Satellite Hearts (Akame, R) [5/5]

[maayacolabackup]

Part Five

*

He sees Jin at Countdown. Jin looks at him, and looks at him, and Kame is helpless under that gaze. They’re both helpless, and Kame wants to pull Jin close to him, and kiss Jin’s soft mouth, and tell Jin it’s going to be okay.

Kame’s not sure it’s going to be okay, though, and as much as he teases and taunts in interviews, he’ll never lie outright.

So Kame stands there, and watches Jin close up on stage. Watches Jin pull further and further into himself. Kame wonders how long he has until Jin slips through his fingers and out of his life.

Happy 2013.

*

Kame opens his eyes to Jin’s mom’s curious face peering at him from the end of the bed. His mouth feels cottony, and he’s sweaty, yesterday’s clothes sticking to him like a second skin. His legs and Jin’s are tangled, denim chafing against denim, and Jin’s arm is trapped beneath Kame’s. “Would you like breakfast, Kazuya?” she asks, and Jin groans at the sound of her voice, flipping over to his stomach and hiding his head under the pillow.

“I’m so sorry,” Kame says, mortified, bolting up. “Jin was drunk and-“

“Oh relax, Kazuya. You know you’re welcome here anytime.” She reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. “Still like the yolk soft?”

“Yes,” Kame says. “Thank you.”

She closes the door behind her, and Kame looks down at Jin. Jin’s eyes are open, and he’s looking at Kame steadily.

“You stayed,” Jin says, almost like he can’t believe it.

“Don’t I always?” Kame says, and Jin scratches at his cheek in thought. Jin’s thinking about saying something, Kame can tell. Kame can read it in the tensed lines of Jin’s body, and in the way Jin’s no longer meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” Jin says. “You do.” Jin reaches out, until his fingers rest in the crook of Kame’s elbow. He traces a line up Kame’s bicep, following the blue vein up to Kame’s shoulder. Kame doesn’t move, and doesn’t know how to react. “Why?”

“Don’t you know that already?” Kame asks roughly, and he jerks his arm away. Jin lets his hand fall back to the sheets. Kame’s wallet is digging into his butt. He still has it.

“Sometimes I think I do,” Jin says. “But then you pull away.”

“I’m not stupid,” Kame says, and it’s a lie. He’s really, really stupid, and he feels even stupider when Jin flinches back.

“Right,” Jin says. “Right.”

“I’ve got to go,” Kame says. “I promised Kota I would play baseball with him today.”

“He’s getting old, huh?” Jin says. “We’re getting old.”

“We are,” Kame says. “Too old for me to live in ‘could's.”

“We’re never too old for that,” Jin says.

“I’m leaving.”

“My mom’s making you breakfast,” Jin says. “You don’t have to run away from her, too.”

“I’ll apologize to her,” Kame answers. “And who are you to talk about running away?”

Jin doesn’t answer, just presses his face into his pillow as Kame stares down at him.

“I guess I’ll…well, I’ll see you at the wedding?” Jin’s voice is melancholy, like he thinks Kame will say no.

Kame swallows, and it’s a moment of weakness he can’t afford. His teeth are fuzzy, and he needs to brush them. “Are you busy tonight?”

“Why?” Jin asks, and there’s a waver in his voice that Kame thinks is so familiar. It reminds him of Kita’s interview, when he’d tried to pretend like Jin’s name wasn’t enough to shake his almost unshakable resolve. The sound pulls words from his lips.

“Rehearsal dinner,” Kame says. “You can be my 'plus one'. Dress nice.”

Jin’s eyes are luminous, and gravity is sucking him in, and he’s falling, hot plasma sliding across his skin and interwoven magnetic fields dragging him down until there’s nothing but heat and light.


*


Kame’s been to New York City. He recognizes Times Square in the picture on the front of the card, with its neon lights and crowded streets.

In Times Square, Kame thinks, Jin can just be one of the crowd. He probably likes that. Blending in and disappearing.

Remember? is all he’s written, and Kame does remember. Of course he remembers Jin’s smoke wafting up from his lit cigarette as he leans out the window, shoulders hunched.

Kame’d only had an inkling then of how much would change.

Still, he remembers, as much as he’d sometimes like to let the memories escape into the heat and smog of a Tokyo afternoon.


*

“What’s this?” Jin asks. He’s got a knit hat pulled low on his forehead, covering his ears, and sunglasses blocking the world out.

“It’s a passcode,” Kame says. “To the lockbox by the door of my house. For emergencies.”

“Emergencies,” Jin repeats dully, and Kame swallows.

“If you want to hide somewhere no one will look,” Kame says, and grabs Jin’s hand, turning it palm up. He places the card there, and wraps Jin’s fingers around it. It crinkles in Jin’s hand. “The spare key’s in there.”

“Hide,” Jin says, and Kame licks his lips.

“Or,” Kame says tentatively, feeling flush. “Or if you need to find me.”

“Thank you,” Jin says, and stares down at the card in his hands, almost crushed in his fist.


*


Rehearsal dinners, Kame thinks, are usually Kame’s least favorite part of the wedding experience. For one, everyone that Kame knows always peppers him with the same generic questions about his work and invasive questions about his personal life. “What’s coming up for you, movie-wise?” or “When are you going to get hitched, Kamenashi?” and it’s not that Kame isn’t used to those questions, it’s just that he prefers not to deal with them in his free time. It’s part of his job to answer them on camera, and he’d rather talk about baseball scores and his niece’s academic prowess when he’s with his friends.

The other thing is that Kame always has to sit next to a stranger. An unwed cousin, who always, inevitably, ends up secretly being a fan even though she’d sworn up and down she didn’t care much about him one way or the other when tables were being decided. Once, at Koki’s wedding, actually, Kame’d ended up next to a really nerdy guy in his fifties that liked to talk about AV actresses a lot, and Kame’s got no problem with recreational porn-watching, but he doesn’t really think of it as appropriate dinner conversation at a pre-wedding event with someone who is practically a stranger.

Nakamaru’s has got several things going for his rehearsal dinner, though, that make it more bearable. One of those things is the food—Massu had personally arranged the catering, and Massu is a connoisseur of eating, in a way that puts even Yamapi to shame. So there’s all sorts of interesting things, and the part of Kame that’s kind of a hipster snob loves all the foreign foods he’s never heard of before, with rich, full-sounding names. He loves all the rare cheeses, and he loves all the gentle smells competing with each other in the air. Meisa presides over them all like a dominatrix goddess, Nakamaru at her heels, inviting them to taste things, and Kame doesn’t feel guilty at all when he smothers a croissant in a blessedly tomato-free crème dip that’s sprinkled with herbs Kame’s never seen.

The other thing is Jin, who follows him around, making squinty faces at some of the bizarre things Kame puts on his plate, and waits until Kame takes a bite before he ventures to try things. When Kame makes blissful faces, he hurries to try it, and Kame is saving up his street cred: Maybe later he’ll taste something gross and make that face just to see if Jin will choke when he tries it. With Jin here, Kame’s a hundred times more entertained. He’s never had Jin with him for a rehearsal dinner before, because by the time they were old enough to have friends getting married, Jin was always off in America, flying in two hours before the ceremony and wearily exchanging greetings with party guests before disappearing to another engagement or meeting or recording session. Jin wouldn’t touch Kame in public, anyway, because there were always people who weren’t his friends there, people he didn’t want casting a speculative eye over him if he were to lean tiredly against Kame’s shoulder and rest.

But Jin, now, dressed too casually in trousers that hang off his hips and a fitted button down with the sleeves rolled up, is so alive. Kame thinks the last time he’s seen Jin like this, so open, was before Jin realized there was more to being an idol than singing and dancing. That people were watching his every move, waiting for him to fuck up.

Kame doesn’t want to trust that. Doesn’t want to hope that this is Jin now, because then Kame will start hoping Jin won’t go away, and that would be foolish of Kame to do. Kame’s been fine, up till now, and he’ll be fine after Jin leaves, too.

Jin bumps Kame’s shoulder, and Kame realizes he’s spaced out. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “I got lost in my thoughts.”

“I know what that’s like,” Jin says. “I’m going outside for a smoke.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kame says, and he’s left standing next to the desserts, one hand on his hip. Nakamaru slides into the space next to him, startling Kame and making him jump.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Nakamaru says, and Kame offers him a grin.

“Just surprised,” Kame says, and Nakamaru nods slowly.

“Yeah,” Nakamaru says. “Might be hard to notice other people when you can’t take your eyes off Jin.”

“I still can’t believe he’s here,” Kame says, not bothering to deny that he’s staring at Jin, whose silhouette is crisp through the glass doors leading out to the veranda. Jin looks natural and easy, pale trousers against green, green glass in the remains of the early evening light.

Being free suits Jin, Kame thinks.

“You don’t have to listen to me,” Nakamaru says. “Goodness knows you do well enough for yourself, Kame, and you’re happy.” Nakamaru scratches at his neck, then slides his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. “But hey, seeing you tonight, like this? You’re glowing.”

“Glowing?” Kame asks, and Kame thinks about the sun.

Kame joins Jin outside. The grass is a little wet, Kame thinks, and Jin’s shirt is a little damp. Jin’s not smoking, either, and his hair is wavier than usual. “It was drizzling,” Jin explains. “But it felt nice.”

Kame chuckles. “You’re insane, Akanishi,” Kame says, and Jin turns warm eyes to Kame. Kame feels flush at the look. “You’ll get sick. You always get sick.”

“You worried about me, Kame?” Jin asks, and Kame swallows. His suit jacket feels tight across his shoulders. It didn’t when he put it on this afternoon, but maybe Kame just hadn’t been paying attention, not with the way Jin had been laughing as Kame tried to force him to put on a tie.

“I’ve been worried about you for as long as I can remember. That’s what people do, when they care.” Kame slips the jacket off. “And I care about you a lot.”

“Kame,” Jin says, and he reaches out and links their pinkies together. Kame remembers when they’d had matching rings, but it’s a flicker of a memory, the heat of Jin’s skin, that tiny press of Jin’s finger against his own, anchors him here, in the present. “I-“

“Don’t say anything,” Kame says, and there’s a hint of pleading in his voice that makes him feel more vulnerable, and Kame doesn’t like it. He takes a deep breath. “You’re just going to leave again, right? So this week…this has to be enough.”

“Okay,” Jin says, and lets his finger slip from Kame’s. “I won’t say anything, then.” Then Jin is leaning closer, and Kame doesn’t remember the evening being this warm. Jin presses his hand flat on Kame’s chest, right in the middle of his sternum. “But Kame, seven years is a long time to think about what’s important.” Jin smiles, and looks down at the grass. “And I’ve been thinking a lot.”


*


Jin shows up unannounced like he always does, and Kame’s wearing his pajamas already. Jin’s eyes are tired, and the skin underneath is plum. “Jin?”

“Yo,” Jin says, and pushes Kame out of the way, leaving yellow sneakers in the doorway and dropping down onto Kame’s sofa like it’s his house.

Jin’s hair is under a cap. Kame wonders if Jin’s bothered to comb it. “What’s wrong?” Kame asks, and Jin looks at him, long and quiet, and Kame can see the shadows in his eyes.

“Can we go for a walk?” Jin asks, and there’s something beseeching in his voice that Kame can’t ignore.

“Let me get dressed,” Kame says, and Jin follows him into the apartment. Jin doesn’t take off his shoes, and normally it would bother Kame, but Jin looks like only threads are holding him together, and Kame can always sweep tomorrow.

Kame hurriedly throws on a sweater and jeans, unrolling a clean pair of socks and pulling them on. He runs a quick brush through his hair, but it doesn’t really matter.

Jin’s still standing in the same place when Kame reemerges from his room, wrapping a heavy knit scarf around his neck. “Have a good day?” Kame asks, but really, Kame should be asking ‘Had a good month?’ because that’s how long it’s been since they’ve talked. Jin’s been busy. His movie promotions in Japan seem to suck up all his time.

Kame’s been watching Jin on TV, and he’s been wondering how Jin’s been holding up.

Jin’s hands are shaking a bit, Kame notices, and Jin’s lip is slick like he’s been worrying at it for hours. “No,” Jin says. “I had two television interviews today.”

“Not radio shows?” Kame asks lightly, because it’s better, usually, if Kame can make it a joke between them, but Jin doesn’t laugh.

“Not radio shows,” Jin says. “Can we walk now?”

Kame nods, and pulls on his coat.

Outside it’s cold, and snowy. Kame’s nose is nearly frozen in the chill, and Jin’s not wearing a scarf, so Kame frets that Jin will get sick. Jin is noiseless, though, and Kame doesn’t want to break the tableau with nagging worries when Jin’s clearly got something heavier on his mind.

They wind up all the way at the park a couple of blocks from Kame’s flat before Jin screws up the energy to speak. “None of this is what I thought it would be when I was fourteen,” Jin says.

“Of course it isn’t,” Kame says with a short laugh. “Nothing ever is.”

“I still love to sing,” Jin says. “That hasn’t changed.” Jin shivers at a gust of wind. Kame wants to give Jin his scarf, but Kame also knows Jin will refuse it. “I still…” Jin looks at Kame. Kame can feel the blazing intensity of Jin, even now, standing a meter away from each other in the dark.

“You still…” Kame starts, but a part of him knows the words, even if Jin can’t say them. Kame will always remember the way the wood dug into his back as Jin devoured his mouth, a moment of caution thrown to the wind and desires they can’t act on surging forward.

“Kame,” Jin says, and his voice is like a breeze, tickling Kame’s ears. Kame’s always liked the sound of Jin’s voice, the way his words tumble out at an uneven pace like river water tumbling over rocks. “I’m so tired.”

“Why does it feel like we’re saying goodbye again?” Kame asks, and Jin stills, releasing a soft, stuttering breath that Kame can feel in his bones. “Why are you always saying goodbye?”

“Kame, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” Kame asks. “Do what?”

“This!” Jin says, and it’s too loud. Kame likes it. It’s so much better than the silence. “All of it.” His breath is shuddering. “Isn’t it obvious I’m not cut out for this?” Jin laughs at himself, hopelessly. “I can’t even record a video by myself anymore. I can’t even pretend I’m not shaking in the interviews. Some idol.”

“Jin…”

“Johnny’s said… If I want, I can. I can go.” Jin’s trembling, like there’s a heavy weight atop him and he can’t bear the strain. “Wherever I want. He’ll let me go. I… I’m giving this up, Kame.”

“What about…”

It’ll be okay. Kame’s done it before. Lived without Jin. He’s done it for almost as many years as he’s lived with Jin. That time, the time where he’s waiting and aching and trying to be practical about it all… that time seems to pass slower.

“I’m a square, Kame,” Jin says and Kame hears him through a fog. “I’m a square and all the holes are these tiny triangles. I don’t fit.”

“Jin, you…”

“There are more bad days than good days, Kame.” Jin’s voice is pleading, and Kame knows what that means. Kame knows about Jin’s sitting-in-the-dark days. About the days when you can talk to Jin and he doesn’t hear you. The days when you look into Jin’s eyes and all you can see are shadows and an echoing emptiness. “I need to leave. I need to…”

“Oh,” Kame says, and he knows it’s selfish, and impossible, but he wants Jin to stay here. He wants to know if anything can become of the things that lie unsaid between them.

Kame’s life is a sand-filled hourglass, and Jin comes back and it flips, and Jin leaves, and Kame just watches the pile of sand build up slowly, falling grain by grain.

“Come with me,” Jin says, curling his fingers desperately around Kame’s wrist. Jin’s hands seem smaller than his own. “Just…come with me.”

Kame’s throat is dry. “I can’t.”

Jin’s fingers tighten. It hurts. “Why not?” Jin exhales, and in the cold winter evening his breath looks like cigarette smoke.

Kame thinks about his brothers, his nieces and nephews, about KAT-TUN, about the drama he just signed on to do. “I haven’t done everything I wanted to do yet. I can’t just give up my life.”

Jin’s fingers retreat, and Kame misses them in an instant. Misses Jin, all over again. “I know,” Jin says. “I mean, I knew that.” Jin’s voice sounds choked, and Kame can’t make out his face in the dark, but he knows Jin; he knows Jin is biting his lower lip, eyes looking down at the snow beneath their feet. “I just thought…this time…” Jin’s hands bury themselves in his pockets, his long wool coat stark against the white covered ground. He looks like a demon, Kame thinks, here to steal Kame’s soul. Kame gave that to him years ago. There’s really nothing left for Jin to take that Kame hasn’t already given him. “I just thought this time I’d ask.”

“Okay,” Kame says, and the word is like a gunshot in the night air. ‘Okay, you can leave.’ ‘Okay, I’m glad you asked.’ ‘Okay, but every moment we’re apart I can feel myself breaking inside a little more.’ ‘Okay, and I love you.’

It’s all of those things, and none of those things too. It’s just ‘okay’, Kame guesses, because there’s nothing else to say.

Jin’s decisions have always been resolute.

When Jin leans forward, he seems almost shy, almost hesitant, in a way he hasn’t since that time, the one they never talk about but Kame thinks about all the time, in Kame’s flat, when Kame could feel Jin shaking out of his skin as he pressed Kame against the cool wall, hands quivering on Kame’s shoulders. It’s like that; like Jin is afraid Kame will say no, like Kame will push him away. Only now, Jin’s hands feel heavy on his shoulders, and Jin’s mouth tastes like nicotine and coffee. Only now, Jin isn’t kissing him hello, Jin is kissing him goodbye.

Jin’s mouth is hot, burning away winter’s chill like it never existed, and Kame doesn’t try to get closer, or try to pull away. He just tilts his head to the right, giving Jin more room to slip his tongue between Kame’s lips, and to explore Kame’s mouth with the same fierce enthusiasm he brings to everything else. He remaps with gentle licks, and Kame thinks this is finally it, that this is finally the answer. It’s the answer, and it’s probably also the last time. It only makes him want to kiss Jin back harder, to memorize the texture of the inside of his cheeks and the way the back of his teeth feel against the tip of his tongue.

Jin pulls back first, resting his forehead to Kame’s, letting his breath blow warm against Kame’s lips as Kame struggles to catch his breath. Kame lets his eyes fall closed, then, and relishes the feel of Jin’s chest pressed against his own, relishes how this, this feels good. Has always felt right, even when both of them know it can’t be—not when Jin is half a step from breaking and Kame doesn’t know how to put him back together. “Thank you,” Jin whispers, and this is another moment they won’t talk about, and then he’s gone.

The snow seems so cold now. Or maybe Kame is just freezing inside.

He reaches into his pocket with trembling hands and pulls out the pack of cigarettes that’ve lasted him the whole winter. He grabs the lighter from his pocket too, lighting the end and taking a deep inhale.

They’re Jin’s brand of cigarettes… Mild Sevens with the extra long filter, the kind that girls smoke because they look more elegant against dark pink lip-gloss.

Kame’s lips tingle.

The snow is sparkling under the street-lamp, like diamond dust. Memories scatter in the wind as ash falls from the lit cigarette. Kame holds a lungful of smoke, and when he lets it go, it’s like he’s letting go.

But not letting go of Jin. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let go of Jin. Not just because he loves Jin, but because, despite everything, he knows Jin loves him back.


*


Kita’s smile turns into a slack-jawed expression of disbelief when six people walk into the interview session instead of five. “Akanishi?” Kita asks, and his voice squeaks on the last syllable, and Kame wants to laugh.

“In the flesh,” Koki says, and he slaps Kita on the shoulder. “Now, be nice. No invasive questions. He’s here to sing pretty and make my hair look better.”

Kame laughs, and Ueda smirks. “Sorry, Koki, Jin combed his today.”

“Kame made me,” Jin says, shifting nervously, arms hugging himself. Nakamaru leans closer to him in comfort. Kame’s trained himself not to do that in public, and even if it’s been years since they made an appearance as six, it’s easy to fall back into the old dynamics.

Like riding a bike.

Kita clears his throat. “Well, shall we record?” He says, and Junno is bouncing around, adjusting mics and rooting around for another chair. He crows triumphantly when he finds one.

“You can share my mic,” Kame says, and Jin grins at him slow and shy.

“Yeah,” Jin says. “Sure.”

Kita looks like he’s going to pass out, and Kame grins at him winningly, and then he’s blushing and Ueda is endlessly amused and Koki is slipping an arm over Kame’s shoulder and making kissy faces, talking about how jealous he is when Kame flirts with other men. Kame’s not really paying attention to that, because Jin’s talking quietly to Nakamaru, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches the tension slough from Jin’s shoulders.

It’s always been easier for Jin with friends.

Jin’s thigh presses into his own as the opening notes to Harukana Yakusoku start to play, and Kame doesn’t know how to explain this feeling that’s surging inside of him so hot and melting. It’s not nostalgia, or hope, or something explainable like that. He doesn’t have to look at Jin to know Jin is looking at him, or to know that Jin feels it too- he can feel it in the way Jin’s leg is shaking, and in the way Jin’s shoulder keeps pushing against his own as he harmonizes, using Kame as his anchor. This, it’s a bond, one that time or distance can never break.

Eyes meet, and Kame knows now with absolute certainty that he’ll never be able to forget.


*


Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

-Again and Again, Rainer Maria Rilke



*


“Am I stupid?” Kame asks miserably, taking a gulp of coffee from his mug and sort of wishing it was wine. “I feel really, really stupid.”

“No,” Uchi says. “But you know, taking out your doorbell only works if the person you don’t want to bother you doesn’t know where you keep the spare key.”

*


Jin’s had the key to Kame’s heart for more than twenty years, and Kame’s tried and tried but he’s never managed to change the lock.


*


Jin calls him at two in the morning. It’s okay, because Kame is awake.

“Kame,” Jin says. “Kame, I still…”

“I just finished filming a movie,” Kame replies. “And maybe in a few months, I’ll start another one. I pick the roles I like, now.”

“That’s good,” Jin says.

“Are you happier now? Without cameras and fans and all of that?”

“Most of the time,” Jin replies. “But there are things I miss.”

“We all make choices,” Kame says.

“Are you happy?” Jin asks, and Jin’s got one of those pay as you go mobiles that has crappy reception, so his voice is crackling. At least, Kame thinks it’s the reception.

“Most of the time,” Kame says, and he thinks about the way the pushpins dig into the pad of his thumb as he’s pressing them into the wall, and the red mark the tacks leave behind that slowly fades away to nothing.


*


Kame’s mostly afraid that after the wedding, Jin will disappear again, and all he’ll have is a map on the wall, with a pushpin in Japan, and sixteen postcards, and a memory of Jin, with a fading bruise on his left eye, smiling at him softly from under his bangs and singing high and clear in a harmony long unsung.


*


Kame’s got moles and freckles. Sometimes he looks at them in the morning, after he takes his shower, when he’s deciding if he’s going to wear make-up or not, skin freshly scrubbed, a little dry on the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones.

If he’s got an interview or a variety show, someone else will do his make-up. But if it’s just Kame, and there’s nothing on the agenda except walking his dog, he contemplates it, tracing along the curves of his face and wondering how he feels like looking today.

Kame likes his freckles. He likes the three next to his mouth the most, dark and uneven and not beauty marks at all, just imperfections along the smooth, soft skin of his face. Kame’s not insecure about his appearance, but sometimes he likes the reminder that he’s just a person, with flaws just like anyone else. That maybe the impossible standards he holds himself to can take a break on Thursday as long as he’s back to work on Friday, giving one-hundred and ten percent.

Kame recalls fingers that trailed along them, a thumb that smoothed a line, connecting all the dots like it’s making a map of the universe, tracing the pattern of the big dipper into Kame’s skin.

“They’re one part of what makes you special,” was whispered into his hair, and Kame can feel it, mint-scented breath ghosting across his scalp.

“What’s the other part?” Kame asked, and he moved closer. The t-shirt smelled fresh, like detergent and like the faintest hint of a natural scent.

“Everything else,” and there was a giggle, and Kame had felt warm and content.

But that was years and years ago, and it’s so distant now that Kame doesn’t know why he bothers to remember it.

Still, Kame has freckles. He likes them.

Sometimes he secretly hoped the map drawn across his cheek and chin would give direction to that lost man. Guide him home. But Kame’s waited a long time, and the freckles have gotten darker, and some of them, Kame thinks, ended up actually being moles, and Kame is still waiting.

Kame thinks love is like the sun, and these are some of the marks it leaves as Kame revolves around it, like kisses and a promise.


*


Jin’s suit is cream-colored, and Kame is surprised at his immaculate choice. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, either, just elegant. Light streams in through the wide-set windows of the reception hall, and June sun makes the marble floors glow, and casts Jin in glittering outline. He stands with his hands behind his back, left wrist in right hand, eyes on Ryo, who’s headed, Kame thinks, toward the restroom.

“Who picked out your suit?” Kame asks, and Jin spins to face him, caught off guard.

“Rina-chan,” Jin laughs. “Yamapi picked his own, but I apparently wasn’t to be trusted.” Kame can tell Yamapi chose his own suit. He’d seen him earlier, and the man’s wearing a pink organza scarf instead of a tie.

“You look nice,” Kame says, and Jin hesitantly tucks his hair behind his ear. He’s shaved away the hairs on his chin, but there’s still his faint mustache on his upper lip.

“Not as nice as you,” Jin says.

“Matter of opinion,” Kame says, and Jin’s tie is a little crooked, and it feels normal to reach forward and straighten it. Jin freezes, and then relaxes into the touch. His hands come around front to soothe Kame’s lapels.

“What if I want to be selfish, now?” Jin asks, and Kame lets his hands fall to his sides. He can’t do this now.

“I have to go,” Kame says. “I’m in the wedding party.”

“Of course you are,” Jin says, eyes sliding right. Ryo’s coming back. “I… Never mind.” Jin’s mouth is set in a determined line that makes Kame feel like hiding.

Kame slips in next to Massu, and Nakamaru leans around him to frown at Kame. “Why do you look all nervous?” he asks, and Kame straightens his shoulders.

“I’m not nervous,” Kame says. “After all, I’m not the one marrying Kuroki Meisa.”

“Oh shit,” Nakamaru says, and his eyes get all round, and the color drains from his face. “I’m getting married!”

“Nice one,” Ueda hisses from behind him, and Kame smiles at Nakamaru encouragingly.

“You’ll be fine,” Kame says, and Nakamaru exhales. “Just follow Meisa’s lead.”

“I’ve been doing that for years,” Nakamaru says. “I will be fine.”

Koki makes a whip-cracking sound, and Junno giggles obnoxiously, and Massu is nudging Nakamaru with his elbow and making secretive motions with his eyebrows that are probably part of their best-friend code.

Kame thinks, as he finds Jin in the audience, that it must be so nice to know that letting yourself be in love is the best decision you can make.


*


Kame’s circling so fast he’s afraid he’ll spin out of orbit. A part of him hopes he does, just because staying in orbit, just the way he is now, is no longer good enough.


*


March days return with their covert light,
and huge fish swim through the sky,
vague earthly vapours progress in secret,
things slip to silence one by one.
Through fortuity, at this crisis of errant skies,
you reunite the lives of the sea to that of fire,
grey lurchings of the ship of winter
to the form that love carved in the guitar.
O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume,
dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway,
to waken the blood in insomnia’s labyrinth,
so that the waves can complete themselves in the sky,
the sea forget its cargoes and rages,
and the world fall into darkness’s nets.

--March days return with their covert light, Pablo Neruda


*

Kame knows he’s being a coward. He knows, when he looked from the dais out into the audience and caught eyes with Jin, that for one brief moment, he felt so full of hope he could burst into a billion pieces and scatter across the universe. He wanted to give in. He wanted to beg Jin not to go, not to leave Kame feeling like this all over again.

He’s not quite sure why he’s running away from that realization. Kame doesn’t usually have it in him to lie to himself. He usually only forces his feelings to sometimes take second place to practicalities. Except now, somehow, Kame is afraid of feeling like this, afraid of the way, despite everything, Jin will always pull him back.

Kame’s apartment feels empty. He wonders how the reception is going—if Nakamaru has noticed one of his groomsmen has gone MIA or if he’s too wrapped up in Meisa’s smile to notice.

When he closes the door behind him, he can’t help but lean against it, back against the cool surface for support. His thoughts are racing, and his hands are shaking, too. Jin, smiling shyly across from his seat, looking at Kame. Looking only at Kame, like Kame isn’t one of hundreds of people in the room. Like Kame’s special.

It’s kind of, Kame thinks, how Kame looks at Jin. Like no matter how many people there are, it’s always going to be him and Jin. No matter the distance. No matter how long they’re apart. It’s always, always going to be Kame and Jin, and words they can’t say, and words they don’t have to say.

And that, Kame thinks, is almost too terrifying to contemplate. It makes Kame feel like giving in.

There’s a noise, a faint one, that Kame should recognize but he’s too numb to think.

Suddenly Kame is stumbling forward as his own front door opens behind him. He spins around, not sure what to expect, and damnit, Kame knows better than to not lock his door.

“Didn’t I lock that?” Kame says dumbly, and Jin inhales quickly, and a little hysterically.

Kame finds his balance, and almost loses it again when it sinks in that Jin has followed him home.

“Your key,” Jin says. “I know where you keep the spare.”

“Right,” Kame says. He’s not ready. He’s afraid. And against all odds, he wants to…

“Hi,” Jin says, and Kame just stares at him; stares at him long and hard.

Jin’s skin is tan, so tan, against the sky blue of Jin’s dress shirt and the cream of his jacket, and his lips are dry and cracked from worrying at them with his teeth. Looking at him this close, Kame notices that Jin’s eyebrows are still too thick, and his hair is too long, and now it’s tied in a sloppy ponytail that sits at the base of his neck, the fluffy ends still untamed, lying dark and heavy across his shoulders where it’s fallen from the band. Kame’s not sure why he had even thought time would have made anything about Jin’s hair less wild, but it hasn’t.

Jin is still Jin, seven years and sixteen postcards and two fractured hearts later.

Jin is still everything, and Kame aches with wanting.

“Hi,” Kame says back, and Jin laughs; he laughs incredulously, and it sounds too raw in Kame’s ears. “Long time no see.”

Kame’s been watching Jin this week with a careful, hesitating gaze; shying away from looking too deep, because he’s been wary of what he’d find. But now it’s like his eyes are open, and for the first time he’s not just looking, he’s seeing.

Hisashiburi, Kame has said, because he finally accepts that Jin is really here. Jin won’t melt away beneath his fingers if Kame reaches out to touch.

Kame is starting to believe in gravity all over again.

“Yeah,” Jin says, and he’s transparent and open and Kame can see everything. Jin, this week, has been offering and offering and Kame’s been scared to know. Kame hasn’t wanted to see the same things in Jin’s eyes that he’s been keeping buried inside of him for so long he’s almost forgotten how to let himself feel them. There’s nothing quiet about Jin, and Kame thinks Jin’s the most beautiful he’s ever been, right now, loose-limbed and smiling nervously as Kame steps closer. “It really has been a long time.” Jin understands.

Maybe now Jin and Kame are finally circling at compatible speeds, subject to the same forces of the universe, and moving together.

Jin smells like mint, and like the sun. Jin smells like love, and Kame can feel himself burning and he moves closer still. “You’re an asshole,” Kame says. “Seven years. Fucking postcards, Akanishi! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’ve been waiting all week for you to say that,” Jin replies. Jin reaches out, and grabs a handful of Kame’s shirt and pulls him into an embrace. Kame’s cheek is mashed to Jin’s chest, and he can hear the steady thud of it in his ear. He can feel it under his fingers. “I know,” Jin says. “I missed you.” And he’s said it before, but now Kame can feel it, spinning through him like a tornado and ripping his flesh from his bones. It’s okay, because Jin’s arms are holding him together. Jin’s arms are building him anew.

It finally feels like Jin is ready. And Kame…

“I missed you too,” Kame mumbles, and Kame’s lips stick to the soft silk of Jin’s dress shirt, and Jin’s hands are holding him so tight that Kame is sure Jin is trying to pull Kame inside of him.

Kame doesn’t want to move away, can’t move away, because the pull of Jin’s gravity is too strong.

“God, I missed you,” Jin whispers again, and he lets his arms fall, and Kame moves back a little, so he can look up at Jin. His hand finds its way to Jin’s jaw and runs fingers along the smooth line of Jin’s jaw—smooth like it only ever is when Jin’s just shaved.

“Are you happy now?” Kame asks, and Jin sighs, letting his eyes fall closed. A bit of sunlight peeks through the window, and it’s like Jin is glowing, bright and hot under its brilliance.

Kame’s heart is calling out, and it’s like Jin’s hears it. “There are more good days than bad ones, now,” Jin says, and it’s barely voiced, but it rings loud and clear in Kame’s head.

“That’s… all any of us have, really,” Kame says, and Jin’s hands reach up to trace Kame’s eyebrows, following the shape of them with his thumb.

There are some things that are the same, Kame thinks, as the other times he and Jin have come together this close, sharing air and hopes and aimless touches.

There are also some things that are different. There are new lines around Jin’s eyes—laugh lines. They suit him. Kame doesn’t want to look away because pictures have never done Jin justice. Kame wants to memorize the way Jin’s upper lip pulls when he smiles, and the way his jaw juts out and the way his eyes widen just a little, sparkling with life.

“I’m really happy right now,” Jin says. “Because you’re still the same.”

“Not really,” Kame says.

“Exactly the same,” Jin says. “I mean, your hair is different, and your shoulders are even broader, and--”

“So not the same at all, then?” Kame asks dryly, and Jin stubbornly puffs out his cheeks.

“Your smile’s the same,” Jin says, and Jin presses his palm flat on Kame’s chest. “Your heart is the same.”

“Is it?” Kame says, and his mouth is stretching into a wide grin. It pulls at his cheeks, and feels unfamiliar. Kame’s always had a special smile just for Jin, and the muscles have gone unused for so long that Kame’s forgotten what it feels like.

He’s remembering now, though, and this time, Kame won’t push those memories, or those feelings, away.

Kame’s heart isn’t the same. Kame thinks it’s a little bit stronger.

“Yeah,” Jin says, and he lifts his hands up, and around, and buries them in Kame’s hair. “Kame I…” Jin clears his throat. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jin’s nose brushes Kame’s and it’s the smallest point of contact, but Kame’s centered there, and he and Jin are finally orbiting around the sun in the same direction. “I’ve been fucking everything up for years and years, and I got really fucking lost. But I needed…”

“Okay,” Kame says, and he doesn’t mean Jin leaving was okay. He doesn’t mean that seven years where he waited for two postcards a year, for forty-eight words total, for fifteen pictures that told him nothing except that Jin was still alive, and was still maybe, possibly, thinking of Kame, were okay. Jin knows that. Jin also knows, Kame thinks, that Kame is going to forgive him eventually, because Kame doesn’t know how to not forgive Jin. Kame doesn’t know how to let Jin go. “It’s going to be okay.”

Kame doesn’t want to let Jin go, because he and Jin have always been connected, faint signals across an endless universe. Satellite hearts.

Jin breathes out, and Kame can feel Jin’s warm breath on his lips. “Kame, I…” Jin’s eyes are looking straight into Kame’s, and Jin’s tripping over his Japanese, because Jin’s so bad at talking when he’s scared he’ll say the wrong thing. “I want to…”

“Jin,” Kame murmurs, and now their lips are touching, Jin’s chapped lips catching on Kame’s smooth ones. “I already know.”

And then Kame kisses Jin, and it’s only the third time one of them has mustered up the courage in twenty years, but Kame’s certain it’s not the last, because this time, Kame thinks, he’s not going to let Jin slip away. Jin’s mouth is slick, and Kame tilts his head for more access. Their lips move surely against each other with an even, soothing pressure that drives Kame insane. Jin’s hands are gently cradling Kame’s skull, and it’s not enough; not right now, when Kame’s got this strange desperation bubbling up inside him, sending him hurtling through the atmosphere towards every part of Jin he can touch. Kame’s hands slide down to Jin’s neck and tug him closer, and Jin’s surprised; he gasps, and Kame takes advantage, sweeping his tongue into Jin’s mouth, and Jin’s mustache scratches against his face and normally Kame would hate that, but right now it doesn’t matter, because this is Jin.

Then Jin’s hands pull tighter, and Jin’s eyelashes flutter against Kame’s cheek, and Jin tastes like mint and like childhood and like adulthood, too, and Kame knows, knows, that it’s still going to be hard, that Jin’s still going to have days he won’t want to get out of bed and Kame’s still not going to understand. That there will be days when Jin is on the other side of the stars and Kame will have regrets. That there will be days where Kame doesn’t understand just how things ended up like this.

It seems worth it, in the end. Kame’s happy without Jin; he’s got a great life, a great family, and great friends. But like this, Jin close enough to touch, close enough to feel, his warm laughter tickling Kame’s cheeks and his pretty, pretty fingers skating Kame’s sides… It’s like stepping out into the sun after a long winter, like Kame is waking up with the flowers and blooming right here and right now.

Jin pulls Kame’s lower lip into his mouth and sucks, and Kame pulls on that ponytail, and Jin makes a mewling sound that sinks down into Kame, convincing him that this is real. “Jin,” Kame manages between soft kisses against Jin’s red and swollen lips. “Jin, I missed you.” It’s a confession, or as close as Kame will get to admitting that Jin, warm and smiling, fills in the little cracks in his insides that Kame had resigned himself to living with, and each and every motion is coming easier and easier.

“I missed you too,” Jin says, and he can say it a hundred times and Kame will never get tired of hearing it. Get tired of hearing Jin’s voice.

Seven years is a long time to wonder. Seven years is a long time to hold your breath.

Kame is exhaling now, though, and Jin is stepping back and letting Kame go, and it feels like every other time they’ve kissed, and Kame wonders if Jin is going to try to retreat, just like he’s stepped back from this electricity between them every other time. Just like he’s disappeared every time Kame’s opened up his chest and exposed his heart for Jin to take.

But Jin just frees his fingers from Kame’s hair and laces their hands together, so they’re standing palm to palm in Kame’s living room, hardwood floor cool beneath their feet. “So stay with me,” Kame says, and he’s never asked before but he’s asking now. Asking for more than fleeting glances and locked up hearts and postcards from around the world. “Even if you don’t want to, stay.”

Kame is asking for goodnight kisses and good-morning smiles, and for the heat of Jin’s palms, just like this.

Kame’s tired of being a satellite, and he wants them both to fall straight into the sun.

“I can’t,” Jin says, but his fingers clench tighter, like he’ll never let go. Kame hopes he doesn’t. It’s been twenty-four years and six months and thirteen days, and Jin has come and gone and come again, and Kame’s been waiting for him a very long time. Kame’s been missing him a long time. “You know I can’t.”

Kame thinks about Jin, lying in the dark under the covers. Kame remembers the shadows in Jin’s eyes and the shake of his shoulders under the lens of the camera. Kame’s life is not for Jin. Maybe it never has been. “I know that,” Kame says. “I just figured this time… this time I’d ask.”

Jin smiles, because it’s a conversation they’ve had before in reverse. It’s words Kame has said to Jin, and words Jin has said to Kame, but never with this much hope.

“Come with me,” Jin says. “Just… come with me.” Jin squeezes again. “I could be enough for you.” Jin’s fingers are callused. “We could be enough for each other.”

Kame thinks about his brothers, his nieces and nephews, about KAT-TUN, about the movie he’s just finished, with promotions around the corner. He thinks about the map on his living room wall. He thinks about the way Jin’s fingers feel, fitting between his own like they were made to be there. “Alright,” Kame says, because, Kame thinks, it might be nice to be impractical, just this once, when it really matters.

And he’s staring at Jin, who is looking at Kame like he can’t believe Kame’s said yes, and then Jin is kissing him again, fiercely, hands running up and down Kame’s sides, pushing Kame’s jacket from his shoulders as Kame does the same to Jin. And then Kame has grabbed fistfuls of Jin’s hair, which has come loose and falls into Jin’s face and tickles at Kame’s neck as Jin angles closer.

Then Kame’s yelping, because Jin’s pushed him backwards, and they land sprawling on Kame’s couch, and Jin doesn’t let up, he just keeps taking Kame’s mouth over and over again. Kame doesn’t mind- he’s giving it as good as he’s getting, trailing fearless hands across Jin’s exposed collarbones, because Jin had lost his tie probably long before coming to Kame’s door, and his exploration is making Jin squeak into his mouth. Kame swallows the sound even as he chuckles, and Jin takes revenge by tickling along Kame’s ribs playfully, and Kame squirms beneath him, and Jin lifts his lips and laughs, and it’s beautiful, beautiful like all of Jin.

Kame’s back is pressed awkwardly against the arm of the sofa, and Jin’s hair is hanging like a curtain over them both, long and wild, and Kame feel like he wants to laugh forever, to stay in this moment forever. But time moves forward, and Jin kisses him again and again and again.

It’s the fourth kiss, now, if this even qualifies as one kiss. Soon Kame won’t be able to count them on one hand. He’s looking forward to that. The universe is aflame.

“There are more than seven billion people in the world,” Kame whispers, “and for some crazy reason, I only want you.”

Jin’s smile, Kame thinks, is a yellow dwarf star all on its own.

“You want to go to Rome?” Jin asks. “I’ve been meaning to go to Rome.”

“That’s one hell of a first date, Akanishi,” Kame says, and Jin presses his face into the hollow of Kame’s throat, and he’s heavy, but Kame likes it, likes how Jin feels so present. Jin’s finally here again, and Kame, unbelievably, gets to keep him. “But yes. Rome. Let’s go.” Kame starts thinking about booking flights, and what he’s going to do with his apartment, and what he’s going to tell his parents, because Kame doesn’t know what to do without plans.

“First of all,” Jin says, and he’s brushing dark strands out of Kame’s eyes, and his fingertips make Kame feel like the sun is getting closer and closer, because Kame’s skin’s on fire. “Stop scheduling. We’ll work it out later. Like tomorrow or something.”

“Okay,” Kame says, and Jin presses a sloppy kiss to his nose, and Kame feels fourteen, like the future is limitless and it’s all unfolding here in Jin’s eyes. “But I’m warning you, Jin. I like schedules.”

“I’ve known you almost my whole life,” Jin says. “You don’t have to warn me.”

“Mmm,” Kame says, and he pushes Jin’s hair out of his face.

“Second of all,” Jin says, and Kame blinks slowly as Jin’s lips leave tiny kisses along Kame’s jaw and neck, the kind that tingle and make Kame want to drag Jin’s face back to his own. “Rome won’t be our first date.” He’s undoing the top two buttons of Kame’s shirt as he speaks, exposing a little more skin to the air.

“No?” Kame asks, languidly running his hands up and down Jin’s arms, reveling in the sensation of silk blend sliding under his palms. He also likes the way Jin trembles at his touch.

“Of course not, Kame,” Jin says, and he says the words into the uncovered skin at Kame’s shoulder, where the neck of his shirt is now wide and askew. “Everything before this…” Jin nuzzles his nose into the hollow of Kame’s throat, and Kame loves the way they’re spinning together. “That was just a very, very long first date.”

“Really?” Kame says. “It’s going to be an extended courtship, then.”

“Well,” Jin says, and now his hands slip inside Kame’s shirt, running tantalizingly across the muscles of Kame’s abdomen, teasing at his navel before flattening and pushing up to his chest. “We do have the rest of our lives.” Jin holds his breath then, like he expects Kame to say no.

“You’re right,” Kame says, and Jin purrs, pleased, into Kame’s collar. And he and Jin might fight on the third date, and break up on the seventh date, but he’s sure they’ll have a tenth date, and a thirtieth date, and Jin will be seventy and Kame will still be telling him to comb his hair and do his laundry. “We do.” Kame leans upward and grabs Jin’s lips, intending to leave a peck, but Jin keeps him there, delving into Kame’s mouth until they both run short of air. Then Jin lets Kame fall back, and Kame’s dizzy with everything.

“Is it too soon to negotiate children?” Jin asks, and Kame’s laugh tears out of him, starting from his belly and making his shoulders quake.

“Probably,” Kame says. “Ask me after I’ve had you to myself for a while.”

“We might have to steal one,” Jin says playfully. “But I guess we should go on a few more dates. Wouldn’t want to realize we, uh…didn’t really know each other.”

Kame thinks as long as there are moments as perfect as this one, everything is going to be fine. “So when do we leave?” Kame asks.

“Tomorrow? The day after?” Jin queries, more to himself than to Kame. “I should visit the Shirotas. Drop in on Reio.” Jin shakes his hair out of his face. “Get a haircut.”

“There’s still time tonight,” Kame says, looking out his window through the fall of Jin’s waves, the black locks thick, but not thick enough to block the rays of sunset.

Jin’s eyebrows draw together, and his lips quirk mischievously. “Not really…” Jin says, and then his hands are wandering with intent again, and Kame sucks in a gasp as Jin’s thumbs stroke his hipbones slowly, like he’s memorizing the feeling of them. “I have other plans for tonight.”

“I don’t know, Jin,” Kame says, even as he shifts beneath Jin, craving more of that delicious contact. “I worry for my reputation. It’s only the first date.”

Jin smirks, and blinks at Kame lazily, and Kame’s heart is beating twice as fast as it usually does. “Kame, we’ve waited over twenty years to be right for each other,” Jin says, and his hands dip lower. “I’m sure I can change your mind.”


*


Dear Kame-chan,

Documentary was a huge success! Jin’s special appearance was all over the news—you know how it goes.

Meisa seahorsed Nakamaru…Just kidding! Meisa’s expecting. It’s only been two months, but I guess the clock is ticking, haha. Poor child, it’ll probably have Nakamaru’s nose. Meisa will make sure the kid dresses well, though, I’m sure.

It was great getting your last mail. Glad you guys finally made it safely through Italy! How is Rome? Are you happy, Kame-chan? You seem happy. Your movie comes out next week. What with the furor over Jin and you disappearing off the face of the planet, hype is at a new high. Wondering if anyone is going to make the accusation that you and Jin have run off together… they’d be right, but no one would actually believe it, right?

Anyway, we’ve missed you. Keep in touch! (and you too, Akanishi!!!!)

Your secret lover,
Koki


*


Kame browses the small plastic rack, looking for a picture that catches his eye. There’s around a hundred to choose from, but Kame’s picky, and he lets his gaze linger on every single one of them.

His niece would like the one of angels, Kame thinks, as he picks it up and examines it. He likes the way it looks; it says Rome to him, and he thinks it’s the sort of thing she’d get into these days, since she’d said, last time he’d called, that she was taking an art history class.

Arms slip around his waist, and Jin’s chin digs into his shoulder as his chest presses to Kame’s back. Kame should care that they’re in public, but he doesn’t; he just lets his left hand rest atop Jin’s linked hands, Jin’s thumbs rubbing slow circles on his stomach. “I thought you weren’t a fan of the postcards,” Jin says into Kame’s ear, and Kame shivers even as he smiles.

“I’m not a fan of only postcards,” Kame says. “I’ll be sending detailed emails and calling, too.” Kame makes his tone stern, so that Jin will get his implied message that Jin will be following his example. “But I gave her the map, you know? So from now on she’ll be keeping track of where my heart goes. Might as well help her out.”

“Don’t you mean where you go?” Jin asks, and Kame grins.

“No,” Kame says. “The map follows my heart. Mostly that’s where you go, Jin.”

Jin’s hands still for a moment, and there’s a tiny noise that means that Jin is blushing, and trying not to let Kame know that he’s still a giant softy. Kame doesn’t know why he bothers, since Kame is well aware that Jin’s a cheeseball, and anyway, Kame’s sort of becoming one too.

“That’s nice,” Jin says at last, and Kame leans left so that his cheek is pressed to Jin’s. “Shall we?”

“Let me pay for this,” Kame says, untangling himself from Jin and looking around. No one is paying the two Japanese men in the corner any attention. “Then we can visit Trevi Fountain.”

“Whatever you want,” Jin says, and Kame laughs.

“What do you want?”

“I already have it,” Jin replies, and Kame… Kame is happy. Kame doesn’t have an upcoming movie role, or an interview tomorrow, or a commercial to shoot. Kame doesn’t have a dinner party to attend, or a fashion show to appear at or in. Kame loves all of those things, but they don’t compare, for now, to a sunny day in Rome, fingers laced with Jin’s under a burning Mediterranean sun. For the first time in his life, Kame’s not thinking too far ahead. He’s here, in the present. Enjoying this moment.

“You’re a sap,” Kame says, dropping change for the postcard on the counter. The teenage girl behind the counter looks up in surprise at the Japanese, and Kame smiles at her.

“I’m still trying to woo you,” Jin says. “After all, this is only our second date. What if you decide you don’t want to see me anymore?”

“As if,” Kame says, and Jin just watches him with those expressive eyes, and Jin takes Kame’s breath away, just like he did the first time he saw him, all those years ago, when Jin was still a floppy, overly emotive teenager with a loud scream and awkward knees. “You’re stuck with me, Akanishi.”

Love is like the sun. Kame and Jin spent a long time circling it at different speeds, feeling the same heat, and now they’ve locked together, satellite hearts headed for impact.

Kame doesn’t mind.

Love is like the sun, and Kame’s fears burn away to nothing under the brilliant rays of Jin’s smile.