Kis-My-Ft2, Say Say Say (That You’re Leaving With Me)
Title: Say Say Say (That You’re Leaving With Me) [Miyata/Tamamori]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Summary: If Miyata doesn’t have the guts to actually confess, then what on earth is all the practice for?
Notes: Written for 2012 Kis-My-Fic2 exchange, pinch hit for omoikkiri. She wanted Tamamori/Miyata and confessions, so I wrote her like a million of those.
Say Say Say (That You’re Leaving With Me)
Miyata sometimes wonders if somewhere, in some parallel universe, there is a Miyata Toshiya that doesn’t love his counterpart Tamamori Yuta.
He wonders if any of those Miyatas maybe has the guts to just confess already. Probably not, he thinks, heaving a sigh, on both counts. He’s pretty useless, after all, and if he weren’t he wouldn’t be Miyata Toshiya, no matter what the universe.
“Why are you sighing like that?” Tamamori demands, looking up from tsking at how his wrists are sticking out of his costume jacket again, already. “You’re all mopey!”
“Sorry, Tama-chan,” Miyata apologizes, but he can’t manage his usual wide smile to go along with it. Lately he feels kind of like what’s the point of anything, of dancing or vocal practice or mic check, or the way he’s so desperately in love with Tamamori that sometimes he just wants to burst into tears like a Fresh Junior in a Yara-senpai choreography lesson.
His mother says it’s a phase, that it’ll pass, that his sister was the same way at about his age, and when his brother makes fun of his melancholy expression, Miyata-san informs him crisply that when he’s sixteen he’ll look every bit as silly and be a midget to boot if he doesn’t hurry up and drink his milk.
Miyata doesn’t feel like it’ll pass. He doesn’t feel like lacing up his skates or stretching properly or putting up with Fujigaya hollering at them all afternoon. He doesn’t feel like chasing after the older four, just chasing and chasing and never getting anywhere. He doesn’t feel like watching Tamamori slowly coming out of his shell and laughing with Senga and Nikaido when he doesn’t have any idea how to get Tamamori to laugh for him like that.
“Oi, it got way worse!” Tamamori scolds, and Miyata ducks his head, abashed. But when he dares a glance back up, Tamamori doesn’t look annoyed, more like sympathetic. “Quit thinking about whatever you’re thinking about. Miyata-kun should look happy.”
“I should?” Miyata asks, blinking.
“Miyata-kun’s smile is his charm point, right?” Tamamori nods to himself, like it’s been all decided. “His recognizable feature. So put it back on!”
“My…charm point?” Miyata repeats slowly. Warmth kindles in his chest, slow and gentle. “You think so?”
“Obviously,” Tamamori says, emphasizing all his syllables as if Miyata is a particularly dense kouhai. He eyes Miyata critically. “It sure isn’t your nose.”
Somehow, Miyata feels like maybe there’s one or two things worth smiling about after all. “Thanks, Tama-chan.”
“Or that haircut,” Tamamori continues. “Or your…” Miyata interrupts him quickly, saying that he gets it, he gets it.
*
That night Miyata dreams that he is on a pirate ship, sailing under the Jolly Roger of the Dread Pirates Tackey and Tsubasa. He’s little more than a cabin boy himself, one of the lowest members of the crew, but even so he has the wind at his back, the salt spray of the sea stinging his cheeks when he sneaks away from his duties to lean over the railing of the Kimagure Jet. At night the stars burn like jewels above them when they’re out to sea, no city lights to dim their colors.
But they can still hardly compare to Tamamori.
“What are you doing up here?” Tamamori asks when he finds Miyata star-gazing on deck, his voice a low murmur that barely carries over the waves so Yokoo on watch won’t scold them.
Miyata startles when he hears the voice behind him, but then smiles when he sees who it is. “Hi, Tama-chan. They’re so pretty, right? From out here.”
“Mmm.” Tamamori leans on the railing next to Miyata, to Miyata’s surprise and pleasure. In the moonlight, Tamamori’s pale skin glows silver, his earrings glinting and his hair escaping his bandana to dance around his face in the breeze.
Suddenly the stars aren’t so much worth looking at after all.
“What’s up with that?” Tamamori asks when he notices Miyata’s staring. Miyata shakes his head, and Tamamori tugs self-consciously on the scarf looped around his waist. “Miyacchi?”
“Ne,” Miyata leans closer, the darkness making him bold, Tamamori’s eyes wide and bottomless as the ocean, “Tama-chan, I…”
Miyata wakes suddenly, disoriented when the rolling of the waves resolves itself into the stillness of his bed, his confession still on the tip of his tongue.
*
They’re stretching partners as usual, Nikaido and Senga wrapped up in each other, and that suits Miyata just fine. Tamamori’s fingers are slender where they’re wrapped around Miyata’s wrists, both of them pulling on each other until Miyata’s back is pleasantly loose and even Yokoo is satisfied they’ve done it properly.
“A little more?” he asks anyway, not wanting to let go yet, and Tamamori humors him, too lazy to be in a hurry to get up off the floor.
They’re learning a new skating trick today, to spin in pairs, holding on to each other’s wrists and leaning out, as far as their arms will stretch. Yokoo and Iida are doing it effortlessly, Kitayama and Fujigaya managing well enough.
The younger four, not so much.
“Faster!” the choreographer scolds. “Anyone can do it slowly!”
“Don’t let go!” Tamamori demands, getting panicky when their speed increases, his stability on skates an inverse proportion to how long his arms have recently become. Miyata’s fingers are slick with sweat but he hangs on grimly, determined he’ll definitely manage since Tamamori asked.
Beside them, Senga and Nikaido lose their footing, crashing into Tamamori with a yelp, and they all go down in a heap, Miyata yanking Tamamori to his chest by their still-joined hands, so that it’s him and not Tamamori who cracks his head on the floor. Miyata has to blink a few times for his vision to clear, before he realizes that Tamamori is staring down at him in concern.
“—chi?” Tamamori’s voice finally cuts through the ringing in his ears. “Miyacchi!”
“If you wouldn’t be so careless!” Yokoo is berating a belligerent Nikaido and a wibbling Senga. “If you’d practice properly!”
“Ask how he is at least!” Tamamori snaps, so sharply that everybody freezes a beat at his out-of-character rudeness to a senpai, the fierceness of his glare. Kitayama drops to one knee, annoyingly easy on his skates, breaking up their staring contest.
“Can you hear us?” he asks Miyata, sliding a hand under Miyata’s head to feel the damage. Miyata nods, then winces when the rooms spins, squeezing his eyes shut. “Ouch, it’s quite a bump already. Fujigaya-kun, can you run for some ice?”
“Like I’m running errands on your say-so,” Fujigaya sniffs. Miyata’s field of vision is still filled by Kitayama’s face, so he can see the twitch of Kitayama’s jaw as he clenches it.
“I’ll go,” Senga offers, head briefly blocking more of the light. “I’m really sorry, Miyata-kun.” He turns big eyes to Kitayama. “He’ll be fine, right?”
“It’s just a bump,” Kitayama assures. “Ice sooner would be better, though. Iida-kun, help me get him up? Out of the way, Tamamori-kun. Nobody else hurt?”
Everybody else seems to have just the normal scrapes and bruises, so as soon as Miyata is shifted out of the way to rest, they return to practice. Lacking a spin partner, Tamamori is instructed to sit next to Miyata and make sure he does ten on and ten off properly with his ice, and also that he doesn’t pass out.
“Fine with me,” Tamamori grumbles, but not loud enough that Fujigaya might overhear. “Hey, so…thank you.”
“What?” Miyata asks. He’s not positive he isn’t concussed, focusing on Tamamori’s words a challenge.
“You didn’t let go,” Tamamori clarifies. He holds up his wrist, marks already darkening from Miyata’s too-tight grip. “Miyacchi’s pretty strong, ne.”
“You’re…welcome?” That’s a little weird, but it seems to have pleased Tamamori. Suddenly Miyata’s brain splashes an image up of Tamamori staring up at him from his back, eyes dark, wrists pinned down, begging tighter, tighter…
Cheeks burning, Miyata shakes his head to clear it, then groans as the motion nearly makes him sick. Definitely a concussion, if he’s going from this to thinking about that.
*
It’s the third time it’s happened inside of two weeks, and Miyata is starting to think that it can’t be complete coincidence that this other ninja keeps showing up on the same jobs as him. The rest of his han doesn’t even believe him at this point, when he insists it’s not his fault that he came back with only half of the evil daimyo’s treasure last week.
It was pretty decent of the other guy to split it with him, Miyata thinks, and he doesn’t really care what his han thinks anyway. Sometimes two ninja heads are better than one, and Miyata is getting pretty partial to this particular head, what with its brown eyes blinking at him from over the face mask, and the little curls sneaking out from under his hood.
They haven’t even spoken properly, although last time Miyata had asked the other ninja’s name. He hadn’t answered, but Miyata was pretty sure he’d smiled under his mask, and he’d pressed a small yellow jewel into Miyata’s palm before sliding off the roof like a shadow. Sprawled on his futon that night, Miyata had held the jewel up to the candlelight, grinning to himself. A jewel, huh?
“Hi, Tama-chan,” Miyata murmurs when the other ninja drops onto the roof beside him. The other ninja raises an eyebrow. “That’s your name, right? Or at least it’s a good name, since you’re pretty like one.”
The other ninja rolls his eyes, but Miyata is sure he’s smiling again, under his mask. Tama-chan it is, definitely.
The job goes totally as planned until they’re getting ready to make their escape. Tama-chan is just tucking the last of the lady’s necklaces into his pocket when he cocks his head. A second later, Miyata hears it too: a dog barking. A big dog from the sound of it, one that definitely hadn’t been here when Miyata had scouted out the place several days ago.
Tama-chan’s eyes go wide, and Miyata guesses that hadn’t been in his intel either.
Wordlessly, they both bolt from the room and dart down the hallway, back to the window they’d slipped in through. With the barking getting louder and louder, Miyata squeezes back out first, stretching up to grab the rooftop with his fingertips and hauling himself up with a grunt. Tama-chan is right behind him, but Miyata rolls over as quick as he can when he hears the scrabble of claws on wood and the barking reach a fevered pitch.
He catches just a glimpse of panicked brown eyes and Tama-chan’s hands scrabbling at the roof before instinct takes over. Miyata makes a grab for Tama-chan’s wrists just as he slips off. For a heart-pounding second they dangle there, Miyata’s grip the only thing keeping Tama-chan from either being yanked inside to be mauled by the dog or falling three stories to the stone road below.
Then Miyata digs his heels in and gives one solid yank, hard enough that Tama-chan all but flies up onto the roof, crashing down on top of Miyata, intact but missing a boot. He glares like this is all Miyata’s fault, but Miyata can read relief in his eyes, before he sits up and eyes his bare foot, and then the long stone road and dark woods ahead, in distaste.
What can Miyata do but bring him home?
“Go on, get!” Miyata shoos off Senga and Nikaido from his doorway, the pair of trainees gawking shamelessly. He slides the door firmly shut (not like the walls aren’t made of paper, but it’s the principle of the thing) and turns to tell Tama-chan he’s welcome to stay the night.
The words die in his throat, because Tama-chan has pulled his hood and mask down, revealing pink cheeks and a pert nose to go along with his dark eyes and hair, adorably bunched up from being jammed under his hood.
“I…” Miyata tries, but his brain is static-filled, “you…”
“Yuta,” Tama-chan says, eyes glued to his bare foot. “It’s Yuta.”
“Okay, Tama-chan,” Miyata agrees, making Tama-chan snort, and Miyata thinks that’s even more adorable. He drops onto his futon beside Tama-chan, sitting close enough that they’re just barely not touching. “I’m Toshiya.”
“Hi,” Tama-chan says, “please take care of me,” like they’re meeting for the first time, and it’s so cute that Miyata leans over without thinking and kisses Tama-chan’s cheek. When he pulls back, Tama-chan’s blush is even fiercer, nearly scarlet.
“Cuuuute,” Miyata murmurs.
Tama-chan scrubs at his cheek with the back of his hand, scowling. “What’s that about?” But he doesn’t resist when Miyata reaches over to tug Tama-chan’s hand down and holds it between his own, bruises from Miyata yanking him onto the roof earlier dark smudges around Tama-chan’s wrist.
“Sorry I hurt you,” Miyata apologizes, not liking the way the marks mar Tama-chan’s pale skin, the way his wrists feel so thin under Miyata’s fingers. “I’m not a very good ninja, I guess.”
“You saved me, didn’t you?” Tama-chan demands, the sharpness of his voice surprising Miyata. “So you can’t suck that much. Don’t say that kind of junk when it’s not true.”
After a second, Miyata’s surprise melts back into a grin, although it feels wider than usual. “Okay. Hey, Tama-chan, you know, I—”
The buzz of Miyata’s alarm makes him sit bolt upright in bed, then he flops back down with a groan when he realizes he’s missed his chance yet again.
“Ninja Toshiya needs to work on his speed,” Miyata grumps to himself as he trudges into the bathroom.
“Regular Toshiya does too!” His sister hollers, pounding on the bathroom door.
*
It’s meetings today, which Miyata doesn’t love. As hard as practices can be, physically and mentally, at least Miyata can show his effort there, at least he has half a chance of satisfying the instructors or his groupmates. During meetings, he can’t look any more attractive than he does, and he can’t help but see the way the staff is looking over the eight of them with expressions that say they’re making a mental checklist of which members have a chance of making it in the end.
He’s pretty sure he’s not anywhere close to ranking on a list like that, however many slots there are on it.
Beside him, Tamamori doesn’t look any more comfortable. Unlike Miyata, who tries to make direct eye contact and exude positive feelings and cooperation, Tamamori tries to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible, eyes down on the table and his bangs hanging over them.
“Hey,” Miyata whispers, nudging Tamamori’s shoulder. “Smile!”
“Why?” Tamamori hisses back, shaking his bangs over far enough to give Miyata the side-eye. “What for?”
“Because Tama-chan’s smile is cute,” Miyata shrugs. He shouldn’t try so hard not to be seen, is really what Miyata wants to say. Unlike himself, he thinks that Tamamori should be seen, that he’s worth looking at if he’d let other people look the way that Miyata does.
“Miyacchi’s smile is cute too,” Tamamori retorts, “but it doesn’t seem to be doing you much good.”
It’s supposed to be an insult, Miyata is sure, but as often happens with Tamamori, it comes out with completely opposite effect. Miyata can’t help but grin in return, and Tamamori only scowls harder when his brain catches up to his mouth and he realizes as well.
“If all the members would care to pay attention?” Manager-san asks, voice unimpressed. Tamamori and Miyata both intone a quick apology, and Tamamori kicks Miyata under the table. Neither of them dare make eye contact with Fujigaya.
“This is why only Senga has a solo,” Fujigaya informs them anyway, when they break for lunch. Miyata certainly doesn’t dare retort to that, and Tamamori only stares at his shoes as usual, bangs back in his eyes.
*
Unsurprisingly, that night Miyata dreams they are in a v-kei band, complete with dangerously tight pants and hair spiked to the moon. Also unsurprisingly, although he plays well enough and is open to fanservice, he isn’t quite v enough for the staff’s satisfaction.
Miyata stands meekly while the staff makes suggestions to their manager, all of them eying him critically.
“Maybe more eyeliner?” one make-up girl suggests.
“Or bigger hair?” puts in another one; Miyata wonders if his hair can actually get any bigger.
“Maybe a dramatic piercing!” a third says, eyes lingering on various parts of Miyata’s body, and he suppresses a shudder.
While they are debating his lack of merits, Miyata lets his eyes wander over to their drummer, who is rifling around in his bag for one of his drumsticks, clearly muttering to himself even though he’s out of earshot. Tamamori is definitely v enough, Miyata thinks, tall and lean and sharp from recent growth spurts, hair naturally unruly, eyes made even more dreamy by the smudged kohl they’re lined with.
Too bad Miyata’s tentative attempts to fanservice him have been totally cockblocked by Tamamori’s drum kit. Still, Miyata has hope.
“Maybe…” manager-san sighs, clearly at the end of her wits, “…if he were more towards the back.”
There’s a pause while everyone digests that, drawing Miyata’s attention back just in time to see manager-san’s eyes spark with realization at what she’s just said.
“Yes! That’s it!”
“But the only thing in the back is the drum kit?” Miyata ventures.
“Exactly!” Manager-san exclaims, and the make-up girls all ooh. “Drummers don’t have to be nearly as sexy, plus you won’t need a microphone either.”
Ouch, Miyata winces, but there’s actually a more pressing concern. “But Tama-chan is the drummer?”
“Hmm, I’ve got something much better in mind for him.” Manager-san’s smile is sharp, a sure sign that nobody’s going to be happy in about ten seconds. “Tamamori-kun, over here a minute!”
“What.” is Tamamori’s response to the change in position, and then “WHAT,” and “Whaaaaaaaaaat,” when he is additionally informed that they’re going to try him out as a frontman and his vocal lessons are going to triple, just for a start.
Plus he has to teach Miyata to drum.
“This is all your fault,” Tamamori glowers at Miyata when he stomps in for Miyata’s first lesson. He’s in street clothes, jeans and a bright pink T-shirt with a mis-matched hoodie, hair mussed by the wind outside and no make-up, but Miyata thinks he looks good enough to fanservice this way, too.
“I know,” Miyata says. He bobs his head in a sheepish bow. “Please take care of me?”
“Tcht, you aren’t sorry at all,” Tamamori grouses.
Miyata really isn’t, because there’s only the one drum kit and Miyata doesn’t know a damn thing about drumming, which means that Tamamori ends up sharing the stool with him, curled around Miyata from behind, struggling to coax some rhythm out of him. He doesn’t have much of a chance of success, since Miyata can hardly focus on anything besides the staccato tripping of his heart at Tamamori’s nearness.
“Are you even trying?” Tamamori asks eventually, voice a growl in Miyata’s ear. Miyata’s been trying not to enjoy himself obviously, but he can’t hold in a shiver at that point, a soft sigh.
And then a crazy person takes over Miyata’s body, and he turns his head just enough to capture Tamamori’s mouth.
It only lasts a few seconds before Tamamori is scrambling away, off the stool. He doesn’t go very far though, not out of reach; he stops with his back pressed against the wall just behind them, cheeks furiously red.
“What the fuck,” he demands, voice low and rough and sending electricity singing over Miyata’s skin as he swivels on the stool to look Tamamori over.
The crazy Miyata is still in charge, because he doesn’t answer but stands up instead, and advances on Tamamori. Tamamori doesn’t move, other than to press his palms flat against the wall. Miyata slides arms around Tamamori’s thin waist and leans in until they are pressed together from knee to chest. This time when he presses his mouth against Tamamori’s, Tamamori lets him have his way.
“Tama-chan,” Miyata breaks the kiss to murmur, trailing lips over Tamamori’s cheekbone, his jaw. He’s light-headed from lack of air and how Tamamori is shaking against him just enough for him to feel it. “Tama-chan, I…”
*
“So I had this dream we were in a v-kei band,” Miyata blurts the next morning, totally unable to keep it to himself. He’s been running hot and cold every since he woke up, snatches of the dream coming back to him at totally inopportune times. “You were a frontman.”
Tamamori bursts out laughing beside him. “We were? Us? Me? Maybe you ought to quit eating weird stuff before bed, Miyacchi.”
“You could pull it off,” Miyata says before he can stop himself, then shuts his mouth with a snap, scared crazy Miyata might take over just like in his dream.
Tamamori doesn’t seem to notice. He goes on chuckling to himself about the idea until Senga skips by and yanks Tamamori along with him on the fly, cheerfully demanding that Tamamori come practice with him early and maybe stop looking like such shit in their formation.
“Any other interesting dreams?” an arch voice inquires, and Miyata turns to find Nikaido smirking at him knowingly.
“Er, no. What?” Miyata fibs, but his blush gives him away, making Nikaido smirk harder. “Oh, whatever.”
“Trust you to fantasize about that weirdo,” Nikaido snorts, but he doesn’t look grossed out or like he’s going to run off and tell manager-san or anything. Miyata wonders if, in Nikaido’s 14-year-old way, he’s trying to offer a friendly ear.
“They aren’t dreams like that,” he says, treading cautiously for the moment, but it is starting to get hard to keep the whole situation bottled up inside. “It’s just, I keep nearly confessing, but right when I’m about to, I wake up. It’s driving me crazy.” Miyata heaves a little sigh, and realizes that he does feel better, having said that to somebody.
“So just confess,” is Nikaido’s blunt advice.
“It’s not so easy,” Miyata sighs, thinking that for Nikaido it probably is. Ah, youth.
“It totally is!” Nikaido announces, hopping to his feet. “Here, watch.”
To Miyata’s shock, Nikaido strolls across the practice room, marches right up to Senga, and yanks on his sleeve.
“Oi, Kento!”
“Yeah?” Senga stops what he’s doing immediately and gives Nikaido his full attention, blinking at him curiously.
“I…come to the bathroom with me,” Nikaido mumbles after a second, and Miyata can’t help but crack up at how utterly Nikaido just lost his nerve in the face of Senga’s big, brown eyes. Nikaido shoots Miyata a glare on his way by, dragging a compliant Senga along by the hand, but Miyata only laughs all the harder, until he has to rest his forehead on his knees.
“What are you doing?” Tamamori demands, standing right in front of Miyata and a bit blurry through Miyata’s teary eyes. “What’s so funny?”
“Nika-chan’s just really cute sometimes,” is all Miyata offers as an explanation. He climbs to his feet and offers Tamamori a smile. “Let’s practice, okay? Let’s not suck so much today.”
“Fat chance of that,” Tamamori sighs, but he lets Miyata drag him along easily enough.
*
It’s their first stay in a hotel all together as a unit, and the older members insist coolly that it’s no big deal or whatever, but Miyata is excited about the whole thing. He’s glad they have work, glad they can hang out together a little more than usual. They even re-celebrate Nikaido’s birthday just past, the staff bringing out a cake after dinner and making him blow out the candles properly. Nikaido blusters that it’s no big deal, but Miyata can see he’s pleased by the attention from the other members, and Miyata’s glad too that they can start doing things like this as a group. He hopes maybe they’ll plan a cake for his birthday too, since it isn’t far off.
The older four claim each other as roommates, having done this before, and Nikaido and Senga claim each other, big surprise, leaving Tamamori stuck with Miyata. But for all his sighing, Miyata thinks that Tamamori might actually prefer it that way, since Miyata won’t complain when he putters around the room and talks to himself. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but Miyata’s an incurable optimist.
“Maybe you aren’t the worst roommate,” Tamamori admits the first night, even, then adds, “Don’t fall asleep first!”
“What?” Miyata laughs. “Why?”
Tamamori becomes over-invested in the contents of his bag. “It’s lonely when I’m the only one awake.”
“Okay,” Miyata agrees. Tamamori looks up, thin lips daring Miyata to tease, but Miyata doesn’t. After a long second, Tamamori drops his eyes from Miyata’s with an, “All right, then.”
They chat over the gap between their beds when the lights are out, Miyata wanting to prove that he’s keeping his promise. It’s like a sleepover, only better since his brother isn’t demanding to play too and his sister isn’t telling Tamamori a bunch of embarrassing stories about him.
Maybe they can have a different kind of sleepover someday, crazy Miyata suggests, and Miyata shoves him back into the dark corner of his mind where he tries to rope off those sorts of ideas.
“You still awake?” he whispers; Tamamori’s slow breathing is the only answer, and Miyata can’t help but smile to himself. Even that’s pretty cute. Promise fulfilled, Miyata drifts off with a smile on his face.
*
He’s in a white prince costume with a purple sash, of all things, and holding a big sword, and Miyata wonders what that’s all about for the couple seconds before he spots the castle not too distant, surrounded by a thicket of thorns.
“Aha,” Miyata says, less than enthused at the prospect of being less hero and more royal gardener, but then some squirrels hop out to ask if he isn’t going to save the princess, eyes big and worried, and Miyata supposes he can’t argue with that.
His arms are sore and scratched by the time he’s through the thicket, and Miyata heaves a sigh of relief as he passes out the other side and back into the sunlight. The relief is short-lived when he pushes open the door at the base of the tower and finds a staircase spiraling up and up and up. At least his arms will get a rest, he thinks glumly as he starts trudging.
At the top, Miyata all but collapses into the room, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he gasps for air, thighs burning and sweat dripping down his back. By the time he’s collected himself, he’s noticed the bed in the center of the room. A pair of birds alights on the window sill and tells him to get a move on, already; Miyata shoots them a dirty look as he forces his legs back into motion, feeling like he’s dragging lead weights.
“Oi, you said ‘princess!'” Miyata protests as he leans over the figure on the bed, which is decidedly male. The birds whistle innocently and Miyata rolls his eyes.
He’s attractive enough, at least, beautiful even, peaceful in sleep, haircut long grown out and framing his face in soft waves, long eyelashes curling dark against his pale skin. He shifts in his sleep, murmuring something about pudding for dessert, and Miyata realizes he’s caring less and less about the royal gender issue the longer he stands there.
“Just do it already!” One of the birds chirps shrilly. “Let’s see some action!”
A swipe of his sword later, scaring off his avian voyeurs, Miyata takes a deep breath and leans over the prince, ready for whatever happens when he gives the prince the kiss to break the spell, hoping that a little bi-curiosity will be the stand-in for true love at this juncture. How can you even fall in love with somebody who’s fast asleep?
He hopes he still gets half the realm as promised, and wonders if this kingdom has civil unions or what.
The prince stirs under him when their lips touch, and Miyata pulls back just as his eyes flutter open. They’re dark brown and soft with sleep, making Miyata’s breath catch as the prince blinks at him in obvious befuddlement.
“Morning?” Miyata offers.
“Already? Nngh,” the prince groans, rolling over. “Too early.”
Miyata splutters, torn between a laugh and astonishment. “You’ve been asleep a hundred years!”
“Then what’s five more minutes? Geez.” The prince turns his head back for a minute, looking Miyata over, and then reaches back to grab Miyata’s wrist and tug. “You look comfortable, c’mere.”
Miyata really is laughing now, but he lets the prince tug him down and test out his abilities as a pillow. He could do with a rest anyway, after all those damned stairs.
“Hn,” the prince yawns, head pillowed on Miyata’s chest and curled against Miyata’s side in a warm line, “guess you’ll do.”
Eventually the castle staff, also woken from their enchanted sleep, comes to find them and celebrate their new prince and…prince, but Miyata shushes them, already enchanted himself by the prince’s sleeping face.
*
His alarm drags him out of what feels like an incredibly deep sleep, so Miyata feels half-drugged as he crawls out of bed and off to the bathroom. When he comes back, Tamamori hasn’t budged, despite the gratingly cheerful anime theme song Miyata’s phone alarm is set to.
“Tama-chan?” Miyata says, leaning over Tamamori. Fuzzily he wonders why this is so familiar. “It’s morning, time to wake up.”
“Nngh,” Tamamori groans, curling up into a tighter ball. “Too early.”
His hair is bunched into weird waves and his lashes are dark against his pale skin, and Miyata’s heart squeezes like a fist because it’s apparently really easy to fall in love with somebody who’s fast asleep.
True love’s kiss it is, then, Miyata thinks, and it makes perfect sense to his still-half-asleep brain to lean down and press his lips firmly against Tamamori’s.
*
Hours later, Miyata is still too mortified to look Tamamori in the eye, stumbling over his feet and lines and everything else during show practice, unable to pull his attention squarely to the present no matter how fiercely Fujigaya whispers that he’s making their unit look like a bunch of freaking mic-less trainees.
Kitayama tugs Miyata to the side and asks him what’s going on.
“And don’t say nothing, either,” Kitayama warns, “because this isn’t the Miyata who I practice with every day.”
“It’s crazy Miyata! He’s ruining my life,” Miyata blurts, and then before he can stop himself, he’s spilling the whole story about the dreams and the confessions and the pirates and ninjas and talking squirrels even.
Kitayama doesn’t interrupt until Miyata gets the whole way up to that morning, wincing sympathetically when he finishes explaining about his Prince Charming routine. Then there’s a few breaths of awkward silence between them when Miyata has run out of words and Kitayama goes on eyeing him evenly.
“As hesitant as I am to suggest intra-unit romance, with all the drama that entails,” Kitayama finally says, “have you tried actually confessing to Tamamori? You know, in real life?”
Miyata shakes his head, abashed. “I can’t, definitely can’t.”
“Really?” Kitayama raises an eyebrow. “Because it sure seems like you’ve been practicing enough. What’s the practice for, then?”
To Miyata’s surprise, that’s the end of Kitayama’s lecture, aside from a squeeze of Miyata’s shoulder before Kitayama turns to go back to practice. It takes Miyata a few moments to follow, but Kitayama has broken the spell of Miyata’s embarrassment enough that he can pull himself together and put his attention into the rest of practice, at least.
*
Miyata fiddles nervously with the sleeves of his scribe’s uniform, the hakama feeling stiff with its newness. He shoves his nerves down as best he can, since this is what he’s been working towards all this time, why he practiced and worked hard and passed all the exams, and today he’s finally being admitted to Takizawa-dono’s court just about the only way a commoner can manage it.
Fortunately for him, Tono respects hard work enough to be more liberal than most about social promotion. As humble as Miyata’s family is, it feels like nothing short of a miracle that today he can stand here in his crisp, new uniform, can walk in through the gates and not be chased back to the fields by the guards keeping watch at the gate.
Coming to court is all he’s ever wanted, ever since his childhood playmate in the countryside had turned out to be of noble blood, had disappeared from catching beetles in the shady forest with Miyata, whisked away when he was summoned to court. It’s been years, and Miyata is scared on top of everything else that he won’t recognize his old friend when he sees him, that he for sure won’t be recognized.
His worry is for nothing, because when he rounds the corner into the garden he recognizes Tamamori at once, despite the fineness of his golden-colored yukata instead of rough country clothing, the way his hair is pinned up neatly off his neck instead of all in a tangle, the way his skin is pale and lustrous instead of smudged with dirt.
“Tama-chan!” he calls, the childhood nickname falling from his lips without thought. A second later, he corrects himself, cheeks going scarlet. “I mean, Tamamori-sama.”
“Toshiya!” Tamamori exclaims in return, eyes lighting up when he sees who is calling him. His mouth is a shocked ‘o’ before it curls into the beautiful smile that Miyata has kept in his heart all this time. “You’re here! You came!”
“I said I would,” Miyata nods, and now that he has Tamamori’s smile back it’s easy to cross the rest of the distance between them. “I promised I’d come to wherever you were, so here I am, Tamamori-sama.”
“Don’t call me that,” Tamamori admonishes, reaching out to catch Miyata’s hand with his own and squeezing, as if uncertain whether this is real or not. “Toshiya, I’m so glad you’re here. I missed you!”
“Yuta,” Miyata says instead, seriously, properly, “Yuta, I—”
The dream pops like a bubble just then, at the critical moment, and Miyata growls into the dark of his bedroom that this is the last straw, goddammit.
*
It’s funny how easy it is, now that Miyata’s made up his mind.
When he gets to practice, he marches straight across the room to where Tamamori is changing and eyes him with enough directness that Tamamori clutches the shirt he’s holding to his chest as if to protect his naked body from whatever is going on.
“M-miyacchi?” he asks. His eyes dart away from Miyata’s and over his shoulder, to the other juniors also changing, then back again.
Miyata doesn’t pay them any mind. He takes a deep breath and looks only at Tamamori.
“I like you,” he says, but that’s not even close to enough, to what he really wants to say. “I mean, I’m in love with you. Regular you and pirate you and ninja you and prince you, whatever kind of Tamamoris there are, anywhere, then I want there to be that kind of Miyata too, right beside you.”
Tamamori’s cheeks are turning scarlet (so cute) and his mouth is working a little, but he can’t seem to get any words out to interrupt. Behind him, Fujigaya is squawking something and Miyata thinks that Kitayama may have just shushed him, but he doesn’t turn to find out.
“I want to be beside you always,” Miyata finishes. “Because I really love you. And if you don’t feel that way, then that’s all right I guess, but…” Miyata gropes for words for a second, “…it’s just that I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks.” He closes his mouth and waits for Tamamori’s response, scared, but also really proud of himself, that he finally managed to say what he wanted to Tamamori properly.
Tamamori still says nothing, and if any more blood rushes to his face he’s probably going to pass out, but just when Miyata’s pride is starting to be overshadowed by panic, suddenly Tamamori’s hand slips into Miyata’s and squeezes once.
“Tama-chan,” Miyata breathes, voice full of wonder, “really?”
Tamamori nods, and the room is suddenly filled with applause and cat-calls, Kawai’s cackling drowning everything else on Miyata’s left side. Tamamori squeezes Miyata’s hand hard enough to all but break it and finds his voice to hiss that he’s going to murder Miyata OVER AND OVER for this.
*
Fujigaya makes them skate a million laps as penalty for disruption and grossness and Kawai’s unstoppable cackling, but Miyata doesn’t mind because Tamamori has to skate them right at his side, and also because Nikaido and Senga get assigned two million for trying to upstage them with a less-family-oriented confession scene of their own.
Yokoo makes them swear they will not ever on pain of death do any of the half-a-dozen acts he names explicitly in their dressing room, but Miyata doesn’t mind that either because he has to explain what half the things are to Tamamori right after.
Iida tells them they’d better dream of skating practice tonight, if they know what’s good for them, since that’s apparently where all their useful training hours are spent, but Miyata doesn’t mind even that because it’ll be a relief to have a different sort of dream after all of this.
Kitayama gives each of them a long, meaningful look, then glances down at their joined hands before simply saying, “Remember what I said about intra-unit romance and drama,” and then going on his way without waiting for a response.
“He looked a little proud of us, though, didn’t he?” Miyata grins even when Tamamori looks at him like he’s crazy. “He did. His advice was really useful after all.”
“Oh god, you told him about this?” Tamamori demands, trying to shake Miyata’s hand off of his. “Ugh, let go of me, you useless idiot!”
Miyata laughs and lets him pull away, because Tamamori is coming home with him anyway so he can’t get that far, and he isn’t sure if they’re going to have the other kind of sleepover yet, but he’ll get to wake up Sleeping Beauty in the morning for sure, and maybe he’ll even use true love’s kiss, since it’s so effective.
“Stop smiling like that,” Tamamori scowls, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I thought my smile was my charm point?” Miyata tilts his head in mild confusion, suppressing a grin at how that just makes Tamamori scowl harder. “That’s what you said, right?”
Tamamori clicks his tongue in exasperation, but doesn’t refute his earlier statement, and to Miyata that feels like victory.
*
That night, Tamamori tucked warm against his side, Miyata dreams that they have their own concerts, that they skate without falling on their faces, that Tamamori is a prince after all (with a big, sparkly crown even), and that Miyata has learned to make Tamamori laugh, along with ten-thousand-some-odd fangirls. When he looks down and sees how good his face looks on the uchiwa in front of him, he knows he is definitely dreaming.
Tamamori shakes him awake, informing him crankily that he is saying the weirdest shit in his sleep and wanting to know what on earth he’s dreaming about. Miyata can only laugh and squeeze Tamamori tightly enough to make him squeak.
“Don’t worry about it,” he soothes, burying his nose in Tamamori’s hair. “That dream was definitely too weird to come true.”
“Whatever.” Tamamori relaxes against Miyata, one arm sneaking over Miyata’s waist. “Don’t fall asleep first, got it?”
“Got it,” Miyata promises. “Sweet dreams, Tama-chan.”
“Mmph,” Tamamori replies, and then so quietly that Miyata can just barely make it out, “you too.”
Tags: JE - Tamamori/Miyata, Rating: PG-13 *
Johnny's Ent., Kis-My-Ft2 | Mousapelli 2012.03.31
By ri, 2012.08.25 @ 5:21 pm
i love this so much. so much. my heart ached with the first paragraph and all of the dreams and nikaido being a brat who knows more sex acts than tamamori and i shrieked when miyata kissed him awake like sleeping fucking beauty. it’s seriously cute how tama is all “don’t fall asleep first,” ugh my heart.