Work Text:
Sho knows that while he’s not done it with malice or misintention, he’s still not sure he’s willing to come forward about the whole ordeal. It’s embarrassingly tragic enough for his confidential teenage feelings to be unwittingly dragged out from the dark place he’d buried them; it’s easier if no one discovers who is writing about them.
This is where it begins: Jun, often so meticulous when it comes to keeping his privacy, is checking his email on his phone in the green room one blustery winter day. Sho, having unintentionally killed his after half a day’s work and is giving it time to recharge, asks to borrow Jun’s for a quick moment. Really, he only wants to see how much worse the weather is expecting to be throughout the week, but when he opens the browser, there’s already a tab open. It’s some sort of message board, Jun’s handle spread across the corner of the page- Sho thinks, panicked, he’s going to kill me- and unintentionally fumbles with the phone. He hands it back to Jun apologetically, without even caring about the weather anymore.
And then he can’t stop thinking about it. It distracts him all day, drawing complaints from Nino, and concern from Aiba, and grumbling from Ohno, and worse yet- persistent frowning from Jun. So naturally, and only for curiosity’s sake, Sho hops on his laptop as soon as he’s settled in at home that evening.
It doesn’t feel like an invasion of Jun’s private life, because after all, once Sho is also a member of the same forum, he’s privy to all of Jun’s posts. Most of them are pretty silly, nothing for Sho to have gotten worked up about in the first place (why does he even care what Jun says online to a bunch of strangers that don’t even know him, anyway?).
Until he comes to a post that is 67 pages long and dates back to the message board’s debut. It hasn’t been updated in months but his interest is immediately piqued anyway. He reads the opening lines of it- a disclaimer that Jun is here specifically for the anonymity, and he will never mention anyone he knows by name, et cetera. Sho does a quick sweep; he’s idly considering that maybe this is all slightly out of hand, and perhaps he should get his sanity back in check, when he sees it. His gaze catches on the S, and he is hooked to it, that one letter. Because that letter is referencing a person, and Sho doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, not when Jun knows as many people as he does, but--
S told me once that it was impossible, and I’ve thought that he’s never had to say it more than once. Once is enough.
Sho reads all 67 pages, the call and response between Jun and other users, years worth of confessions and uncharted territory. He reads it in one sitting, staying up all night to fill his head with it, knowing that come the next day, he won’t be able to look Jun in the eye. But at the end of it all, his profile blank and username brand new, he adds his own advice: Don’t give up.
--
That’s the short of it.
This is where things get awkward: Sho goes around the next few days pretending like he doesn’t know that Jun talks about him on a monthly basis on the internet. It’s difficult because he’s always been looking at Jun through some sort of warped vision anyway, but now things are a bit clearer for him. Words that he said when he was young and scared have been consistently biting him in the ass for over a decade and Sho didn’t even know about it.
Jun had gotten over it, Sho thought. And for a very long time, Sho told himself that it was okay, better even, for Jun to move on with his life and stop worshipping the ground Sho walked on because honestly, Sho was just going to hurt him in the end anyway.
Never mind that that hadn’t been what Sho wanted in the first place. Never mind that Sho spent years regretting the decision he made, even if Jun would be better off, only to find out so much further down the line that Jun still thinks about him. That still, still, Jun considers him and discusses him. It’s a lot for Sho to digest and he doesn’t know what to do with the information without admitting to Jun that he’d been so underhanded.
All of this drops out of Sho’s mind the moment that he gets an email alert, notifying him that someone has added a comment to a post he’s replied to.
It’s Jun. It’s that post.
The comment reads: While I appreciate your encouragement, the situation is far beyond that.
Sho’s throat closes instinctively; his hands tremble as his fingers tumble across the keypad, tapping an uneven staccato in his hurry to reply.
“Sho-san,” a voice says, suddenly, jerking Sho’s head up in surprise. Jun is standing in front of him, a questioning look written across his sharp features, softening him. “You- you were talking to yourself,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed, “I don’t think you noticed. Are you alright?”
No no no no, no no, no, Sho wants to tell him, because he had been trying to give Jun advice, and Jun had shot him down. But there’s no way Jun could know that. “Hey,” he says instead, hoping that his voice holds strong even though he’s not entirely sure what he’s about to say, “do you ever think about when we were Juniors?”
Though, admittedly, he hadn’t quite expected that to come out. Jun’s face closes immediately but he fights to keep his tone controlled; Sho spots it in the way his jaw clenches before he replies, and finds it dangerously fascinating. “I try not to,” he says, his voice gratifyingly neutral.
“Right,” Sho mumbles, feeling foolish and young, “I just think sometimes that I was an idiot.”
Mollified, Jun shrugs. “So was I. We’re just not kids anymore. There’s no point in worrying about it.”
“You weren’t--” Sho stops, frowning. There’s so much in his head, now. Jun is right, of course, because he always is, but Sho has to worry about it. He has no choice. They wouldn’t be here right now if he’d been different. If he’d been stronger, maybe, or had less of an ego. If he’d been as strong as Jun, if he hadn’t talked himself into thinking about everything that could go wrong. There are just so many if’s, and Sho thinks of all of them. “I just regret so much,” he admits, finally, and glances up to find Jun giving him a strange, unreadable look.
If Jun knows what he’s talking about, he doesn’t say it out loud. He just says, “One day, maybe you won’t have any regrets anymore. One day, maybe it’ll all be worth it.”
Sho needs that day before he can stop thinking about all of the days that he screwed up but he can’t confess that much. “I suppose you’re right. Nothing is impossible,” he says. He has to say it, even if Jun doesn’t understand why, and offers him the most earnest grin he can manage.
At Jun’s answering smile, Sho’s stomach flips over. He goes hot in strange places; cold in others. And then he thinks I’m totally fucked and repeats it like a mantra for the rest of the day.
--
MascotxMJ,
No situation warrants giving up, unless giving up is what you want out of it.
When I was S’s age, I had feelings for someone that reciprocated them. But I couldn’t tell them and the feelings never went away. I grew up with them. He changed and I changed, but my feelings never did. I hope his didn’t either. I don’t want to give up on that and I don’t think you should either.
Regards.
--
“Holy shit,” Nino is saying, his head in his hands while Sho simultaneously attempts to console him and quiet him, “holy shit. Holy shit. For being so smart, sometimes you’re so fucking stupid.”
This is where things get complicated: Sho trusts Nino with his life. Nino knows him best, really, and has since they were young. Nino held his hand and withheld his judgment the first time that Sho tried to play off Jun’s feelings as a joke; the first time he tried to thrust his own so deep within himself that he thought they’d never be found.
“You realize,” Nino goes on, tiredly, ignoring Sho’s hushing noises, “that when he finds out- and he will, of course, because J is smart like that- this whole thing is just going to implode.”
Sho quails under Nino’s brutal honesty; he remembers typing up the response, desperate to put his thoughts out on the table, but Nino is right about the aftermath. There’s no way for Sho to put all of this behind him again; he doesn’t know what he’s trying to push Jun into doing, but even if he’s successful, he’s going to have to admit to the steps he’s taken to get there.
His phone pings and Nino takes it from him before Sho has a chance to comprehend what’s happening. “This,” Nino grumps, “this is exactly what I’m talking about. Look, just, look at--” He shoves the phone back at Sho, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. It’s an email notification from the forum, stating that he has a private message waiting for him from MascotxMJ (“How creative,” Nino snips, “could he be more obvious? And does he even know how old he is?”).
Sho reads it with Nino hovering over his shoulder:
Thank you for your kind words and for sharing your own personal experience. I hope that everything will work out for you in the end, but even if it doesn’t, do you think it’ll all be worth it?
“Probably don’t reply to that, unless you’re ready to have a difficult conversation,” Nino babbles, even as he watches Sho select the option to reply. “Or pretend like I’m not here.”
Sho’s too busy thinking about Jun and the way Jun looked at him, and told him it’d be worth it one day. He’s typing before he’s properly thought of a response.
I know it will be, he’s saying, as long as I’ve had the chance to know him.
Nino is sighing through his nose, but he’s more of a sap than he’ll admit to, and he doesn’t stop Sho from clicking send.
Much, much later, when Sho is in bed feigning attempts to sleep in the hopes that it will eventually take him, his phone vibrates on the bedside table.
I understand how you feel, Jun’s message says, I must admit that I can’t give up either.
--
That’s the story so far.
This is when things blow up: the green room is calm before filming, all five of them amusing themselves in their own ways. It’s not the best place for it, but Sho hasn’t had a chance to send another message, and he wants to. He wants this tenuous connection, whatever may come of it, needs it now more than he thought he would before. His reply is quick and subtle (I hope it’s worthwhile for you as well); he is vaguely aware of Jun’s ringtone singing out into the air, but he pays no attention, checking the news feed on his phone.
Moments later, his tone blasts its own reply, and he doesn’t notice the room go eerily quiet around him. He’s trying to open the mail, and then the browser, when another one comes in. Then a third. His phone continues to go off as Sho checks them all at once, confused.
One day, I know it will be, says the first one.
Hello…? says the second.
The third is completely blank.
Sho lifts his head slowly, finding Jun staring directly at him. Their audience of three is glancing between them and Sho is suddenly very aware of what has happened; he opens his mouth, feeling a little light-headed. He wants to say something, anything, to break the awkward silence
Before Sho can register what is happening, Jun is towering over him, eyes furiously wide and disbelieving. His lip lifts in a snarl and Sho doesn’t even have time to react as Jun tears his phone from his hands. Distantly, Sho notices Nino sinking deep into the couch, a hand thrown over his face.
“This whole time,” Jun says, shaking, looking down at the screen of Sho’s phone and finding his own messages staring back at him. There’s more he wants to say, Sho can tell, but there is a time and a place and an AD is interrupting to call them to the studio.
Without another word, Jun throws his phone back at him, turning on his heel and striding out of the door.
“Don’t,” Sho says, tiredly, the comment directed at Nino. “Don’t say anything, please.”
He doesn’t. They shoot as per usual, everything on set striving to be so normal that the atmosphere is tense with the forcedness of it. When it’s over, Jun takes his leave first, and doesn’t even say goodbye to any of them.
--
Sho sends Jun a text that night (he doesn’t dare call, and Jun wouldn’t pick up anyway). It reads I meant everything I said but it just gets redirected back to him. He tries to message him on the forum but the board notifies him that the user he is trying to contact has blocked him.
Maybe he should give up after all. He still has to work with Jun and he’s already damaged their personal relationship beyond belief.
But then again, Sho thinks, doesn’t he regret enough already? How could he live with himself if this, if Jun finding out the truth, is just another mistake that he brushes away? If he’s hurt their friendship, their working relationship, then why not throw all caution to the wind anyway? Could it even get worse?
Sho leans back in his desk chair, arching his back thoughtfully. Opening a new thread on the forum, he cracks his knuckles, and begins to type.
--
Sho hears the argument from down the hall the next day and is almost afraid to go any further. He can’t make out exactly what’s being said, not until he gets closer to their green room, and then he can only glean snippets and halves of angry words. The two raised voices are most definitely Jun and Nino; the pleading one is Aiba, and Sho is certain that Ohno is observing
He doesn’t want to go in, but turning back isn’t an option. This is work, no matter what way he looks at it, and he has to go through that door. As soon as his fingers touch the handle, the room beyond falls quiet, and he pushes it open.
Nino and Jun are standing face to face, Aiba in the middle, but not directly in the line of fire. They all look over when Sho enters; Nino’s cheeks are rosy with his fury and Aiba looks torn. Only Jun’s expression smoothes out.
Embarrassed, Sho simply nods a greeting, turning his back to set his things down and pour himself a cup of coffee. He’s shaking, but Ohno appears suddenly at his side, taking the carafe from him and pouring with much steadier hands. Sho smiles gratefully and Ohno returns it, meaningfully. It’s a comfort, knowing that he always has Ohno on his side, even when he’s sure he doesn’t have anyone else.
There is frantic whispering behind him. He turns around to find Nino grabbing Aiba by the wrist and yanking him from the room. “We’re going to the vending machines,” Nino states over his shoulder. It is a blatant lie, proven even more so by Ohno’s smile turning apologetic.
“Sorry, Sho-kun,” he says, and tags along after them. The door snicks shut with such finality that Sho has to put his mug down lest he spill it all over himself with nerves.
“What is this?” Jun demands, quietly, brandishing a printed piece of paper. Sho doesn’t dare step closer; he squints at it from across the room and finds that someone has printed out the thread he posted the evening before.
Nino, Sho thinks, anxiously ruffling his hair. “Oh,” is all he can think to say. It’s true that he had written that with the intention of Jun seeing it, but he didn’t expect to actually be in the same vicinity as him right after he’s read it. Danger signals are sparking in the air between them; Sho’s chest feels tight. “That’s- it’s- I just wanted you to know,” he finishes, lamely.
Jun meets his eyes, that same expression from a few days ago on his face. Guarded hope, like he can’t quite believe Sho, but he wants to. Sho didn’t recognize it before. “Why now?” Jun asks, “why like this?”
Sho owes it to him, all of the truth and honesty he can give, even if the idea is probably equally as frightening as jumping out of a plane. “Because I thought you were over it when I wasn’t,” he says, “and it wasn’t meant to be like this. I’m sorry.”
For a long time, Jun doesn’t say anything. He stares at the paper in his hand, his gaze flicking across the lines of text, and Sho fidgets uncomfortably. He wonders if this is it, if Jun is finally going to declare that he always knew Sho isn’t good enough for him, and he wouldn’t be wrong-- Jun deserves someone he can trust and clearly, with his track record, that person simply cannot be Sho.
“Nino thinks I should just get over it,” Jun says, with forced nonchalance, “he said we should just-- he said it’s stupid for us to not try and work it out. He thinks we’re both idiots.”
“He mentioned that,” Sho laughs, wryly.
“I’ve read this six times,” Jun goes on, his tone taking on an urgent determination, “and yes, you are an idiot. But Nino’s wrong. We can’t work this out.” He’s frowning at Sho while Sho’s blood runs cold.
“Oh,” he says, almost inaudible, and then Jun is in his space, backing him up against the door. Sho steps back instinctively, unaccustomed to Jun being so near to him by choice, and his mouth forms a questioning O shape.
“No, Sho, you don’t understand,” Jun sighs, crowding closer to him, touching Sho’s jaw with hesitant fingers. “There’s no-- there isn’t a this to work out. We’re not, we aren’t--” He groans out a noise of exasperation, his grip tightening, holding Sho in place. It’s confusing, but Sho wouldn’t pull away, not for anything. “I just mean,” Jun says, “we can finally start.”
“Oh,” Sho says with feeling; he doesn’t remember curving his hand around the nape of Jun’s neck, but it helps when he pulls him forward, because Jun moves with him, maybe a bit quicker than Sho had been expecting. He bangs his head against the door, seeing stars, and Jun laughs into his mouth while he steals all of Sho’s colorful swears from his lips.
--
An open letter to MascotxMJ:
I would be angry with me, too. I deceived you. I let you think I was a stranger so I could find out how you really felt. Honestly, I regret that I went about it the way that I did. But I don’t regret uncovering the truth. I don’t know if you’ve written all of these things to get them out or if you still feel this way. I think it’s only fair to tell you that I meant everything I’ve said this past week, on here. I lied to you for a very long time, and this was my chance to stop doing that. I am ashamed to admit that I took it, and therefore took advantage of it. But I need you to know that I did it with no intention of harming you.
I just wanted to tell you the truth, for once.
--
This is how it ends: Jun makes him dinner, a couple of months later. They’re talking about work, because that’s where they’ve just come from, and then Jun says, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to change.”
Sho settles in on his couch, flipping channels idly, when his email alert goes off. He scrabbles for his phone, glancing at it distractedly, and then turning his attention fully to it when he sees that he’s gotten a reply to a forum thread he posted months ago.
Sorry I didn’t know how to tell you sooner, it says, My S finally came to his senses.
“Very funny,” Sho mutters, and after he replies, he can actually hear Jun laughing from his bedroom.
When Jun finally emerges, he takes both the remote and Sho’s phone from him, and gingerly places them down on the coffee table before pushing Sho back on the couch and climbing over him. “I need a hiatus from that site anyway,” he says, leaning down to catch Sho’s mouth.
It’s okay, Sho’s comment reads, I’m taken anyway.