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maayacolabackupTitle: Moving Out and Moving In
Pairing: Pin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jin won’t let this slip through his fingers
Notes: Happy Coming Out Day! Also this was long ago promised to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
akeru_world69
Jin doesn’t really know why he’s so scared of losing the people who matter. He knows they’re not going anywhere, that just because half of his life is Los Angeles, he doesn’t have to be so damned afraid that there will be nothing waiting for him when he gets back.
It’s just he can’t help but worry that he’s not clinging hard enough, that somehow people are going to slip right through his fingers when he’s not looking.
When he tells Ryo about it, one day, on Skype, Ryo just laughs at him. In his face.
“Sometimes I just worry that you’ll all find new friends and I’ll come home and you won’t want to hang out with me.”
“Like we’re going to replace you with someone more awesome, and your opinion of our haircuts won’t matter anymore?”
“Well, the thought crossed my mind.”
“Must have been a long and lonely journey for it,” Ryo replies. “Look. Yamapi is just as gay for you as you are for him. You don’t have to worry about him finding a new ‘best friend’ or whatever you people call it these days.” Ryo pushes a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer than Jin’s seen it since their junior days. “And I never gave a fuck what you thought of my hair.”
“I never said anything about Yamapi!” Jin protests, and Ryo snorts.
“You don’t have to, Jin. You’re about as subtle as Kame doing fanservice.” Ryo leans forward, so that all Jin can see in the camera is one third of his face, his eye taking up most of the screen. “This is me giving you the eye, Jin. Calm down. Yamapi is anxiously waiting for you to get home again so you two can have your Monday drama nights. And your Tuesday movie nights. And your Wednesday video game nights. And your Thursday gay hugging on the couch nights.” Ryo leans back again. “Get the picture?”
“How would you even know?” Jin snaps. “According to the tabloids you guys aren’t even talking.”
Ryo snorts again. “Also according to the tabloids, you’re in a secret relationship with an ex-convict named Juan Pablo.”
“What?” Jin says, and Ryo chuckles.
“I sent it in as an anonymous tip,” Ryo tells him. “One of my finer moments, I must say. And between you and me, that’s saying something.”
“I hate you,” Jin says, but he doesn’t mean it, because it is rather funny. “But seriously, I just worry we’ll all grow apart.”
“Just hold on tight with both hands,” Ryo says. “Things change, and sometimes we have to move in separate directions. But change isn’t always for the worse, Jin. And if something’s really important to you, you’ll hold onto it.”
“Thanks Ryo-chan,” Jin says, and Ryo nods. “You’re awesome when you want to be.”
“I just said something totally wise, right? I should write it down and make a song.” Ryo scrambles for a pen and paper, and Jin smiles. “Now go call Yamapi. I texted him and told him you were whining about how you were afraid you guys were going to fall out of love and now he’s sending me all these messages asking if you’re okay. It’s annoying. Deal with my mess.”
“I really hate you,” Jin tells him, and hangs up the Skype call.
It’s comforting to hear Yamapi’s voice after that. They don’t talk about serious things—just Rina’s new boyfriend, who Jin hasn’t vetted yet, so he might not be good enough for Rina, and about Shirota’s last drama with Kuroki, which Jin is totally watching for the first time because he’s been too busy until now to even contemplate it.
Yamapi’s light baritone is pleasant in his ears. It’s husky with sleep, and Jin hopes that Yamapi is getting enough sleep, and that Yamapi is eating enough. Because Yamapi is important.
“I’ll be home in two days,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s smile is audible in his voice.
“That’s great, Jin,” he says. “I’ve saved so much variety television onto my DVR for you. You’ll have to come over one day and watch all of it, because it’s almost full.”
“Will do,” Jin says. “I’ll be over so much you won’t know what to do with me.”
“Okay,” Yamapi says. “And you’re going to teach me how to use Skype, too, right? Ryo just laughed in my face when I asked him. I am terrible at computers.”
“Definitely,” Jin says.
Jin will hang on as tight as he can.
***
“I hate this couch,” Jin says, as he leans to the left to avoid a wayward spring. Yamapi is slurping loudly on noodles, and Jin looks at him nervously, wondering how he should broach the subject he’s been thinking on for weeks.
“Then don’t sit on it,” Yamapi says around a mouthful. His hair is falling into his eyes, a tangled curtain of over-processed bangs and schizophrenically dyed waves. His eyes are narrow and concentrated on his food, and Jin wonders if now isn’t the best time.
“I think we should get an apartment together,” Jin says, and Pi looks up from his instant ramen with an incredulous look on his face.
His lips are shiny with broth, and Jin thinks he looks a little like a commercial for ramen right now— the way Yamapi eats always makes Jin think whatever he’s eating, it must be the most delicious thing on Earth.
“What?” Yamapi blows cool air onto the noodles he’s lifted into the air with his chopsticks, and then shoves them into his mouth, making disgusting slurping sounds to suck in the noodles that hang down his chin.
“An apartment. Together,” Jin repeats, leaving only the important words so that Yamapi will pay attention to those. He pushes a nervous hand through his hair, dragging the shorter front pieces out of his eyes as he inhales, and steadily looks at Yamapi, waiting on him to process.
“Why would we do that?” Yamapi replies, licking his lips and staring blankly at Jin. “We see each other all the time. And I like living by myself.”
“I’m always here,” Jin says. “Like, literally 6 days a week I am here. I hardly ever go back to my own apartment when I’m in Japan.”
“That’s your own fault,” Pi says, and reaches for a cream bun on the table. Jin winces as he dips it into the ramen broth before taking a huge bite out of it, smiling contentedly at the flavor. “Go home, then.”
“But I don’t want to,” Jin whines. “I want to hang out with you.” Yamapi is strangely withdrawn as Jin talks, looking closed to Jin in a way Jin hasn’t seen before.
“Then hang out with me and quit your bitching,” Pi grunts, around another mouthful of bun. “Like seriously, what is the problem here?”
“If we lived together,” Jin wraps a strand of his hair around his finger and tugs. “If we lived together, I’d never have to go home. I could bring take-out home for dinner, like always, and then we could watch TV, like always, and then we could do the dishes together, like always. Then, instead of me sleeping on your couch, which, by the way, I’m pretty sure is possessed by the devil, or getting on the subway at eleven in the evening, like always, I could just…go to my room. And go to bed.”
Yamapi makes a thoughtful noise. “I see what you’re saying. But moving is a lot of hassle. You know that—you just moved in to your place. And half the year you live in LA. And also I might start to hate you if we lived together.”
“What?” Jin asks, brows knitting in confusion. “Why?”
“Lots of reasons,” Pi answers vaguely, before shoving more noodles into his mouth. He’s staring at the TV now, pretending to ignore Jin, which he knows Jin hates.
“Like what?” Jin asks petulantly.
“You’re a mess,” he says flatly, when Jin insists. “I’ve seen your place, Jin. No way.”
“I could be cleaner,” Jin says. “If that’s what it took to get you to agree.”
“Why do you want this so much, Jin?” Yamapi asks, and then leans back with a sigh, patting his full stomach.
Jin bites his lip and considers.
Jin wants to live with his best friend. He wants to wake up in the morning without a crick in his neck form the sofa, and he wants to get out of the shower and see Yamapi dancing in the kitchen to weird KPop music and cooking breakfast, because Yamapi is fucking amazing at cooking breakfast. He wants to have two mugs in the kitchen and have one of them say Jin and one of them say Pi, and then he wants to fill them both with hot chocolate and laugh when Yamapi can’t get the whipped cream off of his nose. He wants all of this, but he can’t just say that, cause he knows it sounds kind of gay, and he knows sounding kind of gay isn’t going to get him what he wants.
Jin wants to hold on tight, with both hands.
“Because it would be awesome,” Jin answers. “Really awesome.”
Yamapi looks at Jin for a moment, like he’s not sure what to say, and there’s a flicker of hesitation Jin doesn’t understand in his eyes, before he exhales. “Alright Jin, if you can keep your place clean for a month, I’ll think about it.”
Jin feel excitement bubbling in his chest, and it makes him grin victoriously. He can feel the massive smile pulling at his face, and hell, even he doesn’t know why a ‘maybe’ makes him so damn happy, but it does. He stands up swiftly, prompting Yamapi to look up at him wide eyed and confused.
“Where are you going?” Yamapi asks, his hands setting his wooden disposable chopsticks across the lip of the ramen container. “It’s time for our Saturday night shows.”
Jin wipes his hands carelessly on his jeans, the rough texture of the denim remind him it’s time to do laundry, and stretches. “Well, I’ve got to go back to my apartment.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to clean it,” Jin says, and then grins hugely again. “I just have to keep it clean for a month, right? And then maybe you’ll move in with me?”
Yamapi nods slowly as Jin searches the couch cushions for his phone, which has somehow slid out of his back pocket over the course of the evening. When he looks back up at Yamapi, Yamapi’s got this anxious look on his face. “I said I’d think about it, Jin. Don’t get ahead of yourself.“
“Okay, I hear you, I hear you. So… see you later,” Jin chirps, before slipping on his shoes and waving goodbye to an open-mouthed Yamapi still sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. Jin thinks he looks a bit lost. “Well, see you tomorrow, since I like sleeping in my own bed and not your demon sofa. And my bed, is, you know, ridiculously far across town.”
“No one made you choose an apartment on the other side of the district,” Yamapi says with a scowl, and Jin nods sheepishly.
“I know,” Jin says. “But think about how much more we could see each other when I’m in Japan if I lived here!”
“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “But don’t we see each other enough?” He won’t meet Jin’s eyes, for some reason, and he’s sitting stiffly.
“But we could see each other every day, even if we’re busy,” Jin says. “And that… that would be really nice,” Jin says, and Yamapi looks up quickly, catching Jin’s gaze, as Jin closes the door behind him.
***
Jin knows it’s silly of him to get an apartment by himself when he’s constantly shuttling back and forth between Japan and America. He knows it’s silly, and he doesn’t care, because he’s pretty sure it’s what he wants—no rules, no sharing, and visiting people on his own terms.
But.
When Jin moves into his first apartment, he’s really lonely.
At first, he relishes waking up as late as he pleases, without his mother banging on the door or Reio playing video games with the volume too loud at 9AM, when normal, sane people are still sleeping.
He loves that he can throw his shit all over the place and no one says anything, because it’s his fucking apartment and he can do whatever he pleases. He loves that people have to call before they come over, because he might not be home and they have to ask before they come into his personal space.
But after about two weeks, the loneliness starts to creep across the walls of his living room and into his bedroom with alarming speed, until it coats everything Jin owns and it’s far too quiet.
Pi comes back from a concert tour two days after Jin starts to find the silence of his apartment unbearably suffocating, reaching out with it’s silent hands and clutching tightly at his throat until he feels like he can’t breathe.
Jin heads to Yamapi’s apartment about an hour after he gets Yamapi’s text that he’s made it home, safe, and he’s clutching a bag of Chinese food in his left hand as Yamapi opens the door. Yamapi’s eyes widen when he sees Jin, and Jin pulls him into a half hug with his right arm as Yamapi looks at him, and Jin smiles softly.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Jin says, and Yamapi raises one brow. “And I missed you,” Jin adds quietly, and Yamapi laughs and drags him inside, and Jin feels the loneliness melt from his shoulders like snow in the spring, and the warmth sink in all the way to his bones.
He seats himself on Yamapi’s uncomfortable couch, and Yamapi sits down next to him, the two of them touching from shoulder to knee, and it feels like home.
***
“Isn’t it clean?” Jin says proudly, when Yamapi drops by to surprise inspect Jin’s apartment on his way back home from a meeting. “This is going to be no sweat.”
Yamapi surveys the room and crosses his arms across his chest. “It does look pretty good,” Yamapi says begrudgingly, and then he licks his lips. “I have never seen anything you coexisted with this clean—well, maybe Kamenashi, but his OCD makes for special circumstances.”
“What?”
“You bring disorder and filth to everything you touch,” Yamapi says, and catches Jin in a headlock. “It’s gross what a mess you are.”
“Whatever,” Jin says, wrapping his arms around Yamapi’s waist in an attempt for leverage. “What’s that say about you, huh?”
“I’m immune to you by now,” Yamapi says, and Jin slides his hands under Yamapi’s shirt to tickle his side. At the touch of Jin’s hands on his skin, Yamapi releases Jin immediately, jumping back as Jin’s arms are suddenly grasping nothing but air.
Yamapi’s face is red, and he’s looking away from Jin, so Jin can’t see the expression on his face. “What?” Jin says, confused. “What happened?”
“I don’t feel like being tickled,” Yamapi replies. “My…stomach’s upset.”
“Oh,” Jin says, still reeling from the speed at which Yamapi had escaped his hold. Yamapi steps into the living room and sinks down into one of Jin’s expensive leather arm chairs, sighing as it seems to envelop him. “When we move in together,” Jin says. “We are totally keeping my living room furniture.”
Yamapi just frowns at him, and looks at Jin’s sofa with distaste, and then he shivers a little. “Bakanishi, why is it so cold?”
“Because the air-conditioner is on?” Jin says.
“Didn’t you just get home?” Yamapi asks, and Jin nods.
“Yeah, about ten minutes before you got here,” Jin informs him.
“Then how’d it get cold so fast?” Yamapi asks, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt as he leans back further in the chair.
“Because it’s been on all day?”
“You…left the air-conditioner on all day?”
“…Yes?” Jin says, but it’s more like a question, because he doesn’t know why Yamapi looks so agitated as he squirms in the chair.
“Do you know how much energy that wastes?” Yamapi looks at him with narrowed eyes. “That is terrible for the environment, Jin.”
“Sorry?” Jin says, confused. “I just hate coming home to a hot apartment.”
“That’s so selfish. We’re trying to save energy in Tokyo and you’re refrigerating an empty apartment.” Yamapi makes a tsking sound in his throat. “This is why we can’t live together. I’d be mad at you all the time.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Jin says. “You never get mad at me. Plus I could totally remember to turn off the air conditioner.”
“Yeah right,” Yamapi says. “You can barely remember to lock your door.”
Jin crosses his arms defensively. “Just give me a chance,” Jin says. “I could make you happy.” Yamapi looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Jin feels his face flush hot. “I mean, I could be a good roommate, and not do things that piss you off.”
Yamapi bursts into laughter, and Jin reaches down to the sofa and grabs a couch cushion, throwing it vengefully at Yamapi’s head. “Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jin hisses, and then he’s tackling Pi, and Yamapi squeals in an undignified manner before he falls out of the armchair and Jin to the ground.
They’re both breathing hard, then, and Jin just laughs, and then Yamapi is laughing too, and Jin knows, knows more than anything, that he wants this, he wants them every day.
“I thought I told you my stomach was upset,” Pi says, but he doesn’t look angry. He’s never really angry at Jin, no matter how stupid Jin is. Jin loves that about his best friend.
“Seriously, Pi,” Jin says. “I can keep the place clean, and I can remember to turn off the air conditioner when I go out.”
Yamapi looks down at him somberly, mouth pressing into a thin line. “I’ll think about it, Jin.”
Jin supposes that’s the best he can do, for now.
***
As Jin sees it, he’s already lived with Yamapi before.
He remembers Yamapi at the dinner table every night, inhaling massive amounts of food while Jin’s mom just looking on at him dotingly, occasionally walking behind the two boys and putting soft hands on the backs of both of their necks and encouraging them to take another serving.
He remembers Yamapi poking at Reio, the two of them tussling just like brothers over the television remote, and Jin laughing at them as he manually switches the television station with the buttons on the bottom of the TV.
He remembers Yamapi actually just living in his house, moving into his bedroom and staying for days on end, the both of them snuggling up into Jin’s bed, arms and legs entangled because they’re sixteen and it doesn’t mean anything.
He remembers Yamapi huddling closer to Jin for warmth in the winter, and maybe in the summer too, because Yamapi isn’t physically cold, but they both feel less lonely when they’re together.
Now it’s Jin that feels lonely, and he just wants to be closer to Yamapi, indulge in that warmth all over again.
***
Shopping with Yamapi is always fun, for Jin, because it’s not like real shopping, which can be sort of fun too, but not with Yamapi. Yamapi hates shopping, so when he and Jin go out in the afternoons, venturing down the public streets in broad daylight, wearing hats and sunglasses even in the height of the summer swelter, Jin never makes them go into any stores. Instead, they venture down along the street vendors, and Jin teases and taunts Yamapi into breaking his diet with fried tempura shrimp and takoyaki.
“I thought you said you lose weight easily? What can it hurt,” Jin says smugly, because he knows how strict Yamapi is with what he eats, and Yamapi always growls and shoves the takoyaki two by two into his mouth, cheeks puffing out from the round balls of octopus and dough.
Jin loves the way Yamapi looks then—his idol hair pulled up into his ball cap, his face free of make-up, and his mouth pursed as he attempts to chew the takoyaki, his tongue slowly realizing that maybe it’s too hot to eat in a single gulp like that.
“I hate you,” Yamapi says, after he’s swallowed, and Jin cackles and shoves a takoyaki into his own mouth, relishing the flavor on his tongue.
“I love Japanese food,” Jin says, eyes closing to savor. When he opens them again, Yamapi is staring at him intensely, and it makes Jin shift back awkwardly. “What?”
“You eat like you're having sex,” Yamapi says, snorting. “Disgusting.”
Jin grunts with displeasure, elbowing Yamapi in the side as the start walking again. “I hate you.”
Yamapi chuckles, then his eyes catch on something and he stops walking forward to crane his neck around Jin. “Hmmm,” he says, before he approaches the stall, which is selling towels and washcloths in assorted colors. Yamapi’s fingers skim across the tops of them, lingering longer than necessary on the light pink ones. “I’ve been needing new towels but I’ve been too busy to go get them,” Yamapi says, his hands running along the terrycloth of a pink towel. “I may as well.”
“Pink?” Jin says, before he can stop himself.
Yamapi looks up at him, before his eyebrows knit together. “Yes, pink. What’s wrong with pink?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Jin say, but maybe being in America so often has made him sensitive, because he feels a laugh bubbling deep in his chest as he thinks about Yamapi getting a set of pink towels.
“Jin,” Yamapi says, his voice like a warning, and Jin can feel his eyes crinkle as Yamapi leans into his space.
“No, it’s nothing, really,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s breath smells like takoyaki, and it’s making Jin feel…hungry, but not for food, and it’s weird so he pushes Yamapi away. “Just get your gay pink towels so we can keep going.”
“Gay pink…” Yamapi puts his hands on his hips, and his baseball cap shields his eyes now but Jin can see the thin line of his displeased mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with having pink towels.”
“A whole set of them?” Jin asks, and his hand reaches out to catch the sleeve of Yamapi’s t-shirt. His fingers brush Yamapi’s arm, lightly, and it’s nothing compared to how much they tend to touch and be touched by each other on a regular basis, but for some reason Jin can feel it tingle throughout his entire body. Yamapi sighs.
“Never mind,” he says, and then he’s walking ahead of Jin down the street, and Jin has to run to keep up.
“I’m sorry,” Jin says. “I didn’t mean to insult your taste in towels.”
“It’s fine, Bakanishi. Just another reason we shouldn’t live together, I suppose.”
“What?” Jin asks, aghast. “Because I laughed when you wanted to buy fluffy pink towels?”
“It means our decorating senses are mismatched,” Yamapi informs him, and Jin hardly thinks that buying ugly pink towels and covering your house in repulsive ‘vintage’ furniture can be called decorating.
“No way,” Jin replies, wrapping his hand around Yamapi’s wrist. “No way in hell is that an excuse.”
“I’m not living with someone who hates everything I buy for my apartment, Jin,” Yamapi says, and Jin tugs on the captured wrist.
“Look, Yamapi. You can go and buy those pink towels, and I will wake up and cheerfully use them everyday if that means you’ll live with me.”
“Why do you want this so bad?” Yamapi asks Jin, when they stop for ramen at a stand and Jin is halfway through a slurp of noodles.
Jin thinks about the way Yamapi’s hair smells, fresh from the shower, the gentle scent of his shampoo climbing into Jin’s nostrils as Yamapi lays against him on Yamapi’s sofa, the television’s noise in the background and Yamapi’s deep, sleeping breaths in the foreground as Jin relishes the warmth of Yamapi against the planes of his chest. He thinks about the way Yamapi looks in the morning when Jin does sleep over, and the way Yamapi laughs when Jin tries to cook something and burns it to a crisp and Yamapi has to start breakfast over again.
He treasures those moments, because those are the moments that remind him that no matter how often he has to go to America, Japan will always be home, because Yamapi is home.
“The real question is,” Jin says quietly, after he swallows his bite of noodles, “is why don’t you want it?”
Yamapi sighs, and doesn’t answer the question, just taps his fingers anxiously against the side of the bowl and refuses to meet Jin’s eyes.
When Yamapi won’t look at him, Jin feels like Yamapi is slipping through his fingers.
*
“What the hell are you doing?” Yamapi says, and Jin can’t see his face but it’s probably one of mild curiosity.
“Looking for X-men,” Jin tells him, and then he finds it, clasping the DVD in his hands and turning back from the cabinet to look at Yamapi, who is staring at him. He clears his throat and puts it in the DVD player, before turning back and walking toward the couch.
“When do you leave?” Yamapi asks, and the question is light, but Jin can see that Yamapi is upset because his jaw is tight and his hands are gripping the edge of the sofa.
“Next Monday,” Jin says, and Yamapi licks his lips. “How’d you know?”
“We always watch X-men right before you leave. You always choose that movie when you’re about to jet off and leave for three months, or however long you’ll be away.”
“Oh,” Jin says, and then Yamapi looks up at him, eyes somber. He grabs Jin by the forearm and tugs him down to the sofa, so Jin is laying half on top of him and half next to him. Jin can feel his own body rising and falling with the rhythm of Yamapi’s chest. “I hadn’t realized I was so predictable.”
“You are,” Yamapi says. “How long?”
“I don’t know yet. Some recording and stuff.”
“Oh,” says Yamapi. “Alright then.”
“Yeah,” Jin replies. “I guess I can’t move in with you until later, huh?”
“You act like I decided that we could move in together. I still don’t want to be your roommate,” Yamapi says as his hands find their way into Jin’s hair.
“You’ll give in eventually,” Jin says. “I know it.”
“Not likely,” Yamapi replies. “I like having my own space.” As he says it, though, his other hand creeps it’s way along Jin’s shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. “I’ll miss you, though.”
“You’re holding me awful close for someone who needs his own space,” Jin mumbles into Yamapi’s armpit, and Yamapi chuckles.
“Watch the movie, Jin.”
“Right,” Jin says, and then he shifts a little and is stabbed by the loose spring in Yamapi’s couch. “Fuck!”
“What happened?” Yamapi is looking at Jin with wide eyes.
“Your stupid satan-couch,” Jin mumbles. “This couch has got to go.”
Later, when it’s way past the time for the last train home, and Jin hadn’t driven today, Yamapi tugs Jin back with him to his bedroom instead of bringing him out a pillow and a blanket for the couch, and they both lay down in Yamapi’s bed.
“Pi?” Jin asks, as Yamapi folds Jin up in his arms. “We aren’t sixteen anymore,” Jin says, and Yamapi doesn’t bother to open his eyes.
“Did you want to sleep on the satan-couch?” Yamapi replies, his lips brushing along the column of Jin’s neck and inexplicably making Jin’s heart do these fantastical cartwheels in his chest. The smooth cotton of Pi’s pink sheets is soft beneath his cheek too, brushing against the skin and lulling him to sleep.
“No,” Jin says, and then he falls into slumber, the weight of Yamapi’s hand resting comfortingly on the small of his back. “Your couch has it in for me,” he mutters, and Yamapi’s lips curve into a smile that Jin can’t see, but he can feel it. Jin, with the last dregs of consciousness, clutches handfuls of Yamapi’s shirt in his fists, and holds on tight.
When Jin wakes up in the morning, hot and sweaty, his t-shirt sticking to him uncomfortably and his hips trapped by the thick denim of his jeans, he looks over to see Yamapi’s peacefully sleeping face and it makes his breath catch.
Yamapi’s cheekbones are sharp, and the way the sunlight filters in through Yamapi’s east-facing window makes him look almost ethereal, eyelashes resting lightly against his skin and casting a shadow that makes Jin want to keep staring.
Something coils, tight, in his gut, making him feel guilty and afraid and like he’s flying all at once, and the heavy weight of Yamapi’s arm across his belly just exacerbates the feeling—makes it more intense and terrifying.
Jin lifts Yamapi’s arm and slides out from under him, retreating from the room.
As he stands on the train, making his way back to his apartment to begin packing, he can’t escape the tight, nervous feeling in his gut, or the image of Yamapi’s sleeping face that keeps popping up unexpectedly whenever he closes his eyes.
He’s just getting an early start on homesickness, he thinks. Just realizing how much he’s going to miss his best friend. It’s nothing to worry about.
Still, the memory of lips innocently brushing against sensitive skin lingers.
***
Los Angeles is just how Jin remembers it—warm, welcoming, anonymous. Jin knows he’s trying to get famous here—partially succeeding, too, with the moderate success of his first single last year and all the hype about his first album building up underground, but he kind of likes the feeling here of walking down the street and not fearing a mobbing. It’s kind of a relief, to be able to be just another person on the streets.
Not that he’d trade being famous for anything, though. He’s luckier than most, and his fans are surprisingly loyal, even when he disappoints them. He appreciates that, and he thinks it’s all worth it to do a job he loves.
Yamapi had come to visit him, last year, like a slice of home when Jin had felt almost buried under the weight of recording and producing an American album and a Japanese single, as well as doing the redubbing for his movie. It was intense, but Yamapi had come, banned Jin from his own kitchen, and done all of Jin’s laundry, and Jin had felt completely and totally at peace for the first time in weeks.
It’s not that Jin doesn’t love L.A. He does. He loves it a lot.
It’s just that sometimes, Jin counts the days on his fingers until he gets to see his family again. Until he gets to see Yamapi again, too.
***
Sender: numbaoneyegga@gmail.com
Recipient: tomosaybody@gmail.com
Yo Pi,
I think I found the perfect lamp for our new apartment. It isn’t pink though.
Also met this really hot chick at the club last week. Might bring her back with me. Don’t get jealous.
J.
Sender: Tomohisa
Recipient: Bakanishi
I never agreed to move in with you Bakanishi. So don’t go buying things for a new apartment that I haven’t agreed to getting.
And that’s another reason we shouldn’t live together. You’ll bring girls home all the time and I’m too busy to be kept up by your caterwauling at all hours of the night.
Tomo
Sender: numbaoneyegga@gmail.com
Recipient: tomosaybody@gmail.com
H8ter.
J-dawg
***
"Wake up and talk to me!"
"Jin, it's three in the morning. What the hell?"
Jin leans back against his truck and presses his cell closer to his ear. Yamapi's voice is tinny in his ear, and husky with sleep. But not angry. Never angry. "This is the only free time I have today," Jin says. "The only free time I have for the next week." Jin lifts his sunglasses up from his nose and uses them to hold back his hair. Now he has to squint, but Jin can't read at all with the sunglasses on. He flips open his planner, a tiny brown leather thing he always manages to slip into one pocket or another. "The only other time would have been while you were working, probably."
Yamapi grunts acceptance, and it makes Jin smile. "Fine," Yamapi says, and Jin can hear him dragging himself up into a sitting position. "What do you want?"
"Just wanted to hear your voice. It's been, what, two weeks?"
"You're such a girl," Yamapi says, laughing. "We dudes can go for weeks without talking and never notice a difference, because bros are for life."
"You didn't miss me at all?" Jin asks, his voice lilting at the end of the sentence in a gentle tease.
"Of course I missed you," Pi grumps. "It's been thirteen days since you last called. I've been getting good sleep at night, but I'm on edge waiting for my ass-o-clock in the morning phone call."
"I thought bros could go for weeks without noticing a difference?" Jin half-asks, half repeats.
"You know we've never just been regular old bros, Jin," Yamapi says, and Jin can hear the smile in his voice. "We're best friends."
"Yeah," Jin says, and there's the tiniest of flutters in his belly. "Forever." He thinks of the weight of Pi’s arm across him, weighing him down to the bed.
"Of course," Yamapi says, like forever is implied. "What have you been up to?"
"Making music," Jin says. "Making lots of music."
"Cool, cool," Yamapi says, and it's punctuated by a yawn. "Jin, I have rehearsal, dance rehearsal no less, at around eight tomorrow, so..."
"I understand," Jin says, and he's staring into his planner still, at the circled number seventeen. "Are you busy on the seventeenth?"
"I dunno, Jin, that's three weeks from now."
"Mark four AM on your calendar," Jin tells, and then closes the book with finality.
"Why?"
"Because I'll need a ride home from Narita," Jin answers, and Yamapi makes a loud whoop into the receiver, and Jin has to hold the phone out at arms length in order to save his eardrums.
***
Jin's last night in Los Angeles is spent, as expected, in a nightclub, where the strobe lights are bright and the jewelry and rhinestones hanging off the women are even brighter. Jin is pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk, and the music is good, and Dom is gone but Jin is surrounded by pretty girls, so who really gives a fuck about Dom.
At first he's surprised when he feels strong hands slide around his hips and pull him back against a strong chest, but Jin has danced with guys before, it works about the same. He doesn't see the harm in dancing with mixed genders-- they're all here for the love of the beat.
But when Jin feels a hard cock press into his back, it shocks him. He turns around to tell the guy that just because he dances with mixed gendered partners doesn't mean he fucks mixed gendered partners, but something about the line of the man's jaw makes him hesitate, and it's just long enough for the man to lean down and press hot lips against his own.
Jin doesn't know how he ends up pressed against a wall, with a set of hips thrusting against his own, two hard cocks grinding to the beat of David Guetta over the speakers, but for some reason, he can't stop it. He doesn't want to stop it.
The man sucks hard on his shoulder, pulling the neck of his shirt to the side and stretching it out of shape, leaving a vivid bruise against his skin. Jin is sweating, not just from the heat of the club, but from the aching arousal that somehow spreads like wildfire through his whole body.
"What?" Jin says, or tries to say, but it comes out as more of a gasp as the man thrusts against him hard, cutting the words off in his throat.
"I knew you'd be good," the man says, and his voice is deep, and then he's kissing Jin roughly and his stubble scratches Jin's face, but Jin kind of likes it, likes the little bit of pain that accompanies the sharp, repetitive jolts of pleasure. "The way you moved your hips, I could tell."
It's all a blur, and Jin is shaking with the need to come. His hands find their way to the back pocket of the man's jeans, dragging him closer, and then he's releasing, and the man is panting in Jin's ear and Jin can feel him jerking and then.
And then Jin is alone, shirt askew and left red and gasping against the wall. The man has disappeared into the crowd, and Jin is so confused.
Because for a moment, just a moment, he imagined that the lips mouthing their way up his jaw belonged to Pi, pressing gently and naturally against his throat as they fall to sleep.
***
"Dude your face," Dom says when Jin walks into the kitchen, and Jin freezes.
"What about it?" Jin asks, still feeling a little tired. He reaches into the fridge for a nectarine and bites into it, the juice running down his face. For some reason it stings. "I'm tired, but I'll sleep on the plane."
"Dude, you look like the girl you made out with last night had a beard," Dom says with a chuckle. "Your face is all irritated."
"Um," Jin says, and then he blushes. He tries to turn around before Dom can see, taking another distracting bite of fruit, but Dom is quicker.
"Oh," Dom says, and Jin swallows. The nectarine is sweet on his lips and tongue. "I didn't know you liked guys."
"Neither did I," Jin replies, and then he's looking up at the ceiling. "Neither did I."
"Well," Dom says. "It's not a big deal, right?" he stands up from the table and claps Jin on the shoulder. "You need a napkin."
As Jin pulls a paper towel off the roll, his hands are trembling.
He closes his eyes, and when he thinks about last night, about the hard lines and unshaven cheeks, he thinks he might not mind doing it again.
That’s when he starts to wonder if loneliness is the only reason he wants to live with Pi; if the way his heart beats faster when he thinks about Pi might be a little different than he had previously imagined.
He doesn’t want to think about it. It’s easier, and better if he doesn’t.
Nothing has changed. Yamapi is his best friend. He’s just homesick, and longing for the familiar.
That’s all.
Nothing has changed.
***
"Jin!" Yamapi calls out, and even though Jin should be mad at him for calling attention to them like this, he can't fight the giant smile that bursts across his face.
Yamapi picks him up, and Jin is shocked by how strong he is-- how small he feels next to Yamapi now, even though they're the same height. "Jin!" Yamapi says again, like he's reassuring himself that Jin is really here. Jin feels his feet hit the floor, and then he's stepping back and grinning, a smile that makes him feel like his face'll break in half if it gets any wider.
Their secret handshake, the one they've had for years and years and isn't even all that terribly secret anymore, is the first thing they do after that, and then they're both laughing and bumping each other as they walk through the airport. Yamapi's wearing this ridiculous hat that hides his whole face, basically, with this giant sagging pom pom that reminds Jin of being eighteen, and Jin finds a way to mention that fact at least once every three minutes. But Yamapi's not annoyed, Jin knows he isn't, because even though equally giant sunglasses obscure Yamapi's eyes, Jin can see the corner of his mouth twitch in that way it always does. Yamapi doesn't have to say a word for Jin to understand him.
Yamapi's always been better at being quiet than Jin, even when they were young. Jin can remember when Yamapi used to try his best to fade into the background.
"C'mon Pi, why are you back there? Aren't you going to hang out with us?" he'd ask, and Yamapi would shyly nod his head before taking a half-step forward.
Looking at the strong confident man next to him now, you wouldn't guess it. But Yamapi's still Yamapi, even if nowadays, he's always standing in the front.
Jin's glad the world sees Yamapi the way he always has-- Yamapi, to him, has always been a shining star.
Jin feels relief uncoil in his chest, because everything is the same.
***
It only takes nine hours, forty-three minutes, and eighteen seconds after getting off the plane to realize that actually, everything has changed.
"Jin, what's wrong?"
Jin's eyelids are heavy, and his back hurts from ten hours on a plane, and his head aches terribly. He feels dirty and tired and he just wants to curl up into a ball under his comforter and sleep for a million years, or at least twelve hours. But even though all of those things are wrong, they aren't the answer to Yamapi's question.
Jin swallows.
"Hello, Earth to Jin?" Yamapi waves a hand in front of Jin's face, and Jin leans back reflexively, which garners a frown from Yamapi as they sit next to each other on Yamapi's disastrously upholstered thing that Yamapi frequently insists is a couch. "Do you need me to take you home? Or you can crash on the couch."
"I'm not sleeping on that death trap," Jin says, and his voice is strange and chalky, and he doesn't quite know why. “And we’re too old to be sharing beds.”
He doesn't know why he's here, at Yamapi's place, instead of at home in his bed, either. Only Yamapi had picked him up at the airport at four in the morning, and they'd been so excited to see each other again after five months apart that it had just seemed natural for Yamapi to drive them both to his place. "Your place is going to be so dusty," Yamapi says. "You sure you don't want to stay?"
"There is not enough money in the world to make it worth my while to sleep on that couch," Jin tells Yamapi, somehow managing to get the words out.
"You were fine just a minute ago," Yamapi says, and he seems confused. "Why are you so...cranky? What's wrong?"
Yamapi's hair is in disarray, and his perm is hideous, as usual. He's got cheese dust around his lips from the chips they had picked up at the convenience store and devoured as they played video games, and his shirt has a hole in the left armpit that is even more visible when Yamapi throws his hands up in victory because Jin keeps falling asleep mid-race. Jin's back still hurts, and Yamapi's stupid sofa isn't improving the situation. All of these things are wrong,but they aren't the answer to the question "what's wrong."
"It's just jet-lag," Jin says, but it isn't jet-lag, not really. Yeah, Jin is tired-- exhausted even, but he's functioned, hell, worked, on less sleep than this.
What's wrong is that Jin, suddenly, feels every single millimeter of skin where Pi's arm is alongside his own.
What's wrong is that Jin is mesmerized by the play of light across Yamapi's angular cheekbones as the last of the day's sunlight filters through the window, the way it creates a shadow over his full lips.
Jin's always losing things. His keys, his hair ties, his chapstick, the quarters he keeps in the pocket of his jeans to feed the parking meters in Los Angeles. He's always losing things, but not like this.
In the nine hours, forty-three minutes and eighteen seconds since Jin walked off of a plane and into Yamapi's arms, Jin has lost his mind.
Because all Jin can think is that he wants, more than anything, to kiss Yamapi; press his mouth to those famous lips and catch the gasp, letting his tongue sneak inside--
"I just want to go home," Jin says, and his voice croaks out of his rapidly closing throat. "It's been a long trip, and I should sleep in a real bed. My bed."
"Alright then," Yamapi replies. "Can you find your apartment keys, even?"
Jin nods, slowly, and pats his right pocket. Yamapi sighs and stands, his muscles rippling under tanned skin, and Jin is still trying to figure things out, but he wants to kiss the tendon in Pi's neck too. And when Yamapi holds out his hand to pull Jin up, the warmth of his palm burns all the way up Jin's arm, and Jin doesn't want to let go.
"Thanks for the ride," Jin says, as Yamapi pulls to a stop in front of Jin's apartment. "Don't forget to pop the trunk."
"Anything for you, Bakanishi," Yamapi jokes, and smiles, and Jin's heart stops, right there in his chest, at the gorgeousness of that grin.
“If we lived together, you wouldn’t have to drive me home,” Jin says, but his heart isn’t in it. Yamapi doesn’t seem to notice, just rolls his eyes as Jin shuts the door to the car.
Later, after he's surveyed the layer of dust covering everything and dragged his suitcase into the center of the floor, Jin curls up on his bed, right in the center, not bothering to untuck the stale-smelling covers left long-unused. He's still wearing his jeans and his shirt smells like sweat, and he doesn't care, because somehow, since Jin first saw Yamapi this morning, something inside of him has broken down, or broken through, and suddenly everything, everything is upside-down and inside-out, and it's all he can do to wrap arms around himself and will the strange feeling to go away by morning.
It doesn't.
Jin is screwed.
Part 2
Pairing: Pin
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jin won’t let this slip through his fingers
Notes: Happy Coming Out Day! Also this was long ago promised to
akeru_world69Jin doesn’t really know why he’s so scared of losing the people who matter. He knows they’re not going anywhere, that just because half of his life is Los Angeles, he doesn’t have to be so damned afraid that there will be nothing waiting for him when he gets back.
It’s just he can’t help but worry that he’s not clinging hard enough, that somehow people are going to slip right through his fingers when he’s not looking.
When he tells Ryo about it, one day, on Skype, Ryo just laughs at him. In his face.
“Sometimes I just worry that you’ll all find new friends and I’ll come home and you won’t want to hang out with me.”
“Like we’re going to replace you with someone more awesome, and your opinion of our haircuts won’t matter anymore?”
“Well, the thought crossed my mind.”
“Must have been a long and lonely journey for it,” Ryo replies. “Look. Yamapi is just as gay for you as you are for him. You don’t have to worry about him finding a new ‘best friend’ or whatever you people call it these days.” Ryo pushes a hand through his hair. It’s getting longer than Jin’s seen it since their junior days. “And I never gave a fuck what you thought of my hair.”
“I never said anything about Yamapi!” Jin protests, and Ryo snorts.
“You don’t have to, Jin. You’re about as subtle as Kame doing fanservice.” Ryo leans forward, so that all Jin can see in the camera is one third of his face, his eye taking up most of the screen. “This is me giving you the eye, Jin. Calm down. Yamapi is anxiously waiting for you to get home again so you two can have your Monday drama nights. And your Tuesday movie nights. And your Wednesday video game nights. And your Thursday gay hugging on the couch nights.” Ryo leans back again. “Get the picture?”
“How would you even know?” Jin snaps. “According to the tabloids you guys aren’t even talking.”
Ryo snorts again. “Also according to the tabloids, you’re in a secret relationship with an ex-convict named Juan Pablo.”
“What?” Jin says, and Ryo chuckles.
“I sent it in as an anonymous tip,” Ryo tells him. “One of my finer moments, I must say. And between you and me, that’s saying something.”
“I hate you,” Jin says, but he doesn’t mean it, because it is rather funny. “But seriously, I just worry we’ll all grow apart.”
“Just hold on tight with both hands,” Ryo says. “Things change, and sometimes we have to move in separate directions. But change isn’t always for the worse, Jin. And if something’s really important to you, you’ll hold onto it.”
“Thanks Ryo-chan,” Jin says, and Ryo nods. “You’re awesome when you want to be.”
“I just said something totally wise, right? I should write it down and make a song.” Ryo scrambles for a pen and paper, and Jin smiles. “Now go call Yamapi. I texted him and told him you were whining about how you were afraid you guys were going to fall out of love and now he’s sending me all these messages asking if you’re okay. It’s annoying. Deal with my mess.”
“I really hate you,” Jin tells him, and hangs up the Skype call.
It’s comforting to hear Yamapi’s voice after that. They don’t talk about serious things—just Rina’s new boyfriend, who Jin hasn’t vetted yet, so he might not be good enough for Rina, and about Shirota’s last drama with Kuroki, which Jin is totally watching for the first time because he’s been too busy until now to even contemplate it.
Yamapi’s light baritone is pleasant in his ears. It’s husky with sleep, and Jin hopes that Yamapi is getting enough sleep, and that Yamapi is eating enough. Because Yamapi is important.
“I’ll be home in two days,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s smile is audible in his voice.
“That’s great, Jin,” he says. “I’ve saved so much variety television onto my DVR for you. You’ll have to come over one day and watch all of it, because it’s almost full.”
“Will do,” Jin says. “I’ll be over so much you won’t know what to do with me.”
“Okay,” Yamapi says. “And you’re going to teach me how to use Skype, too, right? Ryo just laughed in my face when I asked him. I am terrible at computers.”
“Definitely,” Jin says.
Jin will hang on as tight as he can.
***
“I hate this couch,” Jin says, as he leans to the left to avoid a wayward spring. Yamapi is slurping loudly on noodles, and Jin looks at him nervously, wondering how he should broach the subject he’s been thinking on for weeks.
“Then don’t sit on it,” Yamapi says around a mouthful. His hair is falling into his eyes, a tangled curtain of over-processed bangs and schizophrenically dyed waves. His eyes are narrow and concentrated on his food, and Jin wonders if now isn’t the best time.
“I think we should get an apartment together,” Jin says, and Pi looks up from his instant ramen with an incredulous look on his face.
His lips are shiny with broth, and Jin thinks he looks a little like a commercial for ramen right now— the way Yamapi eats always makes Jin think whatever he’s eating, it must be the most delicious thing on Earth.
“What?” Yamapi blows cool air onto the noodles he’s lifted into the air with his chopsticks, and then shoves them into his mouth, making disgusting slurping sounds to suck in the noodles that hang down his chin.
“An apartment. Together,” Jin repeats, leaving only the important words so that Yamapi will pay attention to those. He pushes a nervous hand through his hair, dragging the shorter front pieces out of his eyes as he inhales, and steadily looks at Yamapi, waiting on him to process.
“Why would we do that?” Yamapi replies, licking his lips and staring blankly at Jin. “We see each other all the time. And I like living by myself.”
“I’m always here,” Jin says. “Like, literally 6 days a week I am here. I hardly ever go back to my own apartment when I’m in Japan.”
“That’s your own fault,” Pi says, and reaches for a cream bun on the table. Jin winces as he dips it into the ramen broth before taking a huge bite out of it, smiling contentedly at the flavor. “Go home, then.”
“But I don’t want to,” Jin whines. “I want to hang out with you.” Yamapi is strangely withdrawn as Jin talks, looking closed to Jin in a way Jin hasn’t seen before.
“Then hang out with me and quit your bitching,” Pi grunts, around another mouthful of bun. “Like seriously, what is the problem here?”
“If we lived together,” Jin wraps a strand of his hair around his finger and tugs. “If we lived together, I’d never have to go home. I could bring take-out home for dinner, like always, and then we could watch TV, like always, and then we could do the dishes together, like always. Then, instead of me sleeping on your couch, which, by the way, I’m pretty sure is possessed by the devil, or getting on the subway at eleven in the evening, like always, I could just…go to my room. And go to bed.”
Yamapi makes a thoughtful noise. “I see what you’re saying. But moving is a lot of hassle. You know that—you just moved in to your place. And half the year you live in LA. And also I might start to hate you if we lived together.”
“What?” Jin asks, brows knitting in confusion. “Why?”
“Lots of reasons,” Pi answers vaguely, before shoving more noodles into his mouth. He’s staring at the TV now, pretending to ignore Jin, which he knows Jin hates.
“Like what?” Jin asks petulantly.
“You’re a mess,” he says flatly, when Jin insists. “I’ve seen your place, Jin. No way.”
“I could be cleaner,” Jin says. “If that’s what it took to get you to agree.”
“Why do you want this so much, Jin?” Yamapi asks, and then leans back with a sigh, patting his full stomach.
Jin bites his lip and considers.
Jin wants to live with his best friend. He wants to wake up in the morning without a crick in his neck form the sofa, and he wants to get out of the shower and see Yamapi dancing in the kitchen to weird KPop music and cooking breakfast, because Yamapi is fucking amazing at cooking breakfast. He wants to have two mugs in the kitchen and have one of them say Jin and one of them say Pi, and then he wants to fill them both with hot chocolate and laugh when Yamapi can’t get the whipped cream off of his nose. He wants all of this, but he can’t just say that, cause he knows it sounds kind of gay, and he knows sounding kind of gay isn’t going to get him what he wants.
Jin wants to hold on tight, with both hands.
“Because it would be awesome,” Jin answers. “Really awesome.”
Yamapi looks at Jin for a moment, like he’s not sure what to say, and there’s a flicker of hesitation Jin doesn’t understand in his eyes, before he exhales. “Alright Jin, if you can keep your place clean for a month, I’ll think about it.”
Jin feel excitement bubbling in his chest, and it makes him grin victoriously. He can feel the massive smile pulling at his face, and hell, even he doesn’t know why a ‘maybe’ makes him so damn happy, but it does. He stands up swiftly, prompting Yamapi to look up at him wide eyed and confused.
“Where are you going?” Yamapi asks, his hands setting his wooden disposable chopsticks across the lip of the ramen container. “It’s time for our Saturday night shows.”
Jin wipes his hands carelessly on his jeans, the rough texture of the denim remind him it’s time to do laundry, and stretches. “Well, I’ve got to go back to my apartment.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to clean it,” Jin says, and then grins hugely again. “I just have to keep it clean for a month, right? And then maybe you’ll move in with me?”
Yamapi nods slowly as Jin searches the couch cushions for his phone, which has somehow slid out of his back pocket over the course of the evening. When he looks back up at Yamapi, Yamapi’s got this anxious look on his face. “I said I’d think about it, Jin. Don’t get ahead of yourself.“
“Okay, I hear you, I hear you. So… see you later,” Jin chirps, before slipping on his shoes and waving goodbye to an open-mouthed Yamapi still sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. Jin thinks he looks a bit lost. “Well, see you tomorrow, since I like sleeping in my own bed and not your demon sofa. And my bed, is, you know, ridiculously far across town.”
“No one made you choose an apartment on the other side of the district,” Yamapi says with a scowl, and Jin nods sheepishly.
“I know,” Jin says. “But think about how much more we could see each other when I’m in Japan if I lived here!”
“Yeah,” Yamapi says. “But don’t we see each other enough?” He won’t meet Jin’s eyes, for some reason, and he’s sitting stiffly.
“But we could see each other every day, even if we’re busy,” Jin says. “And that… that would be really nice,” Jin says, and Yamapi looks up quickly, catching Jin’s gaze, as Jin closes the door behind him.
***
Jin knows it’s silly of him to get an apartment by himself when he’s constantly shuttling back and forth between Japan and America. He knows it’s silly, and he doesn’t care, because he’s pretty sure it’s what he wants—no rules, no sharing, and visiting people on his own terms.
But.
When Jin moves into his first apartment, he’s really lonely.
At first, he relishes waking up as late as he pleases, without his mother banging on the door or Reio playing video games with the volume too loud at 9AM, when normal, sane people are still sleeping.
He loves that he can throw his shit all over the place and no one says anything, because it’s his fucking apartment and he can do whatever he pleases. He loves that people have to call before they come over, because he might not be home and they have to ask before they come into his personal space.
But after about two weeks, the loneliness starts to creep across the walls of his living room and into his bedroom with alarming speed, until it coats everything Jin owns and it’s far too quiet.
Pi comes back from a concert tour two days after Jin starts to find the silence of his apartment unbearably suffocating, reaching out with it’s silent hands and clutching tightly at his throat until he feels like he can’t breathe.
Jin heads to Yamapi’s apartment about an hour after he gets Yamapi’s text that he’s made it home, safe, and he’s clutching a bag of Chinese food in his left hand as Yamapi opens the door. Yamapi’s eyes widen when he sees Jin, and Jin pulls him into a half hug with his right arm as Yamapi looks at him, and Jin smiles softly.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Jin says, and Yamapi raises one brow. “And I missed you,” Jin adds quietly, and Yamapi laughs and drags him inside, and Jin feels the loneliness melt from his shoulders like snow in the spring, and the warmth sink in all the way to his bones.
He seats himself on Yamapi’s uncomfortable couch, and Yamapi sits down next to him, the two of them touching from shoulder to knee, and it feels like home.
***
“Isn’t it clean?” Jin says proudly, when Yamapi drops by to surprise inspect Jin’s apartment on his way back home from a meeting. “This is going to be no sweat.”
Yamapi surveys the room and crosses his arms across his chest. “It does look pretty good,” Yamapi says begrudgingly, and then he licks his lips. “I have never seen anything you coexisted with this clean—well, maybe Kamenashi, but his OCD makes for special circumstances.”
“What?”
“You bring disorder and filth to everything you touch,” Yamapi says, and catches Jin in a headlock. “It’s gross what a mess you are.”
“Whatever,” Jin says, wrapping his arms around Yamapi’s waist in an attempt for leverage. “What’s that say about you, huh?”
“I’m immune to you by now,” Yamapi says, and Jin slides his hands under Yamapi’s shirt to tickle his side. At the touch of Jin’s hands on his skin, Yamapi releases Jin immediately, jumping back as Jin’s arms are suddenly grasping nothing but air.
Yamapi’s face is red, and he’s looking away from Jin, so Jin can’t see the expression on his face. “What?” Jin says, confused. “What happened?”
“I don’t feel like being tickled,” Yamapi replies. “My…stomach’s upset.”
“Oh,” Jin says, still reeling from the speed at which Yamapi had escaped his hold. Yamapi steps into the living room and sinks down into one of Jin’s expensive leather arm chairs, sighing as it seems to envelop him. “When we move in together,” Jin says. “We are totally keeping my living room furniture.”
Yamapi just frowns at him, and looks at Jin’s sofa with distaste, and then he shivers a little. “Bakanishi, why is it so cold?”
“Because the air-conditioner is on?” Jin says.
“Didn’t you just get home?” Yamapi asks, and Jin nods.
“Yeah, about ten minutes before you got here,” Jin informs him.
“Then how’d it get cold so fast?” Yamapi asks, tugging down the hem of his t-shirt as he leans back further in the chair.
“Because it’s been on all day?”
“You…left the air-conditioner on all day?”
“…Yes?” Jin says, but it’s more like a question, because he doesn’t know why Yamapi looks so agitated as he squirms in the chair.
“Do you know how much energy that wastes?” Yamapi looks at him with narrowed eyes. “That is terrible for the environment, Jin.”
“Sorry?” Jin says, confused. “I just hate coming home to a hot apartment.”
“That’s so selfish. We’re trying to save energy in Tokyo and you’re refrigerating an empty apartment.” Yamapi makes a tsking sound in his throat. “This is why we can’t live together. I’d be mad at you all the time.”
“No you wouldn’t,” Jin says. “You never get mad at me. Plus I could totally remember to turn off the air conditioner.”
“Yeah right,” Yamapi says. “You can barely remember to lock your door.”
Jin crosses his arms defensively. “Just give me a chance,” Jin says. “I could make you happy.” Yamapi looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Jin feels his face flush hot. “I mean, I could be a good roommate, and not do things that piss you off.”
Yamapi bursts into laughter, and Jin reaches down to the sofa and grabs a couch cushion, throwing it vengefully at Yamapi’s head. “Shut up, I didn’t mean it like that,” Jin hisses, and then he’s tackling Pi, and Yamapi squeals in an undignified manner before he falls out of the armchair and Jin to the ground.
They’re both breathing hard, then, and Jin just laughs, and then Yamapi is laughing too, and Jin knows, knows more than anything, that he wants this, he wants them every day.
“I thought I told you my stomach was upset,” Pi says, but he doesn’t look angry. He’s never really angry at Jin, no matter how stupid Jin is. Jin loves that about his best friend.
“Seriously, Pi,” Jin says. “I can keep the place clean, and I can remember to turn off the air conditioner when I go out.”
Yamapi looks down at him somberly, mouth pressing into a thin line. “I’ll think about it, Jin.”
Jin supposes that’s the best he can do, for now.
***
As Jin sees it, he’s already lived with Yamapi before.
He remembers Yamapi at the dinner table every night, inhaling massive amounts of food while Jin’s mom just looking on at him dotingly, occasionally walking behind the two boys and putting soft hands on the backs of both of their necks and encouraging them to take another serving.
He remembers Yamapi poking at Reio, the two of them tussling just like brothers over the television remote, and Jin laughing at them as he manually switches the television station with the buttons on the bottom of the TV.
He remembers Yamapi actually just living in his house, moving into his bedroom and staying for days on end, the both of them snuggling up into Jin’s bed, arms and legs entangled because they’re sixteen and it doesn’t mean anything.
He remembers Yamapi huddling closer to Jin for warmth in the winter, and maybe in the summer too, because Yamapi isn’t physically cold, but they both feel less lonely when they’re together.
Now it’s Jin that feels lonely, and he just wants to be closer to Yamapi, indulge in that warmth all over again.
***
Shopping with Yamapi is always fun, for Jin, because it’s not like real shopping, which can be sort of fun too, but not with Yamapi. Yamapi hates shopping, so when he and Jin go out in the afternoons, venturing down the public streets in broad daylight, wearing hats and sunglasses even in the height of the summer swelter, Jin never makes them go into any stores. Instead, they venture down along the street vendors, and Jin teases and taunts Yamapi into breaking his diet with fried tempura shrimp and takoyaki.
“I thought you said you lose weight easily? What can it hurt,” Jin says smugly, because he knows how strict Yamapi is with what he eats, and Yamapi always growls and shoves the takoyaki two by two into his mouth, cheeks puffing out from the round balls of octopus and dough.
Jin loves the way Yamapi looks then—his idol hair pulled up into his ball cap, his face free of make-up, and his mouth pursed as he attempts to chew the takoyaki, his tongue slowly realizing that maybe it’s too hot to eat in a single gulp like that.
“I hate you,” Yamapi says, after he’s swallowed, and Jin cackles and shoves a takoyaki into his own mouth, relishing the flavor on his tongue.
“I love Japanese food,” Jin says, eyes closing to savor. When he opens them again, Yamapi is staring at him intensely, and it makes Jin shift back awkwardly. “What?”
“You eat like you're having sex,” Yamapi says, snorting. “Disgusting.”
Jin grunts with displeasure, elbowing Yamapi in the side as the start walking again. “I hate you.”
Yamapi chuckles, then his eyes catch on something and he stops walking forward to crane his neck around Jin. “Hmmm,” he says, before he approaches the stall, which is selling towels and washcloths in assorted colors. Yamapi’s fingers skim across the tops of them, lingering longer than necessary on the light pink ones. “I’ve been needing new towels but I’ve been too busy to go get them,” Yamapi says, his hands running along the terrycloth of a pink towel. “I may as well.”
“Pink?” Jin says, before he can stop himself.
Yamapi looks up at him, before his eyebrows knit together. “Yes, pink. What’s wrong with pink?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Jin say, but maybe being in America so often has made him sensitive, because he feels a laugh bubbling deep in his chest as he thinks about Yamapi getting a set of pink towels.
“Jin,” Yamapi says, his voice like a warning, and Jin can feel his eyes crinkle as Yamapi leans into his space.
“No, it’s nothing, really,” Jin says, and Yamapi’s breath smells like takoyaki, and it’s making Jin feel…hungry, but not for food, and it’s weird so he pushes Yamapi away. “Just get your gay pink towels so we can keep going.”
“Gay pink…” Yamapi puts his hands on his hips, and his baseball cap shields his eyes now but Jin can see the thin line of his displeased mouth. “There’s nothing wrong with having pink towels.”
“A whole set of them?” Jin asks, and his hand reaches out to catch the sleeve of Yamapi’s t-shirt. His fingers brush Yamapi’s arm, lightly, and it’s nothing compared to how much they tend to touch and be touched by each other on a regular basis, but for some reason Jin can feel it tingle throughout his entire body. Yamapi sighs.
“Never mind,” he says, and then he’s walking ahead of Jin down the street, and Jin has to run to keep up.
“I’m sorry,” Jin says. “I didn’t mean to insult your taste in towels.”
“It’s fine, Bakanishi. Just another reason we shouldn’t live together, I suppose.”
“What?” Jin asks, aghast. “Because I laughed when you wanted to buy fluffy pink towels?”
“It means our decorating senses are mismatched,” Yamapi informs him, and Jin hardly thinks that buying ugly pink towels and covering your house in repulsive ‘vintage’ furniture can be called decorating.
“No way,” Jin replies, wrapping his hand around Yamapi’s wrist. “No way in hell is that an excuse.”
“I’m not living with someone who hates everything I buy for my apartment, Jin,” Yamapi says, and Jin tugs on the captured wrist.
“Look, Yamapi. You can go and buy those pink towels, and I will wake up and cheerfully use them everyday if that means you’ll live with me.”
“Why do you want this so bad?” Yamapi asks Jin, when they stop for ramen at a stand and Jin is halfway through a slurp of noodles.
Jin thinks about the way Yamapi’s hair smells, fresh from the shower, the gentle scent of his shampoo climbing into Jin’s nostrils as Yamapi lays against him on Yamapi’s sofa, the television’s noise in the background and Yamapi’s deep, sleeping breaths in the foreground as Jin relishes the warmth of Yamapi against the planes of his chest. He thinks about the way Yamapi looks in the morning when Jin does sleep over, and the way Yamapi laughs when Jin tries to cook something and burns it to a crisp and Yamapi has to start breakfast over again.
He treasures those moments, because those are the moments that remind him that no matter how often he has to go to America, Japan will always be home, because Yamapi is home.
“The real question is,” Jin says quietly, after he swallows his bite of noodles, “is why don’t you want it?”
Yamapi sighs, and doesn’t answer the question, just taps his fingers anxiously against the side of the bowl and refuses to meet Jin’s eyes.
When Yamapi won’t look at him, Jin feels like Yamapi is slipping through his fingers.
*
“What the hell are you doing?” Yamapi says, and Jin can’t see his face but it’s probably one of mild curiosity.
“Looking for X-men,” Jin tells him, and then he finds it, clasping the DVD in his hands and turning back from the cabinet to look at Yamapi, who is staring at him. He clears his throat and puts it in the DVD player, before turning back and walking toward the couch.
“When do you leave?” Yamapi asks, and the question is light, but Jin can see that Yamapi is upset because his jaw is tight and his hands are gripping the edge of the sofa.
“Next Monday,” Jin says, and Yamapi licks his lips. “How’d you know?”
“We always watch X-men right before you leave. You always choose that movie when you’re about to jet off and leave for three months, or however long you’ll be away.”
“Oh,” Jin says, and then Yamapi looks up at him, eyes somber. He grabs Jin by the forearm and tugs him down to the sofa, so Jin is laying half on top of him and half next to him. Jin can feel his own body rising and falling with the rhythm of Yamapi’s chest. “I hadn’t realized I was so predictable.”
“You are,” Yamapi says. “How long?”
“I don’t know yet. Some recording and stuff.”
“Oh,” says Yamapi. “Alright then.”
“Yeah,” Jin replies. “I guess I can’t move in with you until later, huh?”
“You act like I decided that we could move in together. I still don’t want to be your roommate,” Yamapi says as his hands find their way into Jin’s hair.
“You’ll give in eventually,” Jin says. “I know it.”
“Not likely,” Yamapi replies. “I like having my own space.” As he says it, though, his other hand creeps it’s way along Jin’s shoulder, pulling him into a half-hug. “I’ll miss you, though.”
“You’re holding me awful close for someone who needs his own space,” Jin mumbles into Yamapi’s armpit, and Yamapi chuckles.
“Watch the movie, Jin.”
“Right,” Jin says, and then he shifts a little and is stabbed by the loose spring in Yamapi’s couch. “Fuck!”
“What happened?” Yamapi is looking at Jin with wide eyes.
“Your stupid satan-couch,” Jin mumbles. “This couch has got to go.”
Later, when it’s way past the time for the last train home, and Jin hadn’t driven today, Yamapi tugs Jin back with him to his bedroom instead of bringing him out a pillow and a blanket for the couch, and they both lay down in Yamapi’s bed.
“Pi?” Jin asks, as Yamapi folds Jin up in his arms. “We aren’t sixteen anymore,” Jin says, and Yamapi doesn’t bother to open his eyes.
“Did you want to sleep on the satan-couch?” Yamapi replies, his lips brushing along the column of Jin’s neck and inexplicably making Jin’s heart do these fantastical cartwheels in his chest. The smooth cotton of Pi’s pink sheets is soft beneath his cheek too, brushing against the skin and lulling him to sleep.
“No,” Jin says, and then he falls into slumber, the weight of Yamapi’s hand resting comfortingly on the small of his back. “Your couch has it in for me,” he mutters, and Yamapi’s lips curve into a smile that Jin can’t see, but he can feel it. Jin, with the last dregs of consciousness, clutches handfuls of Yamapi’s shirt in his fists, and holds on tight.
When Jin wakes up in the morning, hot and sweaty, his t-shirt sticking to him uncomfortably and his hips trapped by the thick denim of his jeans, he looks over to see Yamapi’s peacefully sleeping face and it makes his breath catch.
Yamapi’s cheekbones are sharp, and the way the sunlight filters in through Yamapi’s east-facing window makes him look almost ethereal, eyelashes resting lightly against his skin and casting a shadow that makes Jin want to keep staring.
Something coils, tight, in his gut, making him feel guilty and afraid and like he’s flying all at once, and the heavy weight of Yamapi’s arm across his belly just exacerbates the feeling—makes it more intense and terrifying.
Jin lifts Yamapi’s arm and slides out from under him, retreating from the room.
As he stands on the train, making his way back to his apartment to begin packing, he can’t escape the tight, nervous feeling in his gut, or the image of Yamapi’s sleeping face that keeps popping up unexpectedly whenever he closes his eyes.
He’s just getting an early start on homesickness, he thinks. Just realizing how much he’s going to miss his best friend. It’s nothing to worry about.
Still, the memory of lips innocently brushing against sensitive skin lingers.
***
Los Angeles is just how Jin remembers it—warm, welcoming, anonymous. Jin knows he’s trying to get famous here—partially succeeding, too, with the moderate success of his first single last year and all the hype about his first album building up underground, but he kind of likes the feeling here of walking down the street and not fearing a mobbing. It’s kind of a relief, to be able to be just another person on the streets.
Not that he’d trade being famous for anything, though. He’s luckier than most, and his fans are surprisingly loyal, even when he disappoints them. He appreciates that, and he thinks it’s all worth it to do a job he loves.
Yamapi had come to visit him, last year, like a slice of home when Jin had felt almost buried under the weight of recording and producing an American album and a Japanese single, as well as doing the redubbing for his movie. It was intense, but Yamapi had come, banned Jin from his own kitchen, and done all of Jin’s laundry, and Jin had felt completely and totally at peace for the first time in weeks.
It’s not that Jin doesn’t love L.A. He does. He loves it a lot.
It’s just that sometimes, Jin counts the days on his fingers until he gets to see his family again. Until he gets to see Yamapi again, too.
***
Sender: numbaoneyegga@gmail.com
Recipient: tomosaybody@gmail.com
Yo Pi,
I think I found the perfect lamp for our new apartment. It isn’t pink though.
Also met this really hot chick at the club last week. Might bring her back with me. Don’t get jealous.
J.
Sender: Tomohisa
Recipient: Bakanishi
I never agreed to move in with you Bakanishi. So don’t go buying things for a new apartment that I haven’t agreed to getting.
And that’s another reason we shouldn’t live together. You’ll bring girls home all the time and I’m too busy to be kept up by your caterwauling at all hours of the night.
Tomo
Sender: numbaoneyegga@gmail.com
Recipient: tomosaybody@gmail.com
H8ter.
J-dawg
***
"Wake up and talk to me!"
"Jin, it's three in the morning. What the hell?"
Jin leans back against his truck and presses his cell closer to his ear. Yamapi's voice is tinny in his ear, and husky with sleep. But not angry. Never angry. "This is the only free time I have today," Jin says. "The only free time I have for the next week." Jin lifts his sunglasses up from his nose and uses them to hold back his hair. Now he has to squint, but Jin can't read at all with the sunglasses on. He flips open his planner, a tiny brown leather thing he always manages to slip into one pocket or another. "The only other time would have been while you were working, probably."
Yamapi grunts acceptance, and it makes Jin smile. "Fine," Yamapi says, and Jin can hear him dragging himself up into a sitting position. "What do you want?"
"Just wanted to hear your voice. It's been, what, two weeks?"
"You're such a girl," Yamapi says, laughing. "We dudes can go for weeks without talking and never notice a difference, because bros are for life."
"You didn't miss me at all?" Jin asks, his voice lilting at the end of the sentence in a gentle tease.
"Of course I missed you," Pi grumps. "It's been thirteen days since you last called. I've been getting good sleep at night, but I'm on edge waiting for my ass-o-clock in the morning phone call."
"I thought bros could go for weeks without noticing a difference?" Jin half-asks, half repeats.
"You know we've never just been regular old bros, Jin," Yamapi says, and Jin can hear the smile in his voice. "We're best friends."
"Yeah," Jin says, and there's the tiniest of flutters in his belly. "Forever." He thinks of the weight of Pi’s arm across him, weighing him down to the bed.
"Of course," Yamapi says, like forever is implied. "What have you been up to?"
"Making music," Jin says. "Making lots of music."
"Cool, cool," Yamapi says, and it's punctuated by a yawn. "Jin, I have rehearsal, dance rehearsal no less, at around eight tomorrow, so..."
"I understand," Jin says, and he's staring into his planner still, at the circled number seventeen. "Are you busy on the seventeenth?"
"I dunno, Jin, that's three weeks from now."
"Mark four AM on your calendar," Jin tells, and then closes the book with finality.
"Why?"
"Because I'll need a ride home from Narita," Jin answers, and Yamapi makes a loud whoop into the receiver, and Jin has to hold the phone out at arms length in order to save his eardrums.
***
Jin's last night in Los Angeles is spent, as expected, in a nightclub, where the strobe lights are bright and the jewelry and rhinestones hanging off the women are even brighter. Jin is pleasantly buzzed, but not drunk, and the music is good, and Dom is gone but Jin is surrounded by pretty girls, so who really gives a fuck about Dom.
At first he's surprised when he feels strong hands slide around his hips and pull him back against a strong chest, but Jin has danced with guys before, it works about the same. He doesn't see the harm in dancing with mixed genders-- they're all here for the love of the beat.
But when Jin feels a hard cock press into his back, it shocks him. He turns around to tell the guy that just because he dances with mixed gendered partners doesn't mean he fucks mixed gendered partners, but something about the line of the man's jaw makes him hesitate, and it's just long enough for the man to lean down and press hot lips against his own.
Jin doesn't know how he ends up pressed against a wall, with a set of hips thrusting against his own, two hard cocks grinding to the beat of David Guetta over the speakers, but for some reason, he can't stop it. He doesn't want to stop it.
The man sucks hard on his shoulder, pulling the neck of his shirt to the side and stretching it out of shape, leaving a vivid bruise against his skin. Jin is sweating, not just from the heat of the club, but from the aching arousal that somehow spreads like wildfire through his whole body.
"What?" Jin says, or tries to say, but it comes out as more of a gasp as the man thrusts against him hard, cutting the words off in his throat.
"I knew you'd be good," the man says, and his voice is deep, and then he's kissing Jin roughly and his stubble scratches Jin's face, but Jin kind of likes it, likes the little bit of pain that accompanies the sharp, repetitive jolts of pleasure. "The way you moved your hips, I could tell."
It's all a blur, and Jin is shaking with the need to come. His hands find their way to the back pocket of the man's jeans, dragging him closer, and then he's releasing, and the man is panting in Jin's ear and Jin can feel him jerking and then.
And then Jin is alone, shirt askew and left red and gasping against the wall. The man has disappeared into the crowd, and Jin is so confused.
Because for a moment, just a moment, he imagined that the lips mouthing their way up his jaw belonged to Pi, pressing gently and naturally against his throat as they fall to sleep.
***
"Dude your face," Dom says when Jin walks into the kitchen, and Jin freezes.
"What about it?" Jin asks, still feeling a little tired. He reaches into the fridge for a nectarine and bites into it, the juice running down his face. For some reason it stings. "I'm tired, but I'll sleep on the plane."
"Dude, you look like the girl you made out with last night had a beard," Dom says with a chuckle. "Your face is all irritated."
"Um," Jin says, and then he blushes. He tries to turn around before Dom can see, taking another distracting bite of fruit, but Dom is quicker.
"Oh," Dom says, and Jin swallows. The nectarine is sweet on his lips and tongue. "I didn't know you liked guys."
"Neither did I," Jin replies, and then he's looking up at the ceiling. "Neither did I."
"Well," Dom says. "It's not a big deal, right?" he stands up from the table and claps Jin on the shoulder. "You need a napkin."
As Jin pulls a paper towel off the roll, his hands are trembling.
He closes his eyes, and when he thinks about last night, about the hard lines and unshaven cheeks, he thinks he might not mind doing it again.
That’s when he starts to wonder if loneliness is the only reason he wants to live with Pi; if the way his heart beats faster when he thinks about Pi might be a little different than he had previously imagined.
He doesn’t want to think about it. It’s easier, and better if he doesn’t.
Nothing has changed. Yamapi is his best friend. He’s just homesick, and longing for the familiar.
That’s all.
Nothing has changed.
***
"Jin!" Yamapi calls out, and even though Jin should be mad at him for calling attention to them like this, he can't fight the giant smile that bursts across his face.
Yamapi picks him up, and Jin is shocked by how strong he is-- how small he feels next to Yamapi now, even though they're the same height. "Jin!" Yamapi says again, like he's reassuring himself that Jin is really here. Jin feels his feet hit the floor, and then he's stepping back and grinning, a smile that makes him feel like his face'll break in half if it gets any wider.
Their secret handshake, the one they've had for years and years and isn't even all that terribly secret anymore, is the first thing they do after that, and then they're both laughing and bumping each other as they walk through the airport. Yamapi's wearing this ridiculous hat that hides his whole face, basically, with this giant sagging pom pom that reminds Jin of being eighteen, and Jin finds a way to mention that fact at least once every three minutes. But Yamapi's not annoyed, Jin knows he isn't, because even though equally giant sunglasses obscure Yamapi's eyes, Jin can see the corner of his mouth twitch in that way it always does. Yamapi doesn't have to say a word for Jin to understand him.
Yamapi's always been better at being quiet than Jin, even when they were young. Jin can remember when Yamapi used to try his best to fade into the background.
"C'mon Pi, why are you back there? Aren't you going to hang out with us?" he'd ask, and Yamapi would shyly nod his head before taking a half-step forward.
Looking at the strong confident man next to him now, you wouldn't guess it. But Yamapi's still Yamapi, even if nowadays, he's always standing in the front.
Jin's glad the world sees Yamapi the way he always has-- Yamapi, to him, has always been a shining star.
Jin feels relief uncoil in his chest, because everything is the same.
***
It only takes nine hours, forty-three minutes, and eighteen seconds after getting off the plane to realize that actually, everything has changed.
"Jin, what's wrong?"
Jin's eyelids are heavy, and his back hurts from ten hours on a plane, and his head aches terribly. He feels dirty and tired and he just wants to curl up into a ball under his comforter and sleep for a million years, or at least twelve hours. But even though all of those things are wrong, they aren't the answer to Yamapi's question.
Jin swallows.
"Hello, Earth to Jin?" Yamapi waves a hand in front of Jin's face, and Jin leans back reflexively, which garners a frown from Yamapi as they sit next to each other on Yamapi's disastrously upholstered thing that Yamapi frequently insists is a couch. "Do you need me to take you home? Or you can crash on the couch."
"I'm not sleeping on that death trap," Jin says, and his voice is strange and chalky, and he doesn't quite know why. “And we’re too old to be sharing beds.”
He doesn't know why he's here, at Yamapi's place, instead of at home in his bed, either. Only Yamapi had picked him up at the airport at four in the morning, and they'd been so excited to see each other again after five months apart that it had just seemed natural for Yamapi to drive them both to his place. "Your place is going to be so dusty," Yamapi says. "You sure you don't want to stay?"
"There is not enough money in the world to make it worth my while to sleep on that couch," Jin tells Yamapi, somehow managing to get the words out.
"You were fine just a minute ago," Yamapi says, and he seems confused. "Why are you so...cranky? What's wrong?"
Yamapi's hair is in disarray, and his perm is hideous, as usual. He's got cheese dust around his lips from the chips they had picked up at the convenience store and devoured as they played video games, and his shirt has a hole in the left armpit that is even more visible when Yamapi throws his hands up in victory because Jin keeps falling asleep mid-race. Jin's back still hurts, and Yamapi's stupid sofa isn't improving the situation. All of these things are wrong,but they aren't the answer to the question "what's wrong."
"It's just jet-lag," Jin says, but it isn't jet-lag, not really. Yeah, Jin is tired-- exhausted even, but he's functioned, hell, worked, on less sleep than this.
What's wrong is that Jin, suddenly, feels every single millimeter of skin where Pi's arm is alongside his own.
What's wrong is that Jin is mesmerized by the play of light across Yamapi's angular cheekbones as the last of the day's sunlight filters through the window, the way it creates a shadow over his full lips.
Jin's always losing things. His keys, his hair ties, his chapstick, the quarters he keeps in the pocket of his jeans to feed the parking meters in Los Angeles. He's always losing things, but not like this.
In the nine hours, forty-three minutes and eighteen seconds since Jin walked off of a plane and into Yamapi's arms, Jin has lost his mind.
Because all Jin can think is that he wants, more than anything, to kiss Yamapi; press his mouth to those famous lips and catch the gasp, letting his tongue sneak inside--
"I just want to go home," Jin says, and his voice croaks out of his rapidly closing throat. "It's been a long trip, and I should sleep in a real bed. My bed."
"Alright then," Yamapi replies. "Can you find your apartment keys, even?"
Jin nods, slowly, and pats his right pocket. Yamapi sighs and stands, his muscles rippling under tanned skin, and Jin is still trying to figure things out, but he wants to kiss the tendon in Pi's neck too. And when Yamapi holds out his hand to pull Jin up, the warmth of his palm burns all the way up Jin's arm, and Jin doesn't want to let go.
"Thanks for the ride," Jin says, as Yamapi pulls to a stop in front of Jin's apartment. "Don't forget to pop the trunk."
"Anything for you, Bakanishi," Yamapi jokes, and smiles, and Jin's heart stops, right there in his chest, at the gorgeousness of that grin.
“If we lived together, you wouldn’t have to drive me home,” Jin says, but his heart isn’t in it. Yamapi doesn’t seem to notice, just rolls his eyes as Jin shuts the door to the car.
Later, after he's surveyed the layer of dust covering everything and dragged his suitcase into the center of the floor, Jin curls up on his bed, right in the center, not bothering to untuck the stale-smelling covers left long-unused. He's still wearing his jeans and his shirt smells like sweat, and he doesn't care, because somehow, since Jin first saw Yamapi this morning, something inside of him has broken down, or broken through, and suddenly everything, everything is upside-down and inside-out, and it's all he can do to wrap arms around himself and will the strange feeling to go away by morning.
It doesn't.
Jin is screwed.
Part 2
