26 JE Birthday Kisses, I Wouldn’t Say I Hate You If It Wasn’t True

Title: Kiss Twenty-Four: I Wouldn’t Say I Hate You If It Wasn’t True [Yuto/Yamada]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for Chinen’s wiles.
Summary: Lately, Yamada is getting irritated by even small things.
AN: For 26 Birthday Kisses, kiss twenty-four: I’m Sorry Kiss. Sorry it’s late, I was busy picking up from the airport and also getting pulled over by the police, oi.
First Kiss | Good Luck Kiss | Drunk Kiss | Kiss and Make It Better | On-Screen Kiss | Morning After Kiss | True Love’s Kiss | Goodbye Kiss | Good Morning Kiss | Surprise Kiss | Meltykiss | Goodnight Kiss | French Kiss | Congratulations Kiss | Sealed With a Kiss | Hello Kiss | Kiss Under the Mistletoe | I Forgive You Kiss | Birthday Kiss | Blown Kiss | Kiss on the Forehead | Kiss on the Hand | Kiss on the Cheek | I’m Sorry Kiss | New Year’s Kiss | Welcome Home Kiss

Kiss Twenty-Four: I Wouldn’t Say I Hate You If It Wasn’t True

Yamada’s always considered himself a pretty mellow guy. His mother, his teachers, his instructors, everybody always gushes about what a mild child he is, how obedient and even-tempered.

Lately, though, Yamada feels like everything is getting under his skin.

He tries not to take it out on any of the others, because goodness knows they have enough to worry about trying to organize a new show and tours and singles while everybody’s voice cracks mercilessly. When the littler, less experienced ones start to grate on his nerves, Yamada doesn’t know how Yabu and Hikaru can be so endlessly patient, but he tries his best to take himself away when it gets to be too much, after the time he made Morimoto cry.

It’s just…it’s everything. It’s Okamoto’s hair being too spiky and Takaki being too tall, it’s Inoo’s head being too round and Arioka smiling too much. It’s Yabu learning the dances way faster than him and Hikaru sounding twice as good as he used to with half as much effort while Yamada drinks so much bottled tea just to keep his throat loose that he’s starting to turn into tea.

“Yuuuuuto,” Chinen chirps, coming up to wrap his arms around Nakajima’s waist and rubbing his cheek against his side, and Nakajima puts a hand on Chinen’s head and rubs his hair absently, making Chinen’s eyes slit in pleasure.

And it’s definitely that, Yamada thinks, glaring across the stage and grinding his teeth. What’s his boyfriend doing cuddling that little brat? Yamada ratchets up the intensity of his glare a few notches when the hug goes on for longer than a few moments, but neither of the targets seem to notice.

By the time Yuto gives Chinen a last pat and comes back over to where Yamada is standing, Yamada has had more than enough time to work himself into quite a sulk, and Yuto does a double-take when he notices Yamada’s thundercloud expression.

“Y-yama-chan?” Yuto asks, getting that anxious look he gets when he’s on-stage sometimes, and that drives Yamada crazy too. He’s supposed to be their leader, for crying out loud!

His glare must intensify, because Yuto takes a half-step backwards.

“Is there something wrong?” Yuto tries again, more cautiously.

“YES,” Yamada snaps, making Yuto hop a little. Yamada stabs the air angrily to point over at Chinen. “What was THAT all about?!”

“That?” Yuto turns to look over his shoulder, then turns back to Yamada, bewildered. “What?”

“That!” For once, Yamada doesn’t bother to try and calm himself down. He takes another look over at Chinen and actually snarls. “He’s doing it to Hikaru now! He’s totally shameless!”

“But, Yama-chan,” Yuto looks behind him again, where Chinen is happily egging Hikaru into hugging him until he’s making a hitch-pitched noise of glee, “that’s just Chinen. He always does that. Why are you so upset?”

Yamada isn’t exactly sure, which is probably why he just gets angrier. “You were encouraging him! You like it, don’t you? You like him!”

“Of course I…” Yuto trails off as Yamada feels his face twist with hurt on top of the frustration. “Yama-chan, what’s wrong?

He reaches out to put a hand on Yamada’s shoulder, then snatches it back when Yamada snaps, “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay, Yama-chan,” Yuto says gently, and the hurt on his face makes Yamada’s stomach twist so tightly that he thinks he’s going to be sick, but that’s nothing compared to how he feels when Yuto adds, “I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want.”

It hits Yamada like a slap across the face, driving all the breath out of his lungs, and for a second, the only thing he wants is to hit back.

“GOOD!” he shouts at Yuto. “Because I HATE you!”

A few of the others get in between them at that point, trying to separate them, but Yamada shoves everyone away, and stomps off, hoping that he looks wretched enough to be sent home early.

The next morning, Yamada refuses to get out of bed, convincing his mother through hand motions and recalcitrance that he’s lost his voice. She calls him off school and work for the day with a sigh, but informs him that if he’s that unwell, he’ll have to spend the day in bed.

Yamada just rolls over and goes back to sleep. Every time he wakes up, his argument with Yuto replays in his head, so it’s easier to pull the blankets over his head and drift off for awhile. His phone buzzes from time to time, messages from friends and no doubt his bandmates, but Yamada doesn’t make any move to pick it up from the bedside table.

Late in the afternoon, Yamada’s mother knocks on the door and asks if Yamada is feeling up to a visitor.

“Okay,” he says after clearing his throat, voice creaky from sleep and disuse, even though he knows who it probably is. It can’t be worse than just sitting here thinking about it, he figures.

Except it totally is when Yuto shuffles into the room, head down and shoulders slumped, then just stands in the middle of the room rather than coming over to sit on the bed like he has a thousand times before.

“So,” Yuto says, staring at the carpet. “You’re really sick, huh?”

“No,” Yamada admits grudgingly. He knows he should apologize, but he doesn’t want to. “Look, sit down.”

A touch of relief loosens Yuto’s shoulders as he scampers over to perch on the edge of Yamada’s bed. He pulls a hand out of his pocket to reveal an orange, round and bright where it’s cupped in Yuto’s hands.

“Vitamins,” Yuto says. “You’re not sick, but…want to share?”

“Okay.” Yamada draws his knees up to his chest and rests his chin on top of them, watching Yuto’s long fingers strip the skin off the orange in a long curl. They don’t say anything while Yuto splits the orange into sections and hands Yamada the first piece, cupped carefully in his hand so that it doesn’t drip on the sheets.

“About yesterday…” Yuto starts.

“Just forget it,” Yamada mumbles, toying with the orange slice and feeling wretched all over again. “I just got…forget it.”

“I like Chinen,” Yuto announces, making Yamada startle and fumble the orange slice onto his blankets. “I was encouraging him.”

“Oh.” Yamada watches the juice spread around the orange in a halo on his sheets, feeling numb.

His breath catches in his throat when suddenly Yuto leans over to press their lips together, and Yamada is still blinking in surprise when Yuto pulls back, smiling shyly.

“But not like I like you,” he says. “So let’s not fight anymore, okay?”

Yamada nods dumbly, then it finally sinks in and he throws himself at Yuto, blankets and orange slices tangled in between them, and his mother is going to yell at him but he doesn’t care at all, because it turned out that all he’d really needed yesterday was a hug after all.

But he doesn’t argue when Yuto sneaks in a few more shy kisses, until Yamada reaches up to hold Yuto’s chin firmly and shows him how to do it right. The acid of the orange burns Yamada’s lips a little, but the soft brushes of Yuto’s tongue soothes the sting away.

“What were you even upset about yesterday?” Yuto asks when they are curled up next to each other with their heads on Yamada’s pillow, sharing squished bits of orange.

“I dunno,” Yamada shrugs, licking juice off his thumb. “It’s too much sometimes. Everything…plus you.”

You’re too much.” Yuto rolls his eyes, then kisses Yamada ‘I’m sorry’ again.

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