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[personal profile] matsumelrose
Title: Fake memories and true loves
Pairing: Goda Takeshi/Kamiyama Satoru
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Swearings
Word count: 1,625
Disclaimer: ONLY the plot is mine.
Note: This is the first fan fiction I have ever completed. Unbeta-ed. Constructive criticism is welcome. Written for challenge 001 on soba_pair@LJ

fake memories and true loves


He wondered why everyone he loved had to leave him.

No--He wondered why he always ended up leaving everyone he loved.

It just, he couldn’t stand the sight Sumire-chan staring at the photo of her and her senpai every time she thought he didn’t notice. She might not know, but in the very deep of his heart, he had long realised it was time to release her from the trap of her own mind, that she loved him.

He had lied to himself for so long, he couldn’t do it anymore. So he left.

He left everything, from the Momo toothbrush to the lofts which held so much dried trace of his tears.

He left and sealed the past deep in his heart, wished to be never recalled of it again because he feared so much that he might run back to her, jump right into her lap, and be her Momo for the rest of his life.

His name was Takeshi.


He used to have everything, but now he had nothing.

Misaki had long gone; he barely remembered any fond memories with her in his nearly blank mind so it was not really a loss.

But Honma also had gone.

Satoru always had it, this big endless hole in his mind. His body yelled out to be a 28-year-old but his mind always stayed at 18 and it refused to grow.

He had been in that room for as long as he could remember, literally. The smell of disinfectant and the cold air had grown as one part of him, and the little intelligence he had could barely remember any colour but the pale blue-ish white of the wall, of the bed sheets and his plain clothes. .

The single thought he had was, unfortunately, not originally his. It was put into his mind by Honma, who was completely contrast to that room, his whole being belonged to something dark, the kind of dark would suck his everything and leave him nothing to grip, even a single thought. 

He was existing to beg for the knowledge which he neither wanted nor needed to have.

The knowledge of him murdering his only love.

But now even that man also had gone.

Sometimes he wondered why he had to reveal Honma’s entire plot if the outcome was him being the only one in this world who has no friend, no family or even a memory of his own. He was nothing but a naked striptease in the street. At least, they had their memories.

Fuck all beautiful stories of people building everything from scratches. Fuck all the fake condolences you will create better memories and it’s better to forget the bad past and head towards the bright future. No, thank you, he couldn’t build any future if he had no past.


Takeshi met Satoru the way he met Sumire-chan.

He had fuck you-ed some random homeless guys because they said he looked cute. And because they thought cute guy should not say not-so-cute words, they taught him a little lesson to remind him of his cuteness, giving him a few kicks in the gut and three or four--he really couldn’t remember as he was fairly drunk--fists in the face, not forgeting to drag him to the nearest trash bin, threw him there after preparing him a soft bed made from smelly garbage.

He lied there for god knew how long before he met a young man with stupid hair, stuck out in one side and draped behind his ear in the other. Normally he would laugh right at the man face if he was not in too much pain to lift a pinky finger much less humiliating another person. Beside, he wanted to be rescued.

After a few oh my god, fuck, are you okay and who the hell did something so terrible like this to you, he was carried into an apartment. He felt relieved it was not a condominium.

The man---or Satoru as he insisted being called by his first name---lent him his clothes so he could prepare the meal while Takeshi taking a bath and after that, he would take care of his injures (and of course, take care of his information).

Takeshi took a quick bath and moved to the kitchen to help him. Takeshi wanted to cook, not like Momo. It turned out Satoru was helpless in the kitchen, so his help was needed and he thought he would use that as a reason for his staying in the long-term, at least until Satoru realised he was keeping a real man Takeshi in his home, not some stupid-pet-alike person.

They had meal in silence and Satoru bandaged his wounds. Takeshi noticed that Satoru was a pretty talkative person--he talked so much that it was like he wanted to talk to make up for years of silence.

Or it was just an occupational disease. Satoru was the MC for a talk show. They called him MC Kamiyama.

It seemed Satoru didn’t like it.

Takeshi found it nice that Satoru was friendlier than the last person who had taken care of his wounds.


“So…do you want to stay?”

“You want me to stay in your house?”

“Yes. Of course, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. It’s just that not many people want a stranger to stay in their house after they found him lying beaten in the trash bin.”

“I just feel like that you are the same as me. Or at least, you used to be.”


Satoru wondered before he fell down from the rooftop of that hospital, had he just for once doubted his sexuality? Probably he hadn't because Satoru remembered Honma saying that he loved Misaki, to the point of lying because he was jealous of Misaki’s feeling for Honma.

Honma just conveniently ignored to announce in national television the fact that he had fucked him in that room every single time he came there. And every single time, Satoru let him.

He didn’t know if there were cases like this, when people were in a coma for eight years, lost their memories, woke up, and turned gay. He might be the sole case like that in this world.

For some reasons, the fact that Takeshi was now living with him in his house made he consider building his future again.

It was not that he didn’t have a past. It was just that past was not his. It was Honma’s.

He had known from the moment he saw Takeshi whining in the trash bin. This man was like him. He had a past but that past was not really his. The idea of someone had the same fate as him, who had to bear a past given by other people and had no other way but to believe in it, comforted him.

Maybe he could give Takeshi a try.

You know, like building your future again with another man. He liked the idea.


“Here. Take it.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s for my show. I am performing on Wednesday next week. Come if you’re free.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you are a dancer.”

“Now you knew I am.”


Takeshi thought he might love Satoru.

He didn’t find the idea of loving another man so strange considering the fact that he once accepted to be a dog. Loving another man sounded more plausible.

He took his time to see if Satoru had a senpai or kouhai or someone like that. Satoru came straight home after shooting, rarely went out or had guests. He only saw a Takasugi-san called him once (Satoru was taking bath, and he swore he was not the privy type but still took a glance over the phone before calling out Satoru, you have a call) and the way his lips forced a smile as he rejected the woman said everything. He had nothing to worry.

Until the day he found out that picture.

Takeshi had thought Satoru had no past. Now, it turned out he had one.

Takeshi suddenly felt lonely for the first time since the last time he saw Sumire-chan.


“I think it’s time for me to go.”

“Why? Where?”

“I don’t know where.”


“I think I am not like you as much as you thought.”

A flash of recognition showed itself in Satoru’s eyes as he noticed the open drawer.


It has been three years since the day Takeshi walked himself into Satoru’s life. He still hasn’t found another reason to leave yet.

The last time he wanted to go was more than two years ago. It was also the time Takeshi knew that Satoru needed him tooh. His love for Honma was buried by memories of him loving Misaki which were given into his mind by Honma himself. The past Satoru had was so wrong that he had to erased them all to the point he didn’t know which memory was his anymore.

Satoru also knew that Takeshi’s love for Sumire-chan was strangled to die in its infancy by Sumire-chan’s love for her dog and the fact that Takeshi couldn’t bring himself to part from Momo because he loved Sumire-chan so much also prevented him from telling her that he was Takeshi, not a resurrected-man-version Momo.

Two fake past bearers found their way to each other in the middle of night. Satoru is not sure that he loves Takeshi and neither Takeshi does. They just know that they are creating true memories with each other.

And it’s enough.

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