(SMAP) Something Like But Not Exactly (Part 2)

[dictionarysays]

Something Like But Not Exactly
Kimura/Nakai | PG-13 | Part 2

Kimura hates the way his stomach turns in on itself, and all because of the way Nakai’s looking at him right now, as if Kimura’s been in the wrong all this time and he should magically fix it—he never meant to.

 

                “I never meant to. You know, it’s harder to kiss you than you’d think—you’re not exactly the most willing of the bunch.” Nakai makes a face at that and for a split second, Kimura’s the happiest he’s ever been because it means he doesn’t hate him and maybe it’s not entirely his fault and his legs are irrevocably numb after all this time. “I didn’t think you’d want to, you never said anything—“

 

                “I did now—“

 

                “Exactly. Now; and after how long? Believe it or not, I can’t actually read minds.” Kimura chuckles but Nakai’s not laughing. He should be.

 

                He sighs instead, pulling his hand out of Kimura’s, mumbling, “But you’re Kimura Takuya. If anyone can—it’s you.”

 

                That’s when Kimura gets fed up, he pulls away completely, dislodging his legs from underneath him and trying to ignore the pins and needles in his thighs as he gets up, going for his bag.

 

                “Kimura... ?”

 

                He doesn’t turn to look, his lips tingling as he quickly applies chapstick (mostly because he’s trying to replace the feel of Nakai’s lips and not because the lip balm’s that good) and slings his bag across his arm. “When you stop being an idiot we can talk. Until then, I’m going home.”

 

                Kimura knows he can’t avoid him as he tries to leave, so he doesn’t, he sends him a look and he nearly stops, nearly fucks it all and returns to the cushion beside a Nakai who’s chewing on his lower lip and looking like the too-young leader who’d taken everything on his shoulders when none of them had known any better. But he doesn’t.

 

He keeps going, past the studio lobby and out the entrance where his van’s waiting.

 

 

 

The next morning is more meeting than it is recording; Kimura skims through the itinerary as he plays with his yogurt, eating it slowly, savouring the bits of fruit.

 

For the better part of last night he’d been awake, mulling over things, playing with the bottom of his jeans—he still hadn’t figured it out. Nothing Nakai-kun had said had been wrong, he was right; they’d never kissed, at least, not the kind he was looking for. Kimura noticed it, it was hard not to throughout the years when Shingo was coming to him for practice, something about Tsuyopon being too awkward; while Tsuyopon on the other hand was admirably shy about the whole thing so when they kissed, it was never planned; and then there were those really long breaks that Kimura wished would turn longer as he held Goro close, not wanting to leave the custodian’s closet just yet, letting their hips touch.

 

Kimura likes to believe they're close, it’s hard not to be when he’s spent more than half his life with these men—so the kissing and touching felt inevitable. They were curious, growing in front of one another’s eyes, it only made sense that their questions would come in the form of the hesitant press of lips and the shaking whisper of hands on anything they could reach.

 

Nakai was always grumbling about fan service, he believed in not believing in it but Kimura had tried all the same; arms slung over skinny shoulders was all right and a hug could get by if he saw it coming. Nakai dreaded kisses, the older they got the more they seemed to terrify him, but for the sake of all that was entertaining—they’d traded a few, mostly on the cheek, rarely on the lips (those had been quick and meticulously planned before the recordings—‘I initiate it this time, Kimura, just—don’t move, it’ll be like ripping off a bandage’).

 

Now they were in their thirties—they were almost forty and the physical affection between the two was dwindling. Kimura expected it, he tries not to think about it most days and makes do with the laughs they still share and the snug ease that stretches between the two.

 

Kimura’s still thinking about SMAP when someone pulls up a chair beside him and he lets out a sigh of relief when he looks and it’s Goro-chan. He smiles briefly, wrapped in a thin coat and blowing into his hands—outside is cold, probably colder than Goro had dressed for.

 

“Hey,” Kimura puts the itinerary down, focusing on his yogurt and Goro now.

 

“Hi. You’re early; I thought I’d be the first one here.” Kimura shrugs at that, he doesn’t feel like telling him he couldn’t stay any longer in his house, filled with thoughts he wasn’t the day before. “I saw Shingo and Tsuyoshi up front.”

 

“Mm.” He eats another spoon of the vanilla yogurt, pushing his still hot cup of coffee into Goro’s freezing hands. “Hold this, rubbing won’t do anything.”

 

“Ah. Thanks.” Goro smiles sheepishly, almost shyly and Kimura grins, picking at a strawberry—this time of the day is when he loves Goro the most because he’s still soft at the edges and the state of his hair is the last thing on his mind.

 

After a couple more minutes, Shingo drags himself in, Tsuyoshi on his tail; they’re sharing a bagel and talking about something ridiculous (the sleepy maniacal grin all over Shingo’s face gives it away). After a few more, Nakai’s still not in and Kimura frowns, taking a peek at Shingo’s iPhone—he’s late, he’s never usually.

 

“I’m gonna’ go up front, see if he’s here.” Kimura’s up and gone before the others can nod; Goro swats Shingo with the itinerary when he tries to steal Kimura’s seat.

 

                Kimura stalks down the hallway, making it to the front-lobby in record time where he finds a haggard-looking Nakai arguing with their manager. He’s not close enough to hear the entire conversation but he catches phrases like ‘Just this once’ and ‘I really, really shouldn’t go in there’.

 

Kimura doesn’t realize it until his fists are unclenched and he’s pulling Nakai away and into the closest thing he can find, the staff women’s washroom (which he somehow remembers to lock), that he’s mad and knows exactly what Nakai was arguing about. He doesn’t overlook the frustrated twist in his gut when he slams Nakai into the closed door but he does look right through Nakai's flustered glare and keeps him still when he tries to twist away.

 

“What the fuck!” Nakai’s voice is too hoarse and if this were any other day, Kimura would rummage around in his bag until he found some cough drops and force feed them to the older man, but for today, at this very moment, he doesn’t care (he actually does but if he lets up, this won’t go anywhere and he needs this to go somewhere, he needs them to go anywhere but back).

 

“You trying to avoid me? Seriously?  What are you, six?” Kimura’s angry and his hands hold Nakai’s shoulders tighter, pushing him back, fingers slipping into a stronger hold. He wishes he weren’t seeing red and he wishes even more that his heart wouldn’t race so fast. “That’s fucked, Hiro. You—I’d never expect that, not from you. I thought you were going to stop being an idiot.”

 

Nakai’s shaking beneath his hands and his trucker cap is all askew on his head; Kimura looks down, sighing deeply, focusing on Nakai’s tiny feet, anything but his face. Nothing happens (the vent hums, one of the sinks keeps dripping, there’s rustling outside the door and Nakai’s panting, he probably is too).    

 

“I was scared. Okay?” Kimura’s head shoots up, watching Nakai closely, his mouth bowed in shame, eyebrows knit in embarrassment. Kimura nudges Nakai’s sneaker with his own, his throat’s still bubbling with anger, but he needs to hear this too. “It’s not like you can blame me—just last night, you were pissed. I don’t even know what I did wrong.” Nakai pushes up at him suddenly, catching him unawares and Kimura stumbles back, letting go, but Nakai doesn’t run away like he thought he would. He stays by the door, massaging the sore slope of his shoulder, wincing. “Couldn’t have held on tighter? Shit. I’m old, you know.”

 

All Kimura can do is stare, brushing the hair out of his face, he looks Nakai over and he seems so small, he almost wants to apologize but he’s not good at that type of thing, so he stays quiet instead.

 

“So. Yeah. I thought about it last night and I think—no, I want us to kiss more,” Kimura doesn’t mean for his eyebrows to raise but they do and Nakai laughs, all raspy, at the surprised look that must be written all over his face. He doesn’t mind if that means Nakai will be a little less mad and a little more better (later, Kimura will pass Nakai a newly-bought package of cough drops between rehearsals like he didn’t just buy it on his break that says I’m sorry and Nakai will roll his eyes in a way that says all too clearly We’re okay). “I’m not saying I’m gonna’ let you start kissing me on TV or anything, but—dressing rooms should be okay.”

 

Nakai grins and smiles at the same time, and Kimura thinks it’s his laugh lines, but he’s too busy moving in and kissing Nakai (who's fumbling with his cap), that he can’t grin back but he’s sure Nakai gets the gist.



A/N: Okay, self. Way to ship TakuGoro there (is it so wrong that the coffee cup is like, my favourite moment? /SIGHS) I swear, this is a 2TOP 'fic, but somehow every other pairing made it's way in here (can't lie, it was nice and just seemed to work out that way), hahah. I like this, the ending feels a little rushed but I typed up the last three pages of this during my break between classes and (I couldn't add anymore, even with that nagging feeling), so I think that's about it. I've been really wanting to write some 2TOP for a while, so, at least I was able to scratch that itch, hahah. :DD

And yes, I have a thing for Nakai/Kimura/Beanie. What about it?