Genre: AU, Fluff
Summary: Sho falls for Jun, in his fail filled/adorable way.
Author's Notes: Sho is a newscaster in the story, but he also writes for magazines - I was told this wasn't clear enough. So, um, I was supposed to have this done by Valentine's day but it's already a month past White's day (Junior year: 1, Kesa: 0)XD A big thanks to my lovely beta-fishy arutaki_squee ♥
“How about Sunday then?” He stares straight into my eyes as he talks and I start to wonder if he has any idea how alluring he is. I swear it only takes a few seconds for me to realize that I should respond. Luckily this makes it seem like I actually had to think about my schedule and I don’t seem overly eager with an immediate response.
“Sure,” thinking quickly, I add, “You may have picked the only day I have off in a while.”
“Well, see you around then, Sakurai Sho.” He leans in and smothers my name in brandy and chocolate, and every other decadent delectable you can think of, as he departs. He’s gone before I even respond.
I finish my drink and pay, “I can’t wait, Matsumoto Jun.”
- - -
“Oh, Sho, you’re such an idiot,” Nino laughs as he clutches his stomach.
“What?” I ask, trying not to sound defensive.
“Sunday is the 14th.” He continues to giggle, though it’s probably more of a snickering, as he grabs his phone.
“So? And what are you doing?” I grab at the phone but he pulls it out of the way, he always had faster reflexes than me.
“Telling Aiba. Wait until he hears this. Sho, that’s Valentines Day.” He finishes his text before storing the phone in his back-pocket, looking up at my terrified face.
“It’s February already?”
Incredulous, Nino’s comeback isn’t as sharp as usual, “And you call yourself a newscaster, it’s been February for more than a week now.” His pocket buzzes so he checks his phone, “Aiba wants to know what you’re wearing on your date.”
“It’s not a date,” I try to clarify, but Nino doesn’t budge.
“I refuse to dignify that cliché with an answer.”
- - -
“A first date on Valentines Day is romantic!” Aiba really needs to learn that shouting into a phone hurts the other person’s ears.
Sighing, I respond after recovering, “It’s an interview for that magazine that’s been trying to get me to write for them, Aiba, and all I want to know is if you have any idea where we can go that won’t be too crowded.”
“He’s a model; you two will be noticed wherever you go.” To add to this disheartening statement, he giggles. “Unless it was his apartment.”
“Shameless.” I hang up.
- - -
“Here,” Nino’s voice accompanies a small, but very solid, object being tossed at my stomach. I pick it up to find that it’s my phone.
“I didn’t even notice it was gone. Where was it?” Flipping it open quickly I find no missed calls. That’s a relief.
“Oh, I took it just now.” I glare but he continues unfazed, “I had other plans for it, but then it rang and ruined my fun.”
“It says I didn’t miss-"
“That’s because I picked it up, you dummy. By the way, your date wants to meet you outside Shinjuku station at 6; he has dinner reservations at a nice place so wear a suit.”
I gape, “You didn’t.”
He only grins in response.
- - -
“I can’t believe you.” Nino reclines on my bed as I hold up ties.
“Yes, I get it. You think it’s a date.” Sighing, I turn to check each tie in the mirror.
Nino scoffs, “No, I can’t believe you’re wearing a shiny grey suit. You look like my pen.” At my incredulous look, he hops out and starts sorting through my closet. “Put on the black pants and the black tie, wear the patent leather shoes and a tie clip. At least then you won’t look totally desperate.”
My eyes scrunch as I pout, “Aiba likes this suit though.”
“Yes, well Aiba likes anything that’s shiny or has claws. Speaking of which, I don’t have any more time to waste on you and your insecurities; Aiba and I are going to the zoo then we’ll be spending a not so quiet evening at home.” Grinning ear to ear, Nino ducks out.
“I didn’t need to know that!”
- - -
Dressed and pressed and perfumed – well, cologned – I arrive at Shinjuku station. I’m early but I don’t sit down at a bench, as none are available. Slowly, couples start to separate from the mass of people and I feel a hand on my shoulder.
The familiar voice is filled with kindness, “Sakurai Sho, how have you been?”
I stutter; only slightly but still pathetically, “Good, I hope the same can be said of you?”
“That would be fair,” Matsumoto admits only after a moment’s hesitation. For a second, his eyes flit down to where his finger-tips are smoothing out my jacket collar. His hand leaves, but I'm still tongue-tied as he looks up and suggests that we get going.
I nod and we start in, what I assume to be, the direction of the restaurant. I can’t bring myself to ask any questions or offer anything to talk about, it seems so wrong to puncture this little pocket of cold air and steaming breaths with something as inconsequential as an interview. I don’t want to do anything else; I don’t even want to reach the restaurant. This is a man I barely know, but I feel oddly in place walking in his bubble.
I look at Matsumoto as our arms brush together slightly. I feel lightheaded as my heart starts beating faster and my lungs stop working altogether, until I see his tender smile. Slowly I relax and my lips stretch into a grin.
Who cares what you call it, I’m just glad he’s next to me.