When The Day Has All But Ended
PG-13 (for language), 1711 words, mostly fluff
Fujigaya likes to unload at night by rambling to a sleeping Kitayama.
Kitayama is about 80% asleep when his phone, set on vibrate, clatters against the wooden surface of his nightstand. He groggily reaches for it, intending to simply hang up on the person as the easiest way to make the sound stop, but Fujigaya’s voice calls to him softly before he can flip the cover shut. He stays on the line because the younger boy rarely sounds this subdued.
“What d’you want?” he mumbles, more sleepy than angry.
“Did you know Kawai got a girlfriend?”
“Think Tottsu said s’thing…”
Fujigaya is quiet for a moment. “So much for being his best friend. Is it too fucking much to expect to hear something like that before everyone in the entire jimusho knows?”
“Mmh, ’course not,” Kitayama murmurs in what he hopes is a sympathetic tone. He cradles the phone between his ear and the pillow, and closes his eyes again.
“And even if I’m not the first person to find out, at least he could tell me himself, you know, instead of letting that brat Nikaido ambush me with the information.”
For a while, Fujigaya continues to rant about his friendship with Kawai until Kitayama’s mumbled platitudes become less and less frequent. All talked out and lulled into a sense of peace by the older man’s steady breathing, he just shrugs at the realization that Kitayama had probably fallen asleep at least half an hour ago. A glance at the clock tells him it’s two in the morning already, so he whispers a quiet “goodnight,” into his phone and hangs up.
At practice the next day, as always, Kawai comes barreling into the Kis-My-Ft2 dressing room the moment they get their first break, bursting to tell about some funny thing Hasshi had done that morning.
When Fujigaya lingers over his bottle of water instead of adding his own voice to Kawai’s as usual, Kitayama reluctantly peels himself away from his corner of the couch. “Taisuke, come to the vending machine with me. I want to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?” asks Fujigaya, watching Kitayama purse his lips and meticulously consider each and every option in the machine. “What were you going to tell me?”
After finally making a decision, Kitayama smiles up at him. “Aha! Ice Lemon Tea! Hey, let me borrow some money?”
Fujigaya stares incredulously, but reaches into his pocket for change, anyway.
Days later, Kitayama gets another late night call from his bandmate. This time, Fujigaya rambles on for over an hour about the lineup for the new choreography he’s making for one of their songs and asks for input on a billion little details.
Kitayama makes noncommittal noises, alternating “mhmm” and “uh uh” whenever the steady stream of the other’s voice slows down and the silence of a pause threatens to jar his mind out of its comfortable, sleepy haze.
They both fall asleep with their phones on.
Everybody just stares at Fujigaya blankly when he suggests, at practice, that they stand on each other’s shoulders and skate. Actually, Yokoo looks a bit nauseated, although Senga seems to be actually contemplating the idea.
“Are you out of your mind?” Kitayama is the first one to speak. “Do you hate us and want us all to die?”
“You’re the one who said it was a good idea!”
“On the phone last night!”
“I fell asleep, you moron,” Kitayama says laughingly.
Fujigaya pouts, “But I was providing such stimulating conversation!”
Tamamori looks at the two of them with wide eyes while Nikaido starts snickering. “Ooh, Taipi, did Kitamitsu fall asleep before you could cum?”
It isn’t until after Fujigaya chases Nikaido halfway down the hallway and has him in a headlock that the puzzle pieces visibly fall into place in Senga’s head and he yelps, “Taipi and Mitsu have phone sex at night?!”
Still, despite the falling-asleep-and-not-listening, Fujigaya quickly falls into the habit of calling Kitayama at night. He just needs to talk out the frustrations of his day, and so doesn’t really need the other man to be awake – in fact it makes him feel more free, knowing Kitayama is sleeping, to say anything he wants.
It’s not long before he has a system all worked out; he learns to say the few things he actually wants input on first, before Kitayama completely knocks out, and then works his way through all the insignificant details quietly, until he runs out of things to say.
His phone bill runs ridiculously high, of course, but he feels so much less stressed after the first month – plus Kitayama doesn’t complain – that he just shrugs it off. An expensive phone bill is a small price to pay for the peace of mind he gets from imagining Kitayama’s steady, dependable breathing so close to him every night.
Kitayama, too, gets used to the nightly phone calls. Fujigaya’s voice is low and soft at these times, and blends perfectly into the peaceful nighttime.
“…So my mom sided with my brother again. I’m probably too old to be bothered by that sort of thing, but I am. You don’t think I’m stupid, right?” Fujigaya smiles into his phone, knowing there won’t be a reply. “Well, whatever, I’m still happy I was born into this family.”
He’s quiet for a moment, listening to Kitayama’s breathing and trying to match his own to the same rhythm.
“I’m happy I’m living this life, too. My family, my friends, Kisumai… you… I’m really happy to have met everyone.” He hadn’t planned on saying any of this stuff, the words were just slipping out by themselves. “I really… Thanks for being in my life, Hiromitsu.”
A rustling sound on the other end of the line makes him panic for a moment, before he reminds himself that it’s Kitayama on the other line. Kitayama would sleep through an earthquake, does sleep through the raucous activity of the jimusho. He was probably just turning around in bed, phone lost somewhere inside the blankets.
Still, he hangs up quickly, and lies in bed staring into the darkness with a pounding heart for another half hour before forcing himself to sleep.
It’s with some apprehension that Fujigaya walks into rehearsals the next day. He’s not really sure what he is or isn’t expecting, but there’s Kitayama trying to explain the new dance move to Nikaido as he steals handfuls of chips from Tamamori’s unguarded bag of snacks, exactly the same as usual. He smiles with relief and, also the same as usual, tosses his bag across the room, laughing at Yokoo’s horrified face as it sweeps half a dozen water bottles off the long makeup counter.
But in a small, hidden corner of his heart he wishes, just a teeny tiny bit, that Kitayama would look at him differently. (He thinks, maybe, he’d liked to be looked at with that thoughtful, gentle expression that only shows itself once or twice a year, like when they’d first found out about their solo concerts or when Miyata had hurt his leg so badly he couldn’t dance.)
That night, he doesn’t call Kitayama.
He fiddles with his phone for a while, even presses the speed dial number, but in the end doesn’t make the call. He’s just not sure what he could possibly say, since he’d spend the entire day doing little else but surreptitiously sneak glances at the other man.
Without the nightly call from Fujigaya, Kitayama is happy to find out that he can still fall asleep just as easily. It’s just that, when he wakes up, he doesn’t feel as well rested as usual, and he spends the entire train ride to practice trying to stifle yawns behind his shirt sleeve.
And all throughout practice, he can feel Fujigaya’s eyes on him, same as they’d been the day before.
Fujigaya doesn’t call that night, either, and when the numbers on his clock switch from 1:59 to 2:00 the night after that and his phone is still silent, Kitayama picks it up and makes the call himself.
“Mitsu?” The voice on the other line sounds entirely too wide awake for this time of night.
“You know, Taisuke, you should sleep earlier. I can’t believe you’re still up.”
“Well, what about you? Aren’t you usually asleep by now?”
“I was waiting for you to call.”
Such honesty is unexpected; Fujigaya finds himself wondering how to respond.
Kitayama chuckles a little at the silence. “Did you finally run out of things to say to me?”
“I – yeah, I guess so.”
“Do I have to start calling you now, to keep up these nightly phone calls? I won’t be able to come up with nearly as many things to say as you can, you know, and I’ll just get tired in the first ten minutes and go to sleep. And since it’s just my mom and me, I don’t have much family stuff to talk about, though I suppose I could talk about work and food and clothes and stuff like you do, if I really tried…”
Over the phone, he can hear Fujigaya making little noises of surprise that just make him grin wider. “You didn’t really think I could just not listen to what you had to say, did you?”
“Then – you were awake when I – but you didn’t even say anything – ”
“Ah, well, you know, if you’re going to confess, you should do it properly. Let me teach you how. Listen carefully now.”
Fujigaya doesn’t think he’s ever felt so speechless in his life before.
“Taisuke, I like you. Will you go out with me?”
There is a pause, and then suddenly Fujigaya is laughing into the phone, and then so is Kitayama.
“Fuck, when did you learn to read me so well?” asks the younger man, trying to remember to keep his voice quiet.
“When you started telling me every single godamned detail in your life, half of which I knew already anyway.”
“Well… fuck,” Fujigaya curses again, as the only word that can properly express his feelings. “This means that from now on, you really will have to call me every night and talk to me about random stuff until I catch up to you.”
In response, Kitayama fakes a snore.