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Like most things, it starts out completely platonically.
They're about two weeks into production. Ren has finally gotten used to the rhythm of his life for the foreseeable future, the pace of filming stacked on top of ongoing prep for Snow Man's upcoming tour and the group's weekly schedules. It's a lot of work all at once, but it's good work, the kind that makes him feel a deep sense of accomplishment at the end of each day. He reads through his scripts and takes cramped notes in the margins, attentively watches choreography videos when he can't be at practice, and spends a lot of time traveling back and forth across the city with his manager. There's never a second to waste whenever they're on set, so at this point, he's trained himself to get into character as he changes into Ida's uniform, layering another aspect of Ida's personality with each item of clothing he puts on. The directors seem to be happy with his performance so far, so he thinks it's helping.
It's only been two weeks, but he's gotten to know Michieda a bit better too. They've shared the same stage before, and Koji's talked him up plenty of times over the years, but Ren didn't officially meet Michieda in person until they arrived for table reads at the end of July. Now, after four months of correspondence via text, they see each other almost every day. Ren's learned that Michieda is as diligent and dedicated to his craft as he appears, that he's endlessly polite to all the staff they work with, that he inhales every bento they're provided with a sense of urgency that rivals Raul's. He's serious when watching playbacks of their acting and reviewing Aoki's expressions with the directors, but he's enthusiastic and silly about the things he likes. They swap pictures of their family dogs very early on, and when Ren starts humming Surely This Moment Is Not A Dream during a break between scenes one afternoon, Michieda excitedly says it's also his favorite SMAP song because his mom played it all the time the summer of the first Olympics he remembers. They're filming a drama about miscommunications and misunderstandings, but so far, the two of them have been able to communicate well with each other. That always makes working together much more pleasant.
All this to say: Ren thinks he has a fairly decent baseline understanding of what Michieda is like. Which means that walking into the otherwise empty classroom they've been using as a changing room to find Michieda hunched frozen over his cell phone is out of the ordinary enough to be alarming. Any other morning, Michieda's sipping a cup of coffee and chatting idly with one of his staffers when Ren arrives, or talking through the day's scenes with Suzuki and Fukumoto. Today, though, he's sitting all alone at one of the desks near the windows, his shoulders bunched up alongside his ears. He doesn't even look up when Ren walks in.
There's a video playing on the phone clutched in his hands, something set to music with a strong drum line and thrumming bass. Ren slides over, quiet and slow, and peers at the screen. Michieda doesn't seem to notice, too focused. One glance and it becomes obvious what it is: Ren's been watching similar videos all month, of Iwa and their dance staff dancing to the songs on their new album, demonstrating what Snow Man will be performing on stage starting in October. He knows Naniwa Danshi's first nationwide tour is happening right now, and they're still appearing regularly on Shounen Club and Music Station. This must be something Michieda's staff sent along for him to learn before his next performance.
A complicated set piece happens on screen, and Michieda curls further in on himself, knuckles turning white around his phone. He's so wound up that it's amazing he hasn't snapped the case yet. The longer Ren stares at Michieda's tense shoulders, the more his palms itch. He never used to make a habit of touching his coworkers unless it was required for the job, and it's still not his preferred method of showing care, but being a member of Snow Man has naturally relaxed his boundaries over the years. These days, he'll sling an arm around Raul's waist or scratch beneath Sakuma's chin without thinking twice; when Shoppi's lying listless in their changing room after a concert, Ren will trail a hand down his back more often than not, mutually partaking in the comfort of shared presence.
The song ends. Michieda immediately taps to watch it again, big eyes unblinking. Outside, Ren can hear the shuffle of staffers milling up and down the hall, getting things ready for the day's shoots. Ren should hurry up and change out of his street clothes, but this is a rare moment where the two of them are really, truly alone, no camera guys around to catch behind-the-scenes footage or stylists to fuss with their hair and makeup, and Michieda seems agitated in a way that Ren might actually be able to help with. Before he can second guess himself, he reaches out and fits his palm against the back of Michieda's neck, squeezing firmly. This isn't like the brief pats Ida gives Aoki when the cameras are rolling; it lingers. Ren's thumb digs into the space between Michieda's nape and shoulder, working against the rigid knot in the tight muscle.
Michieda doesn't jerk away, which was a very real possibility. Instead, he does the opposite, body listing into the press of Ren's hand, a heavy sigh slipping out of his mouth as he slumps forward, bangs brushing against his phone. Ren takes this as ample permission to continue, so he lets his other hand drift up. His fingers dig deeper into the meat of Michieda's shoulder, and the knot starts to loosen a little beneath his careful ministrations.
By the time Ren's forearms begin to really feel the effort, Michieda's relaxed against the desk, and the video's stopped playing again. "Michieda-kun," Ren murmurs into the still air. "Are you alright?"
Michieda sighs, long and gusty, and then unfolds himself, wincing as he stretches. "Yes," he says, face pink. "Sorry, I'm not — I don't usually — you didn't have to…" He runs a hand through his hair and huffs. "Sorry. It's been a crazy few days."
"No need to apologize," Ren says, leaning his hip into the edge of the desk and tapping Michieda's phone. "I get it. I had to learn a bunch of kabuki choreography overnight one time, and it sucked, but it's doable." Michieda makes a face, shoulders creeping back up towards his ears, and Ren automatically reaches out and squeezes again. "Hey, no, don't think about it. You're really tense, you know. Try to relax."
Michieda laughs. "Koji used to say that to me all the time," he says. "Relax, relax. Then he'd tackle me to the floor and shove his elbows into my spine, as if that was gonna help me feel any less tense."
"That does sound like him," Ren says, mouth twitching.
Michieda rubs a hand across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I try to stretch a lot, but that only goes so far. Especially right now." He runs a fingernail along the edge of his phone, the corners of his mouth drooping.
Ren remembers the months leading up to Snow Man's debut. He remembers what it felt like sleeping three hours a night and still not feeling like he had enough time. "When's the performance?" he asks. "I'm not the best dancer, but if you send me the video, I can try to help you with the choreography in between takes."
Michieda's clouded gaze clears a bit. "You'd do that for me? It wouldn't be too much trouble?"
It's only been two weeks, but Ren's lost count of the number of times Michieda's gone out of his way to pull him aside during standby and walk through the next scene in the corner of an empty classroom — so they can get the rhythm of dialogue down, or figure out how to move their bodies in sync, or work on comedic timing. This is a perfect way for Ren to repay the favor. "It'll be fun," he says, reaching into his pocket and unlocking his phone. "Shoot it over." Michieda's face melts into a real smile, gummy and wide, and Ren grins back. It's always nice to be useful.
So that's the first time. Ren files the detail away in the back of his head, another small brushstroke in the painting of who Michieda is: he holds all his stress in his upper back, but he responds well to physical stimulation. Ren downloads a couple of books about amateur massage onto his phone, but aside from that, the shape of the world as he knows it remains largely the same.
The performance Michieda's cramming for is supposed to air on Friday, so they spend the next two days walking through the steps together whenever the cameras aren't rolling. Despite his nervousness about missing practice with his bandmates, Michieda is a quick learner, and Ren becomes very familiar with the lyrics to Naniwa Danshi's 2 Faced. At least it's a catchy song; it's hardly the worst thing that's ever gotten stuck in his head.
He hasn't been able to watch Music Station at home on a real television in years, but Saturday morning, when he's on a bus to Fuchu to tape something for Soresuno with the rest of Snow Man, he remembers to look up the relevant clip. While the other guys chatter in the background, Ren tucks his phone between his knees and watches the performance on mute, tracking Michieda's stern expression and the sharp movements of his willowy limbs. You looked good today! Ren texts him afterwards, along with three thumbs up emojis.
Only because I had an excellent dance tutor ^_^, Michieda sends back a few minutes later. Ren's trying to think about how best to respond when Sakuma turns from across the aisle and sees his face.
"Oy, Meme, why are you smiling at your phone?" he says, voice carrying like it always does. He waggles his eyebrows. "Are you texting a girl?"
Instantaneous commotion from the front of the bus. "Meme's texting a girl?" Iwa calls back, at the same time Raul turns around in his seat, his shock of bright blond hair flopping into his eyes, and squawks, "You never said anything about a girl the last time we had bro talk!"
Ren shakes his head and sends Sakuma a vaguely reproachful glance. Sakuma doesn't look guilty at all; if anything the ubiquitous grin on his face spreads even wider. "This is how rumors start, Sakkun," Ren sighs. "I'm not texting a girl. Sit down, Raul."
As Raul's head sulkily retracts, Koji pops up, his eyes wide and curious. "Who, then?"
"One of your legendary beauties," Ren says. "We're talking about work."
"You're texting Koji's mom?" Shoppi inquires, dry, and Miyadate's chuckle is loud enough to float over the whir of the air conditioning.
Ren brandishes his phone in the air. "You're all dicks," he says mildly. "It's Michieda-kun, I'm texting Michieda-kun."
"Ah, Micchi," Koji says, suddenly beaming. "Say hi to him for me! He hasn't been answering my messages."
Koji says to stop leaving him on read, Ren types out dutifully.
Michieda replies with a string of laughing emojis, and then: Tell him to stop constantly sending me embarrassing screenshots of Aoki's face from the manga first!
"You're still smiling, Meme," Sakuma sing-songs, tilting his head, and lets out a delighted laugh when Ren sends him a rude gesture.
As muggy August eases into sunny September, Ren finds himself touching Michieda a lot more. Part of it is that they've moved further along in filming, so Ida and Aoki's relationship has also progressed, but even when they aren't on set, they see each other all the time for press and photoshoots. Now that Ren knows what to look for, it's not difficult to notice whenever Michieda seems extra harried. They'll be getting hair and makeup done or answering questions for some TV magazine reporter or studying a scene they just shot, and Michieda's shoulders won't loosen up until Ren slides behind him and gives them a couple of forceful kneads.
The first week of the month, Koji catches Ren scrolling through the anatomy chapter of one of his new books when they're getting ready to record their radio show. "What's this for? Did Teru-nii give you some workout study material?"
"Ah, no," Ren says, though it's not a bad guess. "It's just something I've gotten into because of Michieda-kun. I'll have to ask Abe-chan about some of the kanji, but I'm learning a lot."
Koji's eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. "You're reading a book for Micchi?"
Ren shows him the musculature diagram. "I'm mostly looking at the pictures." Koji still seems baffled, so he casts about for a better explanation. "He said you used to mess up his back with your elbows, so I'm trying to become a slightly better masseur."
"You're massaging Micchi?"
The shock in his voice makes Ren want to say, he asked me to, but that isn't true, is it? It's not like they actually ever talked about it in so many words; it's just something they kind of fell into. In the end, he settles with, "Don't make it sound more questionable than it is. You know how tense he gets."
Koji shakes his head. "Sure, but..." He shuffles the Suno Manma notes in his hands and sends Ren a sideways glance. "It's just not like him to ask for help. It's good he's accepting it. He must really like you."
"I think we're vibing well," Ren says, and he repeats it later on air when Koji cues him to promote Kieta Hatsukoi. Other people can tell too, apparently. The morning after Naniwa Danshi's last Hyogo concert, when the two of them are posing together for a Men's Non-no shoot, Ren spends ten minutes in between wardrobe changes drumming on Michieda's back. "It's cute that the two of you are so close already," the entertainment journalist covering them says, jotting things down in her little notebook.
"As expected of Johnny's, right?" Michieda says. "We take care of each other." He groans as the edge of Ren's hand strikes a particularly stubborn knot.
"There?" Ren asks, pushing harder above his right shoulder blade.
"Yeah," Michieda says, tilting forward to expose more of his pale neck, the knobby top of his spine. "Oof."
Out of the corner of his eye, Ren sees the journalist scribble something else. "He works hard, you know," he says conversationally, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face. "Michieda-kun's my senpai in acting, so of course it's a huge honor to be able to help him out in this way. It's the least I can do."
"Wait a second, don't say that," Michieda protests, "you're making me sound like a bully," but he's laughing, still relaxed, so he can't be too bothered.
The nature of their jobs means they have to deal with chaotic itineraries and minimal rest most days of the year, so it isn't really surprising that it keeps happening. Ren doesn't mind, anyway. He's always liked working with his hands, and there's something satisfying about actually being able to feel Michieda unwind beneath his palms.
A week later, the whole cast and crew drive out to Fujisawa at dawn to shoot all the camping trip scenes. Ren spends large patches of the morning with Suzuki, cheerfully tramping through the forest to forage for ingredients, but he and Michieda record some short videos for YouTube and TikTok during their down time in the afternoon, dancing around on the main dirt path to recreate viral trends for the views.
Once the staff are satisfied with those, they wander over to the outdoor shed to wait for the delicious-smelling curry to finish cooking. Michieda ends up cross-legged on the concrete, sitting in front of Ren's seat at one of the benches as they look out into the greenery. Behind them, Fukumoto and Suzuki are introducing the location for the Class Diary show, their chatter mingling with the sizzle of roux and meat and vegetables. Between one conversation and the next, Michieda leans back, shoulders bumping against Ren's knees. He seems pretty relaxed already, but at this point it's only natural for Ren to cup his neck and start massaging.
As he works his palms down, Michieda sags into the space between Ren's legs, head tilting back into Ren's lap. When Ren looks down at his face, Michieda's eyes have slid shut. His mouth is cracked open just enough for each soft exhale to escape into the warm summer air. An errant breeze rustles through his bangs. Ren digs his thumb into Michieda's upper trapezius and a low noise of gratification rumbles up through Michieda's chest, like he's a purring cat. He sinks back even more, arching into it. Ren's stomach does a neat little backflip.
When Michieda's this close, it's hard to think clearly. After almost two months of partnership on the same project, that's something Ren can readily acknowledge. He spends a disproportionate amount of time around handsome men for work, but Michieda is distractingly beautiful, clear-eyed and sharp-jawed and full-lipped. It's one thing to know that because Koji thinks so, or because Ren's seen photos of Michieda in magazines and splashed across his phone, and another to experience it in person himself. Michieda's not wearing his big gummy grin right now, but the blissful look on his face is equally effective at diverting Ren's attention.
Ren's fingers press along the ridge of his neck. Michieda's mouth falls open even more. The tip of his tongue flicks out briefly, pink and wet. Ren has read the scripts all the way through to the last episode already; he knows that even though the show alludes to it, they won't kiss on screen. I want to, though, he thinks suddenly, I want to kiss him, the desire so clear and vivid that he has to consciously prevent his head from drifting closer. When had he started feeling that way? Was it just a side effect of playing someone falling in love with Michieda's character? Or had some unnoticed, suppressed part of Ren already hoped it would happen all the way back in April, when he first heard the casting news and asked Koji for Michieda's contact information?
As if he can hear Ren's thoughts, Michieda's eyes flutter open. He stares at Ren upside-down, lashes sweeping across his cheeks with each slow blink. "You stopped," he says, hushed, voice cracking a little. The mole on his neck bobs as he swallows. "Meguro-kun?"
Ren exhales, thumb stuttering against the hinge of Michieda's jaw. Behind them, someone's yelling about the rice pot, but even that filters away as they keep looking at each other. Right now, Michieda might as well be the only other person in the world. Ren opens his mouth, says, "Micchi," throat tight, and isn't quite sure how to continue. It's not until Michieda stiffens against his legs that Ren realizes it's the first time he's actually ever called him that out loud.
He doesn't have time to dwell on it, or the complicated expression twisting across Michieda's flushed face, because Director Horai takes that moment to wave everyone under the shed. "Let's get back into position for scene twelve. Cameras rolling in five." He beckons at Michieda, who immediately unfolds himself and leaps up with some effort. Ren's shins feel cold as he watches him walk away.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a furious frenzy of filming. Ren tries his best to focus on each scene, but it's hard to concentrate when the whole earth seems to have fundamentally shifted on its axis. He can barely taste the food they're eating or feel the heat of the day anymore. He manages to pull himself together enough to not flub too many of his lines, but they have to work on some of his expressions when Ida's confronting the orienteering supervisor.
"You don't have to be quite so intense when you're looking at him," Director Horai says, moving Ren half a step back. "Firm, but respectful. That's the main vibe."
Ren nods and says, "Got it," but it still takes him a few attempts to recalibrate.
It doesn't help that Michieda seems off-kilter too. Ren tracks him while they're shooting the final dinner scene, because being aware of exactly where Michieda is at all times is apparently another habit he's inadvertently developed over the past two months. Michieda waves skewers around and pours drinks out into plastic cups and laughs with their other classmates, but every time Ren turns and actually catches his eye, he freezes for a split second and then looks away. The only reason they don't have to do any retakes is that there's no real dialogue, so the editors can cut any blips out of the final montage.
Too soon, the sun goes down. Before this, Ren had been looking forward to Aoki's big confession scene and everything that comes after, but all of it feels too close right now, too mixed up in his head. It's difficult to keep from questioning why he was looking forward to it so much in the first place. Professional interest doesn't explain the way Ren's stomach flutters when he looks into Michieda's eyes. It doesn't explain the hiccup in his chest when Michieda draws near.
As the lighting crew gets set up for their walk down from the cabins, Ren finds Michieda flipping manically through the script, muttering beneath his breath. "There's nothing to be nervous about," he hears one of the ADs tell Michieda. "You'll do great."
Somehow they make it through most of the actual dialogue without too much trouble; Michieda is, after all, an experienced veteran, and he's good at playing Aoki's halting self-consciousness. He wears it comfortably like a second skin. Ren only has to follow his lead and remember his lines: "You're too far, I can't hear you," and "What did you say?" and "Watch out!" Everything else flows like water.
Then, of course, they have to film their roll down the leafy hill. "We only need three or four turns, so just have fun with it," Director Horai tells them, and on a normal day Ren absolutely would, but Michieda's arms feel like hot irons against his waist right now. He grits his teeth and pushes through. Still — when they get to the part where Michieda tucks his head against Ren's chest, it's impossible to stop his heart from trying its level best to beat its way out of his rib cage.
They say their lines. Ren opens his eyes. For the second time today, their faces are inches away from each other. Michieda's palms graze his neck and chin, eyes wide with concern, and Ren has to remember to breathe. He exhales loudly when one of the ADs finally calls cut and says, "Meguro-kun, we need you to be more expressive, less wooden."
"I understand," he calls back, clearing his throat. Michieda twists back and forth, spine cracking. Ren's fingers twitch.
"Let's run it again," Director Horai says. "Pick up from when Aoki asks if Ida's hurt."
This time, they make it to the part of the scene where they're both lying back against the leaves, staring up at the stars through the canopy. Ren listens to the sound of Michieda's voice wash over him, and then turns to stare at the side of his face, the sharpness of his profile. "Your kindness really touched my heart," Michieda's saying, "and that's when I fell in love with you." His neck bobs as he swallows, the same way it did earlier, and Ren loses the thread of conversation for a moment before Michieda sits up, shoulders hunching down as he slumps forward. Too close, too close. "Just reject me at once," he says, and the rigid line of his back makes Ren's palms itch all over again. Shit. "I won't bother you anymore."
Ren sits up too, heart hammering against his teeth. "I'm well aware that you're serious," he says. He knows these words by heart; he's said them a million times in preparation over the past few days, but it's the first time he's really felt the weight of what he's saying. There's no cue in the script for what he should do, but it feels right to reach out and press his palm to Michieda's hair. "Should we… try dating?"
Michieda plays Aoki's shock with pitch perfect precision, leaning in to cup Ren's chin again when he's checking if Ida hit his head. It brings his face even closer, and Ren braces against the way his chest clenches. The only reason he's able to get through the last of his lines without slipping up is because he's practiced them so much.
They end the take staring up at the sky together. After a brief pause, Director Horai jumps out from behind one of the cameras. "That was perfect," he says, enthused. "No notes, amazing work. Meguro-kun, you're done for the day. Thank you for your effort!"
Ren's knees crack as he pulls himself to his feet. Michieda stays down, picking at his own shoelaces, shoulders tucked against his ears. Please just look at me, Ren thinks, but it's no use. In an ideal world, he would be able to tug Michieda aside and talk things out now, dispel the weird energy crackling between them. Real life isn't quite so simple: Michieda still needs to film close-ups for the dish-washing scene with Fukumoto, and Ren has to be in Tokyo tomorrow morning bright and early for Snow Mania rehearsal. There's no time to talk before Ren's manager ushers him away so he can change out of Ida's tracksuit and climb into the van waiting for him at the foot of the mountain.
If Ren's being completely honest with himself, he doesn't even really know what he'd say to Michieda right now. Sorry, I think I've gotten my feelings confused isn't right; despite Michieda's skill embodying the character, Ren is very aware he isn't Aoki. It isn't Aoki that Ren's been reading massage books for, and it isn't Aoki whose steadfast partnership on which Ren has come to so thoroughly rely — that's all Michieda, who tirelessly rehearses his lines and carefully hones his expressions and still has time to quiz Ren about his favorite school lunch back in the day. Liking him is so easy Ren still can't pinpoint when it evolved into something else, into more than the sum of its parts, into the tight feeling in his throat when Michieda won't even meet his gaze. And yet leading with the potent desire to kiss him doesn't seem wise either, not when Michieda's shaken expression is still etched so clearly in Ren's mind's eye. This is almost certainly the most stressful time of Michieda's life; the last thing Ren wants to do is add fuel to the fire.
"Are you alright, Meme?" his manager says as their van merges onto the highway, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. "You seem upset."
"I'm fine," Ren says, sitting up a little straighter in the back seat. "Just tired." It's not a lie.
He spends the entire drive back into the city mulling the situation over. He thinks about it in the long bath he takes when he gets home, and while brushing his teeth, and in the morning when he finally stops hitting the snooze button and drags himself out of bed to make a cup of coffee. He thinks and thinks and thinks, and doesn't come to any real conclusions, except that he still wants to talk to Michieda. He doesn't have any illusions that looking at his face will miraculously conjure the right words to say, but at least it'll be a step in the right direction.
Unfortunately, Ren won't see him again until the last week of the month. In the interim, to preserve his own sanity, there's really only one other person he can approach.
Ren doesn't get a chance to catch Koji alone until early afternoon, after four straight hours of rehearsal, when they're dripping with sweat and Fukka's passing out bento for all of them to wolf down before they have to get up and do it all over again. "You missed a brutal session yesterday," Koji informs Ren when he plops down next to him on the floor of the practice room. "Teru-nii was truly in rare form. I could barely hold my chopsticks without shaking."
Iwa, on his way out the door with Miyadate to discuss their stage outfits with the wardrobe staff, grins and throws them double peace signs. "Just trying to help you build character, Koji."
Koji sticks his tongue out as they exit. "You're saying yesterday was worse than today?" Ren groans, slumping back against the wall. "I'm already dying."
"Welcome back," Koji says, patting his shoulder, and then shoves a gigantic mound of rice into his mouth.
As they eat, the others break off in ones and twos: Raul leaves with a group of choreographers, Abe and Fukka head off to talk about the concert MC segments, and Shoppi and Sakuma wander out to forage for more sports drinks. Ren's trying to decide how best to broach the topic at hand when Koji solves that problem for him. "You want to talk about something, right?" he says around a bite of karaage.
Ren blinks at him. "How did you know?"
Koji swallows and grins. "You have an honest face, Meme. That's why people trust you." He straightens up, sets his bento aside, and flips open an imaginary notebook. "What's on your mind?"
Ren chews slowly, trying to come up with a question that makes sense to someone who doesn't know all the context. To Koji's credit, he doesn't push. Just waits patiently, eyes kind. "The last time we talked about Michieda-kun, you seemed surprised he accepted my help," Ren says at last. "Why?"
"Ah," Koji says, like he'd been expecting it. His expression turns thoughtful as he tucks his chin in his hands. "Micchi. Did something happen during filming?"
"Nothing… happened, exactly," Ren says. "I just realized I…" Belatedly, it occurs to him that maybe it isn't the best idea to be discussing this with someone who's known Michieda since he was twelve, watched him grow up, and, for all intents and purposes, had a heavy hand in raising him. How would Ren feel if someone interested in Raul tried to get his advice about how to date him? Not great, probably.
"You realized you like Micchi?" Koji fills in, eyebrows arching.
Ren blinks at him again, slower this time. It's too late to backpedal. Like Koji said, his face is too honest; it always shows exactly what he feels. He asks anyway: "How did you know?"
Koji doesn't seem upset about it, which is promising. "Meme, you're reading a book for him," he says, laughing a little. "Since I met you, I don't think you've done that for anyone."
"I read sometimes," Ren protests, but it sounds weak even to him. "I read Kieta Hatsukoi. I read that one manga Sakuma recommended a few months ago, the one about the kabuki rivals."
"That doesn't count, manga is all pictures." Koji fishes another piece of chicken out of his bento and crunches down on it, contemplative. "To answer your question, though…" he continues, brow wrinkling. "Micchi gets anxious a lot. He's easily embarrassed. He overthinks. Sometimes he says things he shouldn't and doesn't say things he should. It's hard for him to ask for help because he thinks he should be able to just handle everything himself." He tilts his head and smiles at Ren. "You don't get anxious at all. If you want to do something, you just do it. I think that's good for him." A pause, and then: "I'm glad it's you."
Ren exhales. "I don't even know if he likes me back," he mumbles, staring up at the ceiling. He feels childish just saying it, like he's in high school all over again and trying to figure out whether or not he should confess to the cute bookish girl that sat at a window seat and had the neatest handwriting he'd ever seen. Still — it feels good to be able to voice it openly, to acknowledge the uncertainty instead of letting it fester.
"Don't you?" When Ren looks over, Koji's shoveling food into his mouth again, slouched against the wall next to him. Ren's beginning to think he knows where Michieda picked up his eating habits. "Look, I'm not saying I can read his mind, but you've only really known him for, what, two months, and he's letting you touch his shoulders? That's not nothing. I remember it used to take ages for Micchi to warm up to people." He bumps Ren's elbow with his own. "Anyway, it's not like you to beat around the bush. What's holding you back?"
Ruining the atmosphere on set, Ren thinks first, but if he considers it more deeply, that's just a lame excuse. He's certain both of them are professional enough not to let something like that get in the way of the greater good of the project. And maybe it is just work for Michieda, closeness manufactured by being co-stars, but that's a risk Ren's willing to take. There's still a month of filming left for Ren to convince him otherwise. Years ago, he'd sworn off letting fear stop him from doing anything; he's not about to start again now.
For the rest of the week, Ren pours all his energy into Snow Mania rehearsal. There's no time for him to worry about anything else, because every minute of every waking hour is occupied with training his body to memorize the right steps before he has to pivot back to Kieta Hatsukoi. It's good to have something to focus on that isn't the conspicuous lack of movement in his LINE chat with Michieda; after six months of near-daily messaging, the silence is much louder than the notifications from Snow Man's various rowdy group chats that continue to pour in. At least Iwa's exhausting choreography and the clean burn in his muscles after each practice session are enough to keep him distracted. He's so tired when he gets home that he nearly dozes off in the bath three nights in a row.
On Tuesday morning, Ren's manager deposits him back on set with a thermos full of iced coffee and the day's scripts. Ren takes the stairs up to their classroom and gets dressed, pulling Ida's clothes on with customary attention to detail. Apparently Michieda's running late, which is unlike him, but eventually he rushes in windswept and looking as gorgeous as ever, bowing his apologies to the staff milling around them. "It happens, Micchi," Director Kusano says, patting Michieda's back. "Congratulations on a successful nationwide tour, by the way."
That's right. Naniwa Danshi's last stop on the road was Sunday night in Niigata. "Should have bought you a gift to celebrate," Ren says, sliding next to Michieda in the back as he changes into his uniform.
When Michieda's head pokes out of his caramel-colored sweater, his face has settled into an expression of amused dismay. "Won't Raul get jealous again?" he asks, voice light and breezy. "I can't have that on my conscience." Everything could be totally normal, just the customary chit chat while they're on standby, except that Ren's familiar enough with Michieda's shoulders by now that he can see the careful tension he's holding there. He's not calm at all. Ren has made a case study of the condition at this point; he could draw a diagram of Michieda's stress knots in his sleep.
He reaches up reflexively to cup the back of his neck, and Michieda doesn't flinch, exactly, but he makes a little hiccupping noise even as he relaxes against Ren's palm. "Michieda-kun," Ren says, squeezing as gently as he can. "Micchi. Can we go somewhere to talk?"
"Augh," Michieda says, low and throaty, eyes drifting briefly toward the set crew moving things around the classroom before they wander back to Ren. "Stop." Ren's stomach drops, and he starts lifting his hand, but Michieda shakes his head vigorously and reaches up to curl his fingers around Ren's wrist, holding Ren's hand in place. "No, not that, that's okay." He inhales sharply through his nose and exhales out of his mouth. The corners of his lips turn down. "Don't call me Micchi. It — does things to me."
"Huh?" Ren says, loudly enough that Michieda glances back at the staff in a panic. Fortunately, everyone's too busy with their work to be paying them any attention. Ren lowers his voice again anyway. "Doesn't everyone call you Micchi?"
"Yeah, but it's different with you," Michieda mutters, and Ren's faintly surprised to see his fair neck starting to turn pink. "The last time you said it, it looked like you — it looked like…"
"What?"
Michieda bites his lower lip, shifting back and forth on his feet. "It looked like you wanted to kiss me," he says, so quiet that Ren can barely hear him.
Ren breathes through the way his heart rate skyrockets. It's now or never, right? "That's because I did," he says, equally quiet, gaze glued to Michieda's face, which transitions from shock to worry to something Ren can't name in less than a second. "Do you not want to? It's okay if—"
"That's not it," Michieda says forcefully, and this time some of the staffers closest to them do glance over curiously. Michieda's face floods pink. The tight circle around Ren's wrist squeezes even tighter, and Michieda hauls Ren toward the door with stunning strength. "Sorry, please give us a few minutes—"
Bewildered, Ren staggers down the hallway after Michieda, to the dark and dusty classroom two doors away where they've been storing all the extra desks and practicing their lines. After he slides the door shut behind them, Michieda drops his wrist and paces in a tight circle, shoulders hunched. The stress radiating off him would be palpable even if Ren hadn't spent the better part of two months trying to mitigate it.
Before Ren can get too dizzy, he catches Michieda's elbow and reels him back in, arm coming up around his thin waist. A miscalculation: they're suddenly so close that Ren can feel every puff of Michieda's breath against his chin. Ren's eyes drop of their own volition. Michieda has gnawed so hard on his lips that they're a vivid red without any product on them, which is… distracting. With effort, he drags his gaze back up to find Michieda staring at him, that complicated look on his face again.
"Michieda-kun," Ren says, heart hammering in his throat. "Do you want me to kiss you?"
"Yes," Michieda says, and he looks so upset about it that for a moment Ren isn't sure he heard properly. "But we shouldn't."
Ren considers this, brow wrinkling. He gets anxious, Koji said. He overthinks. "Micchi," Ren tries again, watching Michieda swallow, feeling Michieda jolt at the nickname. "What are you so scared of?"
For some reason, that's the question that makes Michieda go boneless in Ren's arms, like all the nervous wind has been taken out of his sails. Michieda drags a hand across his face and laughs hollowly. "It'd be easier to ask me for a list of what I'm not scared of," he admits. He meets Ren's eyes, mouth trembling. "I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'll get too used to it. I'm afraid I'll get too used to you. I'm afraid I already have."
Ren raises his eyebrows. "Is that a bad thing?"
Michieda shrugs. "Well — maybe not. But what if… what happens when all this ends in two months and we barely see each other anymore?" He shakes his head. "I don't even live here."
Ah. Warmth spreads through Ren's chest. So Michieda's given this a lot of thought. Something about that is strangely comforting, even if all the conclusions he's coming to seem like worst case scenarios. Michieda hasn't even really said how he feels about Ren, but it would be a lot worse if he hadn't been thinking of Ren at all. They can work on the rest. "That's a problem we can solve later," Ren says. "I try to take each day as it comes."
Michieda snorts. "Easy to say and hard to do." He reaches out to cup Ren's cheeks and studies his face intently, like he's searching for all the secrets of the universe. Then one of his hands comes down to tug at Ida's tie. His mouth twists. "What if we leave all this behind and it's not the same?"
"It won't be, but that's okay," Ren says. Michieda's brow knits together as he processes that. "Look, it doesn't have to be that complicated. I don't like you because you're Aoki, you know? I'm glad we got to work together because of the show, but I like you."
Michieda flushes immediately, pink crawling up his neck. "How can you be so sure? You don't even know me that well."
"I know enough," Ren says easily, mouth tilting into a smile. "I know you like nice shoes and chicken karaage. I know you play guitar and spoil the heck out of your dogs. I know you work hard. I know you worry so much that you have the blood pressure of someone three times your age, and you'll probably get a stress ulcer before you hit thirty. I know you relax when I put my hands on your shoulders. I know you want me to kiss you." Just saying it makes happiness fizz up his spine. "I know your favorite SMAP song is mine too. I know—"
"That's enough," Michieda interrupts, voice high and panicked. His face is so red. "You don't have to keep going. I believe you."
"Okay," Ren says, smiling wider. "Can I kiss you, then?"
Michieda's jaw drops, like he wasn't expecting to be asked so directly. After a moment of silent regard, he rises to his toes, arms sliding behind Ren's neck, and peers imperiously down the bridge of his nose. "Not if I kiss you first," he mutters, which doesn't even make sense as a response. Ren laughs anyway.
It's not the most elegant kiss, but Michieda's whole body softens as he leans into him, and the press of his mouth is plush and warm. That makes it feel better than anything else Ren's experienced in recent memory. Ren steps back until he's braced against the door and takes all of Michieda's weight, hands sliding beneath the jacket of his uniform. Michieda tastes like the coffee he must have been chugging on the ride here, and he smells like shampoo and fabric softener. Still: the tentative brush of Michieda's tongue along the roof of Ren's mouth makes his stomach clench and his eyelids flutter shut.
When they break apart for air, Michieda's eyes are wide as saucers. "How was that?" he asks breathlessly.
"We should," Ren says, rough, arms closing tighter around Michieda's waist, "definitely do it again."
That big goofy grin breaks out across Michieda's face. He's just starting to tilt forward when polite knocking at the door startles them both. The rest of the world rushes back into focus as they spring apart. "Michieda-kun, Meguro-kun," comes the voice of one of the ADs. "Whenever you're set, we're ready for you."
Ren hastily readjusts his tie, pats down the gel in his hair. When he looks back, Michieda's starting to clam up again, shoulders creeping toward his ears. It's not like Ren expected one good kiss to loosen him up all the way; these things take time. Besides — as far as works in progress go, he's already got a bit of a head start. "Hey," Ren says, curling a hand around the back of Michieda's neck and feeling some of the tension bleed away. "Micchi."
Michieda huffs. "Meguro-kun." The corner of his mouth twitches when Ren makes a face at him. "Meme." Michieda's right: it does feel different coming from him, but not in a bad way. Ren likes how it makes his heart skip a little.
"We have to go back out there," Ren says. "They're waiting for us." Neither of them make a move to open the door.
"I know," Michieda says, hushed. He licks his lips, and oh, that's going to be an issue moving forward. Ren welcomes the thought. "But first, I wanted to say…" He exhales, shifting on his feet. "I'm not good at grand speeches or anything, but — I like you too. Your feelings… they're mutual. I just thought you should know."
"I should hope so after that kiss," Ren says, grinning when Michieda ducks his head. His fits of shyness are so cute. In that respect, Michieda and Aoki are exactly the same. "You can take your time telling me the rest later."
"Don't hold your breath," Michieda says, rolling his eyes, but he's smiling too. "Come on. Let's go." Elbows bumping, they walk out into the dappled sunlight together.