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“Your Highness,” Ibara says, his voice blunt and dry, “what the fuck is that?”
Hiyori turns. His eyes are wide, innocent, and glassy as he flicks his gaze between Ibara and the object of his discontent. “Oh,” he replies, his mouth open in feigned surprise as he blinks earnestly. “Didn’t you say Saegusa Ibara was going to be spectating Eve’s practice today, Producer? ”
Ibara’s brow twitches. He adjusts his glasses, sighing, wincing to hide his bitterness. “That’s supposed to be me? ”
“Of course not, Producer!” Hiyori waves his hands in cheerful dismissal. “Is everything okay? I can’t believe you’d fail to recognise one of your own idols! Isn’t Eden your pride and joy? Yet you’re caught off guard when Ibara, who you asked to spectate, meets you at our rehearsal?”
Grimacing, Ibara looks over to Jun - perhaps for reassurance, perhaps for answers - who only shrugs in response. Pausing mid-stretch, he says, “Yeah, I don’t really know what’s going on either. Sorry Ibara. Ohiisan’s been acting like that thing is his boyfriend on and off for days now. You know how he gets.”
Hiyori makes an indignant noise, both in response to Jun’s comment, and because neither of his juniors appreciate his absolutely golden sense of humour. Really, his talents are wasted on such a boring pair! Treating the Ibara nuigurumi that Nagisa gifted him as if it were the real Ibara is not only an absolutely genius, bespoke piece of comedy, but it’s a bespoke piece of comedy that has been a source of endless laughter amongst the members of Room 303 for at least a week at this point. Rinne cackles mischievously as he treats the plush like his boss, and Kanata speaks to it so intently that Hiyori almost wonders if the boy genuinely believes Ibara has been transformed into a stuffed toy. Yet he brings the poor plush to meet his boyfriends - who should be bending over backwards to tell him how charming and funny he is - and the two of them treat him like an idiot! But it’s really their failure and not his, because the fact they take how funny he is for granted only makes Hiyori want to double down on the prank. He’s going to see this to the end. The frustrated disinterest they react with makes it clear they want him to stop, which only inspires him to hold out for as long as possible.
Besides, now Ibara has finally shown up, Hiyori is sure to be rewarded with some interesting reactions. Ibara is so cute when he’s annoyed, like a small animal who thinks puffing up his fur will make him look bigger instead of fluffier, and if there’s one thing Hiyori can always count on his whimsy to do, it’s leave Ibara irritated.
Slouched on a chair slightly to the side, in front of the studio mirrors and tucked in by the stereo, the Ibara nui fixes its unblinking embroidered eyes on the trio. Its smile is kind, somehow more genuine and less forced than many of Ibara’s own. Ibara strides over to it, huffing, and drops to his knees. He grabs the toy by the back of its head, and turns it to face him.
Studying it furiously, Ibara growls, “Where did you get this? It’s appalling. I’ve been meaning to crack down harder on unlicensed merchandise. I can’t allow our image to be sullied with disgusting shit like this.”
From where he’s crouched, stretching his hamstrings, Jun says, “Actually, Ibara, I think it’s official. You gave up overseeing merch to Yukimura-san from Outreach around the time you came into like, a tonne of new franchises, didn’t you? Something about allowing anything that’s based on our existing marketing campaigns? And you said to go Anzu-san if a second opinion was absolutely necessary? It’s wearing a decent replica of your unit outfit, so it probably fits the conditions pretty well.”
Two heads turn towards Jun in shock, and he grins bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish. “Yeah, I’m kind of surprised I remembered that too. Usually, the business stuff goes right over my head, haha. But I thought it was kinda out of character for Ibara, considering how much he micromanages our image and everything. It seemed so weird to me that he’d be willing to loosen his grip on the reins even slightly, so I just kinda paid extra attention.”
While Ibara picks the nuigurumi up, flipping it around in pursuit of a label, Hiyori smiles, somewhere between cruel and playful. “Hm, yes... The two of you have been paying particularly close attention to each other lately, haven’t you?”
Jun laughs nervously, finishing his warm-up stretches and looking towards the ground. Ibara starts handling the plush with increased roughness, flicking his gaze towards Hiyori, and narrows his eyes.
“Is that what you’re here for today, Producer? ” Hiyori asks demurely, drawing out each individual syllable in the title, tucking his hands behind his back and rocking on his heels. “Will Jun-kun be the centre of Eve going forward, as well? Have you already started working on the lyrics? I assume you’ll be writing them yourself again, won’t you?”
“Ohiisan,” Jun says, anxious and embarrassed and very clearly trying to keep his eyes anywhere Ibara isn’t, “stop winding him up so much.”
“But Jun-kun,” Hiyori cries, stepping to the side and placing his hands on Jun’s shoulders, protectively, “I’m just looking out for you! You should be grateful! Your kind and generous Ohiisan is trying to protect you from the scandal of dating your producer!”
Ibara throws the nui back into its seat, and draws himself to full height, perhaps in an attempt to intimidate Hiyori. Which, of course, fails, because Hiyori thinks Ibara is adorable when he’s angry, and because Hiyori is at least a full head taller (if not more) than Ibara, so the height doesn’t really make him feel insecure. “Your Highness -” He begins to hiss, but Hiyori has already cast Jun aside, and pushed past Ibara to take his place crouched at the chair.
“Meanwhile, my boyfriend is one of the most talented idols in CosPro,” Hiyori explains, dusting the nui, adjusting his little outfit, smoothing out his hair, making sure Ibara’s grip hasn’t ruffled anything or left the thing more misshapen than it already is. He turns him around, to face Jun and Ibara, before continuing, “In fact, he’s probably the best member of Eden, after myself and Nagisa-kun, of course.”
As Hiyori sits the plush down on the chair, and puts a delicate kiss on his soft felt forehead, Jun grumbles, “Yep. Yeah. Yeah, of course, the doll’s better than me now too. Fuckin’ typical.”
“Jun-kun!” He exclaims, placing his hands over the fabric flaps that represent the doll’s ears, pushing them until they lay flush against his face. “Don’t swear in front of Ibara! He has a very sensitive disposition! Such vile language will upset him!”
The real Ibara is fuming silently, blinking in confusion, biting his lip in indignation, and blushing lightly, all the way down to the tips of his (real, flesh, unfoldable) ears. He pulls his tablet out from where it had been tucked under his arm, and says, scowling, “Do you ever intend to actually start rehearsals, Your Highness, or are you just going to flirt with this ugly little creature for the entire time?”
Hiyori breathes angrily through his nose, and the emotion isn’t entirely faked. Even if he isn’t stupid enough to genuinely believe the Ibara nui is his real boyfriend, the toy was a gift from Nagisa, so Ibara shouldn’t be allowed to insult it. “You should treat your idols with more respect, Producer. Ibara is awfully good with contracts and loopholes. Maybe the two of us will walk if you continue being so cruel and unkind to us.”
Ibara touches his temple. “And if you do, I’m sure I’ll find someone to replace you who is less inclined to give me headaches.”
“Um, well, you won’t, on account of literally no one can replace me,” Hiyori pulls himself away from the cuddly toy, and brushes down his trousers, making sure his tracksuit is in perfect condition before he starts rehearsal. “And my absence will destroy the entire fabric of the group. I’m already taking Ibara with me, and Nagisa-kun will probably want to join me as well. So you’ll have lost nearly your entire group! You’ll be stuck with only that traitorous Jun-kun, who won’t hesitate to abandon me whenever he has the chance. But then again, perhaps having Jun-kun all to himself is what our beloved producer was aiming for all along...”
“Respectfully, Your Highness,” Ibara says, his forehead creased in irritation, “please stop talking.”
Jun, who is hovering by the stereo, trying to queue up their playlist, glances over his shoulder at Hiyori. “Hang on, what? When have I ever betrayed you? Why is everyone leaving Eden but me?”
“Jun, it’s nonsense,” Ibara snarls. “No one’s leaving Eden. Now, are you moving this thing or do I need to get myself another chair?”
Hiyori twirls his way back to the plush, drops to his knees, and puts his ear up against its mouth. He hums to himself, like the toy is speaking to him, and then says, “No, Ibara says he was invited to spectate, so he’s going to spectate. He’s very excited to watch us.”
Staring at him in shock, Jun mumbles something to himself - Hiyori only manages to catch the words “Kagehira-san”, and “right,” - before putting the stereo remote down, and indicating to Ibara that he’ll grab him a chair. A waste of energy, Hiyori thinks, because Ibara’s closer to the stack of chairs by the door than Jun is, but he supposes Jun is in his practice clothes, and Ibara’s in a nice clean suit, so maybe it makes some sense. Or maybe Jun is just determined to show him how kindly and willingly he’ll help other people, when he so often leaves Hiyori to fend for himself.
Reluctantly, almost apologetically, Jun sets a chair down next to the one the Ibara nui is resting in. Ibara, frowning, settles down into it, and starts browsing through something on his tablet screen.
Jun’s adrenaline is usually abnormally high when Ibara attends their rehearsals. Hiyori assumes it’s an unfortunate consequence of the anxiety of being watched; no matter how many professional lives they perform, Jun’s nerves still get the best of him when he knows he’s going to be scrutinised and critiqued. Hiyori wouldn’t mind it too much - honestly, he might even find it cute - if it didn’t mean that for the first few runs of any song, Jun has to use that cursed metronome. Hiyori hates it. The ticking noise is intrusive and distracting, and for someone with a sense of rhythm as good as Hiyori, for someone who grasps the choreo as quickly as Hiyori, it’s honestly more off-putting than anything. But, he supposes, it’s not like he doesn’t have a beat count playing through his headset during lives, so he’ll put up with it.
Ibara folds one leg over the other, and pulls a stylus from his tablet case, before indicating for the two of them to start.
“We’re not recording this one, right?” Jun double checks as the metronome starts clicking. Ibara nods, and Jun puts the command through for the music to start.
As always, they begin by warming up with the handful of Eden songs where the choreography is primarily subunit-dominated. Often, their shared choreo is more intensive than Eve’s alone, but it’s laced with periods of much lower activity, when the spotlight is on Adam, so it ends up balancing out well, especially when, in contrast, Eve’s solo choreo is near-constant movement. It’s a habit they fell into after Eden’s debut, but one that’s proved hard to shake. It works well for rehearsals that Ibara reviews, though, as it gives him the chance to reflect on which songs might need more or less focus during their next practice as a full group.
And also as always, Hiyori has to keep reminding Jun to hold his head up and face the audience. The boy has fine posture and rarely slouches, but for some reason, every dance rehearsal, he forgets all of that, choosing instead to keep looking down at his feet. It would almost be sweet that even a year after debuting, Jun still has such little faith in himself, if it wasn’t so sad. One of these days, Hiyori is going to get through to him. But for now, he’ll keep chastising, “Eyes on the audience, Jun-kun!” and Jun will keep mouthing the lyrics as he moves, like he’ll lose his place in the song from the music alone.
After a good warm up, they switch to Eve’s discography. Hiyori watches Jun’s reflection intently, taking silent note of how often his eyes flick skittishly towards Ibara, whose expression is stony and contemplative and who almost seems to be looking harder at his tablet screen than at the idols in front of him. Beside him, equally silent and contemplative, the Ibara nui watches with an absent gaze. Hiyori almost wants to burst out laughing every time he catches it out of the corner of his eyes, and he actively has to hold himself back from laughing whenever he watches the Jun in the mirror purposefully avoid acknowledging it.
Two solid hours of getting tantalisingly (and performatively) close to touching Jun, Hiyori finally rewards him with a real, delicate kiss on the cheek as he ruffles his hair. “Jun-kun’s working so hard today!” he says, draping his voice with an atypical amount of genuine praise, knowing that Jun will shrug it off as mockery anyway. “I wonder if there was anyone in the audience you were particularly trying to impress.”
“Ohiisan. Shut up,” Jun replies, batting away his hand. Hiyori thinks it’s lucky that his face is already red from exertion, because otherwise, Jun would have a hard time justifying how viciously he’s blushing.
Staring attentively at the screen, Ibara flicks through a few pages on his tablet, before bringing the stylus up to tap against his chin. Pensively, he hums, “Is it worth revisiting the routine for Sunlit Smile?”
“Huh?” Jun asks, in between mouthfuls of water. “Like, you wanna watch us do it again? I don’t mind or anything, but did we really not do it enough?”
Ibara shakes his head. Almost as if he’s thinking aloud, almost as if he’s forgotten Jun and Hiyori are in the room with him, he murmurs, “Is it worth updating it? Is that - is that conventional? Do idol groups usually maintain the same choreography even when it’s clear they’ve outgrown it?”
It catches Hiyori off-guard, sometimes, how easy it is to forget that this is all relatively new to Ibara, that he’s only an idol because it was convenient for him to be, that the love Hiyori and Nagisa, and even Jun, had poured into idols before resolving to become one themselves, is a love Ibara still claims to have never experienced. Ibara can be the star of Shuuetsu’s Producer course, but all the lessons in the world won’t hold a torch to experience, to passion, to genuine love and adoration. It’s rare moments like this, when his walls are down, when he defers to Hiyori’s expertise, as someone who has loved idols since childhood, as someone who strives to pour as much love into being an idol as possible, that Hiyori is struck by how much of his current circumstance - how much of all of Eden’s current circumstances - is down to chance.
In response, Hiyori leans closer to Jun, dropping his arm around Jun’s shoulder and pulling him towards him, in an almost congratulatory half-hug, before saying, “I think usually, they just retire their earlier songs. But we’re not like other idols, are we, Producer? We’re standing at the gates of Paradise, and only that which we desire should be let in.”
Ibara blinks in disdain. “I’ll make a note to discuss it with the PR team. Someone in Community or Media Relations should be able to offer useful advice.”
Scowling, Hiyori turns up his nose. “I’m perfectly capable of offering useful advice. It’s not my fault a snake like you has no use for my peerless wisdom.”
Ibara ignores him. And, unjustly enough, Jun ignores him too, choosing instead to ask, “Uh, what d’you mean? ‘Outgrown’ it?”
“Putting it simply, since you apparently need it spelt out for you,” Ibara rolls his eyes, but finally looks up from his tablet, “yes, you specifically are capable of far more complex routines than you were at Eve’s debut. The original concept for your early choreo was that by keeping His Highness close, it would mask any of your mistakes, but as you are now, I don’t anticipate those mistakes happening often.”
Jun almost chokes on his water. He manages to splutter out, “Yeah, but... Staying close together is kind of Eve’s thing now, right? It’s our fanservice? Are we gonna change everything? Are we changing Trap for You now as well? That’s the same idea, isn’t it? And that’s even earlier stuff than Sunlit Smile.”
He’s offered a shrug in response, as Ibara looks back to the screen. “The two of you are much closer in Trap for You because the choreo is more extreme, so I don’t really see a need to change any of that. It lines up with your ability and with the target market. I’m just suggesting we do the same with Sunlit Smile.”
“Man,” Jun groans, finally shoving Hiyori away from him, “don’t tell me you’re gonna make us make out in that one too.”
Hiyori taps Jun on the back of the head sharply. “Jun-kun! Don’t sound so miserable about it! You should be honoured to get to kiss me! Producer, I must insist you do not change the choreo to Sunlit Smile until Jun-kun can be grateful enough to deserve it!”
Ibara finally snaps, putting his tablet down in his lap. “Must you insist on calling me that, Your Highness?” he asks viciously, no trace of his usual forced cheer or fake smile, barely managing to keep his fury out of his voice.
“Calling you what?” Hiyori replies, innocently, not yet willing to concede that he’s gone too far. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Our producer?”
His tongue darting out, quick and purposeful, Ibara licks his lips. The weight of his frown drags down his whole face. His eyebrow twitches as he says, “It’s a role that has seldom earnt any respect from you in the past. So I find it somewhat strange and very irritating that you have apparently decided today that I deserve it.”
Hiyori curls a strand of hair around his fingers. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve only ever given you the utmost respect, Producer.”
The crack of Ibara’s tablet case shutting reverberates through the practice room loud enough to make Jun wince. “Whatever game you’re playing,” Ibara hisses, “I don’t find it particularly funny, Your Highness.”
“Yeah, Ohiisan,” Jun mumbles, “maybe you should give it a rest...”
Pouting, Hiyori refuses to accept defeat. “Jun-kun, it’s like you haven’t listened to a word I’ve been saying. It’s unprofessional to have such a close relationship between idol and producer! Now, being as kind and magnanimous as I am, maybe I would make an exception if our producer was half as cute as my darling Ibara. But he isn’t! He’s a nasty little viper.” He turns his nose up again, facing the other way this time. “So, I suppose he’ll just have to win me over.”
Jun sighs. Hiyori can feel the intensity and rage steaming from Ibara’s gaze, and it rests heavy on his shoulders. After an exhale (that Hiyori almost mistakes for a growl), Ibara flicks his tablet case open again, and starts tapping against it furiously. “Regardless,” he drones, monotone, clearly regaining some of his usual composure - or, at least, calming down enough to fake it, “I’ll contact the necessary avenues about Sunlit Smile.” He rests his stylus against his lips for a moment. “And, of course, I’ll make sure to update the team working on the choreography for the Valentine’s song... Going forward, all new Eve songs should keep Jun’s improved capabilities in mind.”
Hiyori feigns an over dramatic gasp. “I knew it! You are going to make Jun-kun the face of Eve! Producer, you really mustn't play favourites like this! And you, Jun-kun!” He pauses to pull his arm away from Jun, knocking him off balance. “You really are heartless! Wasn’t Exceed enough for you? You’re determined to usurp Eden out from under us?”
He can tell from the way Jun’s face falls that he’s said something that hits a little too close, a little too hard, and so Hiyori pours in as much overly-false misery into his next sentence as he can. “And you’re starting with my very own, dear little Eve... A unit I love like a daughter... What’s next? Mary? Are you going to try and steal Mary from me?”
And he knows he’s been successful, because Jun rolls his eyes and says, “Ohiisan, you dump Mary on me all the time. I couldn’t steal her even if I wanted to. Because you would just insist on giving her to me so you can go shopping, or to some celebrity party, or something.”
Ibara clears his throat. “Gentlemen, as delightfully mind-numbing as your co-parenting antics are, might I ask that we return to rehearsals?”
Ah.
Now Hiyori’s plan enters Phase Two.
“What do you mean, Ibara?” Jun asks, his brows knotted together. “We only booked the room for two hours.”
Through a grimace, Ibara says, “And yet, oddly enough, His Highness’ email on the matter said three.”
Hiyori giggles. “Well, you see, it was the only way to guarantee your schedule would be open enough for me to invite you to lunch with us afterwards.”
Neither Jun nor Ibara seem particularly thrilled by the concept of lunch. Jun had insisted on changing his shirt first, grumbling about how he’d wanted to take a shower after rehearsals (which pisses Hiyori off, because when they lived together and so it actually mattered that Jun showered after every single workout, he would nonchalantly shrug it off and say that sweating was proof he was alive, or some equally ridiculous nonsense), and Ibara had only agreed because Hiyori had pointed out masterfully how he had nothing pencilled in. This means, when the three of them drop into the ES cafeteria (Hiyori had wanted to go somewhere else, but his genius plan only really allowed them an hour, and all three of them do actually have other work lined up afterwards), Ibara and Jun both slide into the booth seat opposite Hiyori with sallow expressions on their faces. Really, if he didn’t know better, he’d think the two of them were avoiding him!
But that’s fine, because it means the Ibara nui can have the seat beside him, and Hiyori proudly sits him down for display.
“Your Highness,” Ibara whispers, “you can’t be serious. Put that thing away.”
Hiyori lets his bottom lip tremble. “You’re so harsh to poor Ibara, Producer. It’s almost like you don’t want to make this a double date!”
Jun pushes back his fringe. “What - Ohiisan, this isn’t any kind of date. What’s wrong with you today?”
Sighing, Hiyori says, “Well, I’m here with my boyfriend Ibara, aren’t I? So we’re on a date, regardless of what the two of you are doing. Although, I must confess, it’s getting slightly annoying watching you dance around the issue. So even though it is probably the biggest scandal CosPro has ever seen, Jun-kun, you have my permission to date our producer.”
“I don’t - I don’t need your permission for that, Ohiisan,” Jun groans, but Hiyori notices how closely his shoulder is pressed against Ibara’s, and knows that, under the table, their fingers find each other, and thread together.
Ibara taps at his chin, curious. “I wonder, Your Highness, if dating your producer really is more scandalous than dating one of your fellow idols? Surely, you’re in just as dangerous a position as Jun and I would be, aren’t you?”
Hiyori shakes his head. “The difference is that Ibara has no power over me, you see?” he explains, which earns a short snort of laughter from Jun, who quickly stifles it when Ibara flicks his glare in his direction. “Ibara and I are equals, as unitmates. But dating your producer... Shall we just say that, in lesser groups, particularly ones that aren’t as talented as us, it may cause the public to question the legitimacy of a member’s position.”
“Wait, would people really think that?” Jun asks, nervous. “Like, is this something we need to -”
He’s interrupted by his phone buzzing loudly in his pocket. “Ah,” he says, “I should take this. One sec.” And he slides out of the booth, leaving Hiyori impossibly curious about his caller.
Ibara leans across the table. “What is this really about, Your Highness? You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
Of course, at first all Hiyori had been trying to do was piss Ibara off. That’s all he’d been up to. That was the only scheme he’d had on the table. That he wanted to take this as far as it could go, that he’d get to kiss Ibara gently on his round little cheeks when he couldn’t take it anymore, that he’d flirtatiously play with his hair and tease Ibara for being jealous. Originally, that was all this had been about. But something had shifted, hadn’t it? Hiyori had realised something, in between the jokes, in between the theatrics. Maybe it’s something he’d been trying to find for a long time. Maybe it’s something he’d been trying to ignore for a long time.
As different as they may seem initially, Hiyori’s boyfriends all have a few key things in common. They’re all in Eden, for example, and they’re all notoriously bad at talking about their feelings. Although, Hiyori supposes he can’t really fault Nagisa for that; at least Nagisa is trying to be honest with himself. But as he watches the boy across the table from him, as he’d watched him throughout their rehearsals, Hiyori has begun to suspect there are some very important things the two of them need to talk about. And Hiyori has started to worry about the answers to those things.
After all, no matter how hard he tried to pass it off as jokes, there is something about Exceed that makes Hiyori nervous. Even now, weeks after the MV has been filmed, weeks after everything has been finalised, weeks after the reception has been overwhelmingly positive. It just took until today to put his finger exactly on what.
The tips of Ibara’s ears are red as he whispers, “Because if it’s about me and Jun -”
“Do you like being an idol, Ibara?” Hiyori asks, bluntly, cutting him off.
Ibara blinks for a moment, then starts spluttering.
“You didn’t become one out of love, did you?” Hiyori muses. “You’re not looking for love. You’re looking for power, for money, for fame. So, tell me,” Hiyori rests his chin in his hands, and meets Ibara in the middle of the table. “Do you like being an idol?”
“I fail to see what that has to do with anything,” Ibara finally manages to say. “In particular, what it has to do with this elaborate ruse you’ve been carrying out all day.”
“With the nuigurumi?” Hiyori raises an eyebrow. “Ah. Don’t try to understand my process, Ibara. A genius like myself works in ways that would make most go insane should they try to keep up with me. I mean, just look at Jun-kun. Poor boy has been driven out of his mind trying to stay on my level.”
“I don’t think that’s the most likely reason you would drive him insane, Your Highness.”
“Anyway,” Hiyori says, carefully adjusting the position of his fringe, his eyes glued to the fine strands of hair that dance at the very top of his vision, “don’t try and understand me, Ibara, because a tiny mind like yours will basically just explode.”
He is, of course, ignoring the fact that Ibara is right about his plan not making sense, because Hiyori only really formulated the meaningful part of this plan about twenty minutes ago. Ibara doesn’t need to know that, and Hiyori doesn’t need to dwell on it. In fact, if Hiyori can make it seem like annoying Ibara was just a consequence of some kind of master plan, and not the entire goal until he realised that, actually, on some level, Hiyori is terrified of Ibara leaving Eden and has been panicking about it for a few months subconsciously, then it’s going to make it seem like Hiyori is not only the smartest person alive, but also incredibly kind and caring. Which is certainly a victory when he was actually just being kind of an asshole.
Ibara opens his mouth, but whatever he’s about to say is lost when Jun returns to the table in a frenzy. He drops to the ground, blindly reaching for his backpack, and says, slightly out of breath, “Sorry guys, I’m missing an ASOBI meet right now for, uh, whatever this is, and it is not going good. Sengoku-kun is stuck in a well.”
Hiyori and Ibara both whine in resignation, speaking almost at the same time.
“Jun-kun, you could not more obviously be being pranked,” Hiyori berates with an eye roll, while Ibara pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and says, “Isn’t that the little ninja one? He can just jump out of there.”
Jun runs a hand through his hair, like he always does when he’s nervous, and says, “Look, you might be willing to take that chance, but I’m not. Yuta-kun sounded really distressed.”
“Oh, really now,” Ibara sighs extremely heavily. “Surely you know better than this, Jun. If it was Yuta-kun, then there’s no chance in hell that boy is really stuck in a well.”
Shoving his arms through the straps of his bag, Jun shakes his head. “Sorry, I guess. But I’d rather fall for a prank than risk leaving someone who needs my help on their own. You guys can understand that, right? We can have a double date some other time.”
Hiyori claps his hands together. “Jun-kun admits it’s a date! How delightful!”
“I mean,” Jun shrugs. “I don’t know what the fuck else to call this. ‘S just some weird Ohiisan thing. There aren’t really names for those.”
“Hmph. Jun-kun says such nasty things,” Hiyori folds his arms. “Maybe he deserves to be pranked.”
“Whatever. I gotta go now. I’ll see you guys later? That photoshoot thing, is it tonight or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Ibara chastises, wearily. “But they’re sending me some details through this evening, so I’ve pencilled us in for a conference call at seven.”
“Right, yeah, knew there was something weird about it. Well, speak to you guys at seven.”
“Ah ah ah! Not so fast, Jun-kun!” Hiyori cries, before expectantly tapping at his cheek with his finger.
This time, Jun rolls his eyes. “Ohiisan, I really have to -”
But Hiyori just tuts louder and taps faster.
Sighing fondly, Jun says, “If something happens to Sengoku-kun, it’s your fault. You’ll be the one who has to deal with Ryuseitai, okay?”
Hiyori breaks out into a huge grin as Jun leans across the table to peck his cheek. “Don’t worry! Kanata-kun will forgive me!” he promises, kicking his feet.
Jun pulls away and stands awkwardly at the foot of the table for a second, shuffling, like he’s not sure whether he should lean in and kiss Ibara goodbye as well. Hiyori kicks his feet a little faster, smiles a little wider, and bites down a giggle.
Ah, he really does just adore love.
Ibara, however, looks like he’s trying to hold his breath. He turns his head as far away from Jun as he can manage, and makes a brushing motion with his hands, dismissing him. “If you’re going to go, then go,” he orders. “I don’t want to be held accountable for a collapse in CosPro and StarPro’s internal relations.”
Nodding, Jun replies, “Got it. Right. Bye again. See you at seven!”
And then he’s gone, and, even though the cafeteria is full, Hiyori and Ibara collapse into silence.
“You and Jun are good together,” Hiyori says, finally, softly.
Ibara seems almost startled into turning towards Hiyori. He watches him through half-closed eyes, suspicious.
“But I did mean it; you really should stop dancing around the issue and actually say something to him. Because he’s not going to take the initiative. And writing him a song isn’t good enough; subtlety goes right over his head. So just say something and stop torturing me and Nagisa-kun like this. Watching the two of you is a nightmare.”
Ibara lowers his voice. “I had suspected this was your aim.”
“Not really,” Hiyori shrugs. “I just wanted to show off to you. I wanted to show you how wonderful being an idol truly is.”
“And how, exactly, were you meant to be doing that?” Ibara laughs. “I stand on the same stage as you, regularly, Your Highness. So how is throwing yourself at some cheap toy imitation of me meant to teach me this lesson?”
Hiyori bites his lip. “I noticed how much you hated being called ‘Producer’.”
Ibara snorts. “Did you? It certainly didn’t seem to stop you from doing so.”
“Because I wanted to remind you,” Hiyori insists, “how miserable the weather would be if that’s all you were to us. For you, of course. I would be fine as long as I could keep on shining.”
Because Hiyori had realised it himself, at some point. That some part of him is petrified by the idea that being an idol will have outlived its usefulness to Ibara. That he’ll realise he’s having more success as a producer, earning more fame and money as a producer, getting closer to his dream as a producer, and he’ll just stop. The more he joked about the distance between them, the realer it became, the realer the possibility became. Ibara had been so proud of Exceed, hadn’t he? Going out of his way to write the lyrics for it, to come up with a special training regimen just for Jun, hand-selecting the marketing and promo material rather than leaving it up to focus groups and advertising specialists. Ibara had gone above and beyond what was expected of a producer, and Hiyori is scared stiff that it’s because he prefers it. That he would rather be backstage than centre.
As much as he hates to admit it, Eden wouldn’t be Eden if the four of them weren’t together. If Ibara left, if he found a high-profile replacement... Even if he continued to produce them, it would be wrong. Ibara is meant to be there, at Hiyori’s side, at all of their sides.
“I don’t want you to stop being an idol,” Hiyori says.
“I don’t intend to stop,” Ibara responds, almost automatically, and there’s a glint to his eyes that tells Hiyori something complicated is going on there too, something is lurking behind that bright blue, something Ibara should - but won’t - talk about.
“Good,” Hiyori smirks. “Then you’ve learnt your lesson.”
Ibara frowns. “I don’t think you’ve taught me anything, Your Highness.”
“Um, what on Earth are you talking about, Ibara? I single-handedly convinced you not to leave Eden today.”
Too shocked to speak for a moment, Ibara’s jaw drops. “Your Highness, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Tomoe Hiyori also has many things in common with his boyfriends. For one, he is also a member of Eden, and, coincidentally, he also avoids talking about his feelings when he ought to. And so, this means that instead of addressing any of the thoughts that have filtered through his head during this conversation, during the run of his prank, he pulls the Ibara nui onto his lap, and says, “Well, you see Ibara, while it was charming at the time, I’ve grown to become very concerned about the implications of your work on Exceed. Nagisa-kun and I were certain you were going to leave us to pursue your true passion as a singer-songwriter!”
And, as always, infusing the truth with a lie creates Hiyori’s favourite kind of paradox; the emotions in his words are genuine, even if the scenario he describes isn’t. This way, he can get his feelings across without ever having to actually acknowledge what they are to another living human being! It’s genius!
Some part of him feels guilty for it. There’s clearly something distressing Ibara about this, something about being a producer that’s clawing at him, something that he might actually let himself discuss if Hiyori initiates it, if Hiyori explains himself first. But he can’t. Ibara will say what he needs to say when the time is right to say it, and, even if it drives Hiyori crazy that Ibara won’t be truthful with him, right now, Hiyori isn’t offering him that same kindness and honesty anyway. Maybe this conversation needs to wait until Hiyori can acknowledge his own feelings. Until Hiyori can let himself accept how terrified he is of losing Ibara.
But instead, he orders Ibara a coffee and himself a parfait, and Ibara lectures him about it while Hiyori laughs and twirls his hair. They talk about how Ibara needs to write a song about Hiyori next time - not that Hiyori’s jealous of Jun, of course - and about how he wants the Eve unit costumes to change for their next concept, and then, when Hiyori gets bored of talking about work, they talk about poetry, and this delightful little shop Hiyori’s been frequenting lately, and how busy Ibara has been, and how he simply must make time for Hiyori, or else he’s going to start gatecrashing executive meetings.
When their hour is up, Hiyori walks Ibara back to his office. The kiss they share is quick and bittersweet (because of the combination of the coffee and the parfait). Once Ibara’s office door is closed, Hiyori allows a bright smile to take over his whole face.
He lifts the Ibara nui in his arms to his face, and gazes into his embroidered eyes. The synthetic blue is so much duller than the real thing.
“I love you,” he whispers into its plush ears. One day, he’ll say it to the real Ibara. But right now, that’s far too embarrassing to even consider.
(Unless Ibara says it first.)