Gift fic for yukitsubute
Dec. 28th, 2017 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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aibaexchangeTitle: off-the-record
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8689
Pairing: Aiba/Jun
Warnings: None
Summary: Aiba’s first assignment in Sports Weekly is a special feature article on professional baseball player, Matsumoto Jun.
Notes: Hello yukitsubute! I was thinking of pushing through with the Walking Dead universe with the Walking Dead buddies, Aiba and Nino, but I thought you would like Junba better for this exchange so halfway through writing the other fic, I wrote this one. My knowledge of baseball is embarrassingly minimal so please forgive any blatant factual mistakes on the sport. I also suck at writing smut (I tried, please believe me) but I still hope you like this all the same!
Sho knows he shouldn’t be snooping around Aiba’s table without the man’s permission but it’s a dire situation. He needs to borrow Aiba’s chapstick before the afternoon meeting. He already sent a text to Aiba beforehand but since his friend hasn’t responded, he went ahead and searched through his stuff. He would have borrowed from Ohno Satoshi, their proofreader, knowing the man always has one in his pockets all day, but he was off on a fishing trip for the rest of the afternoon. Aiba, on the other hand, had gone to cover a soccer tournament and Sho knows Aiba always leaves his chapstick around in his desk, not because he doesn’t need it in the field but because he manages to forget it every single time.
Sho pulls the topmost drawer of Aiba’s cabinet open and shoves away some stuff to look for the small tube of chapstick. However, he manages to find a more interesting thing besides chapstick for his lips. Hidden beneath numerous manila envelopes is a slim stack of bond papers secured together by a large binder clip. On top of the sloppily compiled papers is a post-it note with the letters “MJ” hastily scrawled across it. Struck by a sudden curiosity, Sho digs deeper into the drawer and finds CDs in different cases with the same letters written on each, numbered 1 to 5.
Bringing it up to his face, Sho closely examines the stuff he brought out of Aiba’s cabinet, his brows furrowing in concentration. Not long after, he exclaims with a loud, “Ah!” making the neighboring reporters nearly jump out of their seats. Unapologetic, Sho makes himself comfortable on Aiba’s chair. “This must be Aiba-chan’s files on the MatsuJun interview,” Sho mutters to himself.
Approximately four months ago, Aiba Masaki had been assigned to write a special feature article on Matsumoto Jun, the professional baseball player who had been eyed by various teams and baseball enthusiasts because of his sudden rise to the top. His exceptional batting skills has earned him a place in the minor league and now he’s on his way to the majors, with various teams insisting on signing him up. Sho delegated the task to Aiba in the absence of Nino, a colleague and coincidentally, one of Aiba’s childhood friends, who was in Hokkaido at that time, doing a coverage on a soccer game by a local team.
Getting the interview had not been a walk in the park. Sho had to establish connections within the baseball world years prior to earn their trust and to eventually grant them interviews and coverages for tournaments. It is for this reason that their publication was earned the opportunity of writing an article on Matsumoto. The athlete has been dubbed as a rare gem, someone unreachable by people from the media.
The interview had been god-sent. It also helps that Aiba has this incomparable zeal for his new job.
Sho has known Aiba since high school and they unexpectedly crossed paths during a soccer game around two years ago. They decided to drink afterwards, even after learning they’re cheering for opposite teams, and had a fun debate over who’s better at soccer and did some catching up.
When Sho asked about his job, Aiba seemingly clammed up and hesitation coloring his face, he said, “Oh, I mainly work in the entertainment industry. I write some articles for entertainment magazines. It’s not a permanent job but it pays quite handsomely…sometimes.”
Sho understood Aiba’s reluctance to elaborate on his current profession. It was nothing to be embarrassed about but Aiba’s chosen path may have been different to what he expected. Instead of dwelling on that, Sho perked up and chirped, “Ah! What a coincidence! I’m also working for a publication! A sports one, actually, and the soccer game earlier is something I have to write about.”
The admiration sparkling in Aiba’s eyes is unmistakable. He hastily grabbed for Sho’s sleeve and encouraged him to talk more about his amazing encounters in the sports field. The result was Aiba had been happily drunk, daydreaming about having Sho’s job as his own before riding a taxi home.
Sho’s smile turned upside down once Aiba was gone.
The thought bothered him so much in the succeeding months after that encounter. Sho thought that if ever Sports Weekly decided to have an opening for new writers, he would greatly recommend Aiba.
The offer did not come until two years later.
Aiba had been nearly jumping up and down in place once he heard about his first assignment. He may have been an avid fan of soccer, but baseball was his first love. He knew all about Matsumoto Jun, or at least according to what they report on papers, and his consecutive wins. Aiba was impressed, to say the least.
“I consider myself a fan of his,” he casually remarked to Sho that evening at the bar. “So I’m actually really excited to meet him.”
“Well, good! I trust that this will be an easy job for you,” Sho teased, poking Aiba on the side for good measure.
Aiba chuckled goodheartedly, thoroughly happy to be ribbed and teased by his friend and new superior, “I still think I’ll mess things up so I’m not going to say that.” Aiba downed the beer in his hand on one go, gulping down the nervousness that seemed to be bubbling up the surface.
--
It is Aiba’s first job as a newbie sports journalist and he’s incredibly nervous. He has attempted various ways to stump it down in vain. Despite that, he, with an incomparable zeal, accepted the task from Sho with a playful salute.
According to Sho, Matsumoto has just gone out of off-season. A series of games which he would participate in would start soon after. He has also been told about Matsumoto’s apparent aversion to media, which made him doubly apprehensive but he convinced himself that he can overcome this. It may seem like a major obstacle, but he’s sure he can change Matsumoto’s mind and perspective about media and articles. It’s not like he intended to put him in a bad light.
His eagerness even led him to declare to Sho, his editor-in-chief, “I will make this the best feature article that this magazine has seen in ages!”
Sho laughed it off good-naturedly but Aiba was serious. He wanted to give it his all and prove that he is good enough for sports journalism. However, he would probably not say that he’s subtly doing this to also make Sho believe that he’s fit for the job and that he wasn’t wrong for hiring him. He knew Sho was not expecting any of that but he could still try.
Aiba sauntered to the stadium with the confidence of a person bearing the media badge. He immediately lost all that confidence, though, when he came face-to-face with the members of the Sparrows and ultimately, Matsumoto Jun himself.
The pictures and videos did not do the man justice. He was strikingly handsome in his uniform and somehow, his neutral expression gave quite an impact. If Aiba had a camera, he would have definitely snapped a photo even if it’s forbidden.
When the members began their stretching exercise, Aiba decided to make his way towards Matsumoto Jun and introduce himself briefly. He weaved through the other Sparrow members, who stared back at him in curiosity, and kept his eyes on the prize. Before he could approach the athlete who had his legs spread out before him and crouched to have his fingertips reach the tips of his toes, Matsumoto looked up and squinted at him from beneath his cap.
“Hi! My name is Aiba Masaki from Sports Weekly and I was the one assigned to write your special feature article. It’s nice to finally meet you, Matsumoto-san,” Aiba greeted, his lips stretched into a wide smile. He wanted to exude a welcoming feel, aiming to make the athlete more at ease with him.
It didn’t seem to work, though, because Matsumoto just stared back at him for about two seconds before resuming his stretches. However, Aiba was not easily discouraged. He found a nearby bench and sat on it as he took notes every now and then, his eyes never leaving Matsumoto’s figure. When he has done enough writing, he went back to stand beside Matsumoto.
Aiba stood there patiently by Matsumoto’s side until the coach let them go on a break. Matsumoto was on his feet within seconds and Aiba, suddenly possessed by a valiant spirit, started to follow him.
Once all of the players have gone through the doors leading to the locker room, leaving Matsumoto behind with Aiba, the athlete twisted to turn back to him. His expression was unenthused and unchanging: his face was neither marred by interest nor irritation. It was a sight for the sore eyes. Aiba waited with baited breath for whatever Matsumoto had to say. With a sigh, Matsumoto stated, “I’m not in this profession for fame, Aiba-san. I simply want to do what I love doing. It just happens to be baseball and I’m luckily good at it. That’s it. I don’t have anything to talk about with you.”
Without waiting for another word from Aiba, Matsumoto strode to the double doors without looking back once. Aiba’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Maybe he should call Sho and let Nino have this assignment again. He could have been covering any sports tournament now and not wasting time on a big personality who didn’t want to be interviewed in the first place.
But just as Aiba’s mind strayed towards giving up, he suddenly found a silver lining in his thoughts. With a greater resolve this time, he trudged back to the bleachers and waited for the athletes’ reappearance.
Just you wait, Matsumoto.
--
Aiba shot up from his seat as soon as he saw Matsumoto Jun at the end of the line entering the stadium. The athlete did not seem to notice him so Aiba waved enthusiastically from the bleachers and shouted for his name.
“Matsumoto-saaaaan!” was his loud yell, gaining the attention of the rest of the team members. Some chuckling in amusement while some glancing at him in derision. Aiba knew going for it obnoxiously would definitely get Matsumoto’s attention, no matter what. And it did.
Matsumoto removed his cap to glare at him. Aiba swallowed out of nervousness. Aiba rushed down from the bleachers until he reached Matsumoto before he could enter the field. He grasped the man’s arm and started chattering before his nerves could eat his words away.
“I know you don’t want this interview and I understand your aversion to media. But I’m also not in this profession to help you get more famous. God knows you’re already amazing even before all this. I am in this profession because I love listening to stories. I would love to hear yours, too.”
The last sentence made Matsumoto skid to a halt. His back was to Aiba so he didn’t know whether what he said had not struck a sensitive spot. Still, Aiba crossed his fingers behind his back and wished that his words were enough. Aiba released his arm and hoped against hope that the man would not get angrier because of what he said.
When Matsumoto started walking away again after that brief pause, Aiba hung his head in defeat. Maybe he wasn’t meant to write a baseball story, after all.
“I have 15 minutes after practice today. Only fifteen minutes. I need to get home by 7 pm,” Aiba heard the stern voice of Matsumoto from meters away. Aiba could not help the smile that is threatening to split his face into two.
“Okay!” Aiba happily responded, his smile almost reaching his ears. He bowed as low as he could to convey his appreciation.
He may have said something good.
--
Nino was throwing him dirty glances over dinner. He just got back from Hokkaido and he was clearly not happy that Aiba got the Matsumoto assignment.
“Aw, come on, Nino,” Aiba purred, throwing an arm around Nino’s shoulders, clutching his friend’s body closer to his. “You know you would have gotten this interview if you were here. I just happened to be freewheeling at the office when Sho-chan offered it.”
Nino shoved Aiba’s arm away with a movement of his shoulder and pouted as he put a piece of hamburger steak in his mouth. “This is why I’m stuck with the daydreaming badminton player’s game again. Why does this always happen to me?” He proceeded to slam his head none too softly against the table that Aiba could only pat him on the back.
Nino has had his fair share of unfortunate happenings ever since he was hired as a writer by Sports Weekly. Aside from being offered uninteresting stories to cover, if there is a need for filler stories in their magazine for the coming week, it was always Nino who would write them. The result was, his articles always get the least impact on their readers. He was so sure people skim over his articles, even the most avid readers. Who would want to read drivel about a sports tournament with no highlights and no known athletes?
The good beat comes and Aiba was there to get it. If he hadn’t known Aiba for a long time, he would have slapped the man silly for no reason.
With a sigh of disappointment, Nino raised his head and grabbed Aiba’s face in between his tiny hands. His hazy eyes stared straight at Aiba’s, unwavering.
“If you fail at some point in this assignment, I’m going to steal the Matsumoto Jun interview from right under your nose. Remember that.”
With the proximity, Aiba could smell the scent of the hamburger steak Nino has been devouring all night and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. Aiba nodded in acquiescence.
“Okay. I’ll do my best then.”
--
Things were looking up for Aiba when morning came. Even though he drank quite a lot with Nino the night before, he managed to dull the ache in his head with a single tablet of paracetamol he prepared for himself before he slept.
By the time he left his apartment, he was refreshed and ready to greet the day with a smile.
Yesterday, things ended well with Matsumoto. They had a short 15-minute talk about his baseball career from when he started as a rookie in a fairly famous high school baseball team. Unfortunately, their high school was not good enough, even with Matsumoto Jun on their team, so they failed to make it to Koshien. However, Matsumoto persevered and continued practicing and playing for various teams. He believed he got better at the sport after continuously challenging it head-on.
Aiba could still remember how Matsumoto’s intense eyes glinted with passion on the topic of baseball. The man certainly wasn’t lying when he said he loved playing the sport. Aiba could sense it from the way Matsumoto talked about it in the short time they had for the interview. Surprisingly, the 15-minute one-on-one conversation with the athlete caused him to use at least five pages full of notes on his steno, not counting the recorded transcript in his portable recording device.
Aiba grinned after the retrospection. He did not anticipate to get on Matsumoto’s good side yesterday after his uncharacteristic blow-up. But Aiba was glad to learn that Matsumoto understood that it was his duty to report on his story as a prominent athlete. In return for Matsumoto’s sudden change of heart, Aiba would have to come up with the best article he could ever write so Matsumoto would not regret the time he spent to answer his questions.
Today, Aiba brought a camera with him, aiming to get a few shots of Matsumoto in action. They had a game in the afternoon and Aiba would like good images to accompany his article.
It was slightly raining when he arrived at the stadium. Aiba opens his umbrella and frowns at the sight of the dark and cloudy skies. If the rain went on for an hour or more, the game would likely get delayed, or worse, cancelled.
But it seemed like the bad weather did not damper the baseball fans’ spirits as they crowded the stadium entrance, talking amongst themselves. The camaraderie among the enthusiasts was overwhelming. Aiba remembered being a part of that big crowd, with him sitting on his father’s sturdy shoulders. The memory still warms his heart.
Before he could reflect on it fully, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Flustered, he struggled to get it out while keeping the handle of the umbrella sandwiched between his cheek and shoulder. It was Sho.
“Aiba-chan?” Sho’s voice had been half-static because of the bad reception.
“Sho-chan? What is it?” Aiba asked, looking around for a shed to stay in for a while as he kept up conversation with Sho.
“The Sparrows’ coach said there might be a rain delay. If the bad weather persists until the next hour, they would have no choice but to cancel for the day,” Sho rambled on. Aiba could hear the unmistakable sound of rustling papers on the other line. “But Matsumoto-san allowed you to come in for an interview. According to Coach Matsuda, he might have wanted to finish it as soon as he could.”
The last bit earned a bit of chuckle from Aiba, understanding that it may be the likely reason for inviting him over.
“Okay. I’m actually at the entrance right now. I’ll be inside in a minute to look for Matsumoto-san. Thanks, Sho-chan,” he said.
“Oh, and one last thing: Nino invited me for dinner tonight. Do you know what it could be about? It’s not about work, is it?” Sho’s worried tone carried through and Aiba had to restrain himself from laughing out loud in the middle of the busy place he was in.
“You can ask him yourself later. At least dinner’s on him. That’s lucky if you’re going with Nino,” Aiba teased. He was sure Nino would talk about work with Sho because that was all Nino could discuss with Aiba all week. With a mischievous smile pasted on his face, he strode towards the stadium, silently wishing Sho a good luck.
--
“Can you please stop following me around with a recorder? It’s making me uncomfortable.”
They were two hours into the interview when Matsumoto blurted out his worries. Aiba tilted his head and looked at him questioningly, alternating between the man’s suspicious expression and the portable recording device in his hand aimed towards Matsumoto’s face.
“But why?” Aiba asked, genuinely confused.
“It feels like you’ll publish everything we talk about,” Matsumoto muttered under his breath as he averted his eyes by drinking from his water bottle.
Matsumoto Jun has made it clear from the beginning that he was not fond of media exposure. According to him, as much as possible, outside of the field, he wanted to keep everything private, even his innermost thoughts and feelings, whether it’s about baseball or anything under the sun. Aiba did not intend to write everything they talked about that spanned his childhood days, his entire baseball history, his personal preferences and the likes. He just wanted to get a general view of Matsumoto Jun that was different from the Matsumoto Jun usually portrayed in the world of baseball. He wanted to highlight a Matsumoto Jun that hasn’t or barely made an appearance in the field. It was to stray from the topic of Matsumoto Jun, the athlete, to Matsumoto Jun, the person.
But he could now see why Matsumoto would find it uncomfortable. Aiba was planning to be on Matsumoto’s trail to the restroom.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—” Aiba stuttered, flushing and hurrying to put the recorder back in his pocket.
Unexpectedly, Matsumoto chuckled, before pushing the door to the restroom open.
“You’re surprisingly airheaded for a sports journalist,” Matsumoto remarked as soon as he came back to the locker room where Aiba was waiting.
Aiba rubbed his nape, sheepish, looking down at his shuffling feet in the process. “Ah, people say that a lot. I’m clumsy and I say things without thinking about them first but I swear I can write stuff decently. It has always been my dream to do something related to the sports industry even if it does not involve playing or participating in games. It just happens that I can write so I entered this job.”
“I remember hearing from my coach that this is your first assignment in Sports Weekly. Is that true?” Matsumoto asked, resting his elbows knees, closing the distance between him and Aiba.
Aiba did not expect the sudden proximity so he leaned back a bit before barking out a short laugh. “Yes, it’s true. Sho-chan, our editor-in-chief, is actually a friend from high school. I was originally working as a writer in the entertainment industry, mostly following around celebrities and their long list of activities. It’s extremely tiring but it pays well so I stuck around for a while.”
“You follow…celebrities?” Matsumoto’s bushy eyebrows wriggled in curiosity, hinting at amusement.
Aiba nodded eagerly. “I do,” Aiba soon realized that Matsumoto was hinting at another thing that was different from what he meant. He started to wave off the unspoken accusation. “But my articles do not mean to expose these celebrities’ private lives. No, no, no. It’s nothing of that sort! I write stories about their upcoming projects, even interviewing them, if I’m lucky.”
Matsumoto’s boisterous laugh followed, his head nodding in understanding. “I figured. I was just messing with you.”
Aiba froze at Matsumoto’s admission. Messing with him? All of their interactions prior to this interview have nothing but serious. He did not want to upset Matsumoto so he tended to walk on eggshells around the guy. He was even careful about joking with him because Matsumoto did not seem like the type to heartily laugh at anything.
“What?” Matsumoto asked.
“Nothing,” Aiba replied immediately.
The silence stretched after that and Aiba found himself at a loss for words. He started packing his things into his backpack to prepare to go anytime. It’s almost 7 pm and Matsumoto may be rushing home again.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Matsumoto asked and Aiba whipped his head so fast that he may have gotten a whiplash. Before Aiba could answer, Matsumoto has picked up his bag and said, “Come have dinner with me.”
“Ha?” Aiba was stunned. Matsumoto was inviting him to dinner? Was he hearing things right?
“If you don’t catch up with me within 5 minutes, I’m having you pay for it!” Matsumoto called by the door before running down the hallway, like a little kid. Befuddled, Aiba started to sprint after him, eventually overtaking and winning the impromptu race. He couldn’t help flashing the smug face afterwards.
--
When Aiba went home that night after the dinner with Matsumoto (which was at a fancy Italian restaurant in Ginza), he laid in his bed and threw an arm over his eyes. Matsumoto Jun had been a completely different person outside of the stadium. He was a wonderful conversationalist, a trained people-pleaser, and a surprising gentleman. Aiba figured that if a woman has been afforded the same treatment as he had tonight by the famous athlete, she would definitely fall for him.
Aiba was tempted to accuse him of being an impostor. But Matsumoto talked about the most mundane topics that haven’t come up in their interview sessions. He talked about his first dog and how he did not have any pets after that because animals don’t take a liking to him (“Hana was the only dog that liked me,” and “You couldn’t count on one hand the amount of scratches I got from my sister’s cat.”). He talked about his fear of not being remembered after his death (“I can’t even recall my grandfather’s face or how he was when he was alive. How can anyone remember me?”). He talked about his parents who divorced when he was in high school, causing him to lose in his first baseball game (“I was crying when we lost the game but it was not because we didn’t win. It was because I’m going home and we’re not complete.”). He talked about his first girlfriend, his second girlfriend, and his subsequent flings with both men and women, and how they didn’t work out (“I swing both ways but relationships still don’t work for me. Ah, I guess I’ll be single my whole life.”). It was the first time he talked about everything about him honestly and relentlessly that Aiba didn’t think of bringing out his notepad to write notes about Jun’s personality.
In return, Aiba told Matsumoto about himself. He told him about how he liked going to zoos and giving food to animals even when it’s not permitted (“You shouldn’t have done that!” Matsumoto reacted strongly, pointing at his face to castigate him. Aiba raised both of his hands in surrender, then, laughed while saying, “I was a kid! I couldn’t help it! They wanted my food!”). He told him about his popularity saga in high school when a shy junior stole his rubber shoes from his locker because she apparently had a crush on him (“Frankly speaking, that’s theft,” Matsumoto quipped.). Countless tales from Aiba’s childhood and life until today has been relayed to Matsumoto and just like Aiba did, Matsumoto listened to him faithfully and honestly, even jokingly inserting comments that have been well-received by Aiba. That was one of the best dinners Aiba had in a while, he had to admit.
Matsumoto Jun that night had been a pleasant surprise. He was even kind enough to take him home and Aiba seemed to have this permanent smile on his face until he opened the door to his apartment.
After recalling the events of that night, Aiba slept peacefully until late the next day.
--
“They said it’s hay fever,” Nino informed Aiba as soon as he arrived at the office, a week after. The man was sitting around idly, spinning in his chair, waiting for God-knows-what or probably for Aiba to deliver this piece of news.
Aiba had been away for the rest of the week after the last interview session because of a family emergency (wherein his brother’s wife had successfully given birth to twins). He feared he had missed too much but MatsuJun, a nickname he decided to bestow Matsumoto in his mind, has only had two games, which was both won effortlessly by Sparrows, since he left for Chiba. Aiba was relieved, of course, seeing as he wanted to be present when MatsuJun did something extraordinary.
“Who has hay fever?” Aiba asked as he settled down on his desk. He was not scheduled to go to the stadium until 3 pm that day. He thought he could work on his lead for the article until the afternoon.
“Your precious baseball star, Matsumoto Jun. He would not be attending practice today,” Nino remarked, his words oozing with taunt, as if to say good riddance to Aiba’s special assignment.
“Eh?” Aiba groaned, putting down his pencil on the desk with a noise. Upon a realization, he whipped his head back to Nino. “But how did you know that?”
“Oh, Sho-chan received a call from Matsumoto-san himself earlier. He said he wants you to come to get it over and done with,” was Nino’s flippant response.
“Ha?” Aiba exclaimed, standing up in shock.
Before Aiba could get a word in, Sho appeared from his office, balancing a stack of papers in his arms. Aiba rushed towards Sho to help him with the documents and with a brief expression of thanks, Sho informed him, “It seems like Matsumoto-san wanted you to come to his apartment.”
“So it’s true,” Aiba murmured to himself, his face souring. But he managed to pull the wince into a forced smile as he faced Sho. “Isn’t that going a bit overboard for a coverage? I thought he doesn’t like people prying into his private life?”
Sho shrugged indifferently as he led the way to the storeroom at the back. “Well, personally, I don’t really like it. But I think it’s because he wanted to finish the article as soon as possible.”
“I…I guess,” Aiba surmised after a moment. They had a friendly dinner just last week. Maybe Matsumoto changed his mind about the camaraderie. Aiba dreaded to find out.
--
MatsuJun’s apartment was not a mere apartment as Aiba expected. It was a penthouse on the topmost floor of a fancy building. He should have known.
Aiba groaned before entering the building. His sour mood may have even caused him to greet the receptionist with a wince. Upon hearing MatsuJun’s name, the lady immediately reached for the phone to make a brief call. During that time, Aiba looked around the reception. What kind of apartment building has a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling once you step in? There might be multiple ones just like this building across the city but he has never really been inside one.
“Matsumoto-san said you may proceed to the 23rd floor,” she informed Aiba with a practiced smile. Aiba returned it almost immediately before dashing towards the elevators.
--
The 23rd floor was quiet. Eerily quiet. Aiba is vaguely aware of his footsteps making the slightest noise, coming in contact with the carpeted floor. He walked slowly and carefully towards the door at the end of the dimly lit corridor. As soon as he stood before it, the door opened. A bleary-eyed Matsumoto Jun wearing a mask was behind the door, holding it open for him.
“Come in,” the athlete gestured towards the place and Aiba entered, albeit a bit hesitant.
Unconsciously, he reached for his sling bag while staring in wonder at sickly Jun. Aiba brought out his recorder, notepad and pen, mostly out of habit. When Jun pointed to the sofa, indicating for him to sit down, the athlete immediately frowned at the sight of his stuff.
“This is a private time, Aiba-san. No interesting stories here. Please put down your recorder and your media paraphernalia at the table,” Jun informed him, lightheartedly, walking towards the kitchen. Aiba could also detect a smirk somewhere in his statement that he felt the need to smile shyly.
“I’m sorry. It has become a habit since we met.”
“It’s okay. You haven’t gathered enough information about me yet?” Jun teased when he came back, eyebrows quirking in amusement, as he strode out of the wide kitchen with a tray of tea set in his hands.
Aiba chuckled. He joked back, “I thought that’s what I’m here for. To finish the interview so I could finally write that damn article.” He took the offered cup of tea from Jun, who was crouching beside the center table, and sipped on it. It was mint-flavored, surprisingly warm and refreshing. He let out a gentle hum of satisfaction.
“I simply wanted to talk to someone because being sick is always boring to me. And you said you’ll listen to me so I decided to call your office to ask for you,” Jun admitted with a shrug to convey his nonchalance. Jun stood up from his crouch to sit beside Aiba on the sofa. The sudden proximity made Aiba self-conscious that he scooted farther away from the owner of the apartment to create a wider distance. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Aiba shook his head swiftly. “I don’t, not really. I would love to hear your stories! Of all the things I said, I stand by that sincerely.”
Jun smiled and Aiba was taken aback because it was unexpectedly blinding. Aiba blinked and wondered how Matsumoto Jun was probably the most celebrity-like person he has ever met (even counting the people from the entertainment industry he has had the opportunity to meet due to his previous job). What a guy.
“How about I cook for you?” Aiba suggested, jumping out of his seat to stand up and to break the sudden silence.
“Eh?”
Aiba looked down at Jun who had been surprised about the offer. He was grinning, brimming with confidence, as he stated, “My family owns a Chinese restaurant so I was taught how to make a decent fried rice serving made from leftover foods. Let me make it for you!”
Jun scrunches his face in doubt. “You can do that? Are you sure it’ll be all right?”
Aiba began to laugh boisterously, clutching his stomach for added effect. He wiped a tear that escaped from his right eye and declared, “Of course, I will.”
“Then let me stay in the kitchen as you cook. I don’t really trust you with my kitchen,” Jun said, apprehensive but still slightly amused.
Happy that Jun conceded, Aiba began to make his way towards the athlete’s kitchen. The kitchen alone was probably almost the size of his whole apartment. It was wide and clean and sparkly that Aiba hesitated to touch things.
Upon seeing him holding back, Jun pulled down his mask to his chin and remarked playfully, “The pans and pots are in the bottom cupboard. Feel free to use anything you like.”
Aiba laughed, embarrassed, before beginning to take reign over the kitchen. He brought out a non-stick pan (so flawless that it seemed like it hasn’t been used), and a deep round ladle. Looking over at Jun, he saw him crouching over the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, most probably scouring for ingredients. Aiba admired the man from afar, sighing because Jun was blessed with a great body aside from talent in sports. What could someone like him feel? Does he even know the scale of the power he holds over people? Is he aware of his very aura and how it imposed on the people surrounding him? Aiba hummed in consideration before shaking himself off from his reverie, realizing that he has been staring intently at Jun’s behind for some reason.
He turned around with his eyes closed and hoped against hope that Jun didn’t feel his eyes on him.
“I have eggs, carrots, green peas, and some pieces of sweet ham. Would these do?” Jun asked, placing the ingredients on top of the counter beside Aiba. Aiba jumped in surprise and nodded swiftly in response, his heart thudding a steady and rapid pace, betraying his calm and composed façade. Jun, however, seemed strangely satisfied with his answer that he just gave a grin before striding away.
Aiba followed him with a gaze that he fought the urge to look away when Jun halted and turned to face him. “Thank you, Aiba-san.”
With that, Jun was out of Aiba’s sight. Partly relieved and partly panicked, Aiba temporarily set aside his complicated feelings and started preparing dinner for the two of them.
--
If someone told him months earlier that he’d be sharing a meal with Matsumoto Jun in his fancy penthouse today, he’d probably slapped them silly across the cheek. Now that it has become reality, it was a strange feeling to be sitting across Jun who completely devoured Aiba’s homemade fried rice within minutes.
“That was so good,” Jun moaned in satisfaction after gulping down a glass of water. He was grinning good-naturedly at Aiba and the latter knew he had to smile back.
Aiba bowed slightly and politely replied, “Thank you very much.”
“Ah, do you want some beer? Or dessert?” Jun offered, standing up in earnest.
All of a sudden flustered, Aiba silently nodded in response. Maybe some alcohol in his system would do him good. Maybe a bit of sugar, too.
Jun came back with two cans of beer in his hands and a plate with a large slice of cheesecake. Aiba reached for one can and opened it within seconds. He threw his head back and drank about a quarter of it before meeting Jun’s eyes. In the dim light of the kitchen, he could see Jun’s curious eyes beneath his dark fringes.
Aiba wanted to convey a casual feeling so he began slicing a bit of the cheesecake with his used spoon. Before he could put it in his mouth, Jun remarked, “You haven’t been around during the games since last week.”
Glad that he wasn’t caught by surprise, Aiba responded lightly, “Ah, that was because of my brother’s wife.”
“What happened to her?” Jun was unusually curious, taking a bite from the cheesecake as well. It must be Aiba’s imagination, too, because he could sense a bit of relief before the question was asked.
“She gave birth to my first pair of nephews. My parents wanted me to be there,” Aiba said.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“I thought you suddenly chickened out after the last interview,” Jun said while rubbing his neck in embarrassment.
“Chickened out?” It was Aiba’s turn to confirm.
“Because I invited you for dinner.”
“And why would I run away because of that? It was delicious and it was free,” Aiba inserted.
“Because I’m a complicated person. I told you I’m averse to media but here I am, talking to you and inviting you to my house like we’re close,” Jun sounded frustrated. Aiba couldn’t blame him. Even Aiba was perplexed by the sudden change in Jun’s attitude. He was glad, of course, but he always wondered.
“I don’t have a problem with it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the pause that followed allowed Aiba to drink his beer leisurely before jumping into admissions.
“…Really?” Jun was hesitant, cautious, but intent on staring at Aiba from under his fringes.
“Yes. I think you’re pretty…” Aiba dwindled when a smile slowly began to appear on Jun’s face. But he found the courage to finish his sentence when he averted his eyes by drinking from his can of beer again, “…amazing.”
Jun seemed to mellow down after that statement from Aiba. It was up to him whether he would believe it or not. But Aiba had been sincere. He was initially intimidated by Matsumoto Jun but in time, he figured he was not that bad. He was far from bad. He was, Aiba dared to admit it, the most amazing person Aiba had the fortune to meet.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” Jun proposed, out of the blue.
“Sure,” Aiba agreed. “But can I have some more beer?”
--
They put on the film, Elf, even though it’s months before Christmas, just because it was the first DVD that caught Jun’s eye from his huge shelf of movies. The choice of film did not seem to matter though because as they were sprawled out on the floor, with their backs against the sofa, they have taken to making idle chat over beers.
“I have a friend named Nino and he has the same temperament as you. He usually covers baseball news so he’s really envious that our editor-in-chief assigned me to you. He would have loved to talk to you about baseball all day long,” Aiba relayed, his voice slurring some words at the end.
Jun sniffed while nursing his fourth can, skeptic of that possibility, and uttered, “I can’t really imagine someone interviewing me other than you, Aiba-san. I might have refused to answer everything.”
“Why is that? It’s a waste, you know. I loved the things we talked about. You’re passionate about the sport, not just as a source of money, but as a source of happiness. I really admire that about you,” Aiba pronounced drunkenly, as he finished downing yet another can of alcohol. He lost count after his third drink but it didn’t really matter.
“Thank you, Aiba-san,” Jun responded, obviously delighted but still sheepish.
“That’s way too formal, MatsuJun,” Aiba whined, throwing an arm around Jun’s broad shoulders.
“What? MatsuJun?” Jun was puzzled.
“Ah, this is embarrassing,” Aiba asserted. “I call you that in my head. It’s a portmanteau of your name, see?”
“MatsuJun? I think it’s better to call me Jun. It’s shorter and easier to say,” Jun made a comment on the nickname.
“Jun, huh?” Aiba let the name roll off his tongue, trying to get used to it. “Jun-kun. Jun-chan. Jun-pon. Junnosuke. Jun—“
Aiba’s eyes were wide open when Jun leaned in for a kiss. It must be his hazy head that prompted him to move his lips eagerly against Jun’s. The simple touch of lips on lips instantly turned more passionate, definitely far from accidental. Aiba’s parted his mouth wider to give way to Jun’s tongue. Moans reverberated in the living room and Aiba didn’t care whose it is. Jun’s lips were softer than he imagined. Not that he imagined them. He just thought about it…sometimes.
Reality caught up with Aiba and he suddenly pushed away. All of a sudden, his head was filled with thoughts of what could come next. The heat emanating from his body might not have been after-effects of the alcohol after all.
“Um, I…need to go home…” Aiba mumbled, gathering his coat and phone from the coffee table to avoid looking at Jun. He ached to get a look but he was afraid. “I need…to feed my pet fish…and rat…”
In the middle of his nonsense rambling, he has made it outside the door to the elevator, down to the ground floor, until he finally reached outside. The cold night air was just what he needed to clear his mind. He crouched by the sidewalk, put his head in his hands and groaned loudly, hoping he’d forget all of the events tonight when tomorrow comes.
--
“Aiba-kun,” Nino tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. The guy was smirking when Aiba turned around.
“What is it?” Aiba asked.
“Someone’s on the phone for you,” Nino’s tone was highly suggestive that Aiba had the urge to laugh. Instead, Aiba reached for the phone that Nino has in his hands and quietly answered, “Hello?”
“Aiba-san? Is this you?” the person on the other line tried to confirm. His voice was achingly familiar. It brought forth some feelings Aiba was not prepared to deal with that he had to momentarily shut his eyes and exhale deeply. They haven’t talked since that night and that night had been almost a week ago. With no contact for days, it seemed weird that Jun would initiate the contact first.
“Matsumoto-san?” Aiba whispered in disbelief, echoing the polite honorific.
Jun made a noise of confirmation. What followed was unprecedented silence. Jun was the one to break it with, “I have a game this Friday. Will you come and watch?”
It was said in a rush and Aiba barely caught the invitation. But once he understood it after a moment of pondering, he replied with a yes.
“I…I’ll see you there, then.”
Aiba went weak in the knees after he hung up the phone that he slouched on his office chair as soon as he placed the phone back on its receiver. Nino just kept poking his cheeks to mess with him. Aiba found he didn’t have the strength nor the mood to respond back.
--
“MatsuJun. Congratulations. You were amazing! I swear I haven’t seen anything like that play you did! It was like watching one of those major league competitions on TV! I’m at the edge of my seat—” Jun grabbed for Aiba’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, effectively shutting him up. He had been staring at Aiba’s lips ever since he entered the locker room and he couldn’t help himself. He had been running on excited nerves since making that finishing homerun and he wanted to convey his excitement in some way. Aiba entering the locker room without permission provided the perfect switch.
Aiba, however, remained unmoving as Jun continued to kiss him. When Jun’s arms began to snake around his waist, Aiba let his eyes droop close and just decided to go with the flow. He deserves this anyway, Aiba surrendered, letting his arms drape over Jun’s shoulders.
As they kissed deeper, Jun couldn’t help but press forward towards Aiba aggressively until he had him leaning against the lockers. Jun gripped him closer, getting desperate as he opened his mouth and met Aiba’s tongue halfway. Aiba moans at the action, the suddenness of it catching him off guard.
Aiba responds to Jun’s ministrations by clutching onto his upper arms, caught between wanting to pull and to push. His mind was a mess and he can’t even begin to explain the wild riot that his heart was at that moment.
He felt Jun ground his hips against his and Aiba broke the kiss to sigh deeply. His eyes met Jun’s: it did not escape his notice that the latter’s eyes were darkened by pleasure. A second has not passed before Aiba swooped in again to claim Jun’s mouth for another passionate round of liplock.
--
“Um,” Aiba started, biting his abused lower lip due to the passionate bout earlier. When Jun turned to him, he could see that the man’s intense eyes immediately strayed towards the bruised lip. Aiba looked forward, averting his gaze and hoping Jun would, too.
“I’m not going to say sorry,” Jun defiantly stated. “If that’s what you were planning to say.”
“It’s not that,” Aiba refuted, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the matter at hand. “You just…surprised me…that’s all. I…I wasn’t expecting that.”
If Aiba was honest, he would probably voice out that his heartbeat went overdrive, thudding so fast, that he thought it was going to beat right out of his chest. It was like the aftereffect of going underwater or running a marathon. He was out of breath and utterly terrified that he didn’t really know what he was going to say. This was like the night a week ago. Except worse.
Aiba was horrified to realize that he liked it. Still. And if he could, he would do it again.
Aiba was filled with happiness and pride when Jun struck that winning shot. He was jumping up and down along with the fans by the bleachers. When Matsumoto’s gaze found him in the crowd, Aiba raised his hands with two of his thumbs up, smiling like there’s no tomorrow. The athlete answered to that with a huge smile of his own, something he has never seen on Jun’s face before. It seemed as if they have forgotten what has transpired that night a few days prior.
So how did they end up here?
“W-Why?”
“’Why’?”
“Why…did you do that?” Aiba asked, his eyes trained on the ground and his right hand rising up to cover his mouth.
“Do I really have to explain why I kissed you?” Jun’s eyes narrowed, visibly displeased by Aiba’s question. Aiba had the urge to take the question back. Before he could, however, Jun faced him with his arms crossed over his chest, his frown, insistent on staying in place. “I like you, that’s why.”
Aiba nearly choked on his own spit. “Y-You…”
“If you plan on doubting that, please know that I have no obligation of explaining that to you.”
Clearly, Aiba has put Jun in a bad mood because of his hesitation so he was quick to respond, “It’s not that.” After a brief pause, he sought to confirm, “You…like me?”
Jun nodded once firmly, intently staring at Aiba while the latter still refused to look at Jun. “Yes, I do.”
AIba gulped in apprehension. “How? I mean…why? We haven’t known each other for long, right? And we’ve only met because…I needed to interview you for my article.”
“I don't know. Maybe you put a spell on me or something. Anything would be a good explanation, actually,” Jun offhandedly mentioned. But he twisted his body to face Aiba, his face leaning in closer and closer and Aiba didn’t have the strength to pull away. “I just do.”
The whispered words sent a shiver down Aiba’s spine. When Jun’s arm curled around his waist and pulled him closer for an embrace, Aiba helplessly accepted and enveloped Jun in his arms. He buried his face on the dirtied uniform, smelling of sweat, dirt, and unmistakably Jun.
“But I wouldn’t give my response until I had this damn article written and published. Just so you know,” Aiba countered, chuckling when Jun squeezed him a little tighter as a comeback.
--
“You can’t go around brandishing your recorder whenever we go out, Masaki. It’s unethical,” Jun groans, pushing away Aiba’s hand which has been gripping the recorder.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that…Sho-chan had been snooping around my desk earlier. He said he was looking for my chapstick and came upon the CDs of audio recording from our interview sessions. So I instinctively brought it with me,” Aiba explains, his face apologetic, as he stuffs the device into his favorite sling bag, acknowledging his defeat.
“Oh. For that highly praised special feature?” Jun teases, eyebrows raising.
“Stop it,” Aiba blushes, lightly hitting Jun’s upper arm. “It was written in bold letters, you know! And it was on centerfold with a total of four pages! I worked my ass on that.”
“Oh, you sure did,” Jun’s tone is suggestive that Aiba couldn’t stop blushing.
“Shut up.”
Aiba’s pout causes Jun to laugh and it was so rare for Aiba to see him laughing so he joins in halfway through. At the end of the street was their favorite restaurant surrounded by strings of little bulbs of light. It was an enchanting sight and Jun was a fan of their Italian dishes so for months, they often eat there. The homely feeling as soon as they stepped foot inside was indescribable and Aiba feels the lightness in his chest that he has been longing for all day. He reaches for Jun’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and tugs him towards their spot.
“So? What’s wrong with your boss snooping around your desk and finding those files from a year ago?” Jun asks as they finally settled at the corner table in their favorite (and overly busy) family restaurant.
Aiba fidgets under Jun’s inquisitive gaze. He looks down and actively avoids Jun’s eyes. “Um, it’s…If I told you the reason, will you not get angry?”
“It depends on what it is,” Jun shrugs before he called for the waiter. This afforded Aiba the needed break before he spilled everything to Jun. As soon as the waiter takes their order and leaves, Jun turns back to him, silently prodding him for an answer.
Aiba rubs his nape as he confesses, “Well, I sometimes forget to turn off my recorder after conducting interviews. I discovered that I always had them turned on whenever I drop by your apartment. And it contains…stuff that my boss would not be pleased hearing about.”
Contrary to what Aiba expected, (which is for Jun to be irritated about having their private affairs secretly recorded), Jun’s mouth begins to turn up in a smirk, his eyes wide with interest. “So I presume you still have those saved, huh? Is that a new kink? Will you let me hear them, too?”
Aiba groans in frustration, letting his head rest on the table. “This is why I don’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing! What if Sho-chan heard those? What would he think of me?”
Jun’s loud laughs echo around the establishment but luckily, no one pays any heed. “I’m sure he’ll think it’s charming of you to record our most intimate moments. Like little keepsakes.”
Aiba’s answering groan earned a few judging eyes from customers though.
--
That night was spent at Aiba’s house and they were already kissing before they even opened the door. There was a lot of struggling with taking off clothes along the way as they made their way through the apartment, still attached at the lips. Aiba’s denim jacket was discarded on the bedroom floor. What toppled out of the slim pocket was his favorite recording device, the little red light on it blinking…
…which surely recorded the loud moan Aiba just let out.
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 8689
Pairing: Aiba/Jun
Warnings: None
Summary: Aiba’s first assignment in Sports Weekly is a special feature article on professional baseball player, Matsumoto Jun.
Notes: Hello yukitsubute! I was thinking of pushing through with the Walking Dead universe with the Walking Dead buddies, Aiba and Nino, but I thought you would like Junba better for this exchange so halfway through writing the other fic, I wrote this one. My knowledge of baseball is embarrassingly minimal so please forgive any blatant factual mistakes on the sport. I also suck at writing smut (I tried, please believe me) but I still hope you like this all the same!
Sho knows he shouldn’t be snooping around Aiba’s table without the man’s permission but it’s a dire situation. He needs to borrow Aiba’s chapstick before the afternoon meeting. He already sent a text to Aiba beforehand but since his friend hasn’t responded, he went ahead and searched through his stuff. He would have borrowed from Ohno Satoshi, their proofreader, knowing the man always has one in his pockets all day, but he was off on a fishing trip for the rest of the afternoon. Aiba, on the other hand, had gone to cover a soccer tournament and Sho knows Aiba always leaves his chapstick around in his desk, not because he doesn’t need it in the field but because he manages to forget it every single time.
Sho pulls the topmost drawer of Aiba’s cabinet open and shoves away some stuff to look for the small tube of chapstick. However, he manages to find a more interesting thing besides chapstick for his lips. Hidden beneath numerous manila envelopes is a slim stack of bond papers secured together by a large binder clip. On top of the sloppily compiled papers is a post-it note with the letters “MJ” hastily scrawled across it. Struck by a sudden curiosity, Sho digs deeper into the drawer and finds CDs in different cases with the same letters written on each, numbered 1 to 5.
Bringing it up to his face, Sho closely examines the stuff he brought out of Aiba’s cabinet, his brows furrowing in concentration. Not long after, he exclaims with a loud, “Ah!” making the neighboring reporters nearly jump out of their seats. Unapologetic, Sho makes himself comfortable on Aiba’s chair. “This must be Aiba-chan’s files on the MatsuJun interview,” Sho mutters to himself.
Approximately four months ago, Aiba Masaki had been assigned to write a special feature article on Matsumoto Jun, the professional baseball player who had been eyed by various teams and baseball enthusiasts because of his sudden rise to the top. His exceptional batting skills has earned him a place in the minor league and now he’s on his way to the majors, with various teams insisting on signing him up. Sho delegated the task to Aiba in the absence of Nino, a colleague and coincidentally, one of Aiba’s childhood friends, who was in Hokkaido at that time, doing a coverage on a soccer game by a local team.
Getting the interview had not been a walk in the park. Sho had to establish connections within the baseball world years prior to earn their trust and to eventually grant them interviews and coverages for tournaments. It is for this reason that their publication was earned the opportunity of writing an article on Matsumoto. The athlete has been dubbed as a rare gem, someone unreachable by people from the media.
The interview had been god-sent. It also helps that Aiba has this incomparable zeal for his new job.
Sho has known Aiba since high school and they unexpectedly crossed paths during a soccer game around two years ago. They decided to drink afterwards, even after learning they’re cheering for opposite teams, and had a fun debate over who’s better at soccer and did some catching up.
When Sho asked about his job, Aiba seemingly clammed up and hesitation coloring his face, he said, “Oh, I mainly work in the entertainment industry. I write some articles for entertainment magazines. It’s not a permanent job but it pays quite handsomely…sometimes.”
Sho understood Aiba’s reluctance to elaborate on his current profession. It was nothing to be embarrassed about but Aiba’s chosen path may have been different to what he expected. Instead of dwelling on that, Sho perked up and chirped, “Ah! What a coincidence! I’m also working for a publication! A sports one, actually, and the soccer game earlier is something I have to write about.”
The admiration sparkling in Aiba’s eyes is unmistakable. He hastily grabbed for Sho’s sleeve and encouraged him to talk more about his amazing encounters in the sports field. The result was Aiba had been happily drunk, daydreaming about having Sho’s job as his own before riding a taxi home.
Sho’s smile turned upside down once Aiba was gone.
The thought bothered him so much in the succeeding months after that encounter. Sho thought that if ever Sports Weekly decided to have an opening for new writers, he would greatly recommend Aiba.
The offer did not come until two years later.
Aiba had been nearly jumping up and down in place once he heard about his first assignment. He may have been an avid fan of soccer, but baseball was his first love. He knew all about Matsumoto Jun, or at least according to what they report on papers, and his consecutive wins. Aiba was impressed, to say the least.
“I consider myself a fan of his,” he casually remarked to Sho that evening at the bar. “So I’m actually really excited to meet him.”
“Well, good! I trust that this will be an easy job for you,” Sho teased, poking Aiba on the side for good measure.
Aiba chuckled goodheartedly, thoroughly happy to be ribbed and teased by his friend and new superior, “I still think I’ll mess things up so I’m not going to say that.” Aiba downed the beer in his hand on one go, gulping down the nervousness that seemed to be bubbling up the surface.
--
It is Aiba’s first job as a newbie sports journalist and he’s incredibly nervous. He has attempted various ways to stump it down in vain. Despite that, he, with an incomparable zeal, accepted the task from Sho with a playful salute.
According to Sho, Matsumoto has just gone out of off-season. A series of games which he would participate in would start soon after. He has also been told about Matsumoto’s apparent aversion to media, which made him doubly apprehensive but he convinced himself that he can overcome this. It may seem like a major obstacle, but he’s sure he can change Matsumoto’s mind and perspective about media and articles. It’s not like he intended to put him in a bad light.
His eagerness even led him to declare to Sho, his editor-in-chief, “I will make this the best feature article that this magazine has seen in ages!”
Sho laughed it off good-naturedly but Aiba was serious. He wanted to give it his all and prove that he is good enough for sports journalism. However, he would probably not say that he’s subtly doing this to also make Sho believe that he’s fit for the job and that he wasn’t wrong for hiring him. He knew Sho was not expecting any of that but he could still try.
Aiba sauntered to the stadium with the confidence of a person bearing the media badge. He immediately lost all that confidence, though, when he came face-to-face with the members of the Sparrows and ultimately, Matsumoto Jun himself.
The pictures and videos did not do the man justice. He was strikingly handsome in his uniform and somehow, his neutral expression gave quite an impact. If Aiba had a camera, he would have definitely snapped a photo even if it’s forbidden.
When the members began their stretching exercise, Aiba decided to make his way towards Matsumoto Jun and introduce himself briefly. He weaved through the other Sparrow members, who stared back at him in curiosity, and kept his eyes on the prize. Before he could approach the athlete who had his legs spread out before him and crouched to have his fingertips reach the tips of his toes, Matsumoto looked up and squinted at him from beneath his cap.
“Hi! My name is Aiba Masaki from Sports Weekly and I was the one assigned to write your special feature article. It’s nice to finally meet you, Matsumoto-san,” Aiba greeted, his lips stretched into a wide smile. He wanted to exude a welcoming feel, aiming to make the athlete more at ease with him.
It didn’t seem to work, though, because Matsumoto just stared back at him for about two seconds before resuming his stretches. However, Aiba was not easily discouraged. He found a nearby bench and sat on it as he took notes every now and then, his eyes never leaving Matsumoto’s figure. When he has done enough writing, he went back to stand beside Matsumoto.
Aiba stood there patiently by Matsumoto’s side until the coach let them go on a break. Matsumoto was on his feet within seconds and Aiba, suddenly possessed by a valiant spirit, started to follow him.
Once all of the players have gone through the doors leading to the locker room, leaving Matsumoto behind with Aiba, the athlete twisted to turn back to him. His expression was unenthused and unchanging: his face was neither marred by interest nor irritation. It was a sight for the sore eyes. Aiba waited with baited breath for whatever Matsumoto had to say. With a sigh, Matsumoto stated, “I’m not in this profession for fame, Aiba-san. I simply want to do what I love doing. It just happens to be baseball and I’m luckily good at it. That’s it. I don’t have anything to talk about with you.”
Without waiting for another word from Aiba, Matsumoto strode to the double doors without looking back once. Aiba’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Maybe he should call Sho and let Nino have this assignment again. He could have been covering any sports tournament now and not wasting time on a big personality who didn’t want to be interviewed in the first place.
But just as Aiba’s mind strayed towards giving up, he suddenly found a silver lining in his thoughts. With a greater resolve this time, he trudged back to the bleachers and waited for the athletes’ reappearance.
Just you wait, Matsumoto.
--
Aiba shot up from his seat as soon as he saw Matsumoto Jun at the end of the line entering the stadium. The athlete did not seem to notice him so Aiba waved enthusiastically from the bleachers and shouted for his name.
“Matsumoto-saaaaan!” was his loud yell, gaining the attention of the rest of the team members. Some chuckling in amusement while some glancing at him in derision. Aiba knew going for it obnoxiously would definitely get Matsumoto’s attention, no matter what. And it did.
Matsumoto removed his cap to glare at him. Aiba swallowed out of nervousness. Aiba rushed down from the bleachers until he reached Matsumoto before he could enter the field. He grasped the man’s arm and started chattering before his nerves could eat his words away.
“I know you don’t want this interview and I understand your aversion to media. But I’m also not in this profession to help you get more famous. God knows you’re already amazing even before all this. I am in this profession because I love listening to stories. I would love to hear yours, too.”
The last sentence made Matsumoto skid to a halt. His back was to Aiba so he didn’t know whether what he said had not struck a sensitive spot. Still, Aiba crossed his fingers behind his back and wished that his words were enough. Aiba released his arm and hoped against hope that the man would not get angrier because of what he said.
When Matsumoto started walking away again after that brief pause, Aiba hung his head in defeat. Maybe he wasn’t meant to write a baseball story, after all.
“I have 15 minutes after practice today. Only fifteen minutes. I need to get home by 7 pm,” Aiba heard the stern voice of Matsumoto from meters away. Aiba could not help the smile that is threatening to split his face into two.
“Okay!” Aiba happily responded, his smile almost reaching his ears. He bowed as low as he could to convey his appreciation.
He may have said something good.
--
Nino was throwing him dirty glances over dinner. He just got back from Hokkaido and he was clearly not happy that Aiba got the Matsumoto assignment.
“Aw, come on, Nino,” Aiba purred, throwing an arm around Nino’s shoulders, clutching his friend’s body closer to his. “You know you would have gotten this interview if you were here. I just happened to be freewheeling at the office when Sho-chan offered it.”
Nino shoved Aiba’s arm away with a movement of his shoulder and pouted as he put a piece of hamburger steak in his mouth. “This is why I’m stuck with the daydreaming badminton player’s game again. Why does this always happen to me?” He proceeded to slam his head none too softly against the table that Aiba could only pat him on the back.
Nino has had his fair share of unfortunate happenings ever since he was hired as a writer by Sports Weekly. Aside from being offered uninteresting stories to cover, if there is a need for filler stories in their magazine for the coming week, it was always Nino who would write them. The result was, his articles always get the least impact on their readers. He was so sure people skim over his articles, even the most avid readers. Who would want to read drivel about a sports tournament with no highlights and no known athletes?
The good beat comes and Aiba was there to get it. If he hadn’t known Aiba for a long time, he would have slapped the man silly for no reason.
With a sigh of disappointment, Nino raised his head and grabbed Aiba’s face in between his tiny hands. His hazy eyes stared straight at Aiba’s, unwavering.
“If you fail at some point in this assignment, I’m going to steal the Matsumoto Jun interview from right under your nose. Remember that.”
With the proximity, Aiba could smell the scent of the hamburger steak Nino has been devouring all night and he couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath. Aiba nodded in acquiescence.
“Okay. I’ll do my best then.”
--
Things were looking up for Aiba when morning came. Even though he drank quite a lot with Nino the night before, he managed to dull the ache in his head with a single tablet of paracetamol he prepared for himself before he slept.
By the time he left his apartment, he was refreshed and ready to greet the day with a smile.
Yesterday, things ended well with Matsumoto. They had a short 15-minute talk about his baseball career from when he started as a rookie in a fairly famous high school baseball team. Unfortunately, their high school was not good enough, even with Matsumoto Jun on their team, so they failed to make it to Koshien. However, Matsumoto persevered and continued practicing and playing for various teams. He believed he got better at the sport after continuously challenging it head-on.
Aiba could still remember how Matsumoto’s intense eyes glinted with passion on the topic of baseball. The man certainly wasn’t lying when he said he loved playing the sport. Aiba could sense it from the way Matsumoto talked about it in the short time they had for the interview. Surprisingly, the 15-minute one-on-one conversation with the athlete caused him to use at least five pages full of notes on his steno, not counting the recorded transcript in his portable recording device.
Aiba grinned after the retrospection. He did not anticipate to get on Matsumoto’s good side yesterday after his uncharacteristic blow-up. But Aiba was glad to learn that Matsumoto understood that it was his duty to report on his story as a prominent athlete. In return for Matsumoto’s sudden change of heart, Aiba would have to come up with the best article he could ever write so Matsumoto would not regret the time he spent to answer his questions.
Today, Aiba brought a camera with him, aiming to get a few shots of Matsumoto in action. They had a game in the afternoon and Aiba would like good images to accompany his article.
It was slightly raining when he arrived at the stadium. Aiba opens his umbrella and frowns at the sight of the dark and cloudy skies. If the rain went on for an hour or more, the game would likely get delayed, or worse, cancelled.
But it seemed like the bad weather did not damper the baseball fans’ spirits as they crowded the stadium entrance, talking amongst themselves. The camaraderie among the enthusiasts was overwhelming. Aiba remembered being a part of that big crowd, with him sitting on his father’s sturdy shoulders. The memory still warms his heart.
Before he could reflect on it fully, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Flustered, he struggled to get it out while keeping the handle of the umbrella sandwiched between his cheek and shoulder. It was Sho.
“Aiba-chan?” Sho’s voice had been half-static because of the bad reception.
“Sho-chan? What is it?” Aiba asked, looking around for a shed to stay in for a while as he kept up conversation with Sho.
“The Sparrows’ coach said there might be a rain delay. If the bad weather persists until the next hour, they would have no choice but to cancel for the day,” Sho rambled on. Aiba could hear the unmistakable sound of rustling papers on the other line. “But Matsumoto-san allowed you to come in for an interview. According to Coach Matsuda, he might have wanted to finish it as soon as he could.”
The last bit earned a bit of chuckle from Aiba, understanding that it may be the likely reason for inviting him over.
“Okay. I’m actually at the entrance right now. I’ll be inside in a minute to look for Matsumoto-san. Thanks, Sho-chan,” he said.
“Oh, and one last thing: Nino invited me for dinner tonight. Do you know what it could be about? It’s not about work, is it?” Sho’s worried tone carried through and Aiba had to restrain himself from laughing out loud in the middle of the busy place he was in.
“You can ask him yourself later. At least dinner’s on him. That’s lucky if you’re going with Nino,” Aiba teased. He was sure Nino would talk about work with Sho because that was all Nino could discuss with Aiba all week. With a mischievous smile pasted on his face, he strode towards the stadium, silently wishing Sho a good luck.
--
“Can you please stop following me around with a recorder? It’s making me uncomfortable.”
They were two hours into the interview when Matsumoto blurted out his worries. Aiba tilted his head and looked at him questioningly, alternating between the man’s suspicious expression and the portable recording device in his hand aimed towards Matsumoto’s face.
“But why?” Aiba asked, genuinely confused.
“It feels like you’ll publish everything we talk about,” Matsumoto muttered under his breath as he averted his eyes by drinking from his water bottle.
Matsumoto Jun has made it clear from the beginning that he was not fond of media exposure. According to him, as much as possible, outside of the field, he wanted to keep everything private, even his innermost thoughts and feelings, whether it’s about baseball or anything under the sun. Aiba did not intend to write everything they talked about that spanned his childhood days, his entire baseball history, his personal preferences and the likes. He just wanted to get a general view of Matsumoto Jun that was different from the Matsumoto Jun usually portrayed in the world of baseball. He wanted to highlight a Matsumoto Jun that hasn’t or barely made an appearance in the field. It was to stray from the topic of Matsumoto Jun, the athlete, to Matsumoto Jun, the person.
But he could now see why Matsumoto would find it uncomfortable. Aiba was planning to be on Matsumoto’s trail to the restroom.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—” Aiba stuttered, flushing and hurrying to put the recorder back in his pocket.
Unexpectedly, Matsumoto chuckled, before pushing the door to the restroom open.
“You’re surprisingly airheaded for a sports journalist,” Matsumoto remarked as soon as he came back to the locker room where Aiba was waiting.
Aiba rubbed his nape, sheepish, looking down at his shuffling feet in the process. “Ah, people say that a lot. I’m clumsy and I say things without thinking about them first but I swear I can write stuff decently. It has always been my dream to do something related to the sports industry even if it does not involve playing or participating in games. It just happens that I can write so I entered this job.”
“I remember hearing from my coach that this is your first assignment in Sports Weekly. Is that true?” Matsumoto asked, resting his elbows knees, closing the distance between him and Aiba.
Aiba did not expect the sudden proximity so he leaned back a bit before barking out a short laugh. “Yes, it’s true. Sho-chan, our editor-in-chief, is actually a friend from high school. I was originally working as a writer in the entertainment industry, mostly following around celebrities and their long list of activities. It’s extremely tiring but it pays well so I stuck around for a while.”
“You follow…celebrities?” Matsumoto’s bushy eyebrows wriggled in curiosity, hinting at amusement.
Aiba nodded eagerly. “I do,” Aiba soon realized that Matsumoto was hinting at another thing that was different from what he meant. He started to wave off the unspoken accusation. “But my articles do not mean to expose these celebrities’ private lives. No, no, no. It’s nothing of that sort! I write stories about their upcoming projects, even interviewing them, if I’m lucky.”
Matsumoto’s boisterous laugh followed, his head nodding in understanding. “I figured. I was just messing with you.”
Aiba froze at Matsumoto’s admission. Messing with him? All of their interactions prior to this interview have nothing but serious. He did not want to upset Matsumoto so he tended to walk on eggshells around the guy. He was even careful about joking with him because Matsumoto did not seem like the type to heartily laugh at anything.
“What?” Matsumoto asked.
“Nothing,” Aiba replied immediately.
The silence stretched after that and Aiba found himself at a loss for words. He started packing his things into his backpack to prepare to go anytime. It’s almost 7 pm and Matsumoto may be rushing home again.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Matsumoto asked and Aiba whipped his head so fast that he may have gotten a whiplash. Before Aiba could answer, Matsumoto has picked up his bag and said, “Come have dinner with me.”
“Ha?” Aiba was stunned. Matsumoto was inviting him to dinner? Was he hearing things right?
“If you don’t catch up with me within 5 minutes, I’m having you pay for it!” Matsumoto called by the door before running down the hallway, like a little kid. Befuddled, Aiba started to sprint after him, eventually overtaking and winning the impromptu race. He couldn’t help flashing the smug face afterwards.
--
When Aiba went home that night after the dinner with Matsumoto (which was at a fancy Italian restaurant in Ginza), he laid in his bed and threw an arm over his eyes. Matsumoto Jun had been a completely different person outside of the stadium. He was a wonderful conversationalist, a trained people-pleaser, and a surprising gentleman. Aiba figured that if a woman has been afforded the same treatment as he had tonight by the famous athlete, she would definitely fall for him.
Aiba was tempted to accuse him of being an impostor. But Matsumoto talked about the most mundane topics that haven’t come up in their interview sessions. He talked about his first dog and how he did not have any pets after that because animals don’t take a liking to him (“Hana was the only dog that liked me,” and “You couldn’t count on one hand the amount of scratches I got from my sister’s cat.”). He talked about his fear of not being remembered after his death (“I can’t even recall my grandfather’s face or how he was when he was alive. How can anyone remember me?”). He talked about his parents who divorced when he was in high school, causing him to lose in his first baseball game (“I was crying when we lost the game but it was not because we didn’t win. It was because I’m going home and we’re not complete.”). He talked about his first girlfriend, his second girlfriend, and his subsequent flings with both men and women, and how they didn’t work out (“I swing both ways but relationships still don’t work for me. Ah, I guess I’ll be single my whole life.”). It was the first time he talked about everything about him honestly and relentlessly that Aiba didn’t think of bringing out his notepad to write notes about Jun’s personality.
In return, Aiba told Matsumoto about himself. He told him about how he liked going to zoos and giving food to animals even when it’s not permitted (“You shouldn’t have done that!” Matsumoto reacted strongly, pointing at his face to castigate him. Aiba raised both of his hands in surrender, then, laughed while saying, “I was a kid! I couldn’t help it! They wanted my food!”). He told him about his popularity saga in high school when a shy junior stole his rubber shoes from his locker because she apparently had a crush on him (“Frankly speaking, that’s theft,” Matsumoto quipped.). Countless tales from Aiba’s childhood and life until today has been relayed to Matsumoto and just like Aiba did, Matsumoto listened to him faithfully and honestly, even jokingly inserting comments that have been well-received by Aiba. That was one of the best dinners Aiba had in a while, he had to admit.
Matsumoto Jun that night had been a pleasant surprise. He was even kind enough to take him home and Aiba seemed to have this permanent smile on his face until he opened the door to his apartment.
After recalling the events of that night, Aiba slept peacefully until late the next day.
--
“They said it’s hay fever,” Nino informed Aiba as soon as he arrived at the office, a week after. The man was sitting around idly, spinning in his chair, waiting for God-knows-what or probably for Aiba to deliver this piece of news.
Aiba had been away for the rest of the week after the last interview session because of a family emergency (wherein his brother’s wife had successfully given birth to twins). He feared he had missed too much but MatsuJun, a nickname he decided to bestow Matsumoto in his mind, has only had two games, which was both won effortlessly by Sparrows, since he left for Chiba. Aiba was relieved, of course, seeing as he wanted to be present when MatsuJun did something extraordinary.
“Who has hay fever?” Aiba asked as he settled down on his desk. He was not scheduled to go to the stadium until 3 pm that day. He thought he could work on his lead for the article until the afternoon.
“Your precious baseball star, Matsumoto Jun. He would not be attending practice today,” Nino remarked, his words oozing with taunt, as if to say good riddance to Aiba’s special assignment.
“Eh?” Aiba groaned, putting down his pencil on the desk with a noise. Upon a realization, he whipped his head back to Nino. “But how did you know that?”
“Oh, Sho-chan received a call from Matsumoto-san himself earlier. He said he wants you to come to get it over and done with,” was Nino’s flippant response.
“Ha?” Aiba exclaimed, standing up in shock.
Before Aiba could get a word in, Sho appeared from his office, balancing a stack of papers in his arms. Aiba rushed towards Sho to help him with the documents and with a brief expression of thanks, Sho informed him, “It seems like Matsumoto-san wanted you to come to his apartment.”
“So it’s true,” Aiba murmured to himself, his face souring. But he managed to pull the wince into a forced smile as he faced Sho. “Isn’t that going a bit overboard for a coverage? I thought he doesn’t like people prying into his private life?”
Sho shrugged indifferently as he led the way to the storeroom at the back. “Well, personally, I don’t really like it. But I think it’s because he wanted to finish the article as soon as possible.”
“I…I guess,” Aiba surmised after a moment. They had a friendly dinner just last week. Maybe Matsumoto changed his mind about the camaraderie. Aiba dreaded to find out.
--
MatsuJun’s apartment was not a mere apartment as Aiba expected. It was a penthouse on the topmost floor of a fancy building. He should have known.
Aiba groaned before entering the building. His sour mood may have even caused him to greet the receptionist with a wince. Upon hearing MatsuJun’s name, the lady immediately reached for the phone to make a brief call. During that time, Aiba looked around the reception. What kind of apartment building has a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling once you step in? There might be multiple ones just like this building across the city but he has never really been inside one.
“Matsumoto-san said you may proceed to the 23rd floor,” she informed Aiba with a practiced smile. Aiba returned it almost immediately before dashing towards the elevators.
--
The 23rd floor was quiet. Eerily quiet. Aiba is vaguely aware of his footsteps making the slightest noise, coming in contact with the carpeted floor. He walked slowly and carefully towards the door at the end of the dimly lit corridor. As soon as he stood before it, the door opened. A bleary-eyed Matsumoto Jun wearing a mask was behind the door, holding it open for him.
“Come in,” the athlete gestured towards the place and Aiba entered, albeit a bit hesitant.
Unconsciously, he reached for his sling bag while staring in wonder at sickly Jun. Aiba brought out his recorder, notepad and pen, mostly out of habit. When Jun pointed to the sofa, indicating for him to sit down, the athlete immediately frowned at the sight of his stuff.
“This is a private time, Aiba-san. No interesting stories here. Please put down your recorder and your media paraphernalia at the table,” Jun informed him, lightheartedly, walking towards the kitchen. Aiba could also detect a smirk somewhere in his statement that he felt the need to smile shyly.
“I’m sorry. It has become a habit since we met.”
“It’s okay. You haven’t gathered enough information about me yet?” Jun teased when he came back, eyebrows quirking in amusement, as he strode out of the wide kitchen with a tray of tea set in his hands.
Aiba chuckled. He joked back, “I thought that’s what I’m here for. To finish the interview so I could finally write that damn article.” He took the offered cup of tea from Jun, who was crouching beside the center table, and sipped on it. It was mint-flavored, surprisingly warm and refreshing. He let out a gentle hum of satisfaction.
“I simply wanted to talk to someone because being sick is always boring to me. And you said you’ll listen to me so I decided to call your office to ask for you,” Jun admitted with a shrug to convey his nonchalance. Jun stood up from his crouch to sit beside Aiba on the sofa. The sudden proximity made Aiba self-conscious that he scooted farther away from the owner of the apartment to create a wider distance. “I hope you don’t mind.”
Aiba shook his head swiftly. “I don’t, not really. I would love to hear your stories! Of all the things I said, I stand by that sincerely.”
Jun smiled and Aiba was taken aback because it was unexpectedly blinding. Aiba blinked and wondered how Matsumoto Jun was probably the most celebrity-like person he has ever met (even counting the people from the entertainment industry he has had the opportunity to meet due to his previous job). What a guy.
“How about I cook for you?” Aiba suggested, jumping out of his seat to stand up and to break the sudden silence.
“Eh?”
Aiba looked down at Jun who had been surprised about the offer. He was grinning, brimming with confidence, as he stated, “My family owns a Chinese restaurant so I was taught how to make a decent fried rice serving made from leftover foods. Let me make it for you!”
Jun scrunches his face in doubt. “You can do that? Are you sure it’ll be all right?”
Aiba began to laugh boisterously, clutching his stomach for added effect. He wiped a tear that escaped from his right eye and declared, “Of course, I will.”
“Then let me stay in the kitchen as you cook. I don’t really trust you with my kitchen,” Jun said, apprehensive but still slightly amused.
Happy that Jun conceded, Aiba began to make his way towards the athlete’s kitchen. The kitchen alone was probably almost the size of his whole apartment. It was wide and clean and sparkly that Aiba hesitated to touch things.
Upon seeing him holding back, Jun pulled down his mask to his chin and remarked playfully, “The pans and pots are in the bottom cupboard. Feel free to use anything you like.”
Aiba laughed, embarrassed, before beginning to take reign over the kitchen. He brought out a non-stick pan (so flawless that it seemed like it hasn’t been used), and a deep round ladle. Looking over at Jun, he saw him crouching over the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, most probably scouring for ingredients. Aiba admired the man from afar, sighing because Jun was blessed with a great body aside from talent in sports. What could someone like him feel? Does he even know the scale of the power he holds over people? Is he aware of his very aura and how it imposed on the people surrounding him? Aiba hummed in consideration before shaking himself off from his reverie, realizing that he has been staring intently at Jun’s behind for some reason.
He turned around with his eyes closed and hoped against hope that Jun didn’t feel his eyes on him.
“I have eggs, carrots, green peas, and some pieces of sweet ham. Would these do?” Jun asked, placing the ingredients on top of the counter beside Aiba. Aiba jumped in surprise and nodded swiftly in response, his heart thudding a steady and rapid pace, betraying his calm and composed façade. Jun, however, seemed strangely satisfied with his answer that he just gave a grin before striding away.
Aiba followed him with a gaze that he fought the urge to look away when Jun halted and turned to face him. “Thank you, Aiba-san.”
With that, Jun was out of Aiba’s sight. Partly relieved and partly panicked, Aiba temporarily set aside his complicated feelings and started preparing dinner for the two of them.
--
If someone told him months earlier that he’d be sharing a meal with Matsumoto Jun in his fancy penthouse today, he’d probably slapped them silly across the cheek. Now that it has become reality, it was a strange feeling to be sitting across Jun who completely devoured Aiba’s homemade fried rice within minutes.
“That was so good,” Jun moaned in satisfaction after gulping down a glass of water. He was grinning good-naturedly at Aiba and the latter knew he had to smile back.
Aiba bowed slightly and politely replied, “Thank you very much.”
“Ah, do you want some beer? Or dessert?” Jun offered, standing up in earnest.
All of a sudden flustered, Aiba silently nodded in response. Maybe some alcohol in his system would do him good. Maybe a bit of sugar, too.
Jun came back with two cans of beer in his hands and a plate with a large slice of cheesecake. Aiba reached for one can and opened it within seconds. He threw his head back and drank about a quarter of it before meeting Jun’s eyes. In the dim light of the kitchen, he could see Jun’s curious eyes beneath his dark fringes.
Aiba wanted to convey a casual feeling so he began slicing a bit of the cheesecake with his used spoon. Before he could put it in his mouth, Jun remarked, “You haven’t been around during the games since last week.”
Glad that he wasn’t caught by surprise, Aiba responded lightly, “Ah, that was because of my brother’s wife.”
“What happened to her?” Jun was unusually curious, taking a bite from the cheesecake as well. It must be Aiba’s imagination, too, because he could sense a bit of relief before the question was asked.
“She gave birth to my first pair of nephews. My parents wanted me to be there,” Aiba said.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“I thought you suddenly chickened out after the last interview,” Jun said while rubbing his neck in embarrassment.
“Chickened out?” It was Aiba’s turn to confirm.
“Because I invited you for dinner.”
“And why would I run away because of that? It was delicious and it was free,” Aiba inserted.
“Because I’m a complicated person. I told you I’m averse to media but here I am, talking to you and inviting you to my house like we’re close,” Jun sounded frustrated. Aiba couldn’t blame him. Even Aiba was perplexed by the sudden change in Jun’s attitude. He was glad, of course, but he always wondered.
“I don’t have a problem with it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the pause that followed allowed Aiba to drink his beer leisurely before jumping into admissions.
“…Really?” Jun was hesitant, cautious, but intent on staring at Aiba from under his fringes.
“Yes. I think you’re pretty…” Aiba dwindled when a smile slowly began to appear on Jun’s face. But he found the courage to finish his sentence when he averted his eyes by drinking from his can of beer again, “…amazing.”
Jun seemed to mellow down after that statement from Aiba. It was up to him whether he would believe it or not. But Aiba had been sincere. He was initially intimidated by Matsumoto Jun but in time, he figured he was not that bad. He was far from bad. He was, Aiba dared to admit it, the most amazing person Aiba had the fortune to meet.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” Jun proposed, out of the blue.
“Sure,” Aiba agreed. “But can I have some more beer?”
--
They put on the film, Elf, even though it’s months before Christmas, just because it was the first DVD that caught Jun’s eye from his huge shelf of movies. The choice of film did not seem to matter though because as they were sprawled out on the floor, with their backs against the sofa, they have taken to making idle chat over beers.
“I have a friend named Nino and he has the same temperament as you. He usually covers baseball news so he’s really envious that our editor-in-chief assigned me to you. He would have loved to talk to you about baseball all day long,” Aiba relayed, his voice slurring some words at the end.
Jun sniffed while nursing his fourth can, skeptic of that possibility, and uttered, “I can’t really imagine someone interviewing me other than you, Aiba-san. I might have refused to answer everything.”
“Why is that? It’s a waste, you know. I loved the things we talked about. You’re passionate about the sport, not just as a source of money, but as a source of happiness. I really admire that about you,” Aiba pronounced drunkenly, as he finished downing yet another can of alcohol. He lost count after his third drink but it didn’t really matter.
“Thank you, Aiba-san,” Jun responded, obviously delighted but still sheepish.
“That’s way too formal, MatsuJun,” Aiba whined, throwing an arm around Jun’s broad shoulders.
“What? MatsuJun?” Jun was puzzled.
“Ah, this is embarrassing,” Aiba asserted. “I call you that in my head. It’s a portmanteau of your name, see?”
“MatsuJun? I think it’s better to call me Jun. It’s shorter and easier to say,” Jun made a comment on the nickname.
“Jun, huh?” Aiba let the name roll off his tongue, trying to get used to it. “Jun-kun. Jun-chan. Jun-pon. Junnosuke. Jun—“
Aiba’s eyes were wide open when Jun leaned in for a kiss. It must be his hazy head that prompted him to move his lips eagerly against Jun’s. The simple touch of lips on lips instantly turned more passionate, definitely far from accidental. Aiba’s parted his mouth wider to give way to Jun’s tongue. Moans reverberated in the living room and Aiba didn’t care whose it is. Jun’s lips were softer than he imagined. Not that he imagined them. He just thought about it…sometimes.
Reality caught up with Aiba and he suddenly pushed away. All of a sudden, his head was filled with thoughts of what could come next. The heat emanating from his body might not have been after-effects of the alcohol after all.
“Um, I…need to go home…” Aiba mumbled, gathering his coat and phone from the coffee table to avoid looking at Jun. He ached to get a look but he was afraid. “I need…to feed my pet fish…and rat…”
In the middle of his nonsense rambling, he has made it outside the door to the elevator, down to the ground floor, until he finally reached outside. The cold night air was just what he needed to clear his mind. He crouched by the sidewalk, put his head in his hands and groaned loudly, hoping he’d forget all of the events tonight when tomorrow comes.
--
“Aiba-kun,” Nino tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. The guy was smirking when Aiba turned around.
“What is it?” Aiba asked.
“Someone’s on the phone for you,” Nino’s tone was highly suggestive that Aiba had the urge to laugh. Instead, Aiba reached for the phone that Nino has in his hands and quietly answered, “Hello?”
“Aiba-san? Is this you?” the person on the other line tried to confirm. His voice was achingly familiar. It brought forth some feelings Aiba was not prepared to deal with that he had to momentarily shut his eyes and exhale deeply. They haven’t talked since that night and that night had been almost a week ago. With no contact for days, it seemed weird that Jun would initiate the contact first.
“Matsumoto-san?” Aiba whispered in disbelief, echoing the polite honorific.
Jun made a noise of confirmation. What followed was unprecedented silence. Jun was the one to break it with, “I have a game this Friday. Will you come and watch?”
It was said in a rush and Aiba barely caught the invitation. But once he understood it after a moment of pondering, he replied with a yes.
“I…I’ll see you there, then.”
Aiba went weak in the knees after he hung up the phone that he slouched on his office chair as soon as he placed the phone back on its receiver. Nino just kept poking his cheeks to mess with him. Aiba found he didn’t have the strength nor the mood to respond back.
--
“MatsuJun. Congratulations. You were amazing! I swear I haven’t seen anything like that play you did! It was like watching one of those major league competitions on TV! I’m at the edge of my seat—” Jun grabbed for Aiba’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss, effectively shutting him up. He had been staring at Aiba’s lips ever since he entered the locker room and he couldn’t help himself. He had been running on excited nerves since making that finishing homerun and he wanted to convey his excitement in some way. Aiba entering the locker room without permission provided the perfect switch.
Aiba, however, remained unmoving as Jun continued to kiss him. When Jun’s arms began to snake around his waist, Aiba let his eyes droop close and just decided to go with the flow. He deserves this anyway, Aiba surrendered, letting his arms drape over Jun’s shoulders.
As they kissed deeper, Jun couldn’t help but press forward towards Aiba aggressively until he had him leaning against the lockers. Jun gripped him closer, getting desperate as he opened his mouth and met Aiba’s tongue halfway. Aiba moans at the action, the suddenness of it catching him off guard.
Aiba responds to Jun’s ministrations by clutching onto his upper arms, caught between wanting to pull and to push. His mind was a mess and he can’t even begin to explain the wild riot that his heart was at that moment.
He felt Jun ground his hips against his and Aiba broke the kiss to sigh deeply. His eyes met Jun’s: it did not escape his notice that the latter’s eyes were darkened by pleasure. A second has not passed before Aiba swooped in again to claim Jun’s mouth for another passionate round of liplock.
--
“Um,” Aiba started, biting his abused lower lip due to the passionate bout earlier. When Jun turned to him, he could see that the man’s intense eyes immediately strayed towards the bruised lip. Aiba looked forward, averting his gaze and hoping Jun would, too.
“I’m not going to say sorry,” Jun defiantly stated. “If that’s what you were planning to say.”
“It’s not that,” Aiba refuted, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on the matter at hand. “You just…surprised me…that’s all. I…I wasn’t expecting that.”
If Aiba was honest, he would probably voice out that his heartbeat went overdrive, thudding so fast, that he thought it was going to beat right out of his chest. It was like the aftereffect of going underwater or running a marathon. He was out of breath and utterly terrified that he didn’t really know what he was going to say. This was like the night a week ago. Except worse.
Aiba was horrified to realize that he liked it. Still. And if he could, he would do it again.
Aiba was filled with happiness and pride when Jun struck that winning shot. He was jumping up and down along with the fans by the bleachers. When Matsumoto’s gaze found him in the crowd, Aiba raised his hands with two of his thumbs up, smiling like there’s no tomorrow. The athlete answered to that with a huge smile of his own, something he has never seen on Jun’s face before. It seemed as if they have forgotten what has transpired that night a few days prior.
So how did they end up here?
“W-Why?”
“’Why’?”
“Why…did you do that?” Aiba asked, his eyes trained on the ground and his right hand rising up to cover his mouth.
“Do I really have to explain why I kissed you?” Jun’s eyes narrowed, visibly displeased by Aiba’s question. Aiba had the urge to take the question back. Before he could, however, Jun faced him with his arms crossed over his chest, his frown, insistent on staying in place. “I like you, that’s why.”
Aiba nearly choked on his own spit. “Y-You…”
“If you plan on doubting that, please know that I have no obligation of explaining that to you.”
Clearly, Aiba has put Jun in a bad mood because of his hesitation so he was quick to respond, “It’s not that.” After a brief pause, he sought to confirm, “You…like me?”
Jun nodded once firmly, intently staring at Aiba while the latter still refused to look at Jun. “Yes, I do.”
AIba gulped in apprehension. “How? I mean…why? We haven’t known each other for long, right? And we’ve only met because…I needed to interview you for my article.”
“I don't know. Maybe you put a spell on me or something. Anything would be a good explanation, actually,” Jun offhandedly mentioned. But he twisted his body to face Aiba, his face leaning in closer and closer and Aiba didn’t have the strength to pull away. “I just do.”
The whispered words sent a shiver down Aiba’s spine. When Jun’s arm curled around his waist and pulled him closer for an embrace, Aiba helplessly accepted and enveloped Jun in his arms. He buried his face on the dirtied uniform, smelling of sweat, dirt, and unmistakably Jun.
“But I wouldn’t give my response until I had this damn article written and published. Just so you know,” Aiba countered, chuckling when Jun squeezed him a little tighter as a comeback.
--
“You can’t go around brandishing your recorder whenever we go out, Masaki. It’s unethical,” Jun groans, pushing away Aiba’s hand which has been gripping the recorder.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that…Sho-chan had been snooping around my desk earlier. He said he was looking for my chapstick and came upon the CDs of audio recording from our interview sessions. So I instinctively brought it with me,” Aiba explains, his face apologetic, as he stuffs the device into his favorite sling bag, acknowledging his defeat.
“Oh. For that highly praised special feature?” Jun teases, eyebrows raising.
“Stop it,” Aiba blushes, lightly hitting Jun’s upper arm. “It was written in bold letters, you know! And it was on centerfold with a total of four pages! I worked my ass on that.”
“Oh, you sure did,” Jun’s tone is suggestive that Aiba couldn’t stop blushing.
“Shut up.”
Aiba’s pout causes Jun to laugh and it was so rare for Aiba to see him laughing so he joins in halfway through. At the end of the street was their favorite restaurant surrounded by strings of little bulbs of light. It was an enchanting sight and Jun was a fan of their Italian dishes so for months, they often eat there. The homely feeling as soon as they stepped foot inside was indescribable and Aiba feels the lightness in his chest that he has been longing for all day. He reaches for Jun’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and tugs him towards their spot.
“So? What’s wrong with your boss snooping around your desk and finding those files from a year ago?” Jun asks as they finally settled at the corner table in their favorite (and overly busy) family restaurant.
Aiba fidgets under Jun’s inquisitive gaze. He looks down and actively avoids Jun’s eyes. “Um, it’s…If I told you the reason, will you not get angry?”
“It depends on what it is,” Jun shrugs before he called for the waiter. This afforded Aiba the needed break before he spilled everything to Jun. As soon as the waiter takes their order and leaves, Jun turns back to him, silently prodding him for an answer.
Aiba rubs his nape as he confesses, “Well, I sometimes forget to turn off my recorder after conducting interviews. I discovered that I always had them turned on whenever I drop by your apartment. And it contains…stuff that my boss would not be pleased hearing about.”
Contrary to what Aiba expected, (which is for Jun to be irritated about having their private affairs secretly recorded), Jun’s mouth begins to turn up in a smirk, his eyes wide with interest. “So I presume you still have those saved, huh? Is that a new kink? Will you let me hear them, too?”
Aiba groans in frustration, letting his head rest on the table. “This is why I don’t want to tell you. It’s embarrassing! What if Sho-chan heard those? What would he think of me?”
Jun’s loud laughs echo around the establishment but luckily, no one pays any heed. “I’m sure he’ll think it’s charming of you to record our most intimate moments. Like little keepsakes.”
Aiba’s answering groan earned a few judging eyes from customers though.
--
That night was spent at Aiba’s house and they were already kissing before they even opened the door. There was a lot of struggling with taking off clothes along the way as they made their way through the apartment, still attached at the lips. Aiba’s denim jacket was discarded on the bedroom floor. What toppled out of the slim pocket was his favorite recording device, the little red light on it blinking…
…which surely recorded the loud moan Aiba just let out.
