. You have until then to prepare and make decisions about what you intend to do next. As I’m sure you know, there is to be no public mention of Tanaka’s release until you receive explicit instructions from management.”
And that’s it. The sentence is read, no appeals, no parole. It’s already done.
Kame stays there, trying to think of something more he can say, but there’s nothing. When Nakamaru takes him by the elbow this time, he doesn’t shake him off. Just lets himself be pulled from the room.
They congregate in the dressing room. No one says that’s where they’re going, but it’s the only place. Where else would they go?
Koki sits on the couch with his face in his hands, Junno sitting next to him, patting him awkwardly on the shoulder. Ueda is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. His face is shut down, and Kame can’t tell if he’s pissed off or on the verge of tears. Nakamaru sits in the armchair at the side of the couch, one ankle resting on the other knee, aimlessly tugging at a pant cuff. Kame sits with his back to the long dressing table, hands on his knees. No one says anything.
Nakamaru makes an abortive attempt to do as they were told. Plan for the future. Ueda mutters a vague assent to some suggestion no one is listening to. Kame can’t get his head around any words except for the ones he should have said back in the office. Wondering if anything he could have said might have made a difference.
Koki keeps apologizing. After a while no one even acknowledges it anymore. Except Junno, who just keeps patting him on the shoulder. When Koki drops his hands away from his face he looks like he wants to hug him.
Junno makes an unfortunate reference to the past, trying to lighten the mood. Kame glares at him and he falls silent again.
Ueda is the first to leave, saying something about an appointment. Nakamaru follows with a sigh when it becomes evident that no one is really up to productive discussion at this point. Junno lingers a while longer, seeming concerned about Koki. But eventually he leaves too. The silence is deafening when the latch clicks behind him.
There’s a row of empty hooks to Kame’s left. The ones to the right are all full, straight across too.
More empty hooks. More holes to fill.
“I’m really sorry, Kame,” Koki says. Again.
Kame has his elbows on his knees, the bridge of his nose pinched between his two index fingers. “I know you are.”
Kame stays for a while even after Koki has left. Not thinking anymore, not looking for solutions. There’s nothing to find. It’s already done.
The rain is coming down as hard as ever on the way back, and Kame drives carefully. Keeps his eyes on the road, windshield wipers flicking back and forth. Thinks about turning on the radio, but then doesn’t want any music. Doesn’t know what he wants.
He closes the front door behind him, drops his keys on the table. Steps out of his shoes. He’s halfway through shrugging out of his jacket when he realizes there’s someone standing in his living room, staring at him. He stares back. Kind of the last person he wants to see right now, actually, and it makes him feel sick all over again.
“I heard,” Jin says unnecessarily. Obviously he heard. That’s why he’s here.
Kame drops his gaze again and finishes peeling out of his wet jacket. Hangs it on the empty hook. Tugs at his sleeves as he heads toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, well—it’s been sort of a long day, so could you just—”
Jin catches up to him halfway to the fridge, slips arms around his waist and pulls Kame back against his chest. Kame tries to squirm away, elbows Jin in the ribs and mutters something about “seriously” and “stressful” and “I don’t need.” But Jin doesn’t let go.
“I’m really sorry, Kame,” Jin says in his ear. And it’s now, but it’s also then. And everything before, and all the stuff that isn’t there anymore. Everything that’s fraying at the edges. Everything that’s broken and can’t be fixed. How much longer will it last? What is it worth now if it’s not what it was?
Kame drops his head back against Jin’s shoulder and gives up the struggle. Just gives up.
“I can’t do this,” he mumbles, voice rough and quiet. “I can’t take this shit anymore, I just can’t. I can’t do this all over again.”
“You can,” Jin says.
Kame shakes his head. “They keep disappearing. Everybody keeps disappearing. Someday I’ll be the only one left, and I’ll have to pretend none of you exist, and you’ll all have to pretend I don’t exist, and then I won’t. I’ll just disappear.”
He feels Jin’s smile against his neck. He’s glad Jin is here. He’s glad he’s not alone. He’s glad he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.
“You won’t disappear,” Jin says. “None of us disappear. It’s just the game, you know that. You have to play the game.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you,” Kame grumbles.
Jin kisses his neck again. It helps, a little. The warmth against his clammy skin. The not-alone.
“You were always better at it than I was.”
Kame sighs. He leans back against Jin’s sturdy support and just stays there. Not thinking.
“What are we going to do now?” he asks.
“You’re going to do the same thing you’ve always done,” Jin answers. “You’re going to pick up the hand you’ve been dealt and you’re going to play it the best you can. You’re going to get up every day and go to work and love what you do and be good at it, and try not to let the idiots around you beat that out of you. You’re going to keep being KAT-TUN’s Kamenashi, and you’re not going to forget even if you have to pretend you have. You’re good at that.”
Kame nods, eyes closed. Tries to believe it. It sounds more possible when Jin says it.
“And the idiots?” Kame asks.
Jin smiles again. Kame can feel it. Holds him a little closer. Out of sight, but right now he’s the only thing keeping Kame up off the floor. And the kiss on his neck this time is like a promise.
“We’ll still be here.”
[end.]
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Date: 2013-10-13 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-14 05:34 am (UTC)