Author: bclar
Rating: G
Music: The Shins - Pink Bullets
Why The Shins? Because I like them at the moment. And the song fits the mood of the story just great (forget the lyrics, bed yourself on the chords).
Story: I tried to make it realistic and focused on the characters (and I will even more in the second part). Any critics from enthusiastic to nice try to really pissed are welcome (how can I evolve when I get no reaction?).
Language: I'm not a native english speaker. I learned british english at school (just to avoid confusion). I'm sorry for any mistakes, pathetic style and unfunny puns (not that there are any).
Okay, here it comes.
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It’s a game. Well, kind of. We claim it to be out of boredom when we are asked directly. But the best way to describe it would be coltish.
But my behind? I wasn’t quite sure if I should take him on task for that later. To my surprise, Nino came to apologize after the show (another first). He said he wanted to create a rumour. I didn’t get it. He said he was kind of irritated by all the stories about us, and that he wanted to start a new one and watch it progressing. A new legend, made by us, not by the media. They want something to talk about? Let’s give them. Another one of his quirky ideas.
As I lay in bed that evening, I began to somehow understand. Jun and Sho sometimes read the stories about us on the internet and told about it. They call it fanfiction. Tales made up from interaction between us in interviews or shows, mainly love stories in various pairings. Kind of creepy, but also kind of cool. So why not give them what they want? Being the cause, not just reacting? Controlling the rumour. It would be fun, wouldn’t it?
But was I okay with being touched by him, and, worse even, touching him myself? I considered it carefully. Doing that much shows and tours, of course there was a lot of physical contact. I didn’t mind. But this was a completely different level.
I came to the conclusion that it was okay. Nino and I were like brothers. We have seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, we celebrated together on miscellaneous occasions, we ignored each other, we laughed, we fought, we cared, we worked. I didn’t like him more than the others. But Nino and I had the same kind of humour. If this could work out with any pairing in Arashi, then it had to be us.
The next day I told Nino I would play along.
We didn’t tell the others. It would be even greater fun to watch what they would do when they became aware of it, and this way they couldn’t spoil it. We were in really high spirits. We felt like conspirators or even spies. The shows, which sometimes really bored me, became interesting again, as Nino and I were standing together as much as possible, often giggling because we were so satisfied with ourselves. We started slowly, just staring at each other when we knew they would spot us, “they” being cameras or the others.
Jun was the first to notice. He pretended not to, but he began to watch us carefully. Nino and I celebrated by holding hands when walking back to the dressing room. Jun didn’t know where to look.
We began to be more affective. Well, Nino was. I was a little hesistant. I thought the others had to notice. They couldn’t seriously think Nino and I were… well, more than friends. I didn’t dare to touch Nino’s butt because I was quite sure that would be the moment Jun or Sho or Aiba would realize we were faking the whole thing. I have never been good at lying, especially when it’s an embarrassing lie, and they just know me too well. But Nino was great. He kept teasing me as if he was head over heels and couldn’t let go of me. My part was mainly not to look shocked but happy and flattered when I suddenly noticed him next to me.
Two months later I had gotten used to Nino being near me, striking me occasionally, watching me. And, of course, me doing the same to him. When I entered a room, the first thing I did was scanning it for Nino and walk over, standing next to him whenever possible and watching him when not. All these little things happened unconsciously by then. It became a habit we both barely thought about.
The month flew by. The other members are kind of confident we just do a show, even though I sometimes catch them watching us with a wondering stare and looking away hastily when they notice I saw it. Of course they asked what that was between the two of us, but we never told them more than we told the media.
In Interviews we would make up stories about sharing rooms and showering together. It became kind of a competition between the two of us who could think of the better ones. Nino has better ideas, but I think they are sometimes too off the trolley. Mine are not that colourful, but I get the feeling that people tend to take them more serious. When we are asked directly we neither deny nor confirm anything.
By now, it’s somehow gotten out of hands. We have our own show, we have a pair name (just like Brangelina – I still can’t believe it) and lots of fans.
As for me, I begin to feel insecure. We didn’t think it would come this far. I mean, we kissed on stage, with millions of people watching it on a giant screen. Of course that was planned beforehand, but even though, I’m not sure whether we should end it now. What would be the next step? A TV Special “Ohmiya having their first time”? Ohmiya. OUR name.
It’s like riding a sleigh down a steep hillside, when you’re speeding up and loose control. It was clear from before you pushed off that you would become too fast for your own good, what was exactly the reason you carried this bulky wooden frame up the mountain and nearly broke your leg when stumbling, but you didn’t expect it to gain so much speed. Now the fear exceeds the thrill and you know you’re going to get hurt and you’re thinking (as far as you can concentrate) whether it would be intelligent to just ram your heels in the ground and walk down the hill, giving in but going home with just a few bruises, or if you should hope for a miracle to happen so everything will end fine somehow before you overturn and awake in at least three casts.
The worst is that I’m not sure whether it’s still all fake. I’d hate to make the myth we created come true. We barely have privacy, the whole nation watches us whenever we change our hairstyle or whatever. They all care for us. It’s like having thousands of one-sided friends. It’s great to be this loved, but it’s frightening to be this observed. This lie was the only thing no one could be sure about, the one thing we were ahead of them all. It kept us from breaking apart. We all were tired sometimes, so worn out we would lock us in some room and cry the night away. It was necessary. But not any more. Nino and I had found the elusion we needed.
That’s why I’m worried now. I noticed it a few days ago. Nino was gone five weeks, he was shooting some drama. We have been separated before, of course, but not that long. It has never been a problem, and it wasn’t this time either –at first.
Sho sensed it before I did myself. He restrained Aiba and Jun from telling me about unfaithful husbands, the pretty girls (and boys) Nino would be working with and what kind of other fishes there were in the sea. He tried to distract me and took me to an exhibition and spent the evening in some bar with me. It took me a while to figure out the reason for his sudden interest in theory of colours, but when I finally managed I was shocked. I didn’t realize I was acting strange. Sho said I was eating less and would vanish into the dancing studio to train far too often, and that I had become quiet and gravely. I answered that everything he listed was what I was accused of ever since we became Arashi. Well, except for the eating thing. But that was nothing big either. I just hadn’t that much appetite at the moment, that would change again in a few days. But Sho claimed it to be different. He said I would change unpredictably, suddenly being lively, laughing, making comments or cracking jokes and be a perfect copy of Nino for a few moments before retiring to be a still observer again. I laughed and said he dramatised it and he shouldn’t worry and that I’d treat him to the next round.
When I got home I weighed myself. I lost six kilos.
I was so confused that night. I grasped just now how much I actually missed him. His high voice uttering innuendos all the time, his index finger wondrously hitting always the right spot beneath my rips to make shriek and writhe, his unsophisticated laughter that makes me laugh along every time, his face whenever I pinched his buttock (alarmed at first, because it happened frequently, but after a split second trying hard to hide his grin, for he knows I still need to gather a little courage to do so), and, most of all, all the little contacts. His arm around my shoulders. My arm around his waist. Leaning against each other, using the others shoulder to support an elbow or the head. Knees touching, a hand on a thigh. Caressing his neck, playing with the short hair just above his collar. His fingers at my earlobe.
Only now I realized how... well, what were we? Comfortable? Close? Intimate? Whatever it was, I longed for it. My whole body cringed for him, just the slightest touch of his fingertips.
