Archive of Our Own

Haru promised he’ll be back in 15 minutes.

He was just gonna grab a bottle of water from the vending machine, but somehow he got lost in the intricate maze that is the show venue. Since he thought he would be quick, he didn’t even think to grab his phone or a mask on the way.

Now lost with no means of contacting his manager, Haru feels a bit foolish. It’s his mission to find the way back to their dressing room without anybody noticing, because if Kamei finds out, he’ll never let Haru hear the end of it for sure.

He can already imagine it: upon entering the room in a flurry of apologies, Kamei’s mischievous voice accompanied by Hoshino’s laughter will float miles above Araki-san’s stern lecture. “Katou-san, you’re getting too old! Are you sure you should still be an idol?”

Haru calms himself down and bites back a snarl, lest he say Shut up, Kamei! to thin empty air.

Distracted by the thoughts of his annoying member, Haru almost didn’t register the high-pitched squeals that erupted to his right.

“Oh my God, is that Katou-sama? The ace of First Division?”

“I can’t believe we finally get to see him!”

Oh no.

Disclaimer: Fans are great. Haru loves his fans. They've given his group lots of support and affection throughout the years, and he'd lay his life in appreciation to them for that.

However, Haru doesn't appreciate fans somehow popping up in places where he is wholly unprepared to encounter them—places that are, for the lack of term, quite heavily restricted—so he panics for a moment, and darts to the opposite direction of where the fans were coming from. This particular set of followers were determined, though, and most attempts to evade them eventually became futile.

Which is how he ended up hiding in the restroom.

To be fair, it was a good plan. Lock the door and wait for the crowd to disperse, then come out and find the dressing room. He presses his back to the door and looks at his watch. Around 20 minutes until the time they’re supposed to go onstage.

At 10 minutes in, the noise outside didn’t stop. There was a constant barrage of voices outside the door asking about him. Silently, Haru groans.

This couldn’t be happening on the first day of their comeback, not after his hiatus.

A while after, something seemed to have changed. The voices grew more excited, then distant, as if the fans went to a different part of the building.

Confused as he was, Haru knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was preparing to open the door and navigate with only 5 minutes to spare when said door creaked. At the last second, he jumped back to avoid getting bludgeoned by a piece of wood that was harshly kicked open.

“Katou-senpai.”

A dark-haired man stood with a hand in the pocket of his sleek trousers; unbothered, like he didn't kick a door open just moments ago. His other hand fixed the lining of his suit jacket, which was beneath an elaborate grey cravat. Steel blue eyes met Haru's. He catches the stare with his own, albeit hesitantly, and—huh? Senpai? Slowly, he squints at him.

It isn’t Haru’s fault for being so suspicious. The man just barged in like he owns the place. Who is this guy?

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

If it’s even possible, the man's face tightened even further. Haru instinctively feels like he said something wrong, but he doesn’t take it back.

“The crowd’s gone. You can come out now. The waiting rooms are to the right. Once you get to the elevators, you’ll see the sign to your group’s suite. Your manager and members are already there.”

“Wait! How did you even know I was hiding in here?”

The man said nothing, only giving him another long, piercing stare. It probably lasted a few seconds at most, but to Haru, it almost felt like hours. He stood there, holding his breath, just wondering how this man was able to know that and how the hell are his eyes so blue—

“HEUSC told me.”

And then just like that, he was gone, leaving Haru baffled beneath the restroom’s doorway.

“Who the fuck is HEUSC?”

In the idol industry, connections are a bit of a hit or miss. There are faces that you see regularly, often to the point that you get sick of them—as Haru would sometimes like to describe Kamei and Hoshino—but there is a significant portion of the people involved whom you will only see about once or twice in your entire career.

The previous incident was a deviation from his normal routine, so it’s only reasonable that Haru categorizes his encounter with Hot Bathroom Guy under the latter. He’s learned from his mistakes; if Kamei’s perpetual teasing is the price to pay for being less late to live shows, then so be it. He vows not to get lost or stuck in a crowd again, and starts bringing his company-issued phone with him at all times. Haru has moved past it, and fully expected not to meet the pretty blue-eyed man again anytime in the near future.

So imagine his surprise when First Division goes backstage for their performance and he finds no other than Hot Bathroom Guy dancing on stage.

Seeing the initially stoic character moving so well with the heavy bass of the music somewhat took Haru by surprise. He can’t believe that someone who seemed to have a 10 meter stick up his ass all the time could make such lithe and sharp movements. Then Hot Bathroom Guy kicks his right leg up into the air and honest-to-God flips, and Haru’s jaw drops open.

Beside him, Araki-san mutters. “That guy gets better with each comeback.”

“Tell me about it,” Hoshino replies, entranced. “I still can’t believe he’s our junior.”

“He’s around the same age as you.” Kamei points out, then indignantly squawks after failing to dodge Hoshino’s smack.

“I meant in the industry, dumbass!”

“I’m sorry,” Haru starts, confused at the conversation. “Who’s he?”

Shocked, Hoshino and Kamei immediately stopped roughhousing and turned towards their senior.

“That’s Kambe Daisuke, a solo artist who just debuted earlier last year. It’s his third comeback after holding a few concerts and promotions in Europe.” Araki pushes his glasses back and fixes Haru with a slightly scrutinizing look. “You didn’t know him?”

“I don’t.” Haru is starting to get a little annoyed. Is it really that big of a deal?

“Seriously, Katou-senpai. How could you not know?”

“Cut him some slack, he was on break when Kambe-san debuted, you know.”

A short silence falls on all four of them. Haru was a bit thankful for the reprieve, but bringing the missing months of his career up to do so wasn’t really appreciated. All of them know what happened—what caused Haru to press pause on being an idol—after all.

Araki clears his throat, then continues. “I’d advise you three to be respectful while interacting with him. The Kambe family owns this broadcasting company.”

Behind him, Hoshino gapes, and Kamei lets out a series of exclamations that Haru has long tuned out. They’re seriously unimportant, and the taupe-haired idol has more pressing matters to attend to, anyway.

Case in point: Kambe Daisuke’s stage. He’s fitted with a long coat and a checkered deerstalker, clearly adapting an old-school detective concept. Haru’s not too well-versed in the periodic Western styles and culture, but even he knows a classic Sherlocks Holmes theme when he sees one. What astounds Haru the most, though, is how the ravenette could dance with a cane and still manage to make it look sensual.

Onstage, Daisuke seems unaware of the sharp stare trained on him, as well as the many others from the screaming audience. Pale gold eyes watched and widened as the man onstage licked his lips.

Who are you?

Araki-san interrupts Haru’s train of thought and tells them to get ready. They get their lapels fitted, and approach the entrance to the studio.

Daisuke wraps up his performance; he bows and waves at the cheering crowds, panting slightly. When he exists, he’s met backstage with a woman in heels and a short brown coat who looks kind of similar to him. As common courtesy, First Division greets and congratulates him for his stage. In those few seconds, Daisuke catches Haru’s eye. Haru attempts to smile amicably, and pushes down the tinge of shame he felt for not being able to recognize a fellow idol.

Later when they’re resting back in the dorms, a freshly-showered Haru sits on their shared couch and pulls up Youtube from his phone. He then proceeds to watch hours worth of videos and content about Kambe Daisuke.

Damn, he is really good.

From across the hallway, the leftmost door creaks open, and a groggy Hoshino steps out.

“Senpai?” The redhead rubs his eyes.

“Hey Hoshino, what time is it?” Haru puts his phone aside and turns on the couch, making himself ready for bed.

“It’s half past 7 in the morning, and we have an interview in an hour. What are you still doing here?”

Haru jolts awake in disbelief. Like it was in on a sick joke, his phone alarm blares on the table beside him, and he groans in response. Bastard piece of technology.

Hoshino snickers.

“I can’t believe you lost sleep over Kambe Daisuke. You’re such a disaster.”

“I didn’t!” He yells in response, but Hoshino’s already left the common room. Haru groans again for good measure, then stands to get ready for today’s schedule.

Saeki Mahoro is a renowned talk show host, comedian, and actress. Every Tuesday afternoon, she hosts one of the most subscribed primetime programs aired on national television, Sweet Nights with Saeki. Somewhat misleading title aside, celebrities are invited there to promote their song and film productions over dessert. The few times that Haru’s starred in Saeki’s show, the cheerful and mild-demeanored pink haired woman never failed to make him feel comfortable.

“So, Katou-san,” She beams at him. “This was your first comeback with First Division since your company-imposed hiatus, is that right?”

He takes it back. Saeki-san is a menace.

He doesn’t voice this out. Instead, he takes a bite of his mooncake, straightens in his seat, and grins back at the talk show host.

“Right. It’s really great to be back.” Haru says as gracefully as he can, mindful of the other guest beside him on the coffee table.

And yup, has he mentioned that Kambe Daisuke is there with him, too?

“And what a comeback it was. Welcome back!” Immediately after, Saeki's expression becomes curious. “Although it was quite sudden for you to take a break amidst promotions. Dai-chan here and I sure missed you a lot~”

“Dai-chan?” Haru can’t help but inquire.

Daisuke sighs as Saeki pulls him by the shoulder and says, “That would be him!”

“I-I see.” From where he’s seated, he observes the light pink dusting the shorter man’s ears as he chews on the fish gummy Saeki offered to him previously. Cute.

"Excuse her," Daisuke mumbles. "She's insufferable sometimes."

An offended gasp. Then Saeki giggles into her strawberry chocolate parfait.

"Ehh, I was just teasing, Dai-chan! Sorry, Katou-san~"

Haru blinks. He didn't know that these two were close.

"No, no, it's alright."

“So, Katou-san.” Saeki effortlessly brings the conversation back to the very topic he wanted to avoid. “Did anything happen during your previous comeback?”

Haru schools his expression to a shy smile. It’s a good thing he’s rehearsed this.

"Nothing too bad, really. I went home for a few months to nurse my health after a recent injury."

Saeki claps her hands. "Wow! I’m glad you’ve recovered, Katou-san.” The woman’s eyes widen, and she looks between her two guests.

"Since your hiatus overlapped with Dai-chan’s debut and world tour, is this your first time meeting each other?"

His encounter with the other in the bathroom comes into mind, and he laughs. This is much easier to answer.

“No. I’ve come across Daisuke-kun a couple times before.” Haru says, meeting the other idol's eyes. “The first time we met was during our first comeback show, when I hid out in the bathroom 20 minutes before the First Division needed to perform.”

As he recounts the story, Saeki laughs along with him. However, Daisuke, Haru observes, remains silent.

From behind the cameras, the production manager shoots them two enthusiastic thumbs up, and Saeki grins. Haru knew that gesture, and from the way Daisuke leaned back onto the seat beside his, he understood it too.

Their viewer ratings are sky high.

“It wasn’t, by the way.” Daisuke informs him later on after the show. They were sitting in their shared dressing room, while their teams pack stuff up around them. Suzue, Daisuke’s manager, informed them that he’s free to go home, while Haru had to meet with Araki-san and his members from their own guestings as soon as possible.

Haru was fiddling with his phone, cycling through games, messaging apps, and social media. At the sound of Daisuke's voice, he startles. “It wasn’t what?”

The corner of the ravenette’s lips tug up in a smirk.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out." At that, Haru mutters a small huh and turns to fix his dresser. Silence grows between them as the taller man becomes increasingly curious, before Daisuke breaks it once again.

“Was that really it?” he asks Haru.

He quirked an eyebrow at the question. “...You meant with my hiatus?”

The soloist nods, and the question hangs like a weighted blanket on the Haru's shoulders, pressing gently, only a bit overbearing.

“It was partly the reason.” He tries to leave it at that, but Daisuke’s eyes pierce into him, and there’s an undecipherable emotion in them, a small indication that finally pushed Haru to confide in him, even just a little.

“I got scared.” He elaborates in a voice above a whisper, and takes a deep breath. “Despite everything, this is temporary.” He didn’t need to clarify what this is; Haru is sure that Daisuke understood. “I thought so much about what's gonna happen after this, that it started to get to me...badly. Then, my ankle sprained.” Haru remembers all the events that he wanted to forget—his fall, the missed rehearsals, the concerned looks of his members—and regrets. “Takei-san decided to grant me an indefinite break, so I tried to heal on my own. Went back to my hometown, stuff like that."

It hadn't worked out. Days bled into weeks and weeks into months; his temporary disability came and went, but he never got to overcome the fear by himself.

"It took Hoshino coming one day and yelling at me to get me back to my senses.”

Beside him, Daisuke is quiet. Haru wants the ground to swallow him whole. He made it all awkward, didn’t he?

“It’s alright, though!” He tries to lighten the mood, smiling complacently to assure his fellow idol. “I got over it, and now we're back to regular schedule. After all, I couldn't let my members wreak even more havoc while I was away." Haru jokes.

He grabs the bag that contains his few personal belongings, and rushes to bid Daisuke a goodbye.

“Katou-senpai." Daisuke calls just as he's opening the door to make a hasty escape. "Thanks.”

"Hmm? For what?”

“Telling me". Daisuke pauses for a bit, as if in deep thought. His mouth opens, then closes. It paints such a different picture from the confident character Haru knew that he finds it a bit amusing. Finally, Daisuke looks at him. “For all this time, you've always been an amazing idol to me.”

Haru chuckles as he hears the reassurance underlying the other's words. Before he leaves the venue, he tells Daisuke that he will see him around. Something in the younger man’s expression shifts, and he says it back to Haru.

“Album of the Year Award, huh.” Kamei grins, sipping on his champagne. “That is so sexy of us.”

A slightly tipsy Hoshino slaps the blonde on the arm. It makes some of the golden liquid in the glass spill, but Kamei doesn’t seem to notice.

“Seriously, Shinnosuke. Do you not know any other positive adjective aside from sexy?”

From his seat across from them, Haru rolls his eyes, but he can’t hide the smile pulling on the edges of his mouth. He chugs the champagne—his fifth glass now—then attempts to purse his lips.

The end of the year comes with its own perks. Aside from the upcoming vacation that Haru plans to use in order to visit his family, a couple events where artists gather to celebrate an entire year of achievements are held from November to February the following year. Haru doesn’t really think much of the awards, but he’s glad to see artists getting the recognition they deserve after all the hardships they’ve been through. One of the things he does look forward to, though, is the private afterparty that comes at the end of each event—an extended celebration where they can freely socialize and let loose for once without the prying eyes of fans and cameras trained on them.

The most recent one, where First Division is now, is held at the Kambe mansion, which is ridiculously huge. Seriously, if Haru didn’t know Daisuke well enough, he might have to call the cops or something. Who in the world is this rich and would still want to be an idol?

Then again, he doesn’t know why Daisuke even became one.

For Haru, it was pretty simple: money was tight since the restaurant wasn’t selling much, and singing and dancing are two of his favorite hobbies. If he wasn’t in the dojo, he’s in the streets busking after school, and when a scout asked if he wanted to become an idol, he didn’t give it much thought before saying yes. Although it’s been pretty tiring sometimes, he never regretted it. He looks at his still-bickering members and recalls the weight of the gold trophy on his hands.

Just as quickly, the phantom award disappears, and in its place is an entire bottle of champagne.

“Katou-senpaaaii,” A very tipsy Hoshino drawls, pressing the liquor further into his hands. “Stop it.”

“I haven’t said anything?”

“We can see it in your eyes,” explains Kamei, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. “You’re getting sentimental again.”

“Stop and drink before we all end up crying. You always get like this after the fifth glass.” Hoshino says. Kamei wails along with him, slinging a hand holding another champagne bottle around the redhead’s shoulder. Just how did they get this much alcohol?

Haru feels the oncoming headache starting on his temple. He takes a swig in hopes of calming the tick in his eyebrow. It was unsuccessful.

“I never tell you two this, but you are both idiots. I hate it here, I’m leaving.” He walks away, ignoring his members’ drunken giggling.

Haru leaves to go to the refreshments table, on the way he was accosted by so many people who congratulate him on the First Division’s achievement. At each greeting, they raise their glasses for a toast, and Haru, with no nerve to deny them, drinks from his trusty bottle every time.

By the time he stumbled to the refreshments table, he had managed to finish the bottle and then some, all offered to him by the waiters who passed chalices of golden liquid around like they were water.

Platters of various hors d'oeuvres were laid neatly on the table. Haru thinks thank god, before picking one or two or five and—wow, these are so good. A particular memory comes into mind as he munches on one topped with tuna and bonito flakes, and he thinks he should tell Kambe Daisuke that this one is probably his favorite. He looks among the sea of people in the ballroom, but he doesn’t find the soloist anywhere. Where is he?

Also, isn’t it getting hot in here? Haru removes his coat, chugs another glass to relieve the heat, and—okay, no, now he feels even hotter.

At the side of the ballroom are a set of double doors that would probably lead to a balcony. Haru chances upon them in the hopes of feeling less stuffy. He's delighted to see that he's right when he opens them, and sighs as he felt the cool night air touch his skin.

He walks further outdoors, admiring the shrubs peppered with reticent flowers that still seemed to glow despite the dark. Haru hears a scuffle in front of him, and raises his head.

And there he is.

“Katou-senpai?”

Haru gasps. He surges forward and pulls Daisuke by the lapels of his thick three-piece suit, moving closer until their faces are just a few inches away from each other. They almost come forehead to forehead, but Haru doesn’t notice. Instead, he peers into Daisuke’s wide blue eyes, which seemed to turn luminescent in the moonlight.

“Holy shit, Daisuke. You’re glowing.”

Haru’s not sure if he’s hearing right, but his remark is immediately followed by a sharp intake of air and a small “Is that so?”

“Uhm. Yeah? Your eyes are so blue. What the fuck? How are they so blue?”

He searches Daisuke’s face, from his arched eyebrows, to his long eyelashes, to his fair skin that looks so unfairly smooth despite them being so close. If he looks at him enough, maybe he’ll discover the shorter man’s secrets. Maybe—Drunk Haru probingly hypothesizes—if I look at him enough, I’ll find the answers to the universe.

“You’re so annoying. Why is your face always so damn perfect?” Haru sluggishly shakes Daisuke by his shoulders. “And not only here, but when you’re performing, during talk shows… even when you do nothing, you look great. What the hell, I know we’re idols, but there’s no way anyone should look as good as you. I can’t believe it. This is so bad for my heart,” Haru mutters.

Despite it being late autumn, Haru suddenly feels warm again. He pulls away and runs a hand across his hair.

“Why is it so hot in here?”

“Katou.” Daisuke calls. Haru looks over at him. From his slightly hazy vision, he thinks he sees the pink tinge on the tips of Daisuke’s ears. “How much have you drank?”

“Oh. This?” Katou lifts the empty champagne glass he forgot he was holding. “A bit. Members said I was being a killjoy, so they gave me a bottle…” Daisuke hums at that, and a reminder pops up in Haru’s clouded brain.

“Do you know the snacks here are pretty great? I love the one with tuna flakes.”

A soft smile pulls on Daisuke’s lips, “I’m glad you do.”

“You are?” Haru laughs. “You know, you’re really cute. Everytime I see you onstage you’re super hot and all, but you did this soft concept wearing a hoodie before and it was so adorable that I wanted to kiss you reaaallly badly. It’s one of my favorites.”

Not noticing the choked breath that came from the other man, Haru pushes on.

“Well, all of your concepts are my favorites, really. This recent one seriously made you look intimidating. No wonder you won the award for Solo Artist of the Year. The all-black get-up and the leather jacket was so sexy. Very sexy.” Huh. “I’ve been hanging around Kamei too much, sorry.” Haru coughs.

“Congratulations for winning, by the way! It was well-deserved.” Haru raises his bottle, then whines when he realizes it’s empty. “I’d toast to you, but I don’t have any champagne left.”

Daisuke coughs. “...It’s fine. Thank you.”

Haru squints at him. Are his cheeks getting red?

Silence permeates the air between them. Haru shifts from where he stands, and he was about to tell Daisuke that he kinda needs to leave to stop Kamei from attempting to carry the radio host Motoyama-san while poledancing again, when the ravenette speaks up.

“I thought you didn’t know me.”

“What?”

“I thought you didn’t know me. Back then, when you hid in the bathroom.”

“Oh, well… I didn’t.” Haru sees the beginnings of a frown on Daisuke’s face, and rushes to make amends.

“Or at least, I don’t remember if we’ve met before you kicked the bathroom door.” He takes the other man’s hand, which was hanging over the gilded railings of the balcony, and earnestly stares into his eyes. “I did my best to learn more about you in the past few months, but Youtube could only tell so much.” And because he was brazen—and still pretty drunk—Haru pouts. “Help me out?”

Daisuke looks down at their conjoined hands. Haru’s hand was slightly rough: a physical result of cooking and waiting tables while growing up. Daisuke’s hand was expectedly soft,—a slightly envious Haru attributes this to the Kambes’ skincare sponsors—with a few calluses from constantly holding a microphone. Although it was a bit larger, Haru’s hand cradles Daisuke’s perfectly.

Then Daisuke raises his head, and blue meets gold once again.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you next time. When you’re actually sober.”

“Hey! I’m not that drunk!”

Daisuke laughs at his protest. Any semblance of composure on the other man’s face completely falls away, and for the first time, Haru sees a side of Daisuke that he hasn’t seen before: one that’s free of fear and restraint, and for a brief moment, the First Division member was struck speechless. After that moment, Haru laughs along with him.

Their combined chuckles puncture the quiet of the night. Outside, on the balcony of Daisuke’s home, they exist together—a small, temporary infinity tucked away from a world that is persistent and ever-changing. Haru doesn’t know what will happen next, and he bet his entire career that Daisuke doesn’t, either. But he’s confident in one thing: they are excited for what’s about to come, and what will become of them, in the future.

Even when their laughter fades away, Daisuke’s smile remains. Slowly and tenderly, he rubs his thumb over the back of Haru’s hand.

The next morning, Haru wakes up in his bed with a throbbing headache. From the other side of the dorm, he can hear Hoshino and Kamei groaning back and forth in a variety of tones, a conversation in what he could only describe as Hungover Speak.

Over a sorry breakfast of overboiled eggs and leftover miso soup, Haru finds out that he was the first to get back last night, and that Daisuke personally asked permission from their manager to take him home.

Haru smiles into his bowl, and remembers the faint press of lips on his forehead just before he fell asleep last night.

Another day, another show. As a senior, Haru’s grown used to the stressful schedule whenever First Division has to promote a new release, but it doesn’t mean the work gets any easier. Seated in front of the vanity, Haru stretches and yawns.

He’s running on only a few hours of sleep. Last night, First Division was up ‘till late in the morning practicing a move they can’t get in sync. Thankfully, the stage makeup covered the dark circles under their eyes.

Almost simultaneously with him, Hoshino yawns on the couch, stretching like a cat and draping over Kamei, who has long since passed out on the cushions after he was done with styling.

“You should get some sleep before we go on,” Haru says, standing up in an effort to shake his drowsiness away. “I’ll wake you guys up.”

“Okay, Senpai.” Hoshino says, finally succumbing to sleep. “If you’re taking a walk, you should get us some snacks and coffee while you’re at it.”

Haru sighs weakly, but feels around the table for his wallet anyway. He makes a mental note to get coffee from the first vending machine he passes by. His kouhais should really be grateful for him.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

Haru startles; even Hoshino peeks from under Kamei’s arm with one eye open. Usually, Araki-san and their stylists enter the room without preamble, so this occurrence is a bit unexpected.

They have a guest.

Haru opens the door. He's greeted by someone from Daisuke’s personal staff, Yoko. She was dangerously balancing a tray of iced coffee on one hand and a platter of sandwiches on the other. Haru steps forward and takes the coffee to help her out.

“Katou-san,” Yoko peers into the room and blushes at the sight of Kamei and Hoshino sleeping on the couch. She bows, embarrassed. “Apologies for making you do work and disturbing your rest, but Daisuke-san told me to deliver these to you. It's a gift.”

After setting the food on the table, she leaves. For a moment, Haru was stupefied, looking at Daisuke's gift with a light, fluttery feeling on his chest.

Beside him on the couch, Hoshino extends his hand and grabs a cup of coffee. He downs half of it in one gulp.

"Oh, Senpai," he calls after getting his dose of caffeine, "Look at the food."

Haru digs through sandwiches. One of them had a tag with his name, and upon opening the wrapper, he saw a slip of paper sticking out of the lightly toasted bread. Haru pinches it between his two fingers, and—upon reading the question and the eloquently written phone number beneath it—bursts out laughing.

Hoshino peers at him, concerned. He asks if the sandwich is actually poisonous and his senior is now hallucinating, but Haru ignores him.

Instead, he brings out his phone.

??srsly

???of all the ways u can ask me out, thru inkigayo sandwich

i didn’t take u to be the cheesy cliche type

I thought it was a creative change.

Besides, you drunkenly professed your love for me on a moonlit balcony, so you’re really not one to talk.

shut up oh my god that was embarrassing

i’m never drinking again

If it makes you feel better, it was cute.

So?

of course, u idiot

i like you, too

Great. I’ll see you soon, Katou-senpai.

?soon

Today’s music show is cancelled.

We’re going on a date.

KAMBE DAISUKE

BONUS:

Despite his family owning multiple broadcasting and production labels across Japan, Daisuke has never really been much of a fanboy. Sure, he's been taking business, dance, and music classes for his future work in the industry one day, but at the time he was stuck, for lack of better term, on what exactly said future work is.

It all changed when Daisuke walks into a studio and sees First Division performing.

The trio was dressed to the nines and dancing in sync. Of course, talent is common for all idols, agencies are just there to develop it and reach their full potential. Daisuke has never met an idol who wasn’t a hard worker.

On the other hand, passion is a completely different matter, and while it’s hard to spot sometimes, he sees it almost plain as day in the movements of the taupe-haired man in the center: ardent passion, and an insurmountable love for his craft.

"Suzue, who's that one?"

"The one singing?” At his brother’s small nod, Suzue looks up and puts a hand on her chin. “If I can remember clearly, that's Katou Haru."

Daisuke watches the handsome man, who smiles at the camera, winks at the audience, and singlehandedly makes the studio erupt into high-pitched cheers.

And makes his decision.

Daisuke slumps down the wall with a crushed water bottle in his hand. With his other hand, he wipes a damp towel over his sweaty hair.

Becoming an idol is hard.

It’s not too bad, some days are better than others. Unfortunately, today is not one of them.

He wraps his arms around his knees and lowers his head. It was one of the empty dance rooms. In half an hour, he needs to go back for training. For now, though, he rests.

"Hey, are you alright?"

He turns with one eye open to see Katou Haru of all people shooting a worried look at him. The taller man was squatting down at eye-level, and beside him was a packaged onigiri and a bottle of Ramune. Daisuke straightens.

After a while, he realizes that his senior asked a question, and rushes to answer while still trying to keep his cool.

"I'm fine."

The man hums in response.

"Are you a trainee?"

At Daisuke’s nod of agreement, Haru’s eyes soften. He reaches out and puts a hand on Daisuke’s shoulder. From where they’re touching, Daisuke almost thought his skin was being burned.

"It gets better, okay?” Haru assures him, lightly squeezing his shoulder. He pushes the snacks he brought towards Daisuke. “Just...hold on. You'll get to debut soon enough."

“Thank you.” A ball of emotions builds in Daisuke’s throat. He knew from all the stories he heard of course, but it’s surreal that he gets to experience Katou Haru’s kindness in person.

"I'm Katou," he introduces, and Daisuke stops himself from saying I know.

I know. I watch you onstage. I know, I know.

Haru continues, "You look younger than me, so you could call me senpai from now on!"

And Daisuke feels like melting onto the floor.

"Sure…" He attempts to add the words he's been allowed to say. Instead, his voice tapers silently with no Katou-senpai to be heard. Inwardly, Daisuke curses himself.

Haru looked like he was about to say something else when someone outside the room called his name. He turns to Daisuke apologetically.

"I need to go, but I’ll see you around!" He waves before jogging away and yelling at his members to wait up.

Haru left Daisuke’s vision as quickly as he entered it, but the damage had already been done. Daisuke ate the rice ball, then stood and dusted his sweatpants. Ramune in hand, he heads off to practice, more invigorated than ever.

The company soon makes the necessary preparations to send him to train in Korea. Suzue comes along with him. Back then he didn't show it, but he was thankful. Training was hard, and training away from home was even harder, but at least he wasn't alone.

Later, when he comes back to Japan ready for debut, he looks Katou Haru up with HEUSC—planning to seek him out and tell him to watch his stage—and could only stare, crestfallen, as the block capital letters that spelled out his only idol's name and group title was matched with the words: ON HIATUS.

Much later, in a bathroom with a busted door and a hidden idol, Daisuke crosses paths with him again.

At the time, Katou Haru looked stunned and a little frazzled. Stray locks of wavy taupe hair fell on his lashes. Despite his obvious distress, the man is still as gorgeous as ever.

"Katou-senpai," he breathes out.

I found you.