Mousapelli’s Fanfiction » Kis-My-Ft2, Rough Sketch

Kis-My-Ft2, Rough Sketch

Title:Rough Sketch [Kitayama/Miyata]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Summary: AU where Kitayama coaches soccer at the local junior high, and Miyata sketches manga part-time.
AN: The shoot with Kitayama and Miyata going grocery shopping together were so cute and domestic that I couldn’t even stand it, so I wrote this. Visual references: here, here, here, and here. SO CUTE UGH.

Rough Sketch

On Saturdays, if Kitayama’s practice isn’t going terribly long, and if Miyata hasn’t been called into the office, Miyata picks up two combini lunches and brings them to the soccer field. The weather is mild, a nice break before the summer heat sets in fully, so the two of them eat outside on one of the benches, watching the first years gather up the last of the stray practice balls.

Kitayama coaches the girls’ team at the local junior high and is pretty popular (there’s talk of making him the boys’ coach after the more senior staff member retires next year), so a lot of the girls stop to chat with him a minute before they head home. Kitayama praises their improvement and promises to see them Monday before he deftly shoos them off.

“What do you tell them about me?” Miyata wants to know, always a little worried about showing up at Kitayama’s work like this, no matter how often Kitayama insists it’s fine. “What do they think I’m doing here?”

Kitayama shrugs. “They know you’re my best friend.” It’s true enough, Miyata supposes. Kitayama glances at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Half of them are planning on marrying me. No offense, Miyacchi, but I doubt any of them see you as a serious romantic rival.”

Miyata just laughs. He isn’t the most self-confident person in the world, but he’s pretty sure he can compete with thirteen-year-old girls, given what he knows about Kitayama. Maybe the boys will have more luck next year.

“Come on,” Kitayama says, dropping his bento tray into Miyata’s lap and standing up to stretch. “Help me lock up so we can go home.”

Home is a small two-bedroom apartment about ten minutes’ walk from the school and another five from the station in the opposite direction. It’s not cheap, but the location makes it worth it, and with the two of them it’s manageable. Miyata’s bedroom is jammed tight with his anime collections, his drawing desk, and his scatter of half-done manga submissions to various publishers. Kitayama keeps saying they should just get rid of the bed since he never uses it and use the space for more shelving, make it a proper work room, but Miyata always refuses.

“You’re a teacher, we ought to make at least some attempt at propriety,” he scolds every time Kitayama brings it up. “What if your co-workers come over? What if your principal stops by?”

“What on earth would my principal stop by for?” Kitayama scoffs. “A home visit? Honestly, Miyacchi.” But Miyata is only worrying for his sake, Kitayama knows, so there’s no choice but to let him have his way.

This afternoon, they have to go grocery shopping because they let it go too long again, and the only thing to eat in the whole house is a couple beers and some aloe yogurt of questionable age. It’s a chore that Kitayama complains loudly about (“All that food and you can’t eat it there!”), but Miyata quietly enjoys. When the two of them go together, it feels like a cute date, right out in the open. He holds the list and reaches for things on the top shelves; Kitayama pushes the cart and looks around at all the food with an expression of mild wonder that Miyata finds adorable.

“We have to carry whatever we buy, you know,” Miyata reminds when Kitayama tosses things in the cart just because they look good. “You really are like taking a little kid shopping.”

“Shut up.” Kitayama bumps Miyata’s shoulder with his own and sticks his tongue out. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”

They stagger home under the weight of their purchases, both of them tripping over each other in the tiny kitchen as they put things away and Miyata starts dinner before Kitayama dies of starvation like he keeps threatening to. He’s not the best cook, but his mother’s omurice recipe is what won over Kitayama’s heart in the first place after all.

Kitayama doesn’t pay much attention to the television when Miyata flips it on, occupied with some school paperwork, but eventually he looks up with a raised eyebrow.

“This isn’t anime,” he says, which is about 95% of their usual television fare.

“Nope,” Miyata answers. It’s a popular music show, actually, the kind that Kitayama’s students watch for their favorite idols.

“Why?” Kitayama prompts when no further explanation is forthcoming. Miyata shifts a little, looking embarrassed. “Come on, spill it. You got a crush on one of them or something?”

“No!” Miyata protests. “It’s a…new project. One of my online friends…you’re going to laugh.”

“I won’t,” Kitayama promises, setting aside his grading.

“She introduced me to some friends of hers who run a doujinshi circle and lost one of their main artists,” Miyata explains, staring fixedly at the television to keep from having to look Kitayama in the eye. “She said my style was a good match, so they’re letting me submit something as an audition. I might even get paid, since they’re popular.”

“That’s great!” Kitayama encourages. “You draw character art all the time, so it sounds like fun, right? What series is it?”

“Not a series. It’s not that kind of circle.” Miyata sneeks a peek at Kitayama’s face and points at the television. “It’s them.”

For a second, Kitayama’s surprised face is almost comical, and then he bursts out laughing. He’s still laughing two minutes later when Miyata slaps at his leg and tells him to shut up, the right guys are on. It’s a five-member Johnny’s group, with one of those silly initial names that barely makes any sense.

“Oh man, look at them,” Kitayama says, still chuckling a little. “Are they wearing roller skates?”

“It’s their thing,” Miyata says, and Kitayama laughs some more, but after they do a few tricks to show off, even he grudgingly admits that it must be more than a gimmick if they’re putting that much practice in.

“But that front guy needs to eat some food and get a haircut,” is his final verdict. “And that other one…” Both of them watch as the other frontman spends half the MC distracted by the sparkle of his bracelet. “It’s a good thing he’s pretty.”

“Well, get used to them,” Miyata says, already sketching on a notepad. “I’ll be doing a lot of research in the near future.”

“I’ll help you research, all right,” Kitayama says, knocking Miyata’s notepad out of his hand and leaning over him for a kiss. “Since it’s that kind of thing.” He pulls Miyata along to bed, idols and roller skates entirely forgotten.

Miyata doesn’t have a ton of free time, usually exhausted after staying late at work as the guy with the least seniority, but he spends the few hours he can manage to stay awake watching clips of the band and working on his submission. What he turns out in the end is a cute little confession story between the frontmen, one of the pairings that the internet seems to indicate is popular.

“Do you think it looks like them?” Miyata frets at the last second, just before he scans his drawings in. “What if my details are all wrong?”

“It looks like them, it’s fine,” Kitayama soothes, used to Miyata’s last-second panic attacks. “Although I don’t know why you didn’t write about those two back guys who are clearly fucking each other.”

“I didn’t think I could make them any gayer than they already were,” is Miyata’s sheepish answer. Kitayama snorts, making Miyata laugh too, and some of his tension dissolves, enough that he manages to upload his submission without entirely melting down. When he comes out of his room, Kitayama is cooking for him, for once.

“It’s nothing special,” Kitayama says when Miyata kisses him on the cheek in thanks. “We’ll go out this weekend to celebrate, yeah? Your choice.”

“Assuming there’s anything to celebrate other than me drawing androgynous pop idols making out,” Miyata says. Kitayama tells him to shush, that his making out is always worth having.

A few days later Miyata is surprised when he checks his phone at lunch to find a mail from Kitayama reading, [Get out on time tonight. Karaoke date? The usual place. I can’t get their damn single out of my head.] Miyata doesn’t have to ask who ‘they’ are.

When he turns up at the karaoke place they used to meet up at before they moved in together, Kitayama already has a room and is busily thumbing in numbers on the handheld controller.

“Earworm?” Miyata asks, chuckling. He pulls the combini back of snacks he had hidden in his bag out to drop beside Kitayama. “Admit it, you like them.”

“I got caught humming it twice!” Kitayama protests with a roll of his eyes. “Now my students all think I’m their fan! You better watch out, I think my marriageability just skyrocketed.”

“Wait until they find out your boyfriend draws BL doujin,” Miyata says. Kitayama barks laughter, and Miyata picks up the little phone to order them some drinks.

And maybe they aren’t hot idols on music shows, but Miyata thinks they sound pretty damn good together when they split the harmonies of the two frontmen. Miyata even hits a high note that makes Kitayama’s eyes go round with surprise.

“Damn!” he says when the song is over. “Maybe you should have been one of these guys after all.”

“That’s me, just another pretty face,” Miyata laughs, tapping his nose. After a second, he adds, “I almost was one. Of them, I mean. A Johnny’s.”

“What?” Kitayama asks, and Miyata nods.

“My mother had me try out, when I was little,” Miyata explains. “I made it past the first round and went to a bunch of practices. But then I broke my arm trying to backflip like everyone else, and by the time it healed they forgot about me. For the best, right? Who ever heard of an otaku idol.”

“Their loss,” Kitayama says staunchly. “I think you sound better than all five of those guys put together, and you don’t need autotune.”

Miyata blushes a little under the direct praise, but accepts Kitayama’s kiss easily enough. “Thanks. Anyway, I wouldn’t be here with you, right? I’d rather sing with you.”

“Seriously, Toshiya.” Kitayama clicks his tongue at Miyata’s sap, but Miyata knows he’s pretty pleased himself.

They sing themselves hoarse, eat themselves sick at the ramen place nearby, and hold hands on the way home without giving half a damn about who might see them. It’s already late when they get there, and they stay up even later in Kitayama’s bed, their bed, using their hands and mouths on each other in ways that Miyata does not plan to ever draw for any doujinshi circle.

The next morning Miyata must look pretty awful given the teasing he endures from his co-workers, but he grins thinking about how it probably only makes Kitayama seem more exciting to his cute little soccer players.

The doujinshi circle offers Miyata a regular spot, much to his surprise and embarrassment, but he’s pleased by it too. Mainly they ask him to illustrate, which is a perfect low-key assignment, but sometimes he submits whole stories. The girl who usually emails him tells him he’s popular. After a few releases, they even ask him if he wants to sit at the table during one of their events, but Miyata declines politely.

“What would happen if some of your students came to our table?” Miyata demands, scandalized, while Kitayama just curls up on the couch and laughs at him.

“Hey,” Kitayama asks one night a few weeks later. They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, the music show on the television now part of their routine too. “What are you drawing over there? You look really serious.”

“Hmm?” Miyata looks up, then back down at what he’s drawing, chewing his lip a little. “Oh. It’s…I’ve been thinking about trying my own stuff again. Something original, I mean. It’s just a character design, though.”

“Let me see,” Kitayama says.

“I don’t know,” Miyata hedges, grunting when Kitayama reaches over to pinch his thigh. He holds his notepad up, flipping it over so Kitayama can see. “This band stuff seems popular, so I thought I’d try a story about that this time.”

They guy on his notepad has a perfectly ridiculous Johnny’s-style costume complete with feathers, a handful of sparkles around his head, a mischievous smirk, and a pert little nose.

“That’s me, you know,” Kitayama says. He sounds torn between amusement and pleasure. “You’re drawing me as one of those ridiculous guys.”

“Is that okay?” Miyata asks shyly. He puts his notepad back on his lap and looks it over. “I think it might be a story about chasing your dreams even when they seem impossible. He seems like a dependable guy, right? When I look at him, I think, I’d follow him.”

Miyata trails off and looks up to see Kitayama looking at him evenly.

“You’re really adorable sometimes, you know that?” Kitayama says. “It’s a good thing those talent agency guys had no idea what they had on their hands. Is your story going to have boys kissing in it?”

“May…be…” Miyata answers slowly, not sure what the right answer is. “That seems popular too…”

“Good.” Kitayama sits up and crawls over to knock the notepad out of Miyata’s hands. “Because I like kissing.”

“Me too,” Miyata agrees, perfectly pleased with Kitayama’s weight on his chest, and the way his arms curl perfectly around Kitayama’s neck. He really would follow this guy anywhere, he thinks, but for now right where they are is just fine.