Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nagisa Shiota hated Karma Akabane.

It wasn’t the casual, roll-your-eyes sort of hate. It was the clenched-teeth, why-is-he-breathing-my-air kind of hate.

And the feeling was entirely mutual.

Nagisa’s voice cracked under disbelief. “Of all the people in Japan-hell, the world- you choose him?”

Karma didn’t even flinch. His gaze cut through the air as he turned toward the director. “Did you even consider that maybe I have standards?”

Behind his cluttered desk, the director lifted an eyebrow. “Alright, alright. Let’s cool it down.” His tone was calm- almost too calm- like a man watching his favourite drama unfold live. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, clearly entertained. “This is exactly why I cast you two. The chemistry’s already there.”

“Chemistry?” they both shouted in unison.

The director’s mouth twitched with amusement as he leaned forward. “Yes, chemistry,” he repeated, voice oozing satisfaction. “You two have more natural tension than half the so-called couples working today. Sure, it’s hostile. Antagonistic. But that’s the gold. The audience will eat it up. Enemies to lovers—it’s what sells. Hell, you barely need to act. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Nagisa shot Karma a withering glare. Karma grimaced like he’d just swallowed something rancid. “A nightmare,” Karma muttered, voice thick with disdain. “An actual fucking nightmare.”

The director sighed, steepling his fingers on the desk. “All right,” he said evenly. “I need to understand something. Why do you two hate each other so much?”

For a moment, no one spoke. The tension was so thick it could’ve been bottled and sold as poison.

Nagisa finally broke first. “He’s-difficult to work with.”

Karma scoffed. “I’m difficult? You literally threw a script at me.”

“Because you ad-libbed an entire scene!” Nagisa shot back. “We had blocking notes, Akabane. Notes.”

Karma’s tone went mock casual. “Oh, forgive me for having a natural sense of direction.”

“That’s not-” Nagisa pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just improvise a death scene!”

The director’s brow furrowed. “You improvised a death scene?”

Karma shrugged. “It was more authentic that way.”

Nagisa leaned forward, incredulous. “You stabbed me with a real fork.”

Karma didn’t even blink. “Method acting.”

The director blinked slowly. “Right… of course.”

Nagisa crossed his arms. “And he hums between takes. Loudly.”

“It’s called staying in rhythm,” Karma said.

“You hum the Jaws theme.”

The director’s expression was unreadable now- somewhere between amusement and despair. “So to summarise: we’ve got improvisation, cutlery assault, and excessive theme music. Anything else?”

Nagisa hesitated. “He… eats his lunch like he’s in a commercial.”

Karma turned to him, affronted. “What does that even mean?”

“You close your eyes after every bite like you’re transcending reality.”

“That’s called appreciation.”

“You moan,” Nagisa deadpanned. “Over a fucking sandwich.”

The director rubbed his temples. “Okay, okay-enough. Neither of you have a valid reason. Which means we’re moving on.” He leaned back with a sigh. “You both signed binding agreements. You’re attached to this project whether you like it or not.”

Karma muttered, “Still a nightmare.”

Nagisa folded his arms. “Worse than one.”

The director tapped his pen once, clearly amused. “Excellent. Let’s capture that energy on set.”

Nagisa’s jaw tightened. “You sound way too pleased about this.”

“Oh, I am,” the director said, leaning back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “You two are basically a ratings miracle waiting to happen- chaotic, volatile, borderline homicidal.”

Karma gave a humorless laugh. “You call that a miracle? Sounds more like a workplace hazard.”

“Semantics,” the director replied smoothly. “All I need from you is cooperation.”

Nagisa folded his arms. “You want us to pretend we don’t hate each other?”

“Off camera, yes.” the director said. “Just for a few months. Smile for the cameras, play nice, sell the fantasy.”

Karma’s tone turned sharp. “You can’t buy chemistry.”

The director’s grin widened, shark-like. “Can’t I?”He let the silence hang for just long enough to make them uneasy before adding, almost casually- “Would 150 million yen per episode change your minds?”

Both Nagisa and Karma froze, stupidly in sync.

Nagisa blinked. “Wait… what?”

Karma echoed, “Yeah, what?”

The director’s grin widened. He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “The studio’s got a massive budget. I’m talking Tokyo penthouse, skyline views, a fleet of Lamborghinis, maybe even a Shibuya townhouse with its own private garden. You could blow it all on real estate, cars, whatever. You know,” His voice dropped almost sensual, “Yeah~ that kind of money.”

Nagisa blinked hard, like maybe a system reboot would help his brain catch up. He had to have misheard. Maybe the director meant one million. Maybe someone had spiked his coffee and he was actually talking to a houseplant. Because a hundred and fifty million per episode was beyond absurd-it was delusional.

He risked a glance at Karma. For once, they were thinking the same thing: this was insane.

Fourteen episodes? Meant 2.1 billion yen.

The number alone could buy peace- if only peace came that cheap.

The director slid a stack of crisp papers across the desk. “Finalised contracts. Review every clause, sign at the bottom of each page, and we move forward. Just tolerate each other for five months, and the money’s yours.”

Nagisa hesitated before reaching for the contract.

The director’s tone shifted, smoothing into something colder. “From now on, you’re bound by a strict NDA. No outside projects during production. No drastic changes to your appearances without approval. Violate any of this, and you’re out. Simple.”

He gave them a beat to absorb that before continuing. “You’ll attend daily rehearsals, blocking sessions, press events mandatory. No skipping, no excuses. One public slip-up, one tabloid scandal, and the project’s done. We’re taking this seriously. So should you.”

Nagisa shifted in his seat. Karma muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse.

“You really think we won’t get under each other’s skin by the end of this?” Karma asked, half a sneer, half a challenge.

The director didn’t miss a beat. “I’m counting on it! Just don’t do it publicly.”

Karma hummed, deadpan. “So… back alley? Rooftop? Asking for a friend.”

Nagisa didn’t even blink. “Yeah, because you’d definitely have friends.”

The director rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath, “Save that energy for the screen, please.”

Nagisa shot Karma a flat look. Karma just smirked, pleased with himself. For two people who claimed to hate each other, they were already falling into a rhythm- and the director looked both delighted and deeply exhausted by it. “This is your last chance to walk away boys.”

Nagisa then exhaled through his nose, trying to gauge which was worse: losing his dignity or losing that kind of money. It wasn’t even close.  For a moment, Karma looked like he might actually walk out. Then he sighed, grabbed the pen, and scribbled his name with dramatic flair. “There. Now if this kills me, you can put it on my tombstone: died doing capitalism.”

He slid the pen toward Nagisa with a smirk. One that said, “You’d be a fucking idiot to turn this down.”

Nagisa stared at it like it might explode. He looked up to Karma. Once. Twice.  Then signed, slow and deliberate, each stroke heavier than the last.

The director’s grin returned, bright and ruthless. “Perfect. Now, one last thing…”

He opened a drawer, pulled out a set of keys, and dangled them like a game show host. “You’ll be sharing an apartment during filming. Helps with chemistry. Easier for scheduling. Fewer leaks.”

Nagisa blinked. “You’re joking.”

“Page thirty-one,” the director said without a hint of remorse. “I told you to read it.”

Karma snorted. One of those rich laughs that made you want to punch someone,  “You’re kind of a dick, huh, Director?”

“Shiota’s based in Hachioji, Akabane’s in Minato,” the director said, unmoved. “We can’t have the press catching you on opposite ends of Tokyo. This is efficient.”

Nagisa deadpanned, “Efficient isn’t the word I’d use.”

Karma turned to him with a smirk that was pure provocation. “What do you say? Temporary ceasefire?” He held out his hand- mocking, daring.

Nagisa stared at it like it might sprout fangs. Five months. He could survive five months. Probably. Maybe. This was either divine punishment or karmic irony, and he wasn’t sure which.

He took the hand anyway, grip firm. “Don’t kill me, Akabane.”

Karma’s grin widened. “No promises.”

The director clapped once, satisfied. “Fantastic. Chemistry already. This’ll sell itself.”

Nagisa muttered under his breath, “So will our souls.”

Karma smirked. “Speak for yourself- I already sold mine for 150 million.”

And just like that, their fate was sealed.

Chapter Text

The first week was hell. But Nagisa would have preferred it there.

Blocking started promptly at 8:00 a.m. every day with a full table read of two episodes, followed by scene-specific physical staging. From 10:00 a.m. until lunch, Nagisa and Karma were forced into each other’s personal space- learning where to stand, how to move, where to look.

The lines were fine. They hit their marks, knew their beats, understood the pacing. The problem was everything else. Each glare brought them closer to burning the set down, and the staff knew it.

“Can you not look like you want to punch me every time our characters make eye contact?” Nagisa snapped one morning, slamming his highlighter on the table.

Karma didn’t even blink. He leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, lounging like this was a café instead of twelve hours of hellish rehearsal. “Maybe don’t make it so easy to imagine.”

Blocking was worse.

“It’s a hand touch, not a duel,” their choreographer groaned, rubbing his temples. “Shiota, you’re recoiling like he has the plague.”

“He might,” Nagisa muttered.

“Shiota,” Karma said, his voice fake-sweet, “I promise I’ve been vaccinated against whatever emotional constipation you’re projecting.”

Even when the dialogue was civil, their bodies were not. Nagisa was too stiff. Karma was too smug. During the rooftop scene from episode one, they had to run the blocking five times because Nagisa flinched whenever Karma touched his wrist.

“Can you not look like you’d rather jump off the building?” the assistant director sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I might,” Nagisa muttered.

Lunch offered brief respite, but it did nothing for the studio’s requirement that the cast eat together. Karma spent most of his break leaning against the table, scrolling on his phone, pretending not to notice that Nagisa always sat at least two seats away. Then, with perfect timing, Karma would “accidentally” knock Nagisa’s chopsticks or set a meme video blaring just as silence fell.

Nagisa didn’t look up anymore. He just righted his tea, picked up his chopsticks, and kept chewing like nothing happened. But the muscle in his jaw twitched with every obnoxiously timed noise, every smug grin Karma tossed his way. It wasn’t just the proximity. The smugness. The relentless, calculated chaos. It was all of it.

By the end of the second week, the press team called them in for the promo shoot. The teaser campaign, it seemed, was on a tighter schedule than expected. And so was Nagisa’s patience.

They arrived at the media wing at 4 a.m. Nagisa clutched a thermos of bitter coffee he didn’t even like- but fuck, he needed it. Karma strolled in ten minutes later, looking impossibly perfect, every hair exactly where it should be.

“Morning, sunshine,” Karma said, brushing past him. “Nice pyjamas.”

“They’re sweatpants, jackass,” Nagisa muttered.

The studio was alive with stylists, steamers, and cameras. Someone handed Nagisa a sheer white shirt that dipped far too low across his collarbone. He stared at it as if it had offended his mother. And that was easy to do.

 Karma emerged soon after in black slacks and a shirt that was one button away from indecent.

The photographer clapped his hands. “Let’s go! Shiota between Akabane’s legs!”

“Fuck off,” The words slipped out before Nagisa could stop them.

The photographer blinked, taken aback, but tried to laugh it off. “Haha- okay, strong reaction! Let’s just- maybe try the seated pose?”

Karma rested his chin on his hand, grinning. “Aw, come on, babe. Not the worst place to be.”

Nagisa’s glare could have frozen time. “Don’t.”

Karma raised his hands in mock surrender.

The photographer, way too chipper for pre-dawn, barked directions. “Close but unsure! Akabane, hand lower- no, tighter, like you want him”

Nagisa’s jaw tightened. Karma’s hand shifted just enough to graze bone, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“And you,” the photographer said to Nagisa, “stop looking like you’re about to throw up. It’s yearning, not nausea.”

Nagisa inhaled sharply.

“I can hear you thinking,” Karma whispered near his ear. “It’s very loud in there.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Nagisa rolled his eyes, forcing himself to stare at the lights, the marks, the sweet, sweet promise of sleep- anything to ignore Karma’s face hovering so close he could practically taste the smugness instead of his cologne.

“Chin up, Shiota. You want the kiss, but don’t know if you’re allowed,” The photographer murmured, as Karma brushed his breath across Nagisa’s cheek.

“Touch me and I bite,” Nagisa hissed.

“Is that a promise?” Karma smiled.

The shoot dragged on, hours stretching longer with every still and reset. Karma pressed Nagisa  against doorframes, fingers curling around his wrist, tension radiating like static electricity.

“Smile more,” Karma murmured in one pose. “Ryosuke’s supposed to like Masaki.”

Click.

Nagisa’s eyes narrowed. “Ryosuke’s supposed to have standards.”

Click. Click. “Whatever you just said,” the photographer called, “perfect! Don’t move!”

By the end of the shoot, Nagisa’s mouth was dry, shoulders aching, and he was seriously considering selling his soul for a nap. The photos were already on their way to the editing team, each one an insult and a marvel all at once. It was humiliating. Exasperating. And goddammit, it was going to look stunning.

The teaser visuals were scheduled to drop in exactly one week- October 17th.

The official announcement, complete with press conference, media kit, and full launch, was locked in for November 8th.

Things were moving fast.

Chapter Text

It was teaser day.

Nagisa had known it was coming- he’d been warned by the agency, by the media team, even by the director who texted him fifteen minutes to go! with a little sparkling heart emoji- but knowing didn’t prepare him for the flood.

His phone didn’t stop buzzing. Not once.

Within seconds of the video going live, his notifications exploded. Instagram mentions. Twitter retweets. LINE messages from castmates and co-stars and people he hadn’t heard from in years. People he didnt really care about anymore. Screenshots. Fan edits. Comments in half a dozen languages.

“THIS is Ryosuke and Masaki?!? I’m not breathing.”
“Nagisa Shiota you OWE ME FINANCIAL COMPENSATION for that sheer shirt.”
“Akabane-kun’s hands. That’s the post.”
“The way they don’t even kiss and it’s still the most sensual thing I’ve ever seen.”

His group chat with his friends had 93 unread messages in the span of ten minutes. Someone had clipped the moment Karma’s hand slipped under his shirt and slowed it down like it was evidence.

And it wasn’t just fans. The media was feral.

Articles were already going up before the teaser had even finished airing. Headlines called it “The Most Anticipated Debut of the Year,” and “Child actor Shiota Nagisa’s return to screen after three years- worth every second.” There were split-screen comparisons of his last role as a teenager- wide-eyed, fragile, polished- to this: Ryosuke, older and aching, with flushed skin and a trembling jaw. News outlets called it a reintroduction. A rebirth. A reclamation.

Nagisa couldn’t breathe. His heart stuttered in that awful, anxious rhythm it always hit when things got too loud, too fast—slamming erratically against his ribs like a trapped bird. He pressed his back against the cold wall, but it barely grounded him. His hands trembled uncontrollably, fingers numb and useless around his phone.

This was exactly why he’d quit acting.

He didn’t know why the panic always came, only that it did. Every time something he’d worked on was released—every premiere, every teaser—overwhelming waves of dizziness, nausea, and a heart pounding so fast he thought it might stop, would crash over him. On set, under harsh lights and endless cameras, the attacks had become so severe he’d collapsed in front of the crew. His health had deteriorated, the pressure becoming unbearable.

He thought maybe it had stopped. Maybe it was a phase. But it returned. Again. Because of course it fucking does.

The world spun. The room seemed to shrink. Nagisa swallowed hard, trying to force air into tightening lungs, but it came in short, painful gasps.

The door creaked open.

“You spacing out again, Shiota?” Karma's voice was casual, but his eyes flicked quickly to Nagisa’s pale face, shaky hands. He stepped closer, voice dropping just enough to be concerned without being soft. “You good?”

Nagisa shook his head slightly, trying to pull himself together. 

“"What’s going on?” Karma asked, voice cautious but sharp.

Nagisa swallowed hard.

Karma moved closer, eyes scanning him like he was trying to solve a puzzle. “You’re shaking."

Nagisa shook his head slightly, fighting to steady his breath, but it wasn’t working.

 “Talk to me, Shiota." Karma frowned, shifting uncomfortably. 

Nagisa didn’t answer right away. His nails dug into his palms, trying to ground himself, trying to breathe. He forced a slow inhale through his nose- shaky, uneven- then pushed it out through clenched teeth. His lungs still felt tight, like they weren’t cooperating, but he had enough presence of mind now to recognise it. Recognise himself in it. That he was spiraling.

He closed his eyes hard, like that would shut out the noise—the headlines, the comments, the heat of everyone's attention collapsing on him like a spotlight turned all the way up.

“It’s nothing,” he said, voice hoarse. His hands were still trembling, but he curled them into fists until the shaking dulled.

Karma pulled a face “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

Nagisa exhaled, slower this time. It still caught halfway, but he managed to get it out. “I said I’m fine.”
 
 Karma didn’t stop him, but he didn’t move either. Just watched him, quiet. Observing. 

Nagisa hated that. Hated how well Karma could read him when he wasn’t supposed to care.

"Why are you pushing me away?" Karma asked.

 Nagisa reached down to grab his phone off the floor, eyes deliberately not meeting Karma’s. And even though his chest still felt bruised from the inside, he straightened his spine and pushed away from the wall. He forced himself upright. Forced stillness into his hands. He had to. "Not like we were close to begin with. Just leave me alone."

Karma folded his arms, “ Well car’s downstairs.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Nagisa forced himself to move.

The car waiting out front was the studio’s- black, sleek, and already packed with their luggage. Neither of them had really discussed the living arrangement beyond tight-lipped nods and a clause buried in their contracts. But now that the teaser was out and trending, there was no walking it back. The show’s PR campaign had begun in full force, and part of that campaign was the fact that Ryosuke and Masaki- Nagisa and Karma- were now living together.

For authenticity. For bonding. For the cameras.
Mostly, Nagisa thought bitterly, for the numbers.

Neither of them said much during the drive. Karma was scrolling through his phone, occasionally with that stupidly perfect laugh projecting at fan reactions. While Nagisa had his forehead pressed to the window, counting every turn until they pulled into an upscale building near the city centre.

The apartment was sleek and modern, clearly designed to impress. The studio didn’t just want the cast to bond- they wanted everything to look good on social media.

Karma tossed his bag onto the couch like he owned the place, his shoes already discarded carelessly beside him. He stretched out, arms wide, a smug grin spreading across his face.

Meanwhile, Nagisa stood frozen by the door, scanning the bleach-scented apartment that they were supposed to call home for the duration of the shoot.

The place was immaculate- too immaculate. The walls were bare, no personal touches, no warmth. Everything was designed for function, not comfort. The absence of anything remotely personal made it feel more like a high-end hotel room than a place meant for two people to live.

“Guess the producers really know how to spend a budget,” Karma spoke sarcastically, his voice carrying the kind of tone that made Nagisa want to roll his eyes. “Pretty nice, huh?”

Nagisa hummed in agreement but kept his focus on the space, making mental notes of where he’d stash his things so Karma wouldn’t ‘borrow’ them. “Yeah, it’s… fine.”

He was really trying to stay positive.

Nagisa dragged his suitcase behind him, trying not to think about Karma being sprawled out on the couch with an ease that grated on Nagisa’s nerves. He couldn’t decide if he was envious of the effortless confidence or just flat-out irritated by it. Probably both.

“You planning to stand there all day, or are you going to pick a room?” Karma’s voice broke the silence. He was clearly enjoying this, his eyes gleaming with the kind of mischief that Nagisa knew all too well.

Nagisa shot him a sideways glance, wondering if Karma was genuinely offering him first pick of the rooms or if this was just another one of his irritating games. Either way, he wasn’t about to let Karma get under his skin. “I’m. Getting there.”

Karma’s grin only widened, his eyes narrowing as he leaned back into the couch, clearly enjoying this too much. “Right. Bet you’re waiting for your PA to show up and do it for you.”

Nagisa froze mid-step, his suitcase dragging behind him with a soft thud. He turned on his heel, staring at Karma, his expression hardening. “Excuse me?”

Karma didn’t flinch, his eyes lazily meeting Nagisa’s with that same, infuriating smirk. “You know, it’s what I’d expect from someone like you. You’ve probably got a team for everything- except for actually thinking for yourself, huh?”

Nagisa’s grip tightened on his suitcase handle. That was low. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, Akabane.”

Karma looked up, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those actors who can’t function without someone holding their hand. You know- carrying your bags, picking out your outfits, telling you what to say in interviews.” He leaned back further, folding his arms behind his head. “You look like the type.”

Nagisa let out a slow breath, clenching his jaw to keep himself from snapping. “Just because I’m a child actor- doesn’t mean I have a PA.” He straightened, crossing his arms over his chest as he raised an eyebrow at Karma. “Sounds more like your thing. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the Hiro Yanagimachi boots- and Comme des Garçons coat. What is that? ¥750,000 total?”

Karma raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Huh. Guess I was wrong. Congrats, pretty boy- you’re almost human.”

Nagisa rolled his eyes, choosing not to dignify Karma’s taunt with a response. Instead, he turned and walked down the hallway, aiming for the bedroom farthest from the living room. He needed space- both physically and mentally- from Karma’s relentless teasing.

They had thankfully agreed on separate rooms but that didn’t stop Karma from making it his personal mission to get under Nagisa’s skin. Every time Nagisa passed the kitchen, he could feel Karma’s eyes on him, and sure enough, a sarcastic remark would follow. And every time they crossed paths in the hallway, Karma would act like he’d caught Nagisa doing something embarrassingly stupid, only to smirk and walk away. He could hear Karma watching all the fan's content already. And it was probably only to annoy him.

They had their differences.

Nagisa is up early, sipping tea, reading news on his phone. The place is quiet and neat. He enjoys the stillness. Karma stumbles in an hour later like a zombie, hair exploding in every direction.

Nagisa gets quiet when he’s stressed- more cleaning, more lists, disappearing into tasks. Karma gets sarcastic and distractible- watching dumb videos, joking at the wrong time.

Nagisa has a labeling system for the spice rack, the fridge, the cleaning supplies. Karma puts things back “somewhere close-ish.”

Nagisa sticks to a list, comparing prices, planning meals. Karma treats it like a field trip- grabs candy, weird imported snacks, and “experimental”

Nagisa winds down with a hot bath, skincare, soft music. Karma flops onto the couch, turns on a horror movie, and watches until 2am.

Meaning dinner was a disaster waiting to happen. The fridge was practically empty- just a bottle of water and some sad-looking condiments. The pantry was no better, holding a few cups of instant noodles, a single can of soup, and stale cereal. Nagisa closed the pantry door with a resigned thud. “We’ve got… nothing,” he said flatly.

“Define ‘nothing,’” Karma called from where he’d stationed himself at the counter.

Nagisa shot him an exasperated look. “Nothing resembling a proper meal.”

Karma set his phone down, “So, cereal it is?”

“I’m not eating cereal for dinner.”

Karma shrugged lazily. “Should’ve thought of that before you showed up.”

Nagisa rolled his eyes. “I was busy”

 “Right. Being insufferable must be time-consuming.” Karma’s hum was unimpressed.

Nagisa ignored the jab, but his stomach growled just loud enough to make him wince. He refused to give Karma the satisfaction of hearing it again. “Fine. I’ll just order something.” 

Karma raised an eyebrow, amusement lighting his gaze. “Oh? Mr. I don’t have a PA can’t cook? How ironic”

“I can cook,” Nagisa snapped, fingers pausing over the screen. “But there’s nothing to work with here. Unlike some people, I don’t magically summon balanced gourmet ingredients from thin air."

Karma scoffed, finally standing and stretching like a lazy cat. “Move.” He nudged Nagisa aside with a shoulder and started rummaging through the pantry with clear disdain. “You thought they’d have a stocked fridge waiting for us?” Karma, said pulling out an old container of rice, sniffing it, and tossing it straight into the trash. “I figured Mr. Child Actor would know how this works.”

“You didn’t exactly come prepared either."

Karma’s smirk returned. He snatched up the instant noodles, eyes sharp as he examined the ssorry state. Without hesitation, he gathered soy sauce, dried chili flakes, a half-finished bottle of vinegar, and a neglected clove of garlic rolling around in a drawer. Nagisa watched as Karma’s hands moved with unnerving confidence. He sliced the garlic with a precision tossing it into a hot pan with oil. The sizzling sound and rich aroma made Nagisa’s mouth water against his will.

He was fucking good at this.

Karma boiled the noodles separately, cooking them perfectly before draining and tossing them into the fragrant garlic oil. With swift, controlled movements, he splashed in soy sauce, vinegar, and a pinch of chili flakes. The final touch was a drizzle of honey- probably scavenged from an alternate dimension, followed by a sprinkle of pepper.

He plated the food and shoved a bowl into Nagisa’s hands without looking at him. “Eat. Don’t complain.”

Nagisa stared at the steaming bowl, the savoury aroma almost embarrassingly enticing. He took a hesitant bite, then another. And another. The garlic was perfectly toasted, the honey and vinegar balancing the salt and spice with almost ridiculous precision.

“Thanks..” Nagisa murmured before he could stop himself.

Karma just shrugged, already digging into his own portion like he hadn’t just conjured something edible from a food apocalypse. He finished first, tossing his bowl into the sink with careless ease. Then, to Nagisa’s surprise, he grabbed Nagisa’s empty bowl and tossed it in too. Not washing it, of course, but still.

“We should probably get ready,” Karma said lazily, stretching as he wandered toward the living room. “Unless you want to be fashionably late and piss everyone off on day one.”

Nagisa blinked. Oh, right- the party to celebrate the teaser, that one just before they kicked off filming the actual show. It was a night they had to attend, with producers, directors, and a whole crowd of important people they needed to impress- most of whom were probably just there to seem “progressive” and check off some diversity box.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll just…” His gaze drifted to the direction of his room where his suitcase sat, still zipped and untouched. “…figure something out.”

Karma’s eyes gleamed with barely contained amusement. “You don’t know what to wear, do you?”

Nagisa bristled. “I have clothes. I just-  haven't done this in a while. I haven't prepared for this! My wardrobe’s… limited.”

Karma rolled his eyes. “Great. So you’re going to show up looking like a drowned mouse, huh?”

“No. I can manage, alright?” Nagisa snapped, but Karma was already on his feet, striding toward Nagisa’s bedroom like he owned the place.

“Where’s your suitcase?”

“What? Why?” Nagisa asked, startled.

“Because I’m not letting you tank my reputation by showing up looking like a lost college kid who wandered onto the set.”

Nagisa opened his mouth to argue, but Karma was rummaging through Nagisa's suitcase, flicking through shirts and pants with a critical eye.

“You’re hopeless,” Karma muttered, finally pulling out a crisp white dress shirt and a dark blazer that had seen better days; but still had potential. “This is your best bet.”

Nagisa took the clothes Karma handed him, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable under his sharp, appraising gaze. “And… pants?”

“Just wear the black slacks from your travel outfit. They’ll work. Barely.” Karma’s gaze narrowed at Nagisa’s messy hair. “Don’t walk in looking like you just rolled out of bed. Everyone’s going to wonder why they hired you in the first place.”

Nagisa turned toward the bathroom, silently cursing Karma’s effortless confidence, but begrudgingly aware that, for all his arrogance, Karma had a point. He might as well put on a decent show- after all, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

He’s just got to survive the journey.

Chapter Text

The sleek black car waited at the curb, black-tinted windows and all, humming with the kind of overkill professionalism that came with big budgets and bigger egos.

This wasn’t even a red- carpet event- just a "casual" pre-filming party to celebrate the teaser drop. A glorified PR stunt where the cast would smile at producers and pretend to like each other. A room full of execs desperate to prove they were progressive by funding a “bold queer drama,” while sipping wine and dodging any real conversation about it.

And, it was the first time he and Karma had really seen each other in character. The teaser shoots barely counted- half-dressed under moody lighting, all skin and suggestion, no real costumes, no context. Every rehearsal after that had been done in sweats and sneakers, relaxed and low effort. But now? Now it felt more real.

Not full styling, no glam squad involved- but they’d both clearly gotten the same passive-aggressive email from production: “Stay in tune to your characters, dress like the reason you got these roles.”

Nagisa adjusted the hem of his shirt as he stepped out of the elevator, trying not to fidget.

The white shirt Karma had insisted he wear felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. It was tailored too close to the skin- cinched at the waist, hugging his shoulders and chest in a way that made Nagisa feel exposed rather than polished. He hadn’t worn it since he was what- seventeen? It fit differently now. Tighter. Unfamiliar. Maybe that was the point.

Even his hair didn’t feel like his own. At the director’s request, it was finally down- lengthened with extensions until it brushed the middle of his back, styled in Nagisa’s best attempt at “curls”. Nothing like what it looked like with two assistants, four products, and an hour under a curling iron, but enough.

He was halfway to the car when it came- a whistle, low and smug, slicing through the still night air.

“Damn,” Karma drawled, propped against the car with all the casual arrogance of someone born to be adored. He looked like he’d stepped off the page of a cologne ad- smirking, sunkissed, entirely at ease. “Guess the director’s pet does clean up nice on his own”

Nagisa’s brows pulled together.

Karma gave him a slow, deliberate once-over- lazy, theatrical, and unapologetic. “You look like you just stepped out of one of those moody, high-budget music videos. The kind where the love interest dies in the rain.”

Nagisa rolled his eyes and pushed past him, muttering something under his breath. He yanked open the door to the car before the porter could even reach for the handle and slid into the backseat without ceremony. Karma followed at a slower pace, offering the porter a mock-polite bow. The door clicked shut behind them- louder than it needed to be.

Nagisa turned his head, prepared to say something- he wasn’t sure what- but the words caught in his throat.

Because now, he saw Karma properly. And fuck he looked good. 

Karma’s hair fell into his eyes like it had been styled to break rules. His ears were stacked with jewellery- deliberate, sharp, and probably expensive. Rings adorned his fingers, heavy and unapologetic. His nails were black, glossy, flawless.

And the outfit- God. All black. Clean lines, just enough edge. A blazer cut too well, a shirt that clung too close, boots that belonged on a runway, not a set. He looked like he didn’t just show up- he arrived.

Nagisa stared.

Karma noticed.

“What?” he said, clearly amused. “Shocked I don’t look like your childhood rival anymore?”

“You look like you joined a band and slept with your manager.”

“Good, right? Director said they wanted edge. Marketable rebellion.” He drummed his black-tipped fingers against the seat. “They sent me a mood board. Half of it was just villains with eyeliner.”

Nagisa raised an eyebrow. “So you sold your soul for aesthetic?”

“I’ve played enough brooding, half-dressed characters to already have most of the look.” Karma tilted his head slightly, letting the glint of gold catch the light. “The director wanted edge. Said Masaki should look like he might ruin your life and make you thank him for it.”

Nagisa’s gaze flicked to the earrings. “So the piercings were his idea?”

“Mm.” Karma tapped one of the studs. “Most of them were already there. Just had to dust them off."

“Most?” Nagisa gave him a flat look. “Nothing says commitment to craft like re-opening your teenage rebellion phase.”

Karma grinned. “Some of us never closed that chapter.”

The thought of Karma fumble infront of a mirror with a needle made Nagisa laugh, but he kept it to himself, not wanting to give Karma the satisfaction.

“I never asked. What’s with the eyeshadow?” Karma said suddenly. Not judgmental- just observational, like he was trying to piece something together.

Nagisa tensed for a beat. “Brand deal,” he said flatly. “The studio wants to push some ‘natural’ campaign. Part of the contract.”

 “Figures. You do look like a dewy little angel. Gonna start peddling lip gloss between takes?”

“Maybe I’ll start with your shade,”

Karma laughed, too loud for the size of the car. “Damn. You really are becoming the role.”

Nagisa turned away, but not before saying, “You’re one to talk. You smell like leather and bergamot.”

Karma grinned. “New cologne. They said I needed to be ‘less approachable.’”

“They succeeded.”

The silence in the car stretched, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional flick of a blinker. Nagisa shifted in his seat and pulled his hair forward over his shoulder, fingers combing through it absently. It tangled too easily now, the ends catching on the buttons of his shirt, sticking to his neck with static. He tugged at a knot, a little too hard and winced. Just enough that Karma heard.

Karma glanced over. “Stop messing with it. You're just making it worse.”

Nagisa didn’t answer.

“You hate it,” Karma said, not a question.

“It’s not mine."

Karma didn’t press, but the silence encouraged more. And maybe Nagisa was tired. Maybe the weight of the day had worn him down more than usual. He sighed and let the frustration slip through. 

“I’m just not used to it being long again,” Nagisa muttered.

Karma raised an eyebrow. “You’ve always had it long.”

Nagisa gave a dry chuckle, but it didn’t sound amused. “Of course you'd think that.”

Karma glanced over, curious now. 

“You know I took a break from acting. Obviously."

“Yeah.”

“During that, I cut it. Short. Real short.” Nagisa pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found a picture, then handed it to Karma without a word.

It was a picture of him, younger. Not by a lot, but enough that his face was clearer somehow- more defined. And the hair. It was barely past his ears. Different. He didn’t look like the same person. “And deciding to come back to the industry a few months ago, my agent asked me to grow it back out.” He paused, letting the silence linger. “And apparently that wasn’t good enough. They insisted I get extensions.”

Karma studied the picture for a moment,  “How long is it without all the... stuff?”

“Hm. Maybe barely touches my shoulders,” he said quietly. "And now its down my back"

Karma blinked. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but that wasn’t it.

Nagisa continued in a mocking tone,. "‘Regrow your hair, Shiota. Its all you're worth. You’re a brand before you’re a person.’”

Karma watched him in the dark, his smirk fading into something unreadable. "Direct quote?"

"Why would I lie?"

With an almost casual shrug, Karma spoke, “You know, the director’s not wrong.”

Nagisa snapped to him.

"Let’s not pretend it’s just the hair.” He smiled, “They follow you because you’ve got that body that makes people wonder. Makes them pause the screen and squint.”

Nagisa’s jaw clenched, but Karma tilted his head, voice dipping lower, deliberately cruel.

“They look at you and ask, is he flat or just binding? Are those hips or the camera angle? They’re not watching for your performance. They’re watching to figure out what’s between your legs.”

Nagisa’s voice came out harsher than he expected, “Shut the fuck up.”

But Karma didn’t flinch. He held Nagisa’s glare, gaze sharp and dark. “I’m just telling you what they’re thinking. You became a puzzle, Shiota. And they don’t care if it fucks with your head, as long as it keeps them entertained.”

Silence settled like a punch between them. Nagisa looked away first.

“Doesn’t mean I agree with it. But don’t lie to yourself about what sells.” Karma finally leaned back again, the harshness ebbing slightly. “Yeah, you can act, Shiota. But the second you give the fans what they really crave- what they actually love- they stop giving a damn about your acting, your talent, none of it. They just want more of that. More of the androgyny.”

Nagisa’s jaw tightened. He crossed his arms, his gaze drifting out the window, as though he could escape the weight of the conversation by looking elsewhere.  “I just want to feel human. Not some... fucking product.”

Karma’s tone stayed easy, but his gaze was serious. “You’ve been surviving by playing the role they gave you since you were what, seven?

“Four.”

"Right. Four." There was a beat of silence. Then, just loud enough to be heard, “So is that why you were having a panic attack?”

“I wasn’t,” Nagisa snapped, too fast.

“You were,” Karma said, not bothering to argue. “Because you started realizing they were looking at you like that. Again. Like you were something to own. And you couldn’t control it.”

Nagisa didn’t respond. His throat felt tight again.

Karma shifted, leaning back slightly, eyes scanning him. “That why you quit?”

Nagisa exhaled through his nose, then nodded-just once.

“I couldn’t eat,” he said finally, voice flat. “Not just… like, loss of appetite. I physically couldn’t. Every time I had to go on set, or read a script, or even walk into wardrobe, it was like my body would just shut down. My stomach couldn’t keep anything down because I kept thinking how they saw my body. I got lightheaded all the time. I lost too much weight and just kept smiling for the camera.”

Karma stayed quiet, letting the words settle.

“There was one day,” Nagisa went on, more to the window than to Karma, “we were filming this really simple scene- just a walk and talk. I collapsed halfway through the take. No one even noticed at first. They thought I was still acting.”

He gave a dry, joyless laugh.

“They kept the take.”

Karma’s brows pulled together, just slightly.

“I was barely seventeen, and they were already calling me a veteran. Said I was built for this. That I had starving artist eyes. Like it was poetic, or something.” Nagisa finally looked at Karma, eyes sharp. “I was fucking starving. Not poetic.”

Karma didn’t smile. Didn’t deflect. “…They’re doing it again,” he said softly. “The press. The fans. The edits. It’s the same machine.”

“I know,” Nagisa said, voice small now. “And I’m scared I won’t survive it this time.”

The silence was loud.

"Did anyone ever stop to ask you what you wanted to look like?” Karma asked.

Nagisa scoffed, folding his arms. “Of course not.”

"Karma didn’t smile. Not quite. He just tilted his head. “What do you want to look like, Shiota?”

Nagisa glanced sideways at him. Karma was still watching him, but not like the others did. Not trying to pin him down. Not trying to define him.

Nagisa looked down at himself. At the long sleeves, the mascara that had wiped off onto his hands, foundation on his white sleeves, the weight of hair down his back. His mouth moved before his mind could stop it. “…I want to look like someone you wouldn’t call pretty.”

Karma blinked. “That’s a high bar. You’re hard to make ugly.”

Nagisa gave him a tired look.

“I’m serious,” Karma said, quieter now. “You could be bloody, tooth out, and they’d still find a way to make it aesthetic. You’re not running from your image- you’re dragging it behind you like a chain.”

Nagisa exhaled. “Thanks. That’s encouraging.”

Karma shrugged. “It’s not a weakness. But if you hate it… you can change it.”

“I’m under contract.”

“Contracts end.”

There was a beat of silence, and Karma didn’t fill it with a joke. That surprised Nagisa more than anything. He tugged at a curl again, frustrated. “Then after this show’s done, I’m shaving it off.” 

Karma’s brows rose slightly, caught off guard. “Like, full buzzcut?”

“If that’s what it takes to not get boxed. Yeah.”

Karma looked at him, really looked this time. The frustration. The quiet defiance under the surface. Not for the cameras. Not for anyone else.

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do.”

Then- quietly, so low it almost got lost in the hum around them- he said, “When you do it, I want to see.”

Nagisa turned to him, surprised.

Karma just shrugged. “I want to know what you look like, not what they built.”

Nagisa looked at him for a moment. Really looked. Not at the sharp jaw, or the perfect mouth, or the way his eyes gleamed like trouble. Just… him.

He didn’t say anything. But his hands dropped from his hair.

And for the first time that night, he didn’t reach for it again.