Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eichi throws himself across his bed starfish-style, face up and limbs stretched out across the soft white covers. He lets out a soft sigh escape his lips, body relaxing into the blankets beneath him as the air escapes it. The hair scattered across his face flutters gently, and he wrinkles his nose a little at the ticklish feeling. He inhales, making a face at the stray hairs that stick against his slightly-open mouth. Then, slowly, he turns his head to the side. Even more hair cascades over his view, and he takes a moment to push it all away. Finally settled, he peers through the gaps of the division between his and Rei’s beds. 

The division itself brings back a less-than-fond memory; Rei had once tried to stab him through the empty spaces in the pattern during one of the rare occasions that Eichi actually slept there. It had been kind of upsetting, if Eichi’s honest, because he thought that their relationship was more along the lines of “unresolved sexual tension” enemies rather than plain “wanting each other dead” enemies. He had woken up that night to high-pitched screaming and the sight of Aira hanging off the offending arm, trying to wrestle the knife out of Rei’s grip. The poor guy had looked absolutely terrified; Rei had simply looked conflicted between wanting to kill Eichi and not wanting to upset him. In the end, Eichi and Rei had signed an agreement stating that neither of them would make more attempts on each other’s lives, and had sat comforting Aira as he cried so hard he eventually knocked himself out. 

There’s none of that chaos in the room now, the culprit himself lying on his own bed with his arms crossed neatly over his chest under the dark covers. The rise and fall of the blankets betrays his humanity, although Rei would insist otherwise. Initially he’d requested a coffin to replace his bed, and had cried genuine tears when those in charge of the dorms had told him no. Eichi still has the pictures sitting in his phone’s storage. Rei looks awfully pathetic in those images, too, so Eichi likes to look at them whenever Rei annoys him. It brings him comfort as well as affirming his feelings of superiority.

True to his vampiric nature, Rei is fast asleep in his goth-slash-emo-themed bed (honestly, all Eichi knows is that he was going for something edgy. He’s not sure what the final look was supposed to actually be.), despite the clock sitting on Eichi’s own bedside reading one o’clock in the afternoon.

Eichi had been expecting this; just last week, he’d gone through Rei’s drawers in order to peek at his schedule. He’d wanted to make sure he caught Rei on one of his days off so that the other wouldn’t have any excuses to avoid him. Rei didn’t have any day plans with other people, either; Hakaze had sold out this information in exchange for Eichi telling him the date of Anzu’s next day off. Poor guy probably hadn’t considered that a workaholic like herself was probably going to be busying herself with all sorts of tasks regardless. Eichi hopes Hakaze manages to get her out of the office anyway, for the sake of Anzu getting some semblance of relaxation, and pointedly ignores his own hypocrisy. Fine has their “Eichi Day” now, anyway, he argues to himself, simply because even against his own mind Eichi just loves to win debates. 

He could’ve bribed someone at Rhythm Link for Rei’s schedule in the first place, now that he thinks back on it. It’s just that rummaging through his things had simply seemed more fun , although when you’re running on almost 60 hours of no sleep most things seem like good ideas. He’d also discovered a stash of tomato juice cartons and replaced the juice in one of them with hot sauce, so he’d gotten a little more out of it than just the schedule. Even if hot-glueing the bottom closed in a way that didn’t look suspicious was a little time-consuming, Eichi’s looking forward to the payoff on that one. He wonders if Rei has been unfortunate enough to drink from it yet. 

Considering how unbothered Rei appears in sleep, Eichi assumes that the time bomb on that situation is still ticking away. The former hasn’t reacted at all to Eichi’s obvious distress (i.e. his sighing), and so he does it again, louder. There’s still nothing. Eichi’s gaze wanders from Rei’s face back to the divider, and considers kicking it down onto him. He doesn’t know if he possesses the physical strength to do it successfully. 

Instead, he replaces his sighs with a mournful “Oh dear, it seems that I am in quite the predicament.” 

Rei’s eyebrows twitch, and yet he does not speak. The corners of Eichi’s mouth curl upwards. So he’s faking it, huh, the motherfucker.

Eichi sits himself up on the bed and chides, “Rei. Aren’t you going to ask your poor roommate and best friend about his problems?” 

“I’d rather swallow a stake.” Rei mutters, eyes still closed, “Who wants to be friends with you ?”

“Such an eloquent tone for such crude words. If you’re awake, won’t you listen?” 

“I’m sleep-talking. Now leave me alone.” 

By now, Eichi has found himself a new seat on the edge of Rei’s bed. Rei must sense danger, because his eyes shoot open as soon as the bed dips under Eichi’s weight. He regards the blonde with dark, narrowed eyes, threatening yet wary. If Eichi’s honest, it’s kind of attractive. Maybe in an alternate universe they get a hot and spicy romance together. Casting this thought aside, he smiles, unbothered, the ever-angelic face of innocence. 

“Rei, don’t you want to help us mere mortals?” Eichi asks, tone gentle. 

“Just cast me directly into the sun.” Rei says in lieu of a response. His arms uncross, and he places them at his sides to push himself up into a seated position. Eichi eyes his posture; Rei’s tense, but his form is still loosened by lingering drowsiness. Really, Eichi thinks, it’s as if he’s expecting me to put a gun to his head or something. 

“It’s about Wataru.” Eichi then ventures, to which Rei rolls his eyes but does not retort. 

To Rei, tolerating having Eichi as a roommate wears his patience thin enough. Having a conversation with him is one of the last things he wants to do ever . However, Wataru is a close friend of his, and is somebody who, for some ungodly reason, is entirely enchanted by the asshole sitting beside him like he’s never done wrong in his life. And, as much as Rei hates to admit it, he knows that, as much of a supreme bastard Eichi is, he’s a supreme bastard that cares a lot for his friend, too. 

“Fine.” He says, voice low and openly unenthusiastic. He’s only doing this for Wataru’s sake. Rei couldn’t care less about Eichi’s feelings on the matter, but agreement be damned, if he hurts Wataru then Rei will make sure his next attempt at homicide succeeds. 

Sensing that Rei is no longer resisting his attempts at conversation, Eichi takes initiative once more.

“I feel as if… We are becoming more distant with one another,” He admits carefully, clasping his hands together in his lap. They’re a little sweatier than he remembered them being a few seconds ago. 

“As embarrassing as it is to admit, I believe he is becoming…Bored…Of me.” 

Rei stares at him as if Eichi has just grown three extra heads and began juggling with them. 

“You two were literally cuddling in your bed yesterday.” He points out, slowly. It was so domestic that Rei was almost disgusted. 

“Ah, that? He was just trying to convince me to rest a little more.” Rei looks almost impressed with the speed and nonchalance with which Eichi brushes off his argument. It’s as if ever since Eichi stopped committing frequent morally grey acts, he also stopped thinking entirely. Rei can feel his face scrunch up in a mix of confusion, condescension, and distaste. Eichi lets out a forced laugh.

“The point is, I feel that our exchange diary, our bi-weekly dinners, and my good morning and goodnight text messages aren’t doing enough,” Eichi continues, “It’s like he’s losing interest in our time together.” 

Rei’s raised his eyebrows so high they’ve been swallowed up by his fringe. 

“Have you tried writing him Shakespearean poetry?” He asks. Sarcasm drips from each word, and a smug grin slowly widens as he speaks. It drops at a comical speed when Eichi nods. 

“Of course. Wataru said it was cute, but–” 

“I’m sorry,” Rei interjects, not sounding particularly remorseful despite his words, “ why do you think he’s not interested?”

Eichi stares at him with wide, shining eyes that Rei would find pitiful if he didn’t know how much pure, unfettered evil the former was capable of. 

“Because he’s not talking to me! Or, at least, not like he used to!” He falls dramatically across Rei’s lap, much to the latter’s dismay.

“There’s none of his romantic words, the theatrical quotations, none of the bantering between us anymore. It’s been three weeks since he last made my pillow explode into flowers, which is two weeks more than usual.” 

Eichi lifts up his arms, gesturing alongside his words. Rei grimaces, and he leans back to avoid receiving a rogue hand to the face. Eichi also makes a face; he’d kind of been hoping to hit him under the guise of an accident. 

“Whenever we speak, it’s always the mundane things; how our days were, if I’ve slept properly, how work is going. Once, he talked through a six-hour analysis of how he could’ve performed each of his lines better in his last performance in the most serious tone I’ve ever heard from him. Then, he sat through my eight-hour rambling on “An Uncensored and Unabridged History of the Idol Industry: Origin to Present Day.” He asked me reasonable questions about it! Not a single joke! Not even one! Another time, he just sat with me whilst I worked and didn’t say anything at all!”

Rei opens his mouth to speak, but Eichi rambles on without stopping. 

“Of course, it’s not like he acts like this all the time. Sometimes he acts as if things haven’t changed, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s as if he isn’t making the effort sometimes. I know we agreed that we’d only stay beside each other as long as we find each other interesting or useful. That was something mutual between us. But I’d never actually imagined it; Wataru leaving, I mean. And now that it seems to have reached that point, I don’t think I can bring myself to let him go.” 

Eichi looks up at Rei, pleading. He watches as the bright light of realisation slowly dawns in his eyes. Eichi can almost see the gears turning in his head, and imagines that if he stayed quiet enough, he’d hear them whirring quietly. But then Rei blinks and the light has died, his face neutral. He says hollowly, 

“No clue. Ask him yourself. I don’t want to be involved in your little lover’s dilemma.” Rei has whipped his phone out and is typing away urgently at an honestly worrying speed. It’s clear he’s no longer invested in the conversation. 

For the third time in the space of less than ten minutes, Eichi sighs. 

“I wish we were lovers. I don’t think I’d have a shot with him, at this point. He’s already lost interest.” 

Rei chokes on air. 

☆☆

After a fruitless exchange with Rei, Eichi turns to his backup option: Keito. 

He corners him in the library; Keito sits at his usual table. Under the warm light, he’s hunched over his typical mangaka tools and an incomplete comic page. His face is dangerously close to the paper as he diligently writes out character dialogue in a font-like script. There’s already a spot of ink smudged across his nose, a sign he started lettering too early. Half the table is littered with eraser shavings. When he finally looks up at Eichi, who has made himself comfortable on the seat beside him, his arms instinctively reach up to cover the page. When their eyes lock, Keito’s are wide with worry. Eichi can almost see the correction fluid incident flashing before the other’s eyes. 

“Keito,” Eichi grins, one arm resting on the table and the other propping up his cheek, “What are you drawing this time?” 

Keito, having assessed that Eichi poses no threat to his manga this time, answers,

 “It’s a fight scene.” He gestures to the copious explosions and sound effects across the panel he’s working on. 

“I see. So, do you usually write action stories?” 

Keito raises an eyebrow. He’s obviously a little taken aback at the fact that Eichi is taking a deeper interest in his work. He is also, predictably, a little suspicious. 

“I suppose. Why?” He replies, cautious yet honest. 

Seriously, why does everyone always assume I’m up to no good? Eichi tuts. Haven’t I put those days behind me already? 

“Well, I was wondering if you were considering branching out a little. You know, trying something new. Perhaps you could write a thriller, or a comedy. I hear that slice-of-life manga are becoming more popular recently,” Eichi lies, rattling off a list of genres he’d found on the first website that popped up on Ensemgle Search!! They don’t matter, after all. He’s only building up to what he really wants to know. Impatient, he goes in for the big one. 

“Oh!” Eichi visibly brightens, clicking his fingers together before pointing to Keito, pretending to have had a sudden idea. 

“How about romance?” 

Keito scoffs. 

“Does it look like I have any clue about romance ?” 

“Well, I hoped  the “stern and studious glasses-wearer likes to draw manga” gap-moe type thing you had going on might extend to being a hopeless romantic, or the like.” 

“Isn’t dating against idol employment contracts? We aren’t even allowed to call the Producer by her name. In what world would I be well-versed in romance?” 

Eichi pouts. 

“You’re no fun. Everyone knows that it’s really just getting caught that’ll get you in trouble. Isn’t the secrecy part of the drama? Look, together we’re already coming up with a hot new title for your next manga. You can call it “I’m Secretly Dating the World’s Hottest Idol??!!” , with two question marks and two exclamation points at the end for some flair.” 

“What do you want, Eichi?” Keito grumbles. He’s given up on his manga, pen placed neatly beside the neglected page. His brows are furrowed, as they have been since Eichi casually suggested committing a breach of contract for fun . 

“Well–” 

“I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got work to do, so I don’t have time for this.”

“You can do your work later, Keito,” Eichi whines, the perfect image of the spoiled brat Tori often is, “My relationship with Wataru is in danger .” 

“I sincerely doubt that.” Is the dry response he’s humoured with. Keito’s already out of his seat and heading for the door. Gathered in his arms are his supplies, held in a firm grip. In his eagerness to leave, he’s foregone cleaning up the eraser shavings and has instead swept them onto the floor. Eichi jumps up, the chair letting out an ungodly screech as he does so. Keito winces, and Eichi takes advantage of his delayed movements to block Keito’s exit from view. The pair of them stand there, Eichi with his arms and stance wide, grinning childishly. 

“Even if you don’t know much about romance, you’re smart, aren’t you Keito? I think you could come up with a pretty good date plan to win over Wataru.” 

Keito fakes a retching noise under his breath. 

“No, thank you. Find somebody else to bother.” 

Rei already kicked me out of our room for bugging him about it, though. 

“Please, Keito. I promise to be completely insufferable otherwise.” 

“You’re always insufferable.” Keito tells him curtly, pushing past him. 

Eichi is left standing alone. He sighs, again; he might as well be setting a record for Most Sighs. 

Well, he thinks, I suppose I’ll just have to work things out myse–

“Eichi-sama, is it true that you and Long Hair aren’t getting along anymore?” 

Eichi turns around. Across the library, peeking out from behind the shelves of the manga section, is Tori. He’s leaning out as if he’d been hiding behind them. Under the Library’s warm light, Eichi can see that the expression he sports is one of genuine worry, all big doe eyes and furrowed brows. His hands, peeking through too-big sleeves, grip the corner of the bookshelf nervously. Behind him, Yuzuru looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Young Master,” he says, exasperated, “somebody of such high status should not admit to eavesdropping on others.” 

Tori ignores him in favour of hitting Eichi with the puppy-dog eyes he’s so proficient at. Damn, Eichi muses, almost proud, he’s got a powerful weapon and he knows it. Eichi smiles warmly and tries to refute his problem, but Tori is having none of it. Ignoring Eichi’s stuttered defences, he’s already bounding over, grabbing at Eichi’s sleeve before he can get a proper word out. 

“Let me help! If he leaves Fine it’s a problem for all of us, anyway!” 

“I’m sure he won’t be that tired of me…” Eichi protests weakly, to which Tori huffs. 

“Who knows? That weirdo does whatever he wants, whenever he pleases.” 

Ouch. 

“I would like to remind the Young Master of a little thing called tact.” Yuzuru reminds him coolly. 

“Whatever!” Tori rolls his eyes. Eichi wonders when the cute and charming Tori became so sassy. 

“The point is, Eichi-sama needs help with getting Long Hair to fall for him, right? As his friends and members of the same unit, it’s our duty to give him a hand!” 

“Ah…” Eichi manages, gaze softening at Tori’s pleading gaze. “Well, I suppose you do know Wataru well after all that special training. Perhaps my cute Tori has some good ideas for me?” 

Tori’s face lights up, and his grip on Eichi’s sleeve tightens. Eichi wonders if Tori is abnormally strong for his stature or if he’s just weaker than average. When Tori begins jumping up and down, he can feel the pull all the way up to his shoulder. 

“Of course I do! Eichi-sama, Eichi-sama, listen well, ‘kay? I’ll plan you guys the best date ever~” 

After some deliberation, Yuzuru chips in with a, 

“This servant will also assist with any preparations that need to be made.” He’s far less hyper about the whole thing, but Eichi is still warmed by his offer.

Eichi allows himself to be dragged back to the now-empty table, Tori chattering his ear off the whole time. Yuzuru takes his usual position standing behind the younger, despite the abundance of empty seats around them. Eichi lets the words wash over him, sincere in their intent. With all the office time he’s been racking up, he’s missed out on times like this; spending time with his unit members outside of training, watching how they act, how they talk, how their personality shines through with even the tiniest of gestures. 

What Eichi’s summarising from Tori’s behaviour is that he’s more gossipy than before. He blames it on Tori’s position as part of the Pretty Five, and the fact that he probably picked such a bad habit up from Hiyori. 

“You’d better start taking notes! With a flawless plan from me, Long Hair will be crawling back to you in no time~” 

☆☆

When Eichi sidles into the taxi, Wataru is waiting for him in the seat beside his, phone in hand. As he slips on his seatbelt, he peers over Wataru’s shoulder to see a HoldHands group titled “WatchIdo Top 5 Baddest Bitches”. In Wataru’s phone, each of the members has a heart beside their name. Eichi wonders if he does, too. He can see one message from Kanata begging Natsume to install an EnCraft MOD that will add more fish for him, and then about six of Itsuki cursing Eichi out as the apparent reason that his favourite bakery (in France, mind you) had sold out of croissants that morning. There’s a little message bubble that indicates he’s still going. 

“Non! How can this be! I am all out of croissants this morning!” 

“Mademoiselle is assuring me that I must calm down, but how can I?!” 

“Just went to my beloved local bakery, and there were also NONE!” 

“Tenshouin, that villain! I bet this is his new psychological warfare!”
“GIVE ME MY CROISSANTS TENSHOUIN! IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU, I KNOW IT!” 

“EVEN THE PRESENCE OF MY BEAUTIFUL MADEMOISELLE CANNOT QUELL MY RAGE.”

“YOU TRULY ARE FIT FOR HELL, AREN’T YOU? MUST YOU TORMENT ME SO?!”

“EVERYTHING THAT GOES WRONG IN MY LIFE IS YOUR FAULT! TEN! SHOU! IN!”

Shu♡ is typing…

Noticing his presence, Wataru quickly clicks his phone off and looks up at Eichi, smiling. 

This smile is still new to Eichi; he’d first seen it only a month ago, when Wataru had started acting oddly. It’s small, much smaller than his usual expression that spreads wide across his face. He squints a little when he does it, eyes glinting softly, seemingly unintentional. It’s oddly subdued in a way that lacks Wataru’s staple flashiness, and yet there’s something about it that feels comfortable. 

“Eichi. You don’t often call me up without warning.” It’s more a question than a greeting.

Tori had told him that since Wataru specialises in surprise, everything, including the date itself, should be a surprise. It had seemed harmless enough of a suggestion. 

“That’s right. I felt like switching things up this time; it’s a surprise date.” Eichi tells him, nervous. His voice catches a little at his use of the word “date”. What if Wataru doesn’t see things that way? Have I just made things too awkward? Wataru simply nods, oblivious, letting out a laugh. 

It’s different, again; the gentle, breathy laughter that escapes him is a far cry from the boisterous one Eichi’s heard before. It’s simple. To him, Wataru has never been simple . There’s an underlying vulnerability to the whole thing, like somebody’s stripped away Wataru’s usually joyous aura that makes him, him. Eichi isn’t quite sure what to make of it. 

“Well, I was certainly surprised! I thought you’d be working.” 

He’s right; usually, Eichi would be holed up at his desk even in the early evening hours. Tori had said he’d handle the workload for him, and then promptly shoved it all upon Yuzuru. 

“Some things came up, so I ended up with some free time.” 

Wataru nods again in acknowledgement, and then lets their ride fall silent. 

When has Wataru ever been silent? Even when he wasn’t speaking, he’d always filled the quiet by humming a tune under his breath or by tapping out a beat absentmindedly. There’s never been the swell of soundless air in any room he’s set foot in. So why?, Eichi wonders. Why is Wataru sitting there, watching the world fly by outside the window without a word as if he’s been replaced by a milder version of himself? 

The ride to their destination passes with no event other than Eichi nervous-sweating his way through his innermost layer of clothing. When the taxi finally stops, Eichi stumbles out and rushes to get the door for Wataru. He trips over his own feet reaching for the handle. Again, all Eichi’s met with is that wordless, mysterious smile as he leads Wataru to their venue. When he looks up, recognition sparks in his eyes. 

“A theatre!” He exclaims.   

“And the show tonight is– Ah… ” Wataru trails off, confused. Confused? Eichi can’t usually read him well, if at all. And yet, the enigma of Wataru Hibiki’s true thoughts and emotions has been cracked open and laid bare so easily by the man himself! 

“Yes,” Eichi cuts in quickly, “I’ve heard that this “Bacchae”  is a popular one, written by somebody from Greece. Apparently, this work is quite famous and has been studied for years in the west.” All information courtesy of Yuzuru, of course.

“Indeed. It was written by a Greek man named Euripides, to which around ninety ancient plays have been attributed, however, his works…” Wataru’s voice softens into nothing once more.

So Wataru was familiar? Eichi’s heart sinks. He hadn’t seen it before, had he? Was he going to be bored of this, too, just like he was of Eichi?

Wataru must take note of the fear evident on his face, because he takes Eichi’s hand and assures hurriedly, 

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Shall we?” 

Eichi’s senses shut down immediately, brain instantly locking onto the feeling of his hand in Wataru’s. Eichi’s sickly body has always run a little colder, especially in his hands and feet, whereas Wataru has always been warm, sunny energy in both body and mind. His tan skin, deep and rich in tone, is stark against the dull pale skin of Eichi’s hand. Magician’s hands, Eichi thinks dumbly, dextrous and long-fingered. Nimble, yet solid, confident. 

Eichi simply stands and lets Wataru lead him inside and then search him up and down for the theatre tickets, happy enough to revel in the feeling of one hand holding his own and the other patting up and down his coat. He doesn’t say a thing; there’s no room in his brain right now for words! Wataru is holding his hand, look! The tired worker behind the desk is glancing at him weirdly. Wataru slips the free hand neatly into Eichi’s pocket and recovers the tickets, grinning as he hands them over. 

It’s that smile again, the big one, the familiar one. It seems to take up his whole face. Had it always been that exaggerated? 

Wataru successfully manoeuvres Eichi into his seat, despite the fact mere hand-holding had turned him temporarily both deaf and mute. When he slips into his own, his hand lets go of Eichi’s, and the latter finds himself reaching briefly for the lost warmth before he recovers his composure. 

“Thank you, Wataru.” He says, because he isn’t quite sure what else to.

“It’s nothing, Eichi.” 

The play begins without any further mishap. Although the costuming is typical of ancient Greek stereotypes, the performance is, thankfully, not in its original language. The Japanese translation is, whilst reminiscent of the old-fashioned way Rei talks, easy enough for Eichi to follow. He finds himself focusing on the actors, the story new to him. 

"People say some stranger has arrived, some wizard, a conjurer from the land of Lydia– with sweet-smelling hair in golden ringlets and Aphrodite's charms in wine-dark eyes."

“A stranger…” Eichi murmurs, “Aphrodite’s charms…” 

He turns to Wataru, meeting his eyes. This Wataru, occasionally solemn, the Wataru that talks about the mundane things like the weather and uneventful work experiences, is a stranger to him. The Wataru that wears his heart on his sleeve rather than behind a mask, with a smaller smile and a quieter laugh, is not the same Wataru he knows. But Eichi is charmed nonetheless, enamoured by how human it makes him seem, how seamlessly it bridges the gaping abyss that Wataru puts between the stage and the audience in all of his theatre metaphors. 

He’s also increasingly worried about it; Wataru is staring at him intently, not even bothering to throw a glance the actors’ way. 

“Eichi, you’re going to miss something if you watch me instead of the performers on stage.” Wataru whispers, leaning in close. Eichi could kiss him right now, if he wanted. 

“Yes. You’re right.” He whispers back, instead, because he’s a coward. He turns back to the stage. 

☆☆

Eichi walks stiffly from the theatre, feeling slightly traumatised. 

“I didn’t expect them to enact the tragic hero’s death so vividly.” Wataru comments, eyes sparkling, “As you can imagine, the actors did not possess the same facilities at the time the play was written as we do in the modern day. Thus, the messenger’s words were used to leave the scene up to the audience’s imagination.” 

“Well, this production certainly left nothing for us to imagine.” Eichi chokes out, almost shuddering at the fresh memory of an incredibly realistic fake body, a copious amount of fake blood, and worryingly convincing acting.

“My apologies, Wataru.” He then adds,  “I didn’t realise…”

Wataru laughs again; he’d been doing so since the moment Eichi had turned to him in horror inside the theatre, hand against his lips to prevent himself from disrupting those around them. Eichi had been flickering his wide-eyed gaze between the stage before them and Wataru shaking with silent laughter beside him for the entirety of the final act. 

“No, it’s quite alright. I was plenty entertained~” 

Eichi frowns. Did he mean it, or was Wataru just saying it to be polite? It certainly hadn’t been a very romantic experience, and Wataru had seen it before already. Perhaps he should have looked at things himself rather than entrusting things to Tori, who had in turn flippantly told Yuzuru to book whatever had been most popular. 

There’s not much time for him to worry, because theatre-goers are flooding from the exits, crammed along the thin stretch of pavement outside and jostling them both. Eichi reaches for Wataru to guide him away from the crowd, and is reminded of another piece of Tori’s advice. 

“If you want to make his heart flutter, you have to take initiative! Show aggression! Possession! Flaming, red-hot desire!” 

Eichi isn’t so sure about trusting the love advice of somebody two years younger than him. However, he just can’t say no to Tori’s weaponised adorableness, and thus sits obediently as he continues, 

“You need a special move that’ll lower his guard. Oh, how about a kabedon? It’s meant to be super effective, and it looked pretty good in this BL manga I read the other d–”

“Young Master, what did you just say you’d been reading?” 

Tori had bolted the second he’d seen Yuzuru’s cold eyes flashing, and so Eichi hadn’t really been given any other options. He sighs. 

In the time that Eichi had been standing there experiencing his flashback, Wataru had already pressed his back to the wall of the theatre and was waiting at the side for the crowds to die down. All Eichi has to do is push himself through the fray (easier said than done; he’s pressing against a current of people stronger than he is), and plant his hands firmly to the wall to either side of Wataru’s head. 

And, well– It’s not as sexy or exciting as he’d hoped. There’s not much of a height difference between them, if any at all, and Wataru was already by the wall so he hadn’t needed to be pushed. He doesn’t know what aggression, possession or flaming, red-hot desire this is meant to convey, because all he’s really feeling is a slight pain in his back from the unnatural angle he’s placed himself at.

“Did you fall, Eichi? Shall I support you?” Wataru asks. 

Actually, maybe go back to that last one. Not the back pain. The flaming, red-hot desire. It’s kind of hot. They’re pressed pretty close, and Wataru has pulled him in by the waist as the masses pass by. Eichi can feel his breath on his face when he speaks. He can feel the warmth of Wataru’s body all the way down his front. Suddenly, he’s the one off guard. 

No fair, Wataru! Eichi cries to himself, I’m supposed to be sweeping you off your feet, not the other way round! 

“Ah. No, it’s nothing.” He comments. “Actually, I have a magic trick to perform for you.” 

Wataru raises an eyebrow at this. 

“Oh? Taking me to the theatre and performing magic tricks? Eichi, are you coming for my brand?” He jokes, gaze expectant. His hands are still steady at Eichi’s waist– oh wow, he can feel it practically burning through his coat– and he stands casually as if he’s not ruining Eichi’s composure by doing next to nothing. 

Eichi doesn’t respond, and reaches into his sleeve. He has to dig around a bit, wiggling his fingers around and jostling the sleeve. Not to mention the awkward position he’s put them in, Wataru backed against a wall and one of his legs between Eichi’s as the latter leans into him. Now that he’s taken his hands off the wall, Eichi’s not holding himself up too well.

Finally, he snags the item hidden inside the sleeve. With two fingers, he tugs at it, and is instantly informed that he’d made a mistake when a pain shoots up his arm. Eichi fights back a wince. 

This was a bad idea, he thinks numbly.

Gritting his teeth behind a smile, he pulls hard, squeezing his eyes shut with a grimace as a thin line of pain snakes from his elbow to wrist . Ripped out from his sleeves, a trio of fresh red roses appear. Or at least, they were fresh when he’d bought them. Their previously vibrant petals are dull and slightly wilted, half of them falling out of his sleeve separate from the flowers. The surviving buds are a little bit sad and crumpled. One of the flowerheads falls right off onto the ground. 

“...Eichi,” Wataru begins after a long, awkward pause, “Did you have real roses up your sleeve for the past few hours? 

Eichi can feel the thorns’ scratches bleeding into his shirt fabric. 

“...Yes?” 

Wataru looks like he doesn’t know whether to look pleased or upset. 

“You hide a set of fake roses in your sleeve, ones that take up little space and pop out when revealed. If you want to hand out real roses, you swap them with the fakes discreetly.” He explains, 

“Is your arm alright?” 

“Oh,” Eichi says, “That actually makes quite a lot of sense.” Just let him bleed out and die now. This is so embarrassing. 

Silence falls between them once more. Wataru gently takes his hand (Eichi resists the urge to frown as Wataru lets go of him, which takes tremendous willpower) and begins rolling up Eichi’s sleeve. With a practised flourish, he produces a handkerchief seemingly from thin air, and begins to wipe at the small injuries scattered across his forearm. 

“Well, I suppose it’s on theme with the violent tragedy we’ve just seen.” Wataru tries, but it falls flat against his frown. 

The only tragedy here is this absolute mess of a date, Eichi thinks bitterly. 

More silence. Eichi’s still holding the damaged roses in a cautious grip. For a while, there’s only the ambience of the city street in Eichi’s ears. Wataru makes a satisfied face once he’s sure Eichi’s cuts have stopped bleeding, and puts the handkerchief away. He takes Eichi’s free hand in both his own. The street is bare now, with few passers-by under a now-dark sky. The flashy theatre lights above are reflecting off Wataru’s pale hair, making it glow. 

“Eichi, I believe that there is some misunderstanding between us.” Wataru finally begins, slowly, after another moment of quiet. 

“Rei told me that you had been worrying about… My recent behaviour.” 

“He ratted me out, the son of a bitch.” Eichi mutters, ears flushing. Wataru smiles. 

“Every member of the “Five Eccentrics” is aware, I’m afraid.” 

So he tattled on me not only to Wataru, but to three people most likely to be holding a grudge against me? Eichi considers replacing the hot sauce carton with a combination of rat poison and the strongest laxatives he can get his hands on. 

“Don’t hold it against him; his intentions were… Partly innocent.” Wataru assures him, “Perhaps we should drop the murderous intent, hm?” 

“Alright,” Eichi says, but he’s already made a mental note to get back on that train of thought at a later station.

“I suppose this matter did need to be addressed.” He then admits. 

“Yes. I did not communicate my intent to you before, and thus I shall explain now.” 

Wataru takes a deep breath, mouthing around empty sounds for a while. He plays with Eichi’s fingers in his hands, taking care to be gentle despite his currently anxious disposition. There’s probably something poetic in there, Eichi thinks. There’s the inherent beauty in all that he does, and flowery words do it far better justice than the eyes. Either way, his mind is blank now and he’s half-sure his eyes are glazing over. 

“You are aware… Of the type of person that I am, yes?” 

“An actor,” Eichi answers easily, “who stands proudly on the stage of life.” 

Wataru laughs. 

“Well, that’s not entirely wrong. Wataru Hibiki is the lively clown that performs for all, a universal entertainer. Can you tell me why?” 

Eichi is taken aback by the question. The subject of Wataru’s identity, whilst known to him, is still evasive; Wataru rarely brings himself up in conversation, and as such Eichi does not dare to. He’s more hesitant this time, unsure in his words as he tries, 

“Because an actor lacks value without an audience. If they do not provide their service to others, then, as an actor, they are worthless. Wataru Hibiki is the same; if there are no eyes upon him, then he might as well not exist.” 

Wataru nods approvingly. 

“That may have held true about the Wataru Hibiki of a few years ago. However, since being invited into the lives of others by people such as you, Eichi, he has come to learn that such a thing may not always hold true; there exist people to whom Wataru Hibiki is valuable as a human, or even as a friend, regardless of the mask he wears.” 

Eichi makes a noise in acknowledgement, and says nothing. The gentle up and down of Wataru’s breathing causes the light on him to shift and his hair to glitter. 

“...Are you not one of those people yourself, Eichi?” 

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Eichi hurries to answer, drawing his eyes away from silver-blue hair to meet the deep purple of Wataru’s eyes. 

“Wataru, you are somebody important to me. That won’t change.” 

That smile. The mysterious one. The quiet one. It’s haunting him. 

“You’ve acted before, haven’t you?” Wataru questions, before adding,

“We did so together in Fist of the Shangri-la Idol. ”

It’s Eichi’s turn to nod.

“We did. It took a while for us to pull ourselves together, but it was fun.” 

“It was also tiring, no?” 

Eichi hums softly, a noncommittal noise. 

“Do you find acting tiring, Wataru? Even though it is something you love?” 

Again, a smile. What is it about Eichi that makes Wataru look at him that way?  

“Growing tired does not mean I love it any less. But, yes; even I can be worn down by time. Even the lead role steps backstage once in a while.” 

“Backstage…?” Eichi repeats. 

It’s always been the stage, the audience, blinding lights and intricate costumes. It’s not a final bow or curtain call, either; all of these Wataru has made Eichi familiar with. And yet, as many metaphors he’s heard, the meaning of this word evades him.

“It is a moment away from the energy of the stage; in life, it is those small, calm moments without the worry of one’s next line or of how to perform next. I often find myself spending those moments with you.” 

“Ah.” Eichi says, dumbly, as everything clicks. 

It wasn’t that Wataru had been bored of him. No, it was quite the opposite, in the end. 

Wataru had always shone so brightly, that Eichi supposed it had slipped his mind that Wataru, too, was human. He, too, thought about things like the weather, and didn’t always think too hard about how to embellish an anecdote, or say things dramatically. He was allowed to simply bask in someone else’s presence, to find comfort simply in their existence. Foolishly, selfishly, Eichi had forgotten that Wataru didn’t owe him excitement and surprise at every turn, and that he, too, wanted to enjoy his time with Eichi in his own ways. 

It wasn’t necessarily that he wasn’t trying when it came to Eichi, more that he always tried harder than most in the matter of other people. 

“To put it simply, I feel comfortable allowing myself to drop the theatrics for a while when I am with you. I trust that you will not see less value in me if I do so.” 

The weight slowly lifts from Eichi’s shoulders. His worry fades, and he lets out an unrestrained laugh. 

“Oh dear. I’d completely misunderstood the situation! I thought that you were no longer interested in me!”

Wataru lifts Eichi’s hand, still in both his own, and presses a light kiss upon it. 

“Eichi, if I really were tired of you, I would have broken up with you, no?” 

Eichi is torn between basking in the feeling of the kiss and utter confusion. His curiosity wins out, and in the next beat he goes, 

“We’re dating?” 

Wataru slowly lets go of his hand, frowning. He says slowly, 

“...Many times I have stated my affections for you. Eichi, was I mistaken when you told me you loved me, too?” 

“Well, no, but…”

“You didn’t think we were dating? Eichi, I sincerely hope you don’t send all of your friends the same good morning and goodnight messages. I’m afraid I will be quite jealous.” 

If Eichi hadn’t felt like a complete fool two minutes ago, he sure does now. He can’t think of a way to react that won’t make him seem even more of an idiot. 

Eichi pretends to faint. It’s the easiest way out. 

Wataru catches him without difficulty, and holds him steady. Because he’s closed his eyes, Eichi doesn’t know what sort of face Wataru is making anymore. Amusement tinges his voice when he says, 

“Oh? Were you that surprised, Eichi?” 

Unconscious people don’t speak, and so neither does Eichi. He has to maintain the illusion, after all. Unfortunately, he is powerless to stop the way he flushes, bright against his pale face. From his position pressed against Wataru’s chest, he can feel it rumble when the other laughs. 

“Or are you perhaps upset at me? If I’m honest, I’m a little resentful myself, considering you didn’t think the past year we spent together was a romantic relationship.” 

A whole year ?! Eichi’s never waking up. He can pretend to be in a coma. Nobody will ever know; he’s sickly enough that it’s viable. He’s sure he’s bright red from his head down to his shoulders. Wataru can definitely tell; Eichi can feel his gaze upon himself. 

“I know you’re faking it, Eichi,” One of Wataru’s hands is at the back of his head now, massaging gently, and his voice is teasing as he continues, 

“or are we doing an impromptu street performance? With the amount of misunderstandings between us, we could do a convincing Romeo and Juliet. Although, I’ve had enough tragedy for one night, so perhaps Sleeping Beauty would be a better choice, even if it is a fairy tale rather than a play.” 

Eichi’s nothing if not stubborn, and he fights the smile off his face as soon as it appears. Wataru catches it anyway, observing him closely. 

“Since you’ve taken upon yourself the role of the beautiful young maiden, I suppose I shall be the prince. Are you ready, Eichi? On the count of three, I will kiss you awake, now.” 

Eichi’s heart pounds so hard he feels the roar of it in his ears. He thinks he might even be trembling a little in his anticipation; in his defence, his pose mid-faint is doing a number on his legs even with Wataru’s support. 

Wataru simply laughs, and sets Eichi upright again. 

“As much as I’d like to, I’ve already pushed my luck. We are still in public after all, and it will be very hard to explain why two members of Fine were caught making out outside a theatre at 8pm on a weekday as anything platonic.” 

As disappointed as Eichi is, he also can’t argue against the inevitable headache that a gay dating scandal would be for him. Just think of all those interviews! And the paperwork, he wouldn’t leave his office for months! 

Wataru catches his conflicted expression, and uses his index finger to smooth the crease between Eichi’s furrowed brows. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’ll let you take me to your room to torture Rei with PDA. Last time I checked, he was home.” 

Well. Eichi doesn’t need any further convincing. Any situation where he can make Rei’s life a bit more miserable and simultaneously make out with a pretty boy is one where he’s winning. 

“You have yourself a deal, Wataru.” 

“As long as I do count as your boyfriend this time, Eichi.”