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Thunderous applause rings loudly in Mika’s ears as he’s being pulled off stage, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the audience even as he’s taken away. He realizes, belatedly, that Shu is the one holding onto his wrist, dragging him backstage because, that’s right, their time is up, the show is over, even if their fans constantly beg for more.
A bittersweet feeling fills Mika’s chest, bitter because he doesn’t want this to end, because he knows this means that Shu is leaving, that this marks the end of Valkyrie as he knows it. But when he turns to face Shu—his partner, his mentor, his everything —meets the smile on his face, feels the firm grip of his hands wrapped around his wrists, all accompanied by the resounding praise from outside, the feeling is so, so sweet, Mika feels like he might just die.
Mika laughs, bright and unabashed, and pushes his hands into Shu’s. A bold move on his part, but with the adrenaline flowing through his veins, he feels like he can do anything. “Do ya hear them, Oshi-san?” he says, squeezes Shu’s hands excitedly, “Do ya hear them cheering for ya? For us? ”
Shu says nothing, just beams at Mika like he’s told him the best news in the world, and gosh , his smile is so breathtaking that Mika can’t quite help the laugh that escapes him again.
“What’s wrong, Oshi-san?” Mika asks between his breathless laughter, and it’s a genuine question—It’s unusual to see Shu so still and quiet after a performance, but he can’t possibly feel upset right now, “C’mon, ya hafta say somethin’, this is our last live before—”
Suddenly, Shu’s hands envelop Mika’s face and tug him forward. Before he can even begin to process what’s happening, lips are pressed to his, interrupting his sentence and all ten million trains of thoughts he was having at the moment. With nothing to grab onto, Mika’s hands fall foolishly to his side.
The kiss is chaste and gentle, a soft but firm pressure on Mika’s lips, and uncharacteristic for someone as extravagant as Shu. Stunned, Mika doesn’t move until Shu tilts his face to better fit his own, in which he becomes suddenly aware. Indulgently, he leans into it, placing shaky hands over the ones that cradle his face.
Shu smells like florals from his perfume and sweat from the live. His lips are soft and warm and taste a little salty. (Ah, he’d been crying earlier, hadn’t he?) His hands hold Mika like he is the finest doll in the world. Everything else fades away, and the audience doesn’t seem so loud anymore.
It is nothing like the first kiss Mika has dreamed about so many times. It is so, so much more, and Mika wonders if he really is dead now. That would be okay, he thinks, if it meant that he could kiss Shu like this forever.
Shu pulls away after what feels like an eternity and Mika finds himself leaning forward, chasing for more. Dazed, he searches Shu’s expression for any sign that this isn’t real, that this is all just a dream, and he had gotten carried away with his thoughts post-live. He is only met by Shu’s tearful, genuine smile, and something in Mika shifts, wakes him up. This must be real after all.
“O-Oshi-san…” Mika manages, and his voice is a ghost of itself, quiet and wobbly, and Shu’s thumbs brushing lightly over his wet cheeks tell him he’s crying too. “I don’t…Why didja…” His words don’t string together like he wants them to, and Shu laughs softly at the crack in his voice.
“Kagehira,” Shu says, finally, and the fondness in his voice is enough to make Mika’s vision blur further with tears. He presses their foreheads together and sighs softly, without a hint of the scorn he is so prone to carry.
“You were beautiful,” Shu whispers.
Mika believes him.