Chapter Text
“Sorry, President, but can you try sucking in your stomach just a little more?” Ayaka asks from behind him, soft and apologetic. She’s fidgeting non-stop with the zipper, which is currently wedged in place a little more than halfway up his back. “I swear I can get it up, it’s so close! And having to let out the seams would take longer…”
“We don’t have the time,” Satsuki throws over her shoulder, along with three more pairs of women’s shoes. The costume closet floor is practically a heel-covered minefield by now, mixed with pantyhose and too-small tunics and wrong-colored wigs. “The show starts in less than half an hour, and—oh, oh!” She triumphantly brandishes two elegant, pearl-colored wedges high in the air. “These are your size, Senpai! And they match your dress perfectly!”
Hori doesn’t consider himself to be a particularly superstitious person, but it does often feel these days as though the universe has been conspiring against him ever since he admitted to himself that his feelings towards Kashima may possibly span beyond just platonic admiration and frustration in equal measures. He’s often suspicious that Nozaki could be pulling the strings at times (he doesn’t really think the guy would take advantage of his epiphany, but he’s also witnessed firsthand the way his eyes light up like there's lanterns behind them when he discovers a new angle or scenario that’s ripe for shoujo bastardization), but even Yumeno Sakiko herself couldn’t have orchestrated the convoluted mess he’s currently staring down the barrel of — the drama club's female lead sent home with a 40° fever, her understudy called away for the unexpected death of her grandmother just a few hours before curtain call, leaving him the only one left who has the lines memorized.
He doesn’t know the odds of something like this happening. Frankly, it doesn’t really matter what they are. Doing the math wouldn’t change his current reality, which involves being manhandled by the two drama club members in charge of costumes as they stuff him into all of the overwrought princess trimmings. It’s like the old saying goes, he thinks with a deep sigh — the show must go on.
“Ready?” Ayaka asks.
“Fine, fine.” He takes the deepest breath he can manage and holds it, his ribs straining. It takes a little bit of desperate wiggling, but finally the zipper sweeps up his shoulders in one clean tug.
“Yes!” She cheers. “I knew it would fit! Just don’t swing your arms too much or anything like that. You definitely have broader shoulders than Sayoko-chan.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says with a nod, flexing at the elbow carefully as a test. Tight, but manageable. He can make it work for a few hours.
“It’s amazing that you can play the role on such short notice, Hori-senpai!” Satsuki chirps as she places the shoes in front of him, ready and waiting to be stepped into. “Don’t you feel nervous at all?”
“No,” he says, easily enough. Outside the door, he can hear rushing footsteps and assorted yells, too muffled to understand more than a stray word of here and there. He hopes the Vice President is keeping everything under control to the best of her ability while he’s stuck in this cramped, too-hot space. “This is what being in charge is all about, after all. You have to be prepared for every possibility of something going wrong.”
“At least it’s not a very hard part,” Ayaka adds. She’s fussing with the wig now, picking through some tangles with a few careful fingers and making sure the curls all fall into place with the right amount of bounce. “Aurora sleeps through the whole second act! It’ll be relaxing, probably.”
“Just dreaming away until the prince comes along to rescue her!” Satsuki heaves a sigh. She’s supposed to be grabbing the makeup, but the foundation and brush are currently laying limp in one hand as she leans into the other in front of the mirror, her gaze wistful and far-off. “Kashima-kun is going to be so wonderfully dashing in that scene, and all the other ones too! I can’t wait to watch from behind the curtain!”
“I know!” Ayaka giggles, her cheeks rosy. “We really did pick out the perfect costume for her this time, didn’t we? She looks amazing in green — it makes her eyes shine so handsomely!”
She looks amazing in every color, is Hori’s first thought, as automatic as a reflex. He fidgets with the gilded band around his waist (currently digging into the skin) for an unthinking moment before forcing his hands back down to his lap. “Can you two stop daydreaming and focus?” He asks, the words edged with just enough warning that both girls jolt back to attention.
“Sorry, sorry!”
“You can count on us, Senpai!” Satsuki’s back in front of him now, unsteadily juggling foundation, blush, a couple of brushes, and roughly six different lipsticks. “Stay perfectly still, okay? I’m going to do this as quickly as possible. How much time?”
Ayaka checks the clock. “15 minutes!” She calls out, mimicking the stage manager’s signature too-loud yell with a grin.
“It really was funny how Kashima-kun reacted to your announcement, though,” Satsuki comments as she starts to cover his face and neck in powder. “Don’t you think so, Hori-senpai?”
He literally can’t answer that at the moment, which suspiciously seems like it may be by design as Satsuki smiles to herself, humming a few soft notes under her breath as she switches to the blush compact seamlessly. The announcement of him stepping in to play the role had truly come at the last minute — the whole club had been waiting on edge for Hana to let them know about her grandmother. Once the bad news finally arrived in the form of an extremely long and frantically apologetic text pinging onto Hori’s phone, everyone was already fully made up in their costumes and standing around backstage, listening to the low rumble of early comers (mostly Kashima’s fangirls) rushing to get the best seats as the auditorium’s doors were opened. Speaking of, her reaction had certainly been starkly at contrast with the startled, worried looks of everyone else. The best way to describe it would be barely-restrained glee.
Stop making that face! He’d scolded her right away, swatting her arm. You look like you’re happy that our club members are sick and dealing with deaths in the family.
I’m not! That’s absolutely awful, Senpai! We’ll have to put together some “get well soon” and condolences cards after the show for sure! She’d covered her mouth with her hand, but he could still see the raised edges of her smiling lips poking out the sides. Before he could yell at her some more, she’d taken off running towards further backstage, her bright eyes glittering over her shoulder as she turned to call back to him one more time. I’ll see you on stage!
“Okay, just the final touch left!” He comes back to the present just in time for Satsuki to shove all of the lipsticks under his nose. “Which one, Hori-senpai? You can pick the color! Oh wait, not this shade, though, it’s way too dark and smear-y—”
“What does that matter?” He can’t help but ask. "It matches the trim on the dress."
“It does, but what about the ending? Kashima-kun’s going to kiss you! What if it gets all over her face by accident?”
“So luckyyyyy,” Ayaka whines under her breath from behind him, nearly finished with the wig.
Hori blinks a few times. Oh, right — the kiss. Nothing to worry about, he’s quick to remind himself. Just a quick, chaste stage kiss that he won’t even be participating in, considering the whole “eternal, death-like sleep” aspect of his character. He’s barely even thought about it at all. Maybe once, or twice. A few times. Just in passing.
“Right,” he says with a slightly stiff nod. “Makes sense. Good thinking ahead.”
“Don’t move your head!” Ayaka’s already pressing the wig into place with little warning, adjusting and readjusting the edge of the cap along his hairline until it sits evenly. She migrates in front of him, scooting into Satsuki’s personal space without hesitation as she gathers the blonde curls and scatters them just so over his shoulders. Once she’s done, she takes a step back and gives him a once-over, her serious focus transforming into pure triumph. “Perfect,” she says, and claps her hands together. “You’re so pretty!”
“You two didn’t even get to practice the kiss, or any of the scenes,” Satsuki comments quietly. She arches an eyebrow at him as she brandishes the winning lipstick, evidently having made the final call herself. “You can be honest with us, Hori-senpai. You must be a little nervous, right?”
“We won’t tell anyone!” Ayaka joins in. They’re both on their knees in front of him now and leaning in expectantly, eyes shining with unmistakable mischief. “Just a little bit?”
“No,” he says, with a little more force than he means to. On second thought, this dress may be too tight after all. It’s harder to get air into his lungs; his heartbeat is more noticeable too, like a stone skipping endlessly over water. Or maybe it’s just the claustrophobic stuffiness all around him. The Drama Club has definitely outgrown this damn tiny room, that’s for sure. “Why would I be? It’s hardly even a kiss. She’s going to barely touch me.” She better, he can’t help but think darkly. He can usually weather Kashima’s teasing just fine, but if she tries to pull something now — he doesn’t want to even consider the possibility too much. It makes the slight, uneasy feeling deep in his gut swell up into something stronger, something sour and sharp-edged that he can’t ignore. “Now will you both stop looking for gossip already and help me finish?”
Ayaka and Satsuki get back to work without further comment, but not before sharing a quick, smiling look between them that he definitely doesn’t like (seriously, when did everyone in this club start to see right through him like a fucking piece of cellophane?). His lips are covered with a soft, shimmery pink color, and a prop crown is delicately placed atop the wig. He gives himself one last studious glance in the mirror, adjusts the dress’s off-kilter neckline, and reminds himself to breathe.
“10 minutes!” The stage manager calls from outside, knocking hard on the door three times in a row.
Here goes nothing.
*
It’s true — the title character in Sleeping Beauty really doesn’t have a whole lot to do on stage. That was the whole point when Hori first asked Nozaki to adapt the fairytale into a proper stage play; he knew that the prince would have the spotlight, alongside the three fairies. Heroically storming the castle, defeating an evil witch, and professing love to the cursed princess through a magical kiss that saves the day— all of it was a perfect showcase for Kashima, not to mention a certain crowd-pleaser, so certain that he’s more than a little impatient to move the story along to that point as he finally steps out on stage.
A handful of curious whispers waft up to the stage from the audience after his first few lines (no matter how convincing the costume is, there’s no way to pitch his voice high enough to sound seamlessly female), but Hori pays them no mind — acting is all about the challenge of disappearing into a role, after all. He’s delicate and innocent and willfully headstrong in all the right moments, and when the time finally comes to prick his finger on the spindle and collapse in a tragic heap, the genuine gasps he hears in return ignite a small flame of pride deep in his chest. He does miss this, at times. He can admit that to himself.
For the second act, his only job is to remain still and pristine on an elevated platform far upstage, waiting to be rescued. When working through the staging weeks before, Hori had patted himself on the back for this idea — keep Aurora safely out of the way of the action, but let her stay within view of the audience so that their anticipation of the final scene can build and build. Then, once the battle-weary and victorious prince is finally ready to climb the tower stairs, the fairies will carefully wheel the “bed” further forward into the light so that the scene transitions easily, no tedious pauses or cumbersome set changes necessary.
Four and a half minutes into his “eternal slumber,” Hori realizes that he’s overlooked a few things about this arrangement.
#1: The stage lights are hot — even hotter when your face is tilted up towards them directly. There’s a good chance he may sweat all of this makeup right off, which wouldn’t exactly be ideal for his big awakening.
#2: His wig is itchy, especially in one spot where the limp curls have ended up caught right against his neck, their ends brushing the skin just lightly enough to be really fucking irritating. It would only take half a second to tear them away with a few fingers, and no one’s probably even bothering to look at him while there are other actors commanding all the attention further downstage — but he still doesn’t want to break the illusion. He’ll just have to ignore it.
#3: He won’t be able to watch Kashima like this.
“The journey is more treacherous than you think, honorable prince!” That’s Hasegawa as the Blue Fairy. She’s talking a little too fast, her nerves clearly getting the better of her — they’d discussed that earlier in rehearsal — but at least her overall cadence is still clear and nicely emotional. “Everyone within the castle has been asleep for many years because of this dreadful curse, and dangers will lurk around every corner should you seek to awaken the princess with true love’s kiss!”
“Thank you for the concern, but I am not afraid. Won’t you lend me your support, dear fairies? I assure you, I will banish this cruel witch for good and restore this kingdom’s full splendor. And the princess...well, she will wait in vain no longer. I will breathe life back into her, or I will die trying.”
A chorus of warm, lovestruck sighs echo up from the front row as Kashima speaks, and Hori hates himself for actually feeling a little jealous of her fangirls, if only for their excellent vantage point. He’s stuck with nothing but the insides of his eyelids and her voice, striking just the right tone of dashing heroics and romantic conviction. In other circumstances, he’d be standing off to the side of the curtain right about now, a script clenched in one hand, all of his attention focused on her gleaming profile center-stage. There are very few places he enjoys being more.
But none of that matters right now, he’s quick to insist to himself, his throat uncomfortable enough that he has to swallow. He’s here to put the best show on possible, and if that commitment requires him to keep his eyes firmly shut for the next hour, then so be it. And besides, hasn’t he watched Kashima enough in rehearsal to know what she probably looks like right about now? He can cobble together a mental picture decently enough. He might as well, considering that he has little else to do at the moment.
“The forest of thorns may be vast, but it is no match for my sword,” she’s saying now with gusto. He can just barely hear the faint whip of the prop weapon cutting through the air as punctuation. “Even if they cut at me a thousand times, I will not falter. I will find the way through to her chamber!”
He cobbles the scene together from memory, piece by careful piece. She’s standing in front of the large backdrop they painted (twice — the first effort had been destroyed after a first-year student, caught up in Kashima’s syrupy-sweet promises to whisk her away from the spindle should she ever find herself in danger of being pricked, had swooned right into an open can of white paint), filled with a purple-black sky and coiled, menacing vines. The rich green shade of her prince’s costume is made even richer by the stage lights, and the golden-threaded shoulder tassels are shivering every time she turns with purpose. She’s wielding the sword again now, eyes narrowed and mouth curling with a slight, confident grin — not wide enough to be cocky or off-putting, but just distinct enough that it makes you want to believe in her even more. The ends of her hair are probably swept up a little with all the movement now (it never looks messy, somehow, only more dramatic and debonair), and the lights are capturing every contour of her face in curving shades and shadows, and...
...and shit. He really is in deep, isn’t he?
The thought is sudden enough that his jaw clenches tight before he can stop it. Thankfully, this thick, uncomfortable mess of a wig is good for something at last, hiding the muscles from view well enough. His teeth press together for an aching moment and then relax; he manages to rearrange his face back into peaceful, feigned unconsciousness.
Maybe it’s just the echo chamber of his head, free to bounce these observations around and around and around without any other distractions for once, but does he really sound like this all the time? Caught up in every last detail of her so completely, soridiculously? How did he not realize any sooner that she was his ideal—woman, man, prince, everything? How long has he felt this way while being completely fucking oblivious to it?
On second thought, Hori doesn’t want to know the answer to that.
“The witch awaits you ahead,” the Green Fairy is saying now, solemn and wavering. “She is a wicked and vengeful creature who will stop at nothing to have her way, brave prince! If she traps you, please call on us to set you free with our magic gifts.”
“Thank you,” Kashima says, the words filled with grateful warmth. “I will not disappoint you.”
It’s really just his luck, to have these feelings for someone who manages to be so mind-numbingly irritating and heart-in-your-throat amazing all at the same time. He might as well have fallen for the sun instead. It’s just as intense, after all — always demanding to be seen, brilliantly blinding when you stare head-on. It’s just as far out of his reach.
Hori forcefully empties his mind, then, like shaking out a stubborn wastebasket. He recites the upcoming lines in his head, counts his heartbeats until they reach 100, and tries not to think at all. He just listens.
In the end, the brave prince escapes the dark forest, evades every last dangerous and tempting trap with magical assistance from the fairies, and challenges the witch head-on. When she’s defeated with a well-timed BOOM sound effect, her dramatic collapse emphasized through the use of flashing, multi-colored filters placed over the stage lights, a cheer surges through the auditorium, so sudden and loud that Hori can’t quite keep his mouth from curling into the smallest of satisfied smiles for a second or two. Suddenly, his platform starts to move. It’s being pushed, steadily rolled further downstage by careful hands, and only then does he remember what’s coming. The ending. The part where he has to wake up.
Kashima’s footsteps stride across the stage with confidence, soften to a careful rhythm, and then fade away entirely. He can sense her shadow, falling over him. There’s sweat along his neck, around his ears, uncomfortably wet along the wig’s border. His pulse feels very strong, a fast, swollen pounding in both wrists. It will be over in a few minutes, he tells himself, holding every muscle at an absolute standstill. Just stay focused.
“Oh, beautiful maiden,” she says at last, overcome with emotion. Her long fingers curl beneath his carefully folded ones and pluck them up into the air, cradling them. “I’ve found you at last.”
He should remember all of his — hell, he was the one who told her to caress the princess’s face during rehearsals in the first place, nudging her hand to the left side so that it wouldn’t block Sayoko from view — but the next touch surprises him anyway. Her bent knuckles stroke the curve of his cheek. He’s already burning up from the lights, but each sweep leaves traces of new heat anyway, his skin tingling. Stop, he thinks without meaning to, not knowing if it’s directed at her or himself.
“What could you be dreaming about?” Kashima continues. Her voice is practically a stage-whisper now, soft and tender while still strong enough to carry all the way to the back row. “It must be lovely, to have captivated you so. But you need to return to us. Awaken, and I will do everything I can to turn those dreams into the reality you deserve. If you’ll have me, dear princess. If you’ll allow me to love you…”
He feels her shifting, starting to lean over him. The audience is perfectly silent, even the fangirls. Everyone is waiting, holding their breath. Hori realizes he is too when his lungs start to ache. One of his fingers, laid delicately with the others over his ribs, twitches. Stop, stop, stop.
Her kiss is a light, glancing touch, lingering for just the right number of meaningful beats — one, two, three, and done. He’s so hot from the lights that it feels almost cool in comparison, like a sip of chilled water. Her mouth is so goddamn soft, too. Perfect in every way, of course. Was there ever any doubt?
When he finally opens his eyes, everything’s blurry at first. Colors are swirling nonsensically, bleeding into one another. A few slow blinks, and her face above him becomes his focal point, sharpening with sudden clarity before anything else in the background can catch up. Bright eyes and tousled hair and the faintest hint of a blush in place — from all the running around on stage, of course. Her lips, parted in uneasy anticipation, bloom into a grin, so big it’s almost straining at the seams. She never smiled like that in rehearsal, Hori thinks. There, it was always more measured, more regal. This…this is joy, overflowing in spades. It looks like love, or something almost like it.
It’s a great acting choice. He should have come up with it himself, really. This is what Kashima does best, after all — making all of these emotions seem so real, even the most intense ones.
The audience is heaving sighs of relief now, their happy energy almost palpable in the air. He sits up, brushes the fake curls back from his face, and smiles back at her like he think Aurora would — surprised, relieved, and instantly besotted. It’s not that hard for him. The fairies are coming out from the wings of the stage now in a flurry of triumph, along with the King and the Queen and all of the other extras for the final celebration. Kashima, gleaming at every edge, takes a step back. She reaches out to help him up, her expression unwavering.
There’s a strange lump in his throat, but Hori manages to swallow anyway. He takes her hand and holds it tight. He lets her pull him further into the light.