Title: Our Home
Pairing: Yamashita Tomohisa & Nagasawa Masami friendship!, Nagasawa Masami/other people who are barely mentioned, Yamashita Tomohisa/also bare mention of people
Summary: Yamapi discovers what becomes his most important relationship under his own roof.
A/N: Dear ributa, when I saw your request, I really wanted to do you justice. I don't know if I managed, but I hope you enjoy this. ♥♥ Happy White Day~
The front door slams loudly and Yamapi doesn't even bother to lift his gaze away from his script because he's heard the same thing often for the past month and a half. There's a short pause, presumably to change into house slippers, before Yamapi hears stomping from the doorway into the living room. Again, he doesn't look up, just flips a page, and waits. There's a huff of aggravation before a handbag is thrown into the spot near him, then a body next to his.
Yamapi feels Masami lean into him, resting her head against his shoulder as she sits and tucks her feet under her. He reaches over, putting his arm around Masami's shoulders. He waits some more as her breathing calms to a more normal pace.
"I hate this industry," she mumbles after a bit, turning her head into his arm. Yamapi murmurs his agreement. "I don't even know why I do this."
"Because you enjoy acting?"
"Blah. Who cares about that?"
Yamapi chuckles, moving around to drop a kiss on the top of Masami's head. "Definitely not us."
Masami nods before she pulls away, glimpsing over at Yamapi's script. "New movie?"
"New show, but I don't know how much I like the role. He seems like an asshole."
"So… it's perfect for you?"
"Ha-ha," he snarks, pinching her arm, before tugging her in closer. "I don't know why I let you stay here when all I get is attitude."
"Because you're the bestest best friend who took me in when my apartment was going through repairs?" Masami says cheekily, dropping an exaggerated kiss on Yamapi's cheek. She laughs when he pokes her on her side.
"I'm surprised you didn't ask any of your side pieces to crash with."
Masami rolls her eyes, pinching Yamapi's side. "Who says I want to stay with any of them?"
"Right, so I'm the best option? Don't you have Mizukawa-san for that at least?"
She laughs, getting up from the couch and kissing Yamapi again on the cheek. He watches her, eyebrows furrowed, as she walks into the spare room she's commandeered. At the doorway, Masami stops and turns. With a smirk, she says, "Who says Asami isn't one of my side pieces?" She disappears into her room, the door shutting loudly behind her.
Yamapi stares blankly, letting the words register before he jumps off the couch. "Wait, you can't just say that and not expand!" he exclaims as he starts knocking Masami's door. Inside, he can hear her laughing.
When Masami had called him up, asking for this big favor, Yamapi hadn't even hesitated in saying "yes," even though in truth, he had probably not spoken to Masami face-to-face in maybe a year or two. But Yamapi remembers her vividly—like he could've ever forgotten, really, remembers her vibrancy and her kindness and her teasing, and so he easily agreed.
He's never really lived with another woman besides his mom and sister, and he hadn't really thought about how different it would be. Jin has complained to him on numerous occasions how he couldn't adjust to living with Meisa, how they sometime irritate each other because one of them doesn't do the dishes at night (usually Jin), or how there are dirty clothes scattered all over the apartment (Meisa), or how since having a child, his hours are just drastically different now.
Or Ryo has mentioned that he hates when his girlfriend at the moment leaves behind her things at his place. He has an order, Ryo argues, "there's a place to everything and I really don't like it when they decide that, no, the books should be arranged like this because it makes more sense. Who cares?! I want it the way I want." Yamapi usually just nods and concentrates on finishing his bottle of beer.
But when Masami moved in, Yamapi doesn't have a single complaint. He doesn't mind in the least that she has decided to bring with her about 20 different throw pillows (what is the point of all of them though?) because he does find that they are comfortable to relax on during a night out when he can't make it all the way to his room. Or the fact that her scripts are all over the place—Yamapi's even found at least two in the bathroom. Or the fact that she insists on stocking his refrigerator with junk food (he thought she'd eat better than that, honestly).
None of this bothers him. Mostly because when he gets home, especially if he's the later one, he would find Masami curled up on the couch, a glass of wine in her hand even if she's watching the most ridiculous variety show. There's dinner on the table, usually something microwaved because Masami can't bother to cook (or as Yamapi suspects, she's not very good at it). And something about the whole atmosphere makes him happy, just to know there's someone in the apartment with him.
He's never really thought about having a roommate, but now Yamapi likes the idea a lot.
"You know, you don't have to stop having sex just because I live here now." Yamapi spits out the sip of beer he'd taken all over his coffee table. Masami starts laughing loudly into his ear. "I mean really, Pii-tan, you haven't brought a girl," she pauses, "or guy home at all in at least two months. I mean, your left hand—"
Yamapi covers her mouth with his hand, still coughing from his spit take. "Nope, I need you to stop right there." He's only able to keep his hand there for another two seconds before he snatches it back, eyes wide. "Seriously?! You bit me?!"
She shrugs, sitting back against the couch, and takes a sip of her wine. "I don't take to being made to shut up too kindly."
He frowns, turning back to his drink. The television's been on the entire time, but he's suddenly forgotten what they've been watching. He feels Masami shifting beside him, and he's pretty sure she fully intends to repeat her words, so he refrains from actually drinking, just holding the beer bottle—now slightly tepid from his hands.
"But really, if you need me to sleep somewhere else for the night, I can. I'm sure one of my side pieces as you've called them wouldn't mind housing me for one night."
"I'm sure Ryo would appreciate being used like that."
There's a glint in Masami's eye that makes Yamapi instantly regret his own words. "Oh, Dok-kun most definitely has no complaints when I use him."
He groans, finally taking that sip of beer. "Yup, I regret giving that one to you."
She laughs, draining her glass in one last gulp. "He does give it to me good." She winks and Yamapi resists from rolling his eyes. "But seriously, don't think I can't tell how hard you're trying to change the topic. I mean, I won't judge—"
"It's just that it's not a problem."
Masami narrows her eyes. "As in you've had someone here while I've been here?" Yamapi drops his head with a loud groan. "I think we need to talk about your technique if so." He groans even louder, covering his face with a hand.
"That is definitely not the case, Masami."
"So what is the case?"
"I just—" Yamapi frowns, setting his beer on the table. "I don't need sex like other people do. I can have sex, enjoy it too, but I don't get any sexual urges." Even though he's long accepted this about himself and told it to several people closest to him, something about telling this to Masami that makes his heart pound. He's gotten rather mixed reactions, none truly negative, but mostly confused. He wants—needs Masami to understand, although he's not entirely too sure why he has such an intense reaction toward this.
She's staring at him, blinking for a moment, before she shrugs. "Okay."
Yamapi blinks too. "Okay?"
Masami smiles her usual bright smile. "Okay."
He doesn't let out the huge sigh of relief he can feel in his chest, but he smiles back instead. "Okay."
"You know you can take people back too if you want. I'm sure my friends wouldn't mind housing me either."
Masami snorts. "Like hell would I bring them back here."
Yamapi raises an eyebrow. "What exactly is wrong with this place?"
"It's sacred ground, don't you know?" He stares at her blankly, which Masami returns with a grin. "No strangers should taint it."
"Oh," Yamapi says. The words make something warm settle in his stomach. "Oh," he repeats.
When Yamapi ends up telling his friends about Masami staying with him, he's met with confusion. "But why you?" Jin asks.
"Doesn't she have other friends?" (Ryo)
"Are you sleeping with her? But I thought—" (Toma)
And he has to clarify that everything is purely platonic. That he's helping out a friend. That he likes living with her actually.
"I know we haven't hung out much—" Jin starts, "But I can come over more."
"It's not like that," Yamapi explains. "I mean, it's definitely nice having someone in the apartment with me. But it can't just be anyone. Like I could never live with you."
"I wouldn't wanna live with you either," Jin snaps.
"True," Ryo agrees.
"You're too forgetful," Toma says.
Yamapi rolls his eyes. He refrains from adding that Masami has no complaints.
While Masami complains about work often, she never expands. Yamapi suspects it's for anonymity, because their industry is not that large and the people she interacts with are likely to be people he'll interact with as well.
But there are always exceptions to every rule. "I'm a good actress, right? Decent at the very least? I've been working for some time. So why the fuck do people think they can steamroll me as though I'm some fresh new face?"
Yamapi blinks at Masami, because he could've sworn they'd just been talking about they'd had for lunch. "Uh, right."
"And also, why don't people listen to my suggestions? I mean, understanding a character is something I'm supposed to do as an actress, but when I say it, it's taken under consideration. Then the male lead says something, and it's apparently genius. Why is that, Yamashita?"
"I—um—" Yamapi hasn't heard his name said so angrily in a long while and he distracts himself from her angry glare by gulping down the rest of his beer.
"I'm just saying."
"I'm sorry?" he says weakly.
Masami rolls her eyes. "Don't apologize." Her eyes narrow. "Unless you do the same shit, then don't be an asshole."
Yamapi doesn't, but he's mindful of this the next time it happens. It isn't much, but he does his best.
They alternate buying groceries every other week. Masami always picks up too much junk food, and Yamapi apparently never buys the right brands. He's a big fan of writing down what they need while she just goes down every single aisle pulling whatever they need.
Some nights, they spend hours just sitting on the couch, the television on in the background, but their attentions on other things—scripts, books, their phones. They talk sometimes, conversations varying from what happened that day to their pasts, times when they didn't know each other.
They figure out the chores depending on who was even home that day—dishes are always washed at the end of the night; garbage thrown out by whoever leaves earlier the next morning; apartment swept every weekend by whoever is off. Sometimes this means one person does things repeatedly for a few days or weeks, but it works for them.
Yamapi honestly doesn't know how they established this without actually talking about it. He's not complaining though.
"Fucking. Assholes!" Masami screams from the doorway. Yamapi turns away from his song scribbles, startled. There's a loud noise in that direction and he rushes to set his guitar down and into the hallway.
"Masami?" Yamapi asks, eyes wide as he watches Masami smash her purse against the wall. "Um. You might break—"
"Like I give a shit," Masami grits through her teeth as she throws her bag down, panting furiously. She combs her hands through her hair before growling loudly. Yamapi suspects she's about to start tossing around whatever's in hand, so he steps forward and ushers her into the kitchen.
"Come on," he says, forcing her to sit down by the table. Turning his back, and hoping Masami doesn't pick something new up to break, Yamapi pulls out two shot glasses and pours his favorite whiskey. When he looks back, Masami has her head on the table, covered by her arms. He frowns, puts the shots on the table, a distance away from Masami's arms, and pulls a chair closer to Masami.
Yamapi doesn't say anything, just sits beside her, and waits.
It feels like an eternity, but Masami finally speaks, muffled since she never lifts her head. "I don't get how these assholes are the heads of networks or heads of projects when they can't get their heads out of their asses."
Masami sits up, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as she stares forward. "I mean, they already want to decide how I look and how I act. Then they want to decide who I'm friends with. Or rather who I shouldn't be friends with. Well, fuck them." Yamapi's stomach drops, and he realizes that Masami's pointedly not looking at him.
"They found out."
She shakes her head. "I told them ages ago, and it was okay. Until it was Friday'd."
That pit in his stomach grows, because Yamapi knows that if her company saw this potential article, his must've as well, and that will not work with them, either. "Oh," Yamapi says faintly, and he feels a million miles away. Like he's not really sitting there, listening to Masami explain that they took care of it, that this article will definitely not go to print. But also, that she needs to leave, that the stipulation was that she could not live with him anymore.
And Yamapi realizes suddenly that it's been over three months, almost four, and nobody's apartment takes that long to be repaired. So really, Masami had chosen—had purposely not moved back, and maybe, if it hadn't been for this article, if it wasn't for their respective jobs, Masami would stay.
He takes a moment to realize that Masami's stopped talking, that they've been sitting in silence for a few minutes now. He looks over at her, and Masami is staring down at her fingers. Yamapi reaches over, putting his hands over hers and gives her a weak smile when she finally meets his eyes. "I hate this industry."
The laugh she gives him is slightly watery as she leans towards him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Ditto," she murmurs.
They sit there silently, the only comfort coming from the warmth of their hands entwined.
Masami moves out on a quiet Sunday morning—choosing to leave when Yamapi's still in bed ignoring the sound of her rolling her suitcase out of the apartment. He doesn't know why this feels like forever, as though he's lost one of the closest friends he's made in years. Just because she doesn't live with him doesn't mean that they'll stop talking.
He knows this, logically.
The next time Yamapi manages to meet up with Masami, hidden in a dark bar that knows him well enough to know not to say anything, is about three weeks later.
He hates how suddenly he feels like they don't know each other anymore.
Yamapi doesn't spend time at home anymore; he crashes at his friends' homes, just to avoid from going home to an empty apartment. It doesn't feel like a permanent solution, but it's best he can manage at the moment.
Late one night, a week and a half after they'd last met up, Yamapi finds himself calling Masami in the darkness of his room. The ceiling seems to swirl over him—although a lot of that can probably be blamed on the six shots of whiskey he had had that night—as the phone rings once, twice.
"Pii-tan?" the voice blearily answers on the other line. Which makes sense, because Yamapi is calling her at three in the morning, when people are normally asleep.
The exhaustion is heavy in Yamapi's body, but the sound of Masami's voice is soothing and he feels more relaxed than he has in weeks. "Why?" he asks.
Yamapi hears rustling on Masami's side, before she sighs. "Why what?" Her voice is still sleepy, but he can hear her becoming more alert.
"Why did you stay for so long?"
Her sigh this time is louder and Yamapi shuts his eyes tightly, not liking the sound of it. "You know the answer to that."
"I don't, actually."
She pauses for so long Yamapi manages to count mentally all the way to twenty (a feat all on its own). "I wanted to be there. Of course I did. Pii-tan, you made a home for me." She exhales this time. "I mean, my apartment's great, but—I liked living with you. You were always there for me, listened when I complained. I mostly did the same. We didn't even need to talk sometimes, just stayed in each other's company. I enjoyed it so much that I stayed past the two weeks after my apartment was fixed. A leak doesn't take over three months, and you know it."
"You should've stayed."
"I wanted to."
Yamapi exhales loudly and his head spins. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, the phone is sitting on the pillow beside him and a new message from Masami saying "Good night, Pii-tan."
"This is stupid," Masami mutters when they meet up again two weeks later. They'd been sitting in silence, uncomfortable awkwardness settles all around them. Yamapi agrees, before throwing back another shot of whiskey. "We were basically best friends when I lived with you, so why does that change just because we're not in the same place?"
Yamapi shrugs, not entirely sure of the answer himself. "Because we keep having to meet up in public places and we can't act like ourselves?"
She looks up at him before sighing, finishing off the rest of her drink. "Okay. Then let's change locations." She gets up, dropping some money on the table before pulling Yamapi out of the restaurant. He follows her, not really focused as she tugs him into a cab and says an address.
He realizes it's his apartment when they get out of the cab. "Wait—" he says as he looks up at his building.
"I know," Masami murmurs, stepping forward, her hand tightly grasping his wrist. "But fuck them."
Yamapi can't look away from her as they go up the elevator and she unlocks the door with the keys she never returned. They both enter the apartment, changing into slippers, and Masami leads him into the living, sitting him down before she heads to the kitchen. Yamapi sits there blankly, before Masami returns with her usual glass of wine and his beer bottle.
She settles into the same spot she'd always sat at for nearly four months and Yamapi realizes that he feels like the apartment is home again. Judging from the way Masami's whole body relaxes, Yamapi suspects she feels the same way.
"This is better," Masami murmurs, her head resting on his shoulder as he throws his arm around her shoulders, tucking her in closer.
"Yeah," Yamapi agrees, dropping a kiss on her head. He never says stay, but he knows she hears it lingering in the air.
Masami moves back the next day.
And this time, they tell their companies to go fuck themselves. (Not in those exact words, but close enough.)