Work Text:
As much as Gen loved his work, there were times when being a mentalist took the phrase “emotionally draining” to another level. He was grateful for everything he’d been able to achieve, of course, but there wasn’t a famous person dead or alive who could honestly say that they always loved being nothing more than a character to the public eye.
He’d been doing this since he was 15, so he’d hoped that by now, as a 24 year-old, he’d have found a way to effectively handle… well, all of it. The permeation of appearances into every aspect of his life, the disgusting pandering to all the people whose approval he needed, the stress of having to mask himself constantly, it amounted to demand much more than Gen could possibly give. Days like these found him hunched over the table in his dressing room contemplating quitting his career altogether.
It seemed like the last thing the interviewer wanted to talk about was what they invited Gen on their show to talk about.
“You know, there’s an interesting chapter about that in my new book, it discusses-”
“I’m sure, I’m sure, and we’ll get to that, but what are your thoughts about these rumors about you and this mystery woman? Are you really off the market~?”
Gen fought hard to keep his pasted-on smile in place. He had to respond soon, this silence was becoming awkward- “Ah, well even if those rumors were true, I don’t kiss and tell. Besides, a secret lover seems like something out of a cheesy drama, don’t you think? Far too cool for me~ Something like that actually came up while I was researching for my-”
“Oh, come on, don’t be modest!” Gen prayed the irritation didn’t show on his face, but he could definitely feel his expression becoming more strained by the second. The interviewer’s voice was a thorn in his side, digging into him sharply. “We’ve all seen the pictures of you and her, you can’t deny the chemistry!”
The panic that had been slowly growing in his chest skyrocketed, but he played it off as best as he could with a laugh that hopefully only sounded a little forced. “Pictures of who?”
The answering laugh rang harshly in his ears; he was hurtling toward his social limits much faster than usual. “Well, that’s for you to tell us, hm? She’s gorgeous, by the way,” the interviewer tittered as the screen behind them displayed a shaky picture of Gen and Kohaku, the lunch they’d picked up in their hands, totally unaware of the photographer across the street as they chatted. His stomach churned heavily. Kohaku’s face was clearly in view in the pictures - it wouldn’t be long before obsessive internet detectives figured out who she was and locked onto her every move. “Think you’ll be able to give up your playboy habits for her?”
Think, he yelled internally. He needed to think of a way to get Kohaku out of this mess without outing either of them or their respective partners, but he couldn’t get his thoughts in order, the strain of having to deal with this awful interviewer having worn him down so much already. Shit.
He just wanted to go home.
He managed to get the interviewer off his and Kohaku’s trails by pointing out the engagement ring on her finger and the lack of one on his, using that awful playboy image to his advantage and claiming that he’d never pass up the chance to show off his involvement with someone as lovely as Kohaku, so they couldn’t possibly be together. Hopefully fans would take that at face value and call off any efforts to track Kohaku down, but judging from the constant buzzing from his phone as texts from both Kohaku and Amaryllis, he guessed they’d just doubled down. As soon as the cameras cut and Gen finished composing himself in his dressing room, he scrambled out of the building and into the first taxi he could find. Thankfully, home wasn’t too far away.
Gen paused outside the door to his flat and sent out a couple texts to both of them apologizing before tapping out a quick tweet about respecting the privacy and humanity of celebrities and their friends. This was becoming a monthly occurrence - he needed to put these rumors to rest soon. Hopefully Senku would be able to handle that.
For now, though, he was done with work for the night. He was lucky to have strong, understanding friends who could withstand the collateral pressures from Gen’s ‘fans’; whatever needed to be dealt with could be dealt with when the sun was up. It was almost midnight and he was exhausted, so he silenced his phone, tucked it in his pocket, and quietly slipped into his and Senku’s shared apartment, a sort of sanctuary away from the outside world.
Immediately, the still darkness sent a wave of peace through Gen, halting his racing thoughts in their place. Senku was probably (hopefully) already in bed. Everything had been put away for the night; the small wax warmer in the living room was most likely just switched off judging by the fading scent of lavender, and he could hear the quiet hum of the dishwasher running.
After double- and triple-checking the locks, toeing off his shoes, and hanging up his jacket, Gen crept down the hallway and cracked the bedroom door open; a relieved huff slipped out of him at the picture in front of him.
“Hey,” Senku murmured softly, peering up from the papers spread out across their bed.
“Hey,” Gen breathed back, allowing a gentle smile to take its rightful place on his lips. To him, there was no sight in the world more calming than Senku before bed. His hair was tied loosely at his nape, a couple strands still hanging in front of his eyes. The sleeves of his hoodie were shoved up to his elbows, and Gen could see that Senku had changed into his favorite sweatpants as well. His glasses, which he usually switched to in the early evening, sat rather low on the bridge of his nose. Whenever he was home, Gen laid on his side so he could watch Senku work, laughing softly to himself as Senku had to stop his glasses from slipping off his face entirely every so often. His tendency to completely lose himself in his research wasn’t always deadlines and stress, it had its cute moments too.
His bed was calling to him, and Gen wasn’t one to deny that. He damn near tore his suit off, letting it crumple in a pile on the floor, before attempting to wrestle his binder off. In his haste, though, Gen became tangled in the tight fabric, stuck with his arms hanging uselessly above his head. He tugged frantically at the fabric, but he just couldn’t get it past his back. This was the straw that broke the mentalist’s back, it seemed, as Gen felt a few frustrated tears prick at the corner of his eyes. “Senku…” he whimpered, only getting more embarrassed as his pathetic voice hit his ears.
“Got it.” He heard the rustling of blankets and then Senku was behind him, his steady, calloused hands swiftly freeing Gen and tossing his binder onto the pile. As soon as it was off, Gen closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, the knot of stress from the day unfurling a little more every time his chest rose and fell. Suddenly, the feeling of Senku’s hands firmly kneading his sore shoulders drew a groan out of him, and he let his head flop gently to the side. Senku, ever an opportunist, pressed a warm kiss to the exposed stretch of Gen’s neck and stepped forward to wrap his arms around his stomach. Senku’s hoodie was soft against his bare back, well worn from years of use. He placed his arms on top of his partners and leaned back, his senses filled with Senku’s presence.
“Let’s go to bed,” Senku finally murmured, his lips moving against Gen’s neck. Gen gave a small hum of agreement and they untangled themselves so Gen could pull on an old t-shirt. He climbed under the covers and laid on his side toward Senku, watching his partner shuffle his papers into alternating stacks, each secured with a clip. It only took a minute, and soon enough he could hear the click of a lamp being turned off and Senku was pulling Gen to him, one arm tucked under his head and the other draped over his waist. Gen scooted closer, his nose nudging the space between Senku’s neck and shoulder so he could shamelessly inhale his partner’s scent by the lungful.
Today still prickled under his skin, of course, because anger and embarrassment like he was feeling wouldn’t go away with just a hug and his favorite t-shirt, as much as he wished it would. But when Senku shifted slightly and gathered the sum of Gen into his chest, everything came into focus. He let his fatigue take him, the sensation of lips pressed against his forehead and Senku’s hoodie against his bare arms sending him off to the realm of sleep. If he could end every day right here, then really, what was the worst that could happen?