Disclaimer: I do not own Junjou Romantica or any of its characters.
The Distance Between Us
Chapter One: "Old" Miyagi's POV
Miyagi shuffled wearily into his apartment and kicked off his loafers. Despite the exhaustion he felt, he was revived into a smile by the sight of Shinobu's trendy tennis shoes and his school bag lined up carefully along the side of the front hall.
He had been a bit worried that, by the time he finally made it home, his young lover might have abandoned the apartment in pursuit of some activity more fulfilling than waiting. After all, he was really late...
Again.
After setting his briefcase down, Miyagi slipped off his coat. He then automatically reached for the cigarette pack he kept in his breast pocket.
Frowning, he stopped just short of taking it out. He'd recently promised Shinobu to at least try and cut down while he was at home. Shinobu did not approve of his smoking, nor did the teen, as he so frequently and vocally made it known, appreciate being a victim of secondhand smoke either.
Miyagi walked out into the front room. There were a number of food items set out on the counter in various stages of preparation for their evening meal. By now, however, Shinobu had finally learned not to begin actually cooking anything until his wayward lover had truly arrived home. This arrangement saved on resentful feelings, overcooked vegetables, and gelatinous noodles.
Looking at the unfinished attempts by his brat to care for him, Miyagi felt terribly guilty. Fucking faculty meetings.
He rubbed his aching forehead. If I don't watch it, I'll soon end up with a furrowed brow like Kamijou's.
By the gods though, those meeting are becoming more and more unbearable!
Miyagi had never been big into the administrative aspect of academia: research and teaching, that was where his heart was at. Now, though, it seemed like each year there were more young, upstart faculty with all their pride, new ideas, and no sense of institutional history; each one of them hungry and fighting for a place in the University's system.
The hours today that they had spent arguing over words and readings as new policies were being crafted and bylaws implemented, it was fucking ridiculous.
Miyagi loved words, poetry, narrative, and he had built his whole life around interpretation, translation, the delicious revelations brought on by an artful twist of a phrase, but all those words wasted today were worthless. And the posturing and administrative bullshit he'd just been forced to endure, drove him insane. And, even worse, attending those meetings, more and more often left him feeling increasingly old and out of step with what was going on in the world.
As he made his way down the hall, Miyagi remembered how angry the young man had been when he insisted that he have his own room. Though it isn't as if Shinobu actually sleeps there.
The two of them had been sleeping together every night now for months.
Thankfully, he had weathered that tantrum. Miyagi was adamant that Shinobu have his own space in the apartment, a refuge of sorts. Something Shinobu could claim as his own. Young men need space and occasionally privacy after all, as did older men too. Besides, by giving Shinobu his own room, it kept the disruption of the rest of Miyagi's space...
Well, our space, to a minimum.
Now that Shinobu had finally gotten it through his thick, determined head that this arrangement was not a rejection, he seemed to have at last realized that having his own space was actually kind of nice. At least he had certainly been spending a lot more of his time in there lately, instead of wreaking havoc on the kitchen or loitering in angry anticipation on the couch as he waited for Miyagi to return home.
The door to Shinobu's room was ajar.
Miyagi stuck his head cautiously in after receiving no response from his soft rapping. As always he found himself a bit overwhelmed by the sight that met him.
He had known from his time with his ex-wife and Shinobu's elder sister, Risako, that the Takatsuki family was very well off, and the Dean and his wife spoiled their offspring, but he still had a hard time reconciling his own spare sensibilities to the consumer chaos that seemed to rule Shinobu's life.
It had taken little time for the room to become filled with a TV, gaming consoles, manga, books, and DVDs. Posters proliferated on the walls regarding things that Miyagi had no cultural reference for. Clothes and all kinds of gadgets (basically everything that was apparently required to ensure a teenager's popularity and success) crowded the space
At least Shinobu had a strong sense of order and treated his belongings well, unlike his older sister. And, Miyagi did have to admit that few of these things seemed to have been directly acquired by the teen. Most of them were foisted on Shinobu by his parents, still apparently feeling badly about him leaving the family home.
They had been so grateful when Miyagi had offered that Shinobu could stay with him. The possibility of an unexpected parental visit was yet another reason for the boy to have his own room, though this had not happened...
Yet.
Miyagi felt his stomach tighten at how the Takatsuki's would feel and what they might do if they knew the truth of the situation.
He was often amazed at how nonchalantly Shinobu responded the few times he had voiced his concerns. Wondering at the mysteries of his lover's mind, Miyagi studied the youth. Shinobu was sitting with his back to him. The tawny blond had his ears plugged into his MP3 player.
Miyagi was sure that Shinobu would be deaf before he was twenty-five, listening to his music, if it could be called that, at the levels he did. Even from the doorway he could hear the bass pulse of it beyond the ear-buds. Shinobu had tried to get him to expand his musical taste on several occasions now, but to him it just sounded like someone castrating cats without the benefit of an anesthetic.
Looking down at all the papers spread beneath the boy on the desk, one might get the idea that Shinobu was doing his homework, but it was hard for Miyagi to tell. Shinobu seemed to also be texting someone on his phone with one hand, while simultaneously carrying on some shared chat conversation with someone else on his laptop with the other.
He was so engrossed in his multitasking that he didn't even notice Miyagi standing there.
Rather than disturb him, Miyagi backed out of the room shaking his head. He couldn't help but wonder what all that technology was doing to Shinobu's tender neurons.
And how in the hell is a technological dinosaur like me supposed to keep up?
He'd actually had just finally gotten a cell phone a few weeks before Shinobu's insistence. Miyagi had resisted succumbing to the pressure of getting one for so long. primarily, because those contraptions were the bane of his academic existence: student's constantly checking e-mails and texting during class.
Half the time even now, when Shinobu texted him, Miyagi couldn't tell what the kid was saying. Lol, Wtf. Rotflmao, it was like some strange encrypted code and he found it exhausting to try and decipher it. Not to mention he still didn't understand why Shinobu couldn't just call him when he wanted something and talk to him like any decent person would.
In fact, they had quarreled just a few days before because Shinobu, from his bedroom, had texted him, when he was standing in the kitchen not fifteen feet away. Even more frustrating was when the brat then couldn't understand why his "Old Man was acting so crazed about it."
Ridiculous.
Miyagi decided that he needed a few minutes to relax. He found his hand automatically drifting to his breast pocket again. Pulling out a cigarette, he placed it between his lips.
It won't hurt if I just hold it in my mouth and don't light it. Right? Miyagi grimaced, knowing he was starting down an awfully slippery slope.
Rather than deal with this knowledge, he chose instead to retreat to his bedroom, their sleeping/sexing quarters.
He sighed at the peace of the room's austerity, the low dresser with few objects sitting on its surface, the large futon, the two bookcases, his favorite chair (the one his ex-wife had tried endlessly to make him get rid of).
Miyagi was disappointed that he had missed the sun patch that unfurled itself through the window and draped itself over the back of his chair so beautifully in the late afternoon.
Damn meeting, he thought again.
Still, the moment he sank into his chair, he felt himself soothed. After all these years, the cushions conformed perfectly to the contours of his body. Miyagi sighed again, leaning back into its comfortable embrace.
After resting here for a bit, he leaned forward and pulled one of his favorite vinyl records off the bookcase. He slid it out from its faded cardboard sleeve, lifted the lid of his record player, and placed the disc on the turntable. The phonograph was one of the few things he'd taken with him from his childhood home, after his parents had died, one within a year of the other.
After plugging in his own ancient, over-sized ear phones, Miyagi closed his eyes, listening to the carefully constructed notes, blissfully free of words but conveying so much meaning, nonetheless.
The static and scratching of the vinyl's sound lulled and made him feel more than a little nostalgic.
The music stirred memories and Miyagi could clearly see now the patterns of his past, choosing people (women) who were unavailable in some way because it had allowed him to avoid his true nature. At least until Fate, in the form of this complicated, beautiful, and occasionally obnoxious young man, with his dogged love, had finally revealed it and forced him to accept it.
Such is the conviction of youth.
Though the music carried him, it was unable to lift Miyagi's heavy sense of anxiety.
He knew that with each passing day, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, he found himself falling more and more deeply in love with his precocious ward and it bothered him that his lover was not just younger, but so young.
Lately though, Miyagi was more disturbed by the thought that even with all his declarations of Fate, Shinobu, as he matured, would at some point grow out of his infatuation with his foolish old man.
With the talents and brilliance housed in his Shinobu's splendid, slender frame and troubled, blond head, Miyagi also knew that his young lover had the potential to go far in the world.
Shinobu needs to reach his potential. What he does not need is a stagnating academic tying him down.
Miyagi was loathe to admit how much of his world Shinobu had become. Though he was already dreading it, he hoped that when that time came he would find he loved Shinobu enough to release him graciously. Until then, however, he would allow himself to be greedy: he did not need to share Shinobu with the world just yet.
Closing his eyes, Miyagi willed the music to ease his conflicted soul.
So many days, now, he mused, I, who lived for so long in the past, find myself wishing for an infinite future with my gray-eyed heart.
If only there was some way he could successfully navigate the vast distance between them.
New AN:
My apologies to the readers who reviewed this the first time through. I know all my shiftings and re-locations make it seem like I have a bit of MPD... Please know how much I appreciate your understanding and patience. I have all the original reviews archived. They mean so much to me.
Old AN:
So this was my first ever Terrorist fic. TBH when I first encountered JR, I didn't like them much, as I was very disconcerted by their age difference. In fact, I wrote this story, because I wanted to understand the couple better.
Now I realize that despite the gap in their ages, they're actually probably much more aligned in many ways than many couples who are much closer in age.
And actually now... I really rather love them.
Hope you will too.
Thank you for reading and reviewing.
Sincerely,
Cerberus