A/N: ZareEraz here! I just blew through this wondering anime when I found it (quite by accident, but I have a feeling that it was inevitable) and I instantly loved the characters of Bon and Shin and the great chemisty they have with each other. Its a relationship I'd like to explore more, just not in this fic. Please enjoy this little story and in the words of rakugo...Thank you for your continued support! Happy reading! :3
Faces
The Japanese say you have three faces. The first face, you show to the world. The second face, you show to your close friends, and your family. The third face, you never show anyone. It is the truest reflection of who you are.
Yurakutei Kikuhiko had become a stunning success in the rakugo world, ever since that night when he'd captured the audience of the theater in his cool grace, reciting "Shinagawa Shinju" with an air that completely overshadowed any other performance he'd ever given. The man sitting on the stage had begun to spin the tale of an aging geisha, the lady Osome and her failed attempt at a lover's suicide with the gullible bookseller Kinzo, with the same tone and recitation that he'd performed before, the regulars of the audience beginning to tire of the same old attempts and failures of the futasume. The smile on his face was confident (as always, hiding an almost crippling fear of failing again), his dark, gray eyes cool, but it wasn't until he slipped into the role of Osome, plotting her own death and that of another, that something drastically changed.
"Oh, what am I to do?" Osome sighed, placing her hand delicately on her lap. "I need a partner for a lovers' suicide. But I would feel awful doing that to any of the men I know…" And that's when it happened.
All it took was one glance, a slip of those cool pupils as they moved to root themselves in the corner of the raven's eyes, dancing so smoothly, and they were hooked. His voice was higher pitched, but still held the delicate and rich tones of his normal voice, almost effortlessly drawing the audience closer.
"Oh, I know! That bachelor, Kinzo, the bookseller!" Osome clapped her hands, a coy smile spreading across Kikuhiko's lips as he continued the story.
Sukeroku could see it all from his little peephole off-stage, he could see the audience latch onto that single movement, suddenly enchanted as the man began to recite the lady's desire to die, conning the unwitting Kinzo into his own death as well. The way the performer spoke, the slight shifts of his posture, the coy tilt of his head as Osome or the wide eyes of Kinzo, seemed to cast a spell on the audience that had never been cast before, enthralling them, making them laugh at all the right parts and drink in the sight of a budding success. And Sukeroku could tell, just by one glance as his friend, that Bon, had finally found his own rakugo, something that no one on earth would be able to imitate to that level of perfection, not even if they studied a whole lifetime.
But this new coolness and appeal wasn't just reserved for the stage, but also when the man was out on the streets, working his job or spending time with the geisha Miyokichi. Kikuhiko had developed an untouchable air, something that kept people at a respectable distance, but still allowed them to approach him. It wasn't very kind or warm, but it was a part of the man's signature and his appeal. If Sukeroku had ever wanted to put a label on that face of Kikuhiko's, he would've called it his "prince" face and teased his friend about just how aloof he seemed to the public. (But he didn't want to get hot charcoals thrown at him again so he didn't mention it).
And speaking of tossing charcoal…whatever coolness that Kikuhiko had in the theater was instantly turned to ice once he was in his apartment with his filthy, uncouth, and scruffy roommate.
"Shin-san, get your lazy ass out of bed and get a job!" He'd say, his face hard, eyes narrowed. Or he'd say, "Why are you such a useless drunk? You should be buying nice kimono with that money the Association's given you," or something like that. That face and slight cruelness was something that Kikuhiko only showed Sukeroku...but it was just a different facet of his public face. That angry face told him to get his act together, scoffed at his behavior and reprimanded his every flaw…that face also had a partner, and it was the face that Sukeroku liked the best: the happy Bon that smiled at the clod's silliness and put up with his boisterous attitude, and it might even laugh. That's the face that Sukeroku loved, he loved to see it but it didn't come out very often. But when it did, the evenings in that tiny, one-room apartment were happy ones filled with stories and laughter and entertained thoughts that were lecherous and dangerous.
Whenever that happy face came out, Sukeroku would find himself staring at Kikuhiko's brilliance and wondering what it would feel like to kiss that soft smile, to swallow that laughter with his lips, to feel that pale skin under his fingertips as the light of the lamp made it glow. What would it be like to feel those smiling lips against his own skin, as their bodies pressed together, hands wandering to places they really shouldn't, that same mouth that recites debauchery onstage committing some of its own on Sukeroku's body? And he'd certainly be doing the same, trying to make that happiness last for as long as he could, because once the ice returned, it would take considerable time and energy to get it to dissipate again.
But as to the face that Kikuhiko showed to only himself, Sukeroku had no idea what that could be. He just hoped it wasn't one of despair or resentment as the child Bon had once had. As long as it wasn't that, Kikuhiko could be happy. Maybe it was like the one that the man wore when he was sleeping. That was a nice face too…his chiseled features all smoothed out and softened, his dark eyelashes brushing against pale skin, lips that weren't frowning in distaste at Sukeroku for gallivanting off with another woman.
That dreaming face was precious because Sukeroku could only see it when Kikuhiko, when Bon, fell asleep before him (which was incredibly rare because drinking and tiredness usually put the brunette out first and Bon would stay up incredibly late to practice rakugo). But when it did happen, Sukeroku could gaze at the soft face all he wanted, wondering what Bon dreaming about, wondering if he was a part of those dreams – even if he just caused trouble in them. That Bon, the one that slept peacefully, was even more brilliant than the one onstage, glowing under the lights of the theater. With just the moonlight and the dying charcoals to light the room, Sukeroku would sometimes touch that face's radiance, it was like touching a god, gently brushing his fingertips against his friend's jaw and cheekbone, and wonder if he could ever hold a place in that gentle Bon's heart. If he could, he'd want that face to be the one he saw every single day for the rest of his life, cherishing all its glares and looks no matter the circumstances they found themselves in.
Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ
Sometimes Sukeroku's public face could be a little tiring…very tiring actually. Kikuhiko had to deal with mountains of hijinks that his fellow apprentice concocted (most of them involving alcohol and women) and as the years had gone by, he was less and less amused about it. But that didn't mean that Sukeroku wasn't amusing or funny or bright – on the contrary, he always was. But his tireless romping around and getting drunk and then be absolutely stunning on stage with hardly any practice irritated the raven to no end. Shin-san had always been brilliant with rakugo, even when they were children. His easy going smile and boisterous personality kept him popular in the theater, his full voice dazzling audiences and making them laugh more effortlessly than Kukihiko could ever hope to accomplish. He thought it must've been so tiring to be that high strung all the time, but Shin-san seemed to feed off of people's own energy, making his aura on the stage even more palpable.
It's what made him so lovable and irritating at the same time. Lovable because his bright eyes and huge smile just seemed to draw you in, like you were an old friend whom he'd love to have a deep conversation with into all hours of the night. Irritating because it never shut off. Kikuhiko had to deal with that public face most of the time, warding off the man's pleas for money (for drinking) or going out (for drinking) or picking up some girls (for more drinking and then sex). It's not like he never wanted to go out with his friend, but just knowing that he was going to be dealing with that public persona and boundless energy was tiring to think about, so he'd keep declining, staying in his little apartment to practice and then sleep peacefully until Shin-san decided to stumble back in during the wee hours of the morning. But sometimes the brunette did want to stay in and that's when Kikuhiko's favorite face showed itself, like a well played rakugo character in and of itself.
The face that Shin-san showed only to the Master and Kikuhiko (when his ass was drunk) was a toned down version of his public face. He could still be full of energy, but is a deeper, more steady kind – the kind of energy that one watches the world with. Sometimes he'd just stare out the little window, his elbow on the sill, his hand cupping his chiseled jaw line as he babbled on about rakugo and the plans he had for it in the future, to keep the art alive and make people laugh even fifty years later when they were old men. Kikuhiko would listen to these fancies, smoking a cigarette or two as he sat by the fire, his rakugo books forgotten on the floor, his fan listless in his lap. He'd watch those deep chocolate eyes roll and flit about, watching the people on the streets late at night, the full voice that had audiences hanging off of his every word speaking softly for the moment.
Shin-san was beautiful, in a scruffy looking way. His hair was messy, even when cut, his eyes were too bright, his body language too bold, his voice to loud, but those were all things that made Shin-san, Shin-san. When his eyes were on you, you were the only thing they cared to see. That's how Kikuhiko felt anyway, the way he felt when the brunette would look at him. He wondered what those eyes had seen in the war and after it, wondered if those eyes could see what his lips did to the raven when he called out either of his names, wondered if that heart had felt things that it shouldn't feel. Kikuhiko knew that his heart had; he wanted Shin-san to feel the same warmth that he felt when they conversed seriously and softly in a camaraderie that was only possible because they'd grown up together and shared so much of their lives with each other. It was those moments that he truly cherished.
But…as to the face that Shin-san only showed to himself…Kikuhiko had no idea what it could be. Maybe, it was the face that he made when the brunette fell asleep on the raven's lap, his head heavy against his thigh. But that face looked too much like the one that Shin-san had when they were alone (and he wasn't drunk). But even if it wasn't, it was nice to think that this face, the one sleeping so peacefully on his lap, was a true expression of Shin-san. That face was truly free of cares, even if its owner liked to pretend that he had none at all other times. In those quiet moments when the Tokyo night was still, Kikuhiko would allow himself to carefully rest his hand on that strong jaw line, the tan skin of his face rough with the scruff of an unkept beard that never seemed to get out of infancy. His fingers would lazily trail down the muscular column of Shin-san's throat and rest on his collarbone, half on his kimono collar and half on his bare chest. Most of the time, Kikuhiko would grab onto the collar to try and shake some sense into the uncouth man, but it was also just nice to touch, to let the rise and fall of the brunette's deep sleeping-breath move his hand ever so slightly.
And sometimes…when he was feeling really brave, the raven might lean down, his lips almost touching his friend's, but never quite close enough to touch. In those types of moment, he would hope that someday, he might root himself in Sukeroku's heart, not just as a friend, but maybe…as something more than that. But that was ludicrous to think about, and he'd pull away before doing anything of real note.
"In all honesty," He'd whisper, "The face you make when you're truly alone…its probably one of frustration at all my nagging." And then he'd chuckle to himself, the noise stirring Shin-san from his sleep, just a little, enough for the man to shift on his lap and roll himself onto his side, his face traveling up the raven's thigh until he was almost kissing his abdomen. Kikuhiko's hand would then drift back to the man's head, running his fingers through his hair until he himself was sleepy, then he'd smack Shin-san out of his snooze and send the man stumbling and crawling back to his own bed so that the raven could get some "decent sleep." But that was all just an excuse, a ruse to hide his true feelings behind the face of someone who just wanted to be a friend, and nothing more. That's the way it had to be for now.
But in time, that face too, might just change.
End.