私の人生

bentobride:

There was something, Kame knew.

It was already quite unsettling that out of them six, it was Jin who’s been assigned to that certain segment. The heavy feeling simply doubled in intensity when it was announced that he’s also to write a letter addressed to the members. 

A letter. To the members. Akanishi Jin was too fuck-this-bull-shit-esque to ever write them letters. He barely had the hand writing decency to even scribble a note.

But when it came, the words never really fazed Kame’s consciousness. All he saw was the rigid, almost forced concentration Jin had into staring at nothing but his piece of paper, the uncontrollable movement of his Adam’s apple as he gulped in between words, and the grit of his teeth against the sentences he was reading off into the microphone.

Kame realized after a few passing minutes that he had to say something back. They were all looking at him, and he mentally snapped himself out off his slow spinning world and back into reality. He didn’t really register what Jin said about him, so he simply flicked through his box of memories and took out whatever that had Jin in it—and it’s just them fighting, talking it out, fighting, talking it out, so that’s what he said. The backdrop of Kame’s words was the forced smiles tacked against the gritting of Jin’s teeth and the unmistakable glint of moisture in his eyes.

There was something, Kame knew. And Jin, being Jin, will use the most half-assed way to say it, mumbling, stumbling over his own words and will end up missing the entire point of what he wanted to say. Unlike Kame whose edxpertise lay on smooth interviews and on-point answers, Jin was never good with words and explanations and things he found difficult to say. So when they were to hold hands during the end of 24 hour television, Kame held on tight. We’ll talk it out. We always do.