Pairing: Yamada Ryosuke/Okamoto Keito
Summary: He should have known it was all part of Chinen's plan. To get him loose, to get him comfortable with taking more dares. It was always the quiet ones that were the most dangerous after all.
Notes:You know. I claim to be "Team All the Pairings" when it comes to Keito, but I always find myself writing YamaKeito for some reason... Also how could I resist making Keito's life hard after seeing a prompt about sending a bathroom selfie to someone on accident? The answer, I couldn't. Enjoy~
His steps are tentative, each foot placed carefully in front of the other as he follows the path of the long entrance way. Once or twice Keito’s slippers scuff against the hardwood floors and he pauses, if only for a moment, to make sure no one heard before continuing on. He can almost see his reflection in the smooth, almost glass-like, finish of the wood. More than likely they cost more than his entire college education.
Even from the little bit of the high-rise mansion he’s seen, its evident it’s well taken care of. A cleaning lady arriving every Tuesday at eight am sharp to scrub the floors until they glisten and shine under the bright fluorescent lights, taking a toothbrush to the grain of the wood to dispel any stubborn dirt. She accomplishes her goal every week, to destroy any signs of life that even dust mites may live in this elegant home.
In a moment of weakness, which is more often than not, Keito runs into a large vase and manages to catch it before it crashes to the ground. He’d prefer to keep himself from getting swept into a crazy, anime-esqe plot where he has to work to pay off the debt of destroying such a precious heirloom. He doesn’t want to be a slave for the rest of his life.
To be fair, everything was the fault of one silly dare. They had been bored, perhaps even a little drunk, when Chinen suggested a round of truth or dare, a game they had frequently played as stupid high school kids. Keito hadn’t been thinking, didn’t see the mischief in Chinen’s eyes when he agreed. It was one quick game, for old time’s sake.
It had started off simple. Truths range from longest crush to first kiss. Their most risqué dare was for Keito to lick one of the doorknobs of his apartment. It was kid’s stuff, but they had been howling with laughter in their drunken state.
He should have known it was all part of Chinen’s plan. To get him loose, to get him comfortable with taking more dares. It was always the quiet ones that were the most dangerous after all.
“I dare you to send a sexy photo to Hikari in sales,” Chinen said.
Keito spat out his drink. “Ew, no. Girls are gross.”
Chinen laughed. “What, are you five? You dated girls up until college, remember? And it’s not like you have to kiss her.”
“Still,” he wrinkled his nose. “It doesn’t mean I want to do that.”
“And if you don’t, I’ll come up with something worse as a punishment,” Chinen said, finishing the rest of his drink. “You don’t have to do it tonight. Just before the weekend is over.”
It took until Sunday night before he was comfortable seeing himself half naked with a phone in his hands. Each time he attempted to take photos a faint blush spread across his cheeks, the photos shaky each time he was able to force the red splotches from appearing on his face. Seeing himself as the main focus of the lens was strange and, even for photos that were perfectly fine, he found himself deleting them.
He felt like he was sixteen again, trying to find the perfect photo for such a quick, fleeting moment. Keito didn’t know why he was so focused on finding ‘the one.’ It wasn’t as if he would end up in a relationship because of it.
When he was in the bath after struggling with the photo for long enough, he hit his breaking point. He didn’t care anymore. He wanted to get it over with so he could go off and relax before needing to wake up for work the next morning. He grabbed his phone off the tub, put on his best sexy face and snapped a photo. He made sure he wasn’t exposing himself before typing a little message and sending it off to the number Chinen had scribbled on a napkin for him. It was over.
He was getting dressed when his phone buzzed, and he grabbed it off the edge of the tub where he left it. He flicked open the message, hoping he didn’t traumatize the poor girl.
The best way to describe the photo was a post workout selfie taken in front of a mirror. The guy’s grey tank top had dark splotches over it, from where he either squirted himself with water to cool down or from sweat, Keito wasn’t sure. One hand held his phone while the other was pushing back his long brown bangs, showing off the toned muscle of his biceps. Keito’s eyes can’t help but zone in on the other man’s eyes, dark and focused on his phone screen, not a lick of emotion on that beautiful face.
I think you have the wrong number.
He nearly dropped his phone twice while trying to compare the numbers Chinen wrote to the ones he typed out. With one of the zeros Chinen had gotten a little fancy and put a slash through it, and Keito had mistaken it as an eight instead.
How..how could he explain this? That, as a twenty-three year old working professional, he had gotten drunk, played a silly game and had to send a photo of himself to a girl he hardly knew? Especially with how un-amused the other male looked, would he really believe the words Keito had to say?
He knew the words his fingers type out, tapping in a rhythmic beat set to the one of his heart, don’t make sense. But he has to get them out, to have some sort of an explanation for his stupidity. His breath comes rapid from his chest, eyes darting around while rereading it once before sending it off.
The response came quicker than the last, and Keito had to hold his breath as he read through it.
Idiot. You should have double-checked the number before you sent that photo off. What if you had sent it off to a child? You’d be in a lot more trouble, and I wouldn’t have gotten to look at your pretty face.
He did have a point. He could have received a scalding call from an enraged parent or had the cops hunt him down. And then he wouldn’t have gotten to show his pretty face to the gorgeous stranger.
…wait, did he really call him pretty?
I didn’t mean it like that. I just happen to see the same people over and over, so it’s nice to see someone different. That’s all. Besides, you did start this by sending me that message first.
He couldn’t believe it, but he opens the camera again, putting on his biggest, most exaggerated sad puppy face he can muster. He made sure to type a little message before sending it off.
Then we’ll have to change that. You need to see more people! Here’s another one to add to your collection.
Somehow it turns into an all out selfie war the rest of the night, and Keito saves every one the other boy, who introduces himself as Yamada, sends. Every picture holds a new expression, even more beautiful than the last. They share photos of their food, Yamada’s a carefully crafted plate he cooked himself and Keito’s a box of take out he picked up from the convenience store.
Once, Keito sends a video. He accidentally swiped the wrong direction, thinking he was taking a picture. He fumbled with his phone, trying to delete the thing, and cursing with himself only to find he sent it to Yamada on accident.
The photo he received in response was worth it. Yamada’s smile is beautiful, radiating all around him as if it was a bright, shinning aura the first photo had been missing. Its all Keito can stare at.
It’s not long before Yamada’s own video follows, and Keito has to listen to it twice to make out Yamada’s words through all of his laughter.
“Oh my god, you’re an idiot,” he said, his voice just as Keito imagined it. “Now I understand how you sent the first picture.”
He dreads the next morning at work. He knows Chinen’s wrath will be much worse than anything he could ever imagine for not completing the dare. At the very least he should avoid a little punishment because he, under a technicality, did send the photo.
The moment Chinen walks into the office, Keito grabs his hand and pulls him into the break room. He shoves his phone into Chinen’s hand, starting at the very first message.
“I sent it to the wrong person,” he said. “Hopefully this still counts?”
Chinen’s eyes dart between the messages and Keito as he scrolls through a two hour long conversation before their sweet goodnights to each other. Keito sways slightly, waiting on Chinen to finally be done and let him know his fate.
“I feel like this is a prank,” he said, locking Keito’s phone with a small ‘click.’ “It has to be. Except I haven’t seen these photos before.” He hands Keito’s phone back to him. “Where did you hide the cameras?”
“There aren’t any cameras.” He blinks slowly, not quite understanding Chinen’s words. “And of course you haven’t seen those photos before. They were taken last night.”
“Of course, of course,” he mutters. “I just can’t figure it out,” Chinen said. “How in the world did you get Yamada Ryosuke’s phone number?”
Google answers a lot of his questions that Chinen refuses to. Commercials, movie posters, and drama announcements, everything Keito can imagine Yamada has done. There are announcements for new guest appearances on popular variety shows and news programs, and his instagram is a slew of selfies with popular actors and actresses Keito only knows from the movies Chinen has dragged him to see.
Yamada wouldn’t be a true idol without music, and Keito downloads his latest album, Mystery Virgin, and listens to it on his walk to get lunch that day. Every street corner is peppered with advertisements with Yamada’s face on him, haunting him with every corner he turns.
How did he not see all of this before? How could he not have noticed? The country is obsessed with this talented, albeit tiny, young man, and he had gone unnoticed by Keito’s apathetic mind.
The more he reads, the quicker his heart beats. The scandals far from worry him, Japanese newspapers often speak of hidden, forbidden relationships to draw up viewer interest. The comments on those articles turn his heart cold.
Fans are terrifying. How they dissect and rip apart each person Yamada is photographed with. How their hair isn’t styled right or how their clothing is from two seasons ago. Keito knows his over sized t-shirt and sweatpants he sleeps in would be an easy target for these vicious people.
But when Yamada texts him close to midnight all of those fears disappear. It’s only him and Yamada in this twisted he’s created in his head, where the fans don’t exist. Where their difference in status doesn’t exist. It’s only the two of them, talking, and becoming closer on a private level.
Keito knows how this story will end. Much like Romeo and Juliet, their star-crossed friendship will end. He will be brought from the light of the world while Yamada continues to flourish, just like the star he was made to be.
When Yamada invites him over to his apartment, Keito has difficulty finding a reason to say no. Logically, he can list off multiple reasons to decline, but the beat of his heart tells a different story. One of how he wants to see Yamada in person, to be able to touch him and feel his soft skin under Keito’s hand. What it would be like to have Yamada’s scent permeate the air, filling his lungs with its fire. What it would be like the kiss him-
He shakes the thought from his head. Yamada may have called him pretty, but it didn’t mean he had any feelings for Keito. Besides, he wanted to get off on the right foot when he met Yamada in person. He didn’t want to give the impression he was doing this for his fifteen minutes of fame.
It’s how he finds himself shuffling through Yamada’s mansion, trying not to trip or break anything that could be worth more than his soul, although his father has tried many a time to tell him his soul isn’t worth a quantifiable amount. It’s the only way he can keep himself sane enough to remember how to walk.
Yamada pats the couch next to him, his voice washing over Keito, spreading a fine layer of warmth over him. It sounds more full, more powerful, than the voice Keito hears in Yamada’s videos. “Come on over, and let’s figure out what we want to do. I rented a few movies we could watch together.”
“Oh, ah, yeah,” he manages to get out, sitting on the same couch as Yamada but not close enough to touch him.
“I can also cook if you want?” he said. He throws his legs over Keito’s, giving him a smirk that makes his heart beat even quicker. “I’ve got everything to make pasta or we can do something more traditionally Japanese if you’d like that instead?”
What comes out of his mouth isn’t anything close to human. Just a slew of sounds pushed together that his lips aren’t capable of forming on their own.
“Alright stop it,” Yamada snaps. He sits up in an instant. “You don’t act this way whenever I text you. I may be famous but I’m still a person.”
“Sorry, I need to get out of my own head,” he said. He places a hand on Yamada’s knee. “Food actually sounds great right now. I’m starving, and it’s about time I tried your cooking. I’m always hungry after you send me photos of your food.”
They cook together, Keito chopping up the ingredients Yamada needs to combine them with a mixture of spices that make Keito’s mouth water. It’s a wonder watching Yamada cook, how focused he is and how he divides his attention between each component, pulling them together at the perfect timing to complete the dish.
The way he smiles after Keito cleans his plate, not leaving a single scrap, makes Keito’s heart soar. Never mind the few pictures Keito has saved of Yamada’s smiles. Never mind how often he looks upon them, memorizing the curves and gentles angles of Yamada’s face. Seeing it in person in second to none, and it only makes him wish it lasted longer.
Yamada throws on a movie once they’re done cleaning up, one with loud ominous music that makes Keito’s heart race. He can hardly think, merely reacts to what’s on the screen and tries to ignore Yamada’s laughter every time he jumps.
A gentle hand reaches out halfway through and entangles their fingers together, giving Keito’s a gentle squeeze. He glanced over at Yamada, the younger boy’s face, how expertly he has it trained to the television screen, but how red it looks in the glow of the screen.
“Yama-chan,” he whispers.
Yamada eyes are on him making his skin feel like it’s on fire. This whole evening…it had been a date, hadn’t it? Even if Yamada hadn’t come out and said it, this was a date between the two of them. The dinner, the movie, all signs led to that one simple fact.
On dates, people kissed the ones they loved, right? And Yamada was tempting. He was so close that Keito could reach out and kiss them. Make a mess of that perfect haircut and styling and steal the breath from Yamada’s lungs. He was so close, so very close, and the mere thought of being able to kiss someone he cared about was far too tempting to pass up.
“You can kiss me if you want,” Yamada said, his eyes downcast, focusing on the seams of his jeans. “The other ones usually do. I don’t mind if you do the same.”
It takes a moment for Keito to respond. He knows what he wants, how much he’s dreamed about kissing those plush lips and claiming them for his own. He’s wanted nothing more than to feel Yamada’s body flush across his, and to know how much he’s enjoying it.
“Not on a first date,” he finally says. He leans over, snuggling closer to him. “Next time. Definitely.”
Yamada runs a hair through Keito’s hair and smiles. “Next time it is.”
Keito can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, and he tries to not jump from another loud clap of thunder from the movie. It doesn’t matter. He knows that smile is for him, and there are plenty more for him in the future.