Summary: Miyata knows he shouldn't wish for miracles, but somehow where Tamamori is involved, he just can't help it.
AN: Set before ryogrande's fic here, where Miyata and Tamamori's anniversary is the same as Kisumai's. Starts right after the Yokohama cons of Kisumai's first solo tour, where during the press conference Miyata blurted out that he wanted to debut. Title from a magazine recently, where a fan asked how much Miyata loves Tamamori, and that was his response.
Deeper Than the Ocean, Wider Than the Sky
“You really are an idiot, you know,” Tamamori says later that night, when they are tucked into Tamamori’s bed. Tamamori is way too lazy of a host to lay out a spare futon even when they haven’t just finished a concert weekend, and it isn’t like Miyata is going to argue. “Saying we want to debut, honestly.”
“I do want to debut, though,” Miyata replies mildly. “I want us to. Don’t you?”
“Of course I do, stupid, but I don’t go around saying it during press conferences.”
Tamamori huffs a sigh. It’s dark in his room, but Miyata can feel Tamamori’s nearness against his skin, hear his soft breathing and the rustle of sheets as he shifts. He wants more from Tamamori, when he lets himself want anything, but just this is enough to make him happy, that Tamamori lets him curl up this close and be so near.
“Anyway,” Tamamori says softly, at length, sounding sad. “It’s not like it’ll happen. They might let us sing now, let us have concerts, but...it would have happened already.”
“You don’t think there’s any hope?” Miyata asks, feeling a bit sad himself. Not that he agrees with Tamamori’s statement, he’s more of an optimist and he’s seen crazier shit go down in their agency, but he feels badly that Tamamori feels sad.
“I think...” Tamamori is slow to express his thoughts, and Miyata is patient. “It hurts more to hope. I get scared, and I can’t move forward. If I try not to think about it, it’s not so hard.”
Miyata realizes that Tamamori might as well be talking about the two of them. He’s loved Tamamori for ages, but when he thinks about asking Tamamori how he feels, it’s too frightening. Better to take the closeness he can get than to risk losing his best friend.
But Tamamori’s right; this way, neither one of them can move forward.
“Hey,” Miyata says. “Want to make a bet?”
“What?” Tamamori asks, yawning. “About what?”
“I bet you we’ll debut. If we debut...” Miyata draws a deep breath, mustering up what little courage he possesses. “If we debut, then you’ll go on a date with me.”
Tamamori’s breath catches in a little snort. “Miyacchi.”
“A real date,” Miyata clarifies, willing his voice not to shake. “If I win, you have to give me a real chance, with you.”
“Toshiya?” Tamamori asks, uncertain and not laughing anymore. Miyata wishes he could see Tamamori’s face, and then is glad he isn’t because that’s way too scary.
“Bet?” Miyata asks, heart in his throat. The silence stretches out for two breaths, three, four, until he can barely stand it.
“Okay, bet,” Tamamori says, finally, and Miyata is so relieved he has to swallow against a lump in his throat. “Not like we’re going to debut, though, so don’t get your hopes up too much.”
“I’ll try,” Miyata says, but he knows it’s already way too late for that.
After that, whenever he wishes for debut, he knows he isn’t quite making the same wish as the rest of them are, and he hopes that whoever listens to the silly wishes of idols doesn’t think less of him for over-reaching so hopelessly far.
When he’s being obnoxious, Miyata claims that the moment they found out about their debut was the moment he knew he and Tamamori were destined to be together always. The truth is that he really hadn’t been thinking about Tamamori at all, or at least no more than he’d been thinking about the others. He’d been thinking about all of them, Nikaido tackling him to the ground and Kitayama running around and Fujigaya sobbing like his heart was breaking backstage after the concert adrenaline had started to wear off.
So it’s actually Tamamori who brings it up. He sidles up after a few hours.
“So,” he says.
“So?” Miyata asks. Tamamori rolls his eyes.
“Sooo, you haven’t forgotten right?”
“No,” Miyata answers, because he remembers now. “You owe me a date.”
“Great, let’s get it over with,” Tamamori says, all business, “so next Tuesday--”
“There’s no rush,” Miyata interrupts, making Tamamori raise his eyebrows. “It isn’t properly debut yet. Unless you’re in a particular hurry to fall in love with me...”
“Gross, seriously,” Tamamori informs him flatly. “Your loss, not like I want to go out or whatever.”
He says that, but as weeks turn into months and their debut never seems to get any closer, it’s Tamamori who keeps pestering Miyata about it with increasing frequency. He even goes so far as to point out that Miyata and him basically go on dates all the time, out to eat or shopping or spending the night at each other’s places, and Miyata even pays most of the time.
“This stuff doesn’t count,” Miyata replies. “This is all stuff we do anyway.”
“Seriously, what’s the issue?” Tamamori finally demands, hands on his hips and eyes narrow. “Are you just stringing me along?”
“Tama-chan!” Miyata laughs, but Tamamori isn’t laughing, and Miyata tries to smooth off his grin as best he can. “It’s actually that...there’s a particular thing I want to do, for our first date, and we have to be properly debuted, the whole entire way, for us to do it.”
“Something we can only...” Tamamori’s face scrunches as he tries to puzzle that out, and then he frowns suddenly. “Hey, it’s not the first date, it’s the date, don’t go getting any big ideas!”
“Won’t know until we try the first one, will we?” Miyata says boldly, warmth filling his chest at the pink that rises in Tamamori’s cheeks.
Tamamori lets it drop until their debut event, until they’ve been dropped off by the ridiculous cars and their silver suits hung up, and then turns to Miyata and demands to know if they’re debuted enough now.
“Well,” Miyata hesitates, and Tamamori makes a disbelieving noise. Miyata nods. “Let’s try. When’s your next free day?”
“Uh...” Tamamori frowns. Miyata laughs and squeezes him in a quick hug, saying that he’d wait as long as Tamamori needs him to.
It’s actually weeks later they manage to have schedules that line up, and it’ll be weeks afterwards until it happens again because Miyata and Kitayama’s butai start just about immediately afterwards. Tamamori’s face says that he is not impressed when Miyata ushers him into the same shady karaoke place that they usually end up at.
Tamamori occupies himself with the drink menu, so he isn’t paying attention while Miyata puts in the first song. His head jerks up when he hears the first notes though, and Miyata grins widely when he sees Tamamori realize, yes, “Everybody Go” is on the monitor, their real PV even.
“Miyacchi...” Tamamori looks over, a tiny smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what this was all about?”
“Uh-huh.” Miyata shoves one of the microphones into Tamamori’s hands and edges closer, until their knees are touching. “Sing with me?”
They do “Everybody Go” twice, doing all the silly hand motions like the fans do, and then the rest of the single, and then come back to “Everybody Go” again. Halfway through, though, Miyata’s voice cuts out.
“Hm?” Tamamori asks, turning to look, and Miyata is trying to scrub at his eyes quickly, but there’s no way Tamamori can miss how they’re glassy with tears at this close range. “Hey.”
“Sorry.” Miyata gives a watery chuckle. “It’s just...I’ve been waiting so long to do that. To see our names in the book with all the real people, to hear our song over those speakers like all the senpai songs we used to practice with so we wouldn’t get yelled at as much. I wanted you to be here with me for it. Just like you’ve been with me the whole time.”
“That’s why you made me wait so long?” Tamamori asks.
“Sorry,” Miyata says again.
“Idiot, quit apologizing.” Tamamori rolls his eyes. “It’s just that I was starting to think you didn’t care whether we went out or not! I mean...” Tamamori looks to the side, face bland, but Miyata can read the uncertainty underneath it. “...if you really wanted to be together, why would you bet it on something as uncertain as debut?”
“Because once we knew we were debuting, the date wasn’t that important anymore.” Miyata knows he is screwing all this up as Tamamori’s mouth bunches up in a frown, but he can’t seem to make the words come out properly. “Because...even if you never gave me a chance, even if you never wanted me like,” Miyata has to take a deep breath to get past his nerves, “like I want you, now we’re going to be together forever anyway. Just having you beside me, always, that’s enough for me. If it’s even just that, I can be satisfied.”
“Why do you always say stuff like that?” Tamamori asks, sounding sad. “Like you think you could never get what you wanted.”
Miyata’s breath catches. “Do you think I can?” He slides his hand over to rest lightly on top of Tamamori’s where it’s sitting on the seat cushion between them.
“How am I supposed to know?” Tamamori says, but he doesn’t move his hand. “Quit saying embarrassing stuff.”
“Could...could I kiss you instead, then?” Miyata leans forward without waiting for answer, sure he’s going to get punched or slapped at any moment, but instead there’s only the gentle touch of Tamamori’s lips against his. Tamamori’s eyes are wide, and then Miyata lets his close, savoring this moment in case it never happens again.
He breaks the kiss with a little sigh and pulls away, afraid to open his eyes. But when he does, Tamamori is only watching him thoughtfully.
“Like you want me?” he asks, and Miyata takes a second to understand that Tamamori is repeating his earlier, somewhat accidental confession.
“I’ve never wanted anyone else,” Miyata answers seriously. Tamamori looks away, embarrassed, but maybe a bit pleased too. For the first time, Miyata lets himself hope seriously that someday Tamamori will love him the same way Miyata loves him.
It’s not so impossible. Next to debut, Miyata feels like he could manage anything if he puts enough effort in.
“Oi, pick some more songs,” Tamamori pushes the book at Miyata and pulls his hand away to go back to the forgotten drink menu. “I waited ages for this date, and it better not suck or you aren’t getting another one.”
“Oh?” Miyata sidles closer. “Are you saying a second one is a definite possibility?”
“Hmph.” Tamamori doesn’t try to shrug Miyata off when Miyata’s cheek comes to rest against his shoulder. “I’m saying your odds improve if you buy me a lot of things with rum in them.”
Miyata orders a whole tray of things with rum in them and gets at least twice as drunk as he should, with Tamamori hardly in better shape. Tamamori makes Miyata pick all the songs and enter all the fiddly numbers, and then complains about all his song choices, but Miyata just laughs, finding Tamamori’s unreasonable nature endearing. He even manages to steal a couple more kisses, Tamamori’s lips pink and slick with whatever he was drinking last.
It’s the taste of Tamamori underneath, not so much the rum, that makes Miyata feel dizzy. He holds on tight to Tamamori’s biceps to keep him from tipping too far forward and thinks please, please, to whoever listens to the silly wishes of idols, just one more miracle, please.
Their second date is a shopping date, which should be mundane but for some reason doesn’t feel mundane at all when Tamamori’s arm brushes against his or Tamamori tugs off Miyata’s jacket to force him to try on another one. Tamamori must feel it too, because he keeps glancing around like he’s expecting to see people staring at them.
Miyata sort of likes that feeling, actually. He decides he should probably keep that to himself for now, though.
The third date is at a movie. Because of the weirdness of their schedules, they’re the only two people in the theater in the middle of the afternoon. Tamamori had forced Miyata to chose the movie, rolling his eyes when Miyata had predictably picked the movie adaption of an anime he’d been into last year, but what that really means is that Tamamori could care less when Miyata distracts him from the plot by tugging him close for a long kiss.
One kiss turns into another and another, Tamamori’s breath warm against his cheek and mouth opening shyly under his, and Miyata makes a soft, needy noise when Tamamori reaches up to brush fingers through his hair. They totally get too carried away, but Miyata can’t bring himself to care too much about that, even when they have to sit through all of the end credits to try and calm themselves down enough to walk out in public.
They end up back at Tamamori’s house, his mother making a fuss over Miyata because she hasn’t seen him for a while.
“Tama-chan’s been so busy,” Miyata pouts, making Tamamori-san laugh and empathize with him about how poor a job of taking care of himself Tamamori often does. It’s not exactly the reason Miyata hasn’t been over, but he can hardly explain to her that the two of them had reached an unspoken agreement that their usual sleepovers would be way too awkward while they were in this weird, in-between stage.
Once they get upstairs, Tamamori flops onto his bed like usual. “My family,” he warns, but he doesn’t make an actual move to stop Miyata sliding in beside him.
“I won’t go far,” Miyata promises, curling up close against Tamamori’s side. Tamamori tilts his head, obviously asking for another kiss, and Miyata obliges him, losing himself in it right away. He slides his hand idly down Tamamori’s side, and Tamamori whimpers into his mouth and clutches more tightly at Miyata’s shirt.
He has to pull away after only a few minutes, or risk breaking his promise almost immediately. Tamamori whines a little, but judging by how pink his cheeks are, he’s not really in any better state. Miyata lays his head on Tamamori’s chest and takes deep, slow breaths, trying to rediscover his equilibrium.
“Tama?” he asks. Tamamori hums. “Could you touch my hair, like before? It felt really good.”
“Easy,” Tamamori accuses, but Miyata doesn’t care when Tamamori’s long fingers do just as he asked. It’s ridiculous how good such a simple action feels, and soon Miyata is all but melted against Tamamori’s side, fingers curling and uncurling in Tamamori’s shirt. “Does it really feel that good?”
“Yeah,” Miyata sighs. He feels totally at peace, too much so to stop his next thoughts from tumbling out of his mouth. “Is that why you keep letting me kiss you? Because it feels good?”
Tamamori shifts under him. “Well, yeah. Of course?”
“No, I mean.” Miyata shifts over until he can see Tamamori’s face properly, trying to figure out how to ask the question in a way where Tamamori will still make out with him if the answer is actually no. “Is it...just that? Or...” He trails off, no idea how to ask without being pushy, which Tamamori doesn’t usually respond well to.
“I don’t know if I can be as serious as you,” Tamamori says honestly, and even if it’s what he feared, Miyata is glad Tamamori doesn’t lie to him.
“I’m sorry I’m impatient,” Miyata apologizes, shoving back down the rush of disappointment trying to crawl up into his throat.
“But I don’t hate the idea,” Tamamori finishes, looking shy as Miyata blinks at him stupidly. “So...if you don’t mind waiting...”
“I’d wait forever,” Miyata promises fervently, and he covers Tamamori’s mouth with his own before Tamamori can call him an idiot. Tamamori wraps arms around his neck and holds him close, and Miyata could for sure learn to be content just with this. Just making Tamamori feel good and want to be close, that’s fine.
He makes it his new plan, in fact, to learn all the touches that make Tamamori melt against him, all the places that makes Tamamori gasp or push into it or murmur his name. Miyata takes his time exploring whenever they can steal some time alone, fingertips and mouth gentle, until he can turn Tamamori into a squirming mess any time that he wants.
“Whyyy,” Tamamori whines, breathless and so beautiful as he pouts up at Miyata, hair mussed against Miyata’s pillow and eyes dark. “Quit it, I can’t think when you do that.”
“I don’t want you to think,” Miyata admits, skimming fingers just under Tamamori’s ribs and watching greedily as Tamamori arches into his touch. To his surprise, Tamamori does actually stop him this time, wrapping fingers around his wrist to pull it away from his skin.
“Why not?” Tamamori asks, still holding Miyata’s hand between his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of Miyata’s hand, and Miyata shivers.
“I guess...because I’m scared,” Miyata says, feeling like squirming himself. He can’t look Tamamori in the eye. “When you feel good, you don’t mind being with me. I’m afraid of what you’ll decide if I stop distracting so you can think about it properly.”
“Mm,” Tamamori says, like that’s what he’d been expecting. “You should trust me, though.”
Miyata dares raise his eyes enough to see Tamamori is smirking at him, and hope flickers in his chest. “Should I?”
“It isn’t like I’d let just anybody get even this far,” Tamamori says, and it’s hardly a real confession, but it’s close enough for Miyata, for now, it’s progress. He lets Tamamori tug him down to lie on his chest, eyes fluttering shut when Tamamori strokes fingers through his hair, just the way he likes it.
“I really love you,” Miyata says, sliding arms around Tamamori’s waist to cling to him tightly.
“I’m glad,” Tamamori answers, fingers trailing down Miyata’s spine, one bump at a time.
Eventually Miyata gives up on Tamamori ever managing a confession out loud. It sounds terrible when he thinks about it in those terms, but the reality is that he doesn’t need the words. He can see it in Tamamori’s eyes, when he looks closely, when Tamamori lets him look long enough, that Tamamori’s feelings for him run deep and true.
“Oh,” he says softly the first time he realizes, reaching up to put his hands on either side of Tamamori’s face when Tamamori tries to turn away. He looks more closely, wanting to be sure, but he thinks that he is. “Tama-chan. Really?”
Tamamori’s cheeks are hot under Miyata’s fingers, but he manages to meet Miyata’s eyes just long enough to nod. Miyata’s whole body feels warm with wonder as he leans up to kiss Tamamori sweetly. It’s gentle, happy, but not so different than the last dozen or so kisses, and Miyata wonders how long Tamamori has been hiding that before he finally noticed.
“Yuta,” Tamamori says when the kiss breaks.
“Hm?” Miyata asks, not getting it, preoccupied with the way Tamamori’s bangs are falling in his eyes, soft against Miyata’s fingers when he brushes them back.
“Yuta,” Tamamori repeats, and then to clarify, adds, “Toshiya.”
A shiver runs over Miyata’s skin at the way Tamamori says his given name, and he gets what Tamamori is telling him to do. “Got it. Yuta.” Tamamori’s eyes flutter shut, like he’s savoring something sweet against his tongue, and Miyata leans in for another kiss, wanting to share its taste.
Kis-My-Ft2’s one year anniversary is their one year anniversary too, which is nice and easy enough that even Tamamori can’t claim to have forgotten it. After a token argument of whether their real anniversary is the date their debut was announced, or the date of the single release, or the day of their first date, Miyata wonders out loud if they should tell the others.
“Now that it’s not a one-sided love,” he says, chuckling at Tamamori’s scandalized expression. Miyata leans in a little closer. “If you don’t want to say, we could always just let them walk in on us...”
“That’s not funny!” Tamamori snaps, blushing at even the thought. Miyata only laughs harder, tugging Tamamori close to brush lips over his cheek because he loves the way it’s so warm against his lips. Tamamori struggles against him, whining.
“Ah, well.” Miyata relents, releasing Tamamori with a shrug. Now that he’s not being forced, Tamamori settles back against Miyata’s side naturally, and that alone is enough to make Miyata smile. “I’d only get yelled at for over-reaching myself and causing a bunch of trouble for one of our frontmen, distracting him from work.”
“No! Bad Miyacchi!” Tamamori scolds, flicking Miyata’s forehead hard enough to make him grunt. “You’re not a distraction. You’re not causing us trouble, and you aren’t over-reaching. I wouldn’t fall in love with some loser like that.”
Miyata’s mid-chuckle when the full import of Tamamori’s words hit him suddenly, like being punched square in the chest. “Yuta? Did you just...”
Tamamori pulls away a bit and turns to face him properly, cheeks still bright pink but meeting Miyata’s eyes without flinching. “Yeah, I did. I love you, and I don’t know why you’re so surprised because you made it that way yourself. And this is your anniversary present, so enjoy it. I didn’t buy you anything.”
“I love it,” Miyata says seriously. He holds out his arms and Tamamori falls into them, letting Miyata squeeze him as tightly as he wants. “And it fits perfectly.”
Thank you, he adds silently, to whoever listens to the silly wishes of idols, and then promises not to ask for any more miracles. He won’t need them.
He keeps his promise even when the staff brings out a cake for their anniversary, a candle on it for every year they’ve been Kisumai, not just the last one, and they all lean in to blow them out together. Everyone but Miyata scrunches their faces to concentrate on their wish.
“Nika, what’d you wish for?” Senga wants to know.
“Won’t come true if I tell,” Nikaido stalls, crossing his arms.
“For a drama, right?” Senga laughs when Nikaido groans. “I wished for member solos.”
“I’d settle for solo lines,” Yokoo says, setting the bar a bit more realistically.
“To grow my hair back out,” Fujigaya says with longing.
“For more of you drunkards to get your own apartments,” Kitayama says with just as much longing, but everyone just laughs at him.
“Lower ramps,” Tamamori says. He nudges Miyata’s shoulder with his own. “What about you?”
“I didn’t make one,” Miyata admits. “I’m really happy right now, so I don’t need to wish for anything.”
“Idiot, you totally have to make one, that’s how it works.” Tamamori eyes him like he’s too stupid to live. “Cake-san got set on fire for you and everything.”
“Okay okay!” Miyata holds up his hands in surrender when it looks like punching might start, then squeezes his eyes shut.
Sorry, Tama-chan is making me, he thinks. But I really am happy, so I guess I wish that their wishes would come true like mine.
“Well?” Tamamori asks expectantly when he opens his eyes.
“I wished cake wouldn’t get smashed into my face,” Miyata lies solemnly.
“Wish failure,” Tamamori informs him flatly, gouging a chunk of icing from the side of the cake with his fingers and then flattening his palm right against Miyata’s nose.