Work Text:
Yuujirou is five years old when he starts his first fight.
“I don’t understand,” his mother says, gently wiping at a smudge of dirt on his cheek from when he fell down. She sounds more tired and sad than angry. “You’re usually such a good boy, Yuujirou. What happened?”
He sniffles loudly but doesn’t cry. “Ryouta said I couldn’t play because I’m too small and I can’t keep up, so I pushed him.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Tae kneels down so they’re face to face. “He shouldn’t have said that to you, but you can’t solve problems by hitting people, okay?”
“It’s not fair. He thinks I’m weak,” Yuujirou says, burying his face into her shoulder.
“Don’t worry about what he thinks. Anyone worth listening to knows it doesn’t matter how big or small you are; you’re still my strongest, bravest, best boy.”
“I am?” Yuujirou hates being smaller than other kids his age, hates feeling powerless in a world that looks down on him for things that are out of his control.
Tae smiles and ruffles his hair affectionately. “Of course you are! Always and forever.”
Yuujirou swells with five-year-old pride. His mother always tells him that his name means brave, courageous—like a hero out of old legends, a valiant warrior standing against injustice and protecting the weak. He doesn’t know how he’ll manage it just yet—he hears surprisingly few stories of malicious demons and duplicitous gods in real life—but he’s sure that one day he’ll have his chance to live up to his name and prove his heroism. He’ll be big and strong and powerful enough to hold back an entire legion of bullies without getting knocked to the ground even once, and his mother will never have to feel disappointed or sad ever again.
Someya Tamagoro stands impossibly tall in the darkness of the theater, completely motionless outside of his eyes tracking each of Yuujirou’s movements on stage.
“He lacks elegance,” he says, not even bothering to address his stepson directly. Underneath his heavy costume and makeup, Yuujirou feels less like a living boy and more like an object, a defective product, a cheap puppet teetering on hollow wooden legs.
Yuujirou’s feelings of hurt and dejection must be somehow visible in his facial expression or body language, because Tae takes a timid step forward. “He’s still young,” she says. “I’m sure he’ll improve with practice.”
Tamagoro is unmoved. “Koichiro is even younger. Some sensibilities cannot be taught, it seems.”
The younger boy perks up at the sound of his name. It passes in the blink of an eye, but Yuujirou could swear he sees a look of pure disdain flicker across Koichiro’s angular features. How pathetic he must seem to these people, tacked onto their family like an unfortunate side effect, merely playing at becoming one of them.
“Koichiro, would you demonstrate for us? Your … brother may find it instructive.”
Yuujirou retreats from the stage, keeping his head bowed partially out of habitual politeness and partially to ensure that nobody sees him seething in anger. That would be unseemly, and while he wouldn’t feel particularly bad about offending his stepfather and stepbrother with his poor manners, he can’t embarrass his mother any further.
Koichiro moves through the sequence effortlessly, as if he’s danced this part a hundred times before. He probably has. He’s been training for this since he learned to walk, or something like that.
The dance is meant to express the tender feelings of a young maiden in love for the first time, her heart blossoming alongside flowers in spring. Yuujirou stayed up the previous night studying the play until his eyes burned from the strain, trying to grasp how he was supposed to communicate something so ephemeral through the awkward limbs of an elementary school student. What would he know of first loves or the fleeting beauty of youth? How could he even dream of trying?
It’s absurd, being lectured on the finer points of emotion and romance by a man who has been nothing but cold and disapproving towards Yuujirou since the moment they met. He’d been foolish to ever hope for a normal family life, a father to share his wisdom and advice, a brother to stand beside him. Noisy holidays and seaside vacations.
“I know it’s difficult for you,” his mother said when they first moved into the Someya estate, finding him curled into a ball in the corner of his new room and hugging him tightly. “I promise I only ever want what’s best for you. You’ll have more opportunities here than I could give you when it was just us two.”
“What about you? Are you happy?”
“It’s not always that simple.” She sighed and pressed a kiss into the top of his head. “I’m happy as long as you’re happy and healthy. That’s the most important thing to me.”
Koichiro finishes his demonstration with a flourish, and Yuujirou swallows the bitter taste on his tongue. Well, he’s never been the type to back down from a challenge—if this is the game they’re playing, then Yuujirou will grit his teeth and work until these people have no choice but to acknowledge him. He’ll learn to bury himself deep down, transform his face into a blank mask to suit whatever fantastical scene his audience wants to see. He’ll learn elegance and poise and all those other qualities his mother’s husband thinks are hopelessly beyond his reach. Just watch him.
Whether it’s because of restlessness or frustration or some leftover childhood dream stirred up by a well-placed advertisement, Yuujirou hacks off his bangs with a pair of scissors and shows up to the idol audition.
He really isn’t looking for a fight, he tells himself. He needs to make a good impression on these people, convince them that he’s exactly the kind of sociable, demure youth they’re looking to catapult into stardom. And he manages well enough at first, burying himself in his book as if he doesn’t notice the curious glances of his competitors, taking stock of his weird haircut and outdated clothes and slight build.
He’s not looking for a fight, but Aizou keeps staring at him and Yuujirou thinks at this point the guy should just come out and say whatever’s on his mind, so from that perspective Yuujirou is the one being provoked, right? So it’s not really his fault, anyway. Not that the staff seems interested in such technicalities as they’re politely but firmly telling them both to quit blocking up the doorway with their arguing, at which point it starts to sink in that Yuujirou might have fucked this one up already.
At least they’d seen his audition first.
They’d seen Aizou’s, too.
Because Yuujirou’s life is apparently some kind of sick cosmic joke, someone at Mobius sees fit to put them together again, even going so far as to scrap their original plans for a solo idol in favor of a duo. “You’re a team now!” the company president announces cheerfully, as if they’re supposed to be delighted by the news.
Yuujirou doesn’t know the first thing about being part of a team. As far as he can remember, it’s always been him standing alone on one side, and the rest of the world on the other. His father made sure that he could never take the family name for granted; Yuujirou had to earn every last scrap of respect on his own, claw and scratch his way through countless obstacles just to remain afloat, and if he depended on anyone else to hold his hand and pull him from the raging waters—that only meant he didn’t deserve to survive in the first place.
He turns to look at his unwilling partner, expecting to see scorn or cold-blooded ambition in Aizou’s handsome features, perhaps the beginnings of a plot to sabotage Yuujirou and take everything for himself. Yuujirou wouldn’t blame him for it; he certainly hadn’t built up any goodwill during their previous interactions. Instead, Aizou looks suddenly anxious, unsure of himself like the awkward teenager he is. Like the awkward teenagers they both are.
“Look, I’m not happy about this, either,” Aizou blurts out in response to whatever monstrous image of Yuujirou he’s currently building up in his head. His uncertainty reminds Yuujirou too much of himself from years ago, cast into the deep end of kabuki without anything or anyone to hold onto.
“We’ll just have to make the best of it,” he says. “You can do whatever you want, but I’m not giving up now.” He doesn’t mean to be particularly reassuring, but a wave of relief washes over the other boy’s face anyway.
“Good—I mean, I won’t give up either. So don’t even bother trying to stop me!”
At first, Yuujirou had taken in Aizou’s sunny looks and dismissed him as yet another flaky, overconfident kid who didn’t have a clue what he was signing up for, but perhaps he was mistaken after all. Up close, Aizou is as unsure of himself as he is charismatic, a poorly guarded bundle of impulses drawn in brilliant gold.
Over the course of the following months, Yuujirou grows accustomed to Aizou’s presence in his life, like an annoying thorn in his side or seasonal allergies. He learns that Aizou drinks more coffee than could possibly be healthy for someone their age. He learns that Aizou prefers cats to dogs, and has a tendency to show up late to appointments because he got distracted playing with a stray he found along the way.
He learns that Aizou hates talking about his family at least as much as Yuujirou does, maybe even more. He learns that Aizou has an older brother in high school.
He learns that on the days when Aizou’s mother gets too drunk to recognize her own son, Aizou will quietly let her pile her limp body over his back and walk her back to their home under the watchful eyes of murmuring strangers. Yuujirou waits until his unit partner is well out of sight before he remembers to unclench his fists, and stands there looking down at the deep indentations left by his fingernails digging into his palms.
Yuujirou doesn’t sleep well that night. He’s angry, he realizes later—angry at the idea of a mother who would leave her own child to clean up her messes before he even graduated middle school, angry at himself for doing nothing and saying nothing because who is he to Aizou, anyway? They are less than friends and barely colleagues, and still Yuujirou’s heart clenches terribly at the sight of Aizou looking so thoroughly resigned.
In his mind, Aizou is angry and hot-headed but never so lifeless. He’s oversensitive and sometimes clumsy but always brimming with energy, always the brightest thing in the room when he manages to forget himself and performs like whatever song he’s singing contains the entire meaning of life. He does handstands just to prove that he can. He waits for Yuujirou out of habit even on their days off and follows him around like a lost puppy begging for treats and attention.
“I’ve never seen a kabuki performance before. Is it really such a big deal?” To Yuujirou’s mild surprise, Aizou’s honey brown eyes are wide and genuine rather than dismissive.
Yuujirou purses his lips. “It’s one of our great traditional arts,” he says.
“Can I come watch you practice sometime?”
Yuujirou is silent for a moment. The trees overhead rustle faintly in the wind. “Fine, I guess I can sneak you in.”
Aizou pumps his fist triumphantly and flashes Yuujirou a blinding smile.
The darkness of the theater is less oppressive without Yuujirou’s family lurking in the wings, making it easier to appreciate the elegant design of the space, the warm wooden tones and fine acoustics. Since his father and brother will be preoccupied with some important dinner for the rest of the evening, Yuujirou more or less has free rein over the place until they return late at night. He treasures times like these.
He brings the folding fan up to cover the lower half of his face and focuses on controlling his movements in time with the shamisen. He’s never performed in front of an audience like this, as unpracticed and informal as this practice session is; either he dances in front of his father and his equally exacting kabuki associates, or he dances for no one at all. Yuujirou usually prefers the latter, given the chance.
Aizou’s presence is something else entirely, quiet and attentive without any of the judgment that Yuujirou has grown accustomed to. He’d made sure to explain in advance that he and his brother mostly studied female roles, bracing himself for a round of teasing, but Aizou had only nodded absently and gone on eating his onigiri. “That’s normal in kabuki, right?” he said around a mouthful of rice. So that was oddly reassuring.
This particular scene is showier than anything Yuujirou would ever dare to present in front of his father—a young girl imagines her brush as a sword as her betrothed departs for distant shores, lamenting the uselessness of her domestic skills in keeping her loved ones out of harm’s way. The audience is left to meditate on her premature expression of grief without knowing the final outcome, having hopefully been moved by the character’s outpouring of sadness and even rage. There’s absolutely no chance that Someya Tamagoro would ever grant him permission to perform anything of this magnitude in front of a real audience, but Yuujirou has always felt drawn to this story, the way the character strains against the boundaries of her gender and station.
Yuujirou finishes with a bow. “That’s it,” he says to break the silence. “Sorry, this stuff can be kind of cringy, especially if you’re not used to it.”
Aizou shakes his head. “No, it was cool! Really good. Even if I didn’t completely get all of it,” he stammers. “You looked so different up there.”
“Because of the robes, or what?” It’s way too much fun watching him squirm.
“No! I mean, I don’t know anything, but I could still understand the emotions and everything.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “So what happens next in the story?”
“What happens next? Shouldn’t you start with what happened before?”
“Okay, fine. Tell it to me from the beginning, then.”
Once there was a girl who was in love. Once there were two lords seeking to destroy one another at all costs. Once there was a person who wanted to be brave.
Like this, Yuujirou begrudgingly surrenders parts of himself to Aizou’s poking and prodding and overall Aizou-ness, one half-remembered story at a time. They’re still not exactly friends, but they’re on their way to being functional partners. Yuujirou knows that Aizou will catch him if he falls. Aizou knows that Yuujirou would do the same, when it comes down to it.
President Tamura and the rest of the Mobius staff work their magic, and it’s like LIPxLIP takes off overnight. Yuujirou is transformed from the failed kabuki heir to a fairytale prince, the perfect picture of youth that everyone wants to touch and hold and admire. Everywhere he looks, there they are, emblazoned on convenience store displays and massive billboards overlooking busy intersections.
At a handshake event over the summer, Yuujirou recognizes a girl from his middle school waiting anxiously in line to speak with him. “Someya—Ah, I mean, Yuujirou—” She blushes, holding out a carefully manicured hand. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we were in the same class last year.”
Of course he remembers. He remembers her friend group would always huddle together in the back of the classroom during lunch, whispering furtively about what shows they were watching, who was dating whom, when they were planning to start studying for exams. Once they’d approached Yuujirou sitting alone at his desk with a folded note and pleaded with him to pass it on to his neighbor. A confession, they explained, from a friend who was too shy to deliver it in person. Yuujirou figured it was about a fifty percent chance that the story was genuine, the other fifty percent being a mean-spirited prank at the expense of the weird kid who skipped clubs to practice dancing in women’s clothes. It wouldn’t have been the first time that happened.
“Yamada, right?” Yuujirou takes her hand with a polite smile. “It’s great to see you! Thank you for being a fan.”
The girl giggles nervously at the sound of her name and scurries off as some of the other fans in line murmur with jealousy.
On the opposite side of the room, Aizou looks like he’s barely holding it together, his smile stiffening as a particularly enthusiastic fan grips his hand. Yuujirou turns to the staff member hovering next to him with a tablet.
“Can we take a quick water break?”
She nods and signals to a man in an identical shirt and baseball cap.
After the event comes to a close, Aizou sinks into a plastic chair with his head in his hands and groans. “That was the worst,” he declares. “I don’t know how you can stand it, Yuujirou.”
“Believe me, it’s a lot for me, too. I’m just better at hiding it.” They sit in silence as Aizou unscrews the water bottle Yuujirou holds out to him and takes a long drink. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Another moment passes before the question seems to register in Aizou’s head. “I guess I’ll figure it out. I can’t let you beat me at this, too.” He punctuates the sentence with a weak laugh, and Yuujirou is briefly reminded of his younger self looking out from behind his mother’s legs, introducing himself to his new brother just to be met with hostility and indifference. He’s always wondered if things would have been different if he’d tried harder to be a friend to Koichiro, or if they were always destined to keep each other at arm’s length.
“There’s no point in competing with you like this,” Yuujirou says firmly. “Come on, I’ll practice with you for next time. We can come up with some easy lines for you to say.”
Aizou’s face lights up with gratitude. He’s been doing that a lot—looking at Yuujirou, that is. He looks at Yuujirou with a peculiar mixture of surprise and wonder, like he can’t quite believe that another person would willingly trust and support him, and he’s half expecting Yuujirou to pull the rug out from underneath him and laugh in his face. Even as they continue to habitually clash and antagonize one another, Aizou at his core is deeply earnest, even sweet.
Yuujirou doesn’t—can’t, won’t—think much of it at first, just files it away in his ever-growing mental folder of Things About Shibasaki Aizou. But every system has a tipping point, and one day they’re applying lipstick and Yuujirou is leaning in close to figure out where to place their kiss marks for this performance, and Aizou makes a choked noise and jumps back suddenly with unusually pink cheeks, and something clicks into place.
Contrary to what certain unit partners and junior managers might tell you, Yuujirou isn’t that dense. At least, no more so than the aforementioned unit partner and junior manager themselves, so they have no right to talk. He’s been in his fair share of romantic music video scenes and eavesdropped on the occasional after school confession. He recognizes that look of sudden self-consciousness.
He just kind of wants to throttle someone and ask, Why me? Why Yuujirou, when Aizou himself would be the first to call him cold and unpleasant? Why Yuujirou, when he goes out of his way to make sure Aizou never catches him replacing a broken hair tie or taking Aizou’s costumes aside for mending? Why Yuujirou, when he’s proven he’d rather lie for the rest of his life than show a single ounce of weakness?
Yuujirou can withstand a lot of things: his stepfather’s cruelty, a police officer’s questions, a badly sprained ankle in the middle of a song.
He does not know how he is supposed to face this.
There is no way to immediately unlearn a lifetime of being second best, a lifetime of sustaining himself through sheer stubbornness and spite. He had to be thick-skinned, which is to say a liar, which is to say an actor. Aizou knows Yuujirou’s faults better than anyone. He knows Yuujirou’s ugliest impulses and insecurities and keeps on trying to be close to him anyway. Aizou saw behind the curtain and still looks at Yuujirou like he hung the moon in the sky.
And the worst part is that Yuujirou enjoys it. That’s his most precious secret, never to be spoken aloud without a stage and a folding fan which is also a pen and a sword and a mirror: I like caring for you. I want to let you care for me. I’m afraid to let you care for me because what if I start to need you and then you leave me? I’m afraid because what if you change your mind?
“I think I get why you’re so protective of that guy now,” Koichiro says, leaning against the doorway to Yuujirou’s room.
“Huh?” Yuujirou’s relationship with his brother has slowly improved since the debut of LIPxLIP, but he’s still never quite sure where the two of them stand at any given moment. Just yesterday, Koichiro actually used his comp ticket for once and showed up to Yuujirou’s concert with a few of his classmates, so Yuujirou gives him the benefit of the doubt for now.
Koichiro fixes him with a haughty look. Yuujirou does his best to not take it personally. “Your idol partner, obviously.” For an actual dramatic prodigy, the younger boy does a horrible impression of Yuujirou’s voice. “You’re all like, ‘Don’t talk about him like that!’ or whatever. It’s really lame.”
“Yeah? What’s your point?”
“Nothing.” Koichiro pauses, then drops into a more serious tone. “You seem a lot happier now, that’s all. I used to think you were just crazy for talking back to Father over the idol thing, but I guess it’s also kind of cool.”
“Oh. Thanks,” says Yuujirou.
Koichiro smirks. “You should also tell your partner to be quieter when he’s climbing through your window, by the way.”
“Hey, wh— Get back here!” Yuujirou calls after his brother dashing down the hall towards his own room, but decides it’s not worth taking the bait. Koichiro can insinuate whatever he wants; it doesn’t matter when the truth is that there’s absolutely nothing remotely scandalous going on, and Yuujirou has no plans to change that anytime soon.
He falls back onto his bed with a sigh. You seem a lot happier now, he repeats to himself inside his head, staring at the penguin plush sitting beside his pillow. He’s spent so long fixated on how to make up for his failures, how to prove his worth, how to be the hero he needs to be in order to protect the people he loves, but he’s never really considered what it would feel like to succeed.
Yuujirou rolls over and squeezes the penguin to his chest. He's not the same person that he was when he auditioned to become an idol and met Shibasaki Aizou. He has people he trusts, people who trust him, a mother that worries for him as well as a brother who tolerates him, sometimes. He has a new, precious dream in LIPxLIP that is simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, incomprehensible and beautiful. He has Aizou, frustrating and sensitive and kind, and whatever they are to each other—whatever they will be—they will face the coming storms together.
He is happier now, he thinks. He wants to be happier tomorrow.