Pairing: OshiKam
Futurefic. Cute shounen-ai-ness. Why Mae shouldn't be allowed to write while watching the Grammys.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd be richer than hell right now. My bank account says they're not.
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Kamio waved cheerfully at his neighbors as he padded out the door of his high-rise condo to go grab the mail. They, in turn, waved back. Seeing public figures in this quadrant of town was fairly commonplace, and to those folks who lived in the same building, Kamio was just Kamio, not the high-profile, immensely popular rock star he was to the rest of the country. He yanked the pile of letters out of the box, and returned to his domicile.
Oshitari was half-sprawled on the couch, watching TV. In English, of course; he was just a little geeky that way, and it was part of his ongoing crusade to make sure Kamio spoke and understood English well enough to survive in the Western world. It had always been his worst subject in school by far. "Anything good, lover?" he asked, as Kamio started sorting through the envelopes.
"Uh...electric bill, gas bill...not yet...TV bill, credit card application...wait, what's this?" He fished a large square envelope out of the pile, one with his name neatly written on it. Just as he picked it up, the cell phone in his pocket started buzzing. He answered the phone as he looked over the envelope. "Yo." The excited voice on the other end of the line got his attention in a hurry. "Dude, Masaharu, breathe...what? We were what? They want us to do WHAT?" Now he was getting wired, to the visible interest of his partner. "Oh my freakin' god. Let me call you back, ok? I gotta talk to Yuushi...yeah, no problem. Later." He flipped the phone closed, and shredded into the envelope. Yep, it was just what Masaharu had been talking about.
"Akira, what in heaven's name has gotten into you?" Oshitari shoved himself into a seated position just in time to have the envelope flung at him. He pulled out the contents and read over them, brows creasing. Abruptly, he looked up at his lover. "The Grammys?"
"Yeah, we got nominated for best foreign-language album AND they want us to perform at the telecast!" Kamio was beyond excited. "Feel like going and setting the Western world on its ear, lover?"
Oshitari looked at him for a moment. They'd never been closeted, per se, but they'd equally never been the type to rub the world's collective nose in their relationship. Yet here he was, staring a very public invitation right in the face. He didn't think about it more than thirty seconds. "You bet. See what they say then."
Kamio chuckled, then pulled out his cell phone and hit 3 on the speed dial. "Yo, Masaharu. Count us both in. And don't expect us to snag groupies for the ceremony either." He couldn't wait. He simply could not wait.
"How do I look?"
They'd hit Rodeo Drive on a mad shopping spree two days prior to the ceremony. Kamio, as ever, was direly in need of Oshitari's help to put together an outfit that was at once trendy and classic, formal enough for a major awards ceremony yet edgy enough to make sure everyone remembered he was a rock star, not a banker. He adjusted his jacket and turned to get his lover's approval.
Oshitari wholeheartedly approved. The pinstriped suit was neatly tailored, and had been layered over a sky-blue shirt with French cuffs. Unbuttoned to the sternum, of course, with a bit of tastefully-chosen jewelry...he looked fantastic. Very corporate rock. It was all he could do to keep from tackling him right on the spot, which would have undone all the hard work. Oshitari, for his part, was in a high-quality if fairly conservative suit. They'd make a very nice couple on the red carpet. "You look fantastic as always, lover. We need to go; the limo will be here any minute."
They piled into the first of the band's two limousines, arriving outside the Staples Center shortly thereafter amid a throng of onlookers and security guards. Not too many people recognized them, but a small Japanese contingent was on hand to cheer their arrival. The band's slightly avant-garde good looks provoked squeals from a number of younger female fans.
"I think they're yelling for you," Kamio muttered to his lover, highly amused by the whole thing.
"I doubt it. I look like a banker." Oshitari was hugely entertained. It was like a circus. They made their way inside, finding their seats and settling down. Around them, people were filing in and seating themselves. Yuushi reached over to take his beloved's hand, earning a couple of quizzical stares from the people around them. Of course, there were enough gay couples floating around that it wasn't THAT out of place.
He waited his way through most of the sets. It was all good music, and he translated the acceptance speeches and so forth for Kamio, who was still not nearly as fluent in English as either of them would like. Halfway through the telecast, during a commercial break, the band slipped backstage to change and get ready to perform.
When they came onstage, the place exploded.
Kamio was in his element. Their first English-language single was the song of choice, and he was singing lead on it. As such, he'd ditched his drum set to a backup musician, and was center stage, electric guitar in hand, belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs. It was just like being at home in the clubs, but so much bigger and so much wilder.
Oshitari was as mesmerized as the people around him. This was one of the best performances he'd ever seen his lover turn in, regardless of the circumstances. He could hear surprised whispers from around him; nobody'd been expecting anything like them. One of the whisperers, who noticed that he'd been sitting next to the band before they'd left to take the stage, tapped him on the shoulder. "Where've they been hiding all this time?"
"Tokyo," Yuushi answered, amused. The questioner looked impressed.
"You their manager, then?"
That only amused Oshitari more. "No."
"How d'you know the band?"
"Hard not to when you've been living with one of them for a decade and then some." The questioner blinked, which made him chuckle before returning his attention to the lead singer.
The Staples Center exploded in raucous applause as the song ended. Kamio took his bows, grinning from ear to ear. The lights were blinding, but he knew precisely where to aim the kiss he blew into the audience. He always knew where his Yuushi was, regardless of whether he could be seen or not.
Shortly thereafter, they exploded back onto the stage, to claim the Grammy for best foreign-language album. One of the other bandmembers gave a short, carefully-rehearsed speech in English before turning it over to the others. A few words from each, then Kamio got his turn to clutch the statuette. He looked out at the crowd, then -- for once -- slid into English himself. He knew what he was going to say. He'd rehearsed for weeks.
"Thank you, everyone. Yuushi -- for you. I love you."
They clattered offstage, three of them oblivious to the fact that an architect in the audience was fighting back tears. The whole world knew about them now, and that had Oshitari Yuushi happier than he'd ever been in his life.