Work Text:
There had been a time when Mao exchanged texts with Matsumoto Jun frequently. It had petered off before they'd even been done filming the second season of Hanadan, though she couldn't have said even now who was the one more inclined to let their communication fade. Even so, she really shouldn't have been feeling so nervous about a simple message between coworkers given their long history.
They were working together again, though their drama was a thriller this time. She reveled in the action scenes, hopefully came out all right during the long speeches of technical exposition, and got to wear all sorts of intimidating outfits. She'd also already had a kiss scene with Jun, which made it seem like there would be more to come after their characters figured out that they were probably really on the same side despite all the shooting at each other.
Now she was sitting in her living room, tucked comfortably into her favorite chair, and watching him on some variety show. She'd done this many times before, but now they were seeing each other every day again, and she'd thought of the perfect friendly quip. She had it all typed out and ready to send, but somehow she was hesitating.
It seemed like it might mean more this time, if they started up a relationship outside of work. Sure, last time they'd gotten to know each other, they'd ended up having too many drinks and racing each other down the twisting alleys, laughing so hard that Mao could still feel the way her ribs had ached. When she'd caught him, they'd had their one and only kiss without a camera filming them. Somehow she remembered how much she'd laughed with him more than the kiss, though she was sure she'd been horribly silly about it at the time.
That was the thing: they'd been kids, even him, and they'd been thrown together constantly. They'd known it couldn't go anywhere. If she thought about it, which she tried not to even now, she thought they'd both pulled back after that night, that laughter, that kiss.
This time, he seemed different, and she knew she was different, too. This time, he'd been leaving her photographs in her boxed meals, sometimes with a little note that invariably was just signed 'Jun', and maybe Mao wasn't good at deciphering subtext because why did the pictures feel so vague and so meaningful at the same time?
They were all pictures of her or pictures of him, though never together. The pictures of her were from a distance, like he'd been sitting back in the dressing room and watching her make merry with Maru and Erika, but even when their costars were in the picture, the focus was always her. He'd caught her laughing so hard she'd fallen over; he'd caught her doing an impression of a popular comedian; he'd caught her bestowing a gallant kiss on Erika's hand.
She wondered why he didn't join in more. More than that, she wondered what he was saying with his pictures and what she was supposed to say back.
The pictures of him were more obvious, she felt. They were generally of him with his wardrobe, or in his makeup chair, or getting hooked up to wires for stunts, and somehow she felt like he was making it so even when they were apart on this drama, their journey was together. He'd snapped a picture of a cool expression as disembodied hands futzed with his hair, and she could tell he was doing it the same way he would have if she'd been there: to make her laugh. The picture with him about to work on stunts had featured a goofy grin, and she knew that he was saying, "Isn't it amazing that this is our job?"
She'd been thanking him for the pictures ever since the first one, but it was easier to touch his elbow and grin at him in gratitude than to send a message out of the blue just because she wanted him to know she was thinking about him. Maybe she was too invested in the hope that he was thinking about her, too.
Mao didn't send the message. Instead, she went to bed frustrated, spending several minutes beforehand flipping through the photo album she'd bought just to hold the pictures he gave her.
*
A week later, Mao knew she'd been touching Jun too much on the set. It was hard to control herself, though she told herself she was just showing her friendliness with a hand on his shoulder, her forehead leaning against his back, her knee bumping companionably against his. Every day she looked forward to seeing him more, and she might have been projecting but it seemed like his pictures said more every day, too.
She still hadn't sent him a message outside of work. She'd think it was awkward of her except that he hadn't sent one either.
When she got home that day, earlier than usual though it was already dark outside, she changed into her pajamas and slouched over to her sofa, curling up with uncharacteristic melancholy. She flipped channels until she saw Jun's face, which took an absurdly short time, and settled in to wallow in her feelings.
He was bowing, smiling a lot, his hair perfect and his outfit stylish, and he looked like someone that maybe she could never really know all the way. For some reason this made her want to look away, and she noticed something shiny sticking out of her coat pocket, though it was hard to make out in the gloomy dimness. She'd dropped the coat on the floor on her way to her bedroom to change, and now she saw something that definitely hadn't been there when she'd left in the morning.
She got up, forgetting about Jun and his public persona, and pulled the object out so she could look at it.
It was a picture, but it was a different size than the ones Jun had been leaving for her. It looked worn, like it hadn't been taken recently, and she brought it over to the light of the television to inspect it. She gasped when she saw that, for the first time, this picture had both her and Jun together.
They were smiling, their faces lit up from the inside, and they had their cheeks pressed together in a self-conscious sort of joy. Mao smiled softly, touching the picture, then chuckled when she saw the flush of her cheeks. When had they taken this? Had Jun really kept it all these years?
She turned it over, hoping for a clue, but was surprised when she actually found one. The ink on the back was fresh, clearly scrawled by Jun before he'd put it in her pocket for her to find.
February 2007. First kiss with Mao-chan.
Mao turned the photograph back over and stared at it, feeling memories flood back in. They'd been drinking with Shun and some others, and then somehow they'd been outside, running hand in hand, horribly reckless but unable to help themselves, and he'd broken away down the alley and questioned her ability to keep up. His ridiculous curls had caught the light as he'd grinned at her, and she'd made a determined face and sprinted after him, only to land in his arms as he spun her around and laughed.
She touched a finger to his glowing face in the photograph. He'd kissed her, then, in that dark alley as she'd laughed with him in his arms.
And then, not yet considering the fallout, still basking in their giddy togetherness, he'd pulled out a camera and they'd taken this picture.
She looked back up at the television, but instead of Jun's face she saw a commercial for cup noodles. It didn't matter. She knew who Jun was, and she wasn't going to forget.
She got out her phone, feeling a grin spread over her face, and deleted the draft with the friendly quip. In its place she sent, "Come over."
It was only about a minute later when Jun replied.
"I'm on my way."