Work Text:
1.
Arashi Narukami entered his life as it was ending for the first time.
The murky light outside cut through the tears blurring Izumi's vision as the door opened, but he didn't move. The pain wracking through his body was so strong that he thought it might break through his chest and kill him. He couldn't think through the heaving of his chest, sobs torn out of him with every breath he was told he'd now have to breathe alone.
Two people had entered the office. He saw Kunugi first, that so-called prodigy that would stop getting gigs any time soon because he wasn't much of a "child model" now, and next to him —
With a scream, Izumi got up from the corner he'd stuck himself into twenty minutes ago and sprinted into Makoto's arms. He fit into his arms perfectly, small and fragile as they tumbled to the floor together. Makoto was giggling softly, and Izumi could tell that his smile was as sweet as ever, even if he couldn't see it.
He didn't let go even when Makoto stopped hugging him, squeezing him so close to his chest that he thought Makoto might fall apart. "They wanna take me away from you," Izumi said, starting to cry again. He tilted his head so his tears wouldn't get on Makoto's clothes. "Mama and Papa and the people they talked to, they — they say I'll be at this agency now, not yours. It's their fault, all their fault, I hate them I hate them I hate them — "
Someone walked up to them. Izumi tensed, wondering if Kunugi was strong enough to pull him and Makoto apart, but it wasn't him. It was Narukami, who the higher-ups here had shoved Izumi towards when he arrived before leaving with an empty instruction to get along. He couldn't believe that kid was a model too, wearing clothes that were clearly hand-me-downs from an older brother and an expression that almost seemed bored.
Izumi couldn't stop crying. He looked up at Narukami, another sob bubbling up from his aching chest, and got a fist to the face for the trouble.
2.
Despite having only known him for little over a year, it took Izumi a while to get used to going around school without Leo clinging to him. With that idiot in the hospital for the foreseeable future and the few other classmates Izumi could tolerate wrapped up in their own drama, he was left to go about his activities by himself.
He didn't mind. For the first time since the school year started, he got to use the practice room without someone stopping the music to insist on improving it right then and there, and Leo wasn't there to protest when he gave the rest of Backgammon a piece of his mind for being useless. Izumi had gotten through middle school just fine even though he hadn't had the time to socialise, and he wasn't about to go around and make friends at his dance studio. The silence that trailed him wherever he went now was one he was used to.
Class ended with Izumi feeling like a genius for having done the bare minimum of showing up and making the teacher think he was listening. Most people didn't care enough to stick around after four o'clock, and the lucky few who both bothered to try and had their efforts acknowledged went off to hold lives or photoshoots. Izumi was part of neither group — he had no intention of going home and fending off his parents' incessant questions (they seemed to think something new and exciting happened every day at school) until absolutely necessary, and even with Leo churning out new songs all the time, Backgammon was hardly an industry powerhouse.
This would typically be when he and Leo went to work on choreography. They'd rented out the same practice room every afternoon since last May, after Leo had walked in on Izumi practising a dance and exclaimed, "so there are people who care!" Even if practice today would be a solitary affair, though, he found himself stepping outside for the usual walk he and Leo would take to get fresh air and "inspiration" respectively after being cooped up inside for half the afternoon.
Since idols usually didn't debut alone nowadays, most of the students had started to stick together in cliques, even if they didn't care about putting in an effort. Izumi didn't realise how much he stood out until he crossed the courtyard, his brisk footsteps ringing far too loudly against the ground. Everyone else ambled in clusters like they had all the time in the world.
Nobody noticed the person standing right outside the school gates, swaying back and forth. It was probably a crazed fan, someone who'd watched too many performances and wanted to accost one of the few competent students here in person.
Calling security would be such a nuisance, maybe he could just tell them to piss off. Squaring his shoulders, Izumi wove around a group of good-for-nothings about to go home —
"Why the hell are you just standing around, shitty four-eyes?"
He hadn't seen Arashi Narukami up close in almost a year, having been iced out of significant gigs since the time he broke an assistant's nose. But every now and then, the brat would appear in a clothing store's banner, or a magazine ad if the agency managed to pull some strings. That wasn’t the same as seeing Arashi in person, though. Now, he could compare the photos of the gangly teenager, edited to hide imperfections and enhance features without too much makeup, to the first-year standing in front of him.
She looked ridiculous, frankly. It was a miracle their agency hadn't semi-fired her as well. Sometime between Arashi's last gig and now, she'd dyed her hair a shade of brown that didn't match her complexion at all. Drops of dye still stained her neck, just below the new undercut that must've given her manager a stroke the first time he saw it. If the glasses she didn't need hadn't tipped Izumi off, the fact that Arashi was wearing the Yumenosaki uniform as easily as she took to couture told him everything he needed to know.
Arashi met his eyes, clapping a hand over her mouth in a high-pitched gasp. "You scared me! Don't you know it's, like, really rude to sneak up on people like that? Besides, I won't be here for long — once Mr. Kunugi's done with work, I'm sure he'll be willing to spend the rest of the afternoon with me."
Not much had changed in the eleven years they'd known each other, which included Izumi's newfound hobby of annoying Kunugi until he looked like he wanted to start brawling with a sixteen-year-old. Unfortunately, that didn't apply to Arashi, and Izumi slightly preferred the Arashi that kept threatening to beat him up to the one that lounged around and giggled about boys. "The senior teachers shove the work they don't want to do onto him, so he's not going to be free until seven o'clock at least," he retorted. "Ugh, I still can't believe you followed me all the way here. You're annoying as hell, you know that?"
He'd seen Arashi around campus a handful of times before, mostly because she was hard to miss, but preferred to pretend she didn’t exist. Yet here she was in front of him, dressed like a man and parading around so flamboyantly it was a surprise Hibiki's little drama club hadn't made her one of its members. The sheer idiocy of it made Izumi seethe, and definitely not the fact that he had to look up to make eye contact with her.
Arashi raised an eyebrow. "You've got the wrong idea, Izumi. Why would I follow you anywhere? I'm here for Mr. Kunugi, and you just happened to get into my business."
"That's Sena to you, brat. And you're the stupid one if you think I want anything to do with your weird obsession with Kunugi."
"Um, hypocrite much?" She just stared at Izumi, and he knew that they were thinking of the same things — of the hour-long lecture in the agency president's office, the many panicked phone calls his manager had to make and the satisfying crunch as his fist met the face of the bitch who'd driven Makoto away from their world forever. Then Arashi waved her hand, flaunting a thumb ring that no doubt violated the dress code (not that anyone cared enough to enforce it). "You can't hope to understand the love between Mr. Kunugi and me. You couldn't even keep that unitmate with you — Tsukinaga or something, right?"
Izumi must've made a weird face because Arashi smiled, catlike, and continued, "by the way, did you know that Yuuki's here, too? He's in my class, except I almost couldn't recognise him because he's wearing these nerdy new glasses. They're lensless like mine, but I don't think he's trying to imitate you. A-ny-way, has he talked to you yet? After everything you said you've done for him, I was sure you two would be attached at the hip again."
Arashi looked down at him as he spoke, still swaying with that airy ease that had entered her posture not long ago. Izumi gritted his teeth, cheek throbbing with the memory of the last time Arashi was mad at him. "Stop standing around, you look like an idiot," he settled for saying. "I'm going to go practice, you might as well come along. Surely you don't want to shell out the rental fees for a room, so you're welcome."
She had the audacity to giggle, high and theatrical like every word of big-sister speech that left her fanged mouth. "You're such a weirdo for actually working hard, you know. But I've got nothing to do this afternoon, so I might as well. Maybe you're not such an awful senior after all, darling!"
Before Izumi could express how badly that sentence made him want to throw up, Arashi started striding across the courtyard, her long-legged gait making the others step aside to make way. At least that hadn't changed — she still moved like every little stroll was a race, parting crowds with a brisk walk on an invisible runway. Izumi rushed after her far less elegantly, yelling, "you don't even know which practice room it is, dumbass!"
That only made her walk quicker, and Izumi had to jog lightly to keep up. He kicked Arashi in the shin once he reached her, stifling a laugh when she stumbled and ended up the one having to keep pace with him.
Leo might be in a hospital ward and Makoto might be avoiding him, but somehow he'd yet to get rid of Arashi. When she regained her balance and continued to walk, almost tripping over a comatose-looking boy in the bushes, he didn't shout at her to slow down.
3.
By the time Izumi had calmed down enough to stop working on autopilot, everyone else was almost done getting ready.
The five of them had spent most of the afternoon in silence, which he'd usually welcome if not for what they were preparing for. He'd barely slept last night, and, judging by the amount of free coffee they'd swiped from the dressing room, neither had the rest of Knights.
As he adjusted the brooch on his jacket, Arashi strolled across the room to peer into his mirror like she didn't have one at her dressing table. Izumi's hand shook, almost stabbing himself with the back of the pin.
Once she was done emptying half a bottle of hairspray over her bangs (Izumi was fairly sure half their budget went into keeping Arashi's hairstyle intact), she looked down at him with a slight smile. "You look like a total mess," she teased. "You wouldn't get a gig to model for bootleg clothes like this, let alone keep up a flashy career overseas. Wanna reconsider?"
"Shut up," he snapped instinctively. But Izumi couldn't muster the glare he usually threw Arashi's way, the pointed glances framed in eyeliner and mascara that they were both used to. "Don't get all cocky just because you got to order me around a little yesterday."
Izumi regretted saying that the moment the mental images appeared. Now he couldn't stop thinking about the trio of performances Arashi had held yesterday, the brilliant steeliness of her expression as she sang and danced her heart out. For just one afternoon, she wasn't just the glue that held Knights together or the big sister who wanted to take care of everyone but a warrior in her own right, willing to draw her blade even against the people she had once proclaimed her brothers-in-arms.
Yet, once a brat, always a brat. Arashi had barely taken any of Izumi's suggestions into account, proclaiming that if she was to be King, she would be making all the decisions in the future too. So Izumi had acted exactly as she'd directed him, dance after frenzied dance melting the frost that he thought would always stay around his limbs, and he might have felt a strange sort of adrenaline when Arashi occasionally turned and beamed at him, a queen proud of her loyal subject.
He might have even smiled back.
After all this time, it was Arashi that made him push himself, Arashi that infuriated him to the point where his rage created some semblance of warmth and began to thaw his heart. Ritsu got him to shut up, Tsukasa was an easy target when he needed someone to pick on and Leo was someone Izumi didn't think he could ever leave alone, but none of them had seen him through both his most beautiful and hideous moments like Arashi had. She could swoon over hardworking boys all she wanted, proclaiming that she just wanted to take it easy, but nothing could erase the fact that she'd done what Izumi couldn't — balance being both a model and an idol without ever threatening the status of either job. If not for her, he might've turned his back on the modelling scene in Japan forever with nothing left behind.
"It's the eyeliner," she said with a snap of her fingers. "I wouldn't say that the makeup artist did a bad job, of course, but it seems they didn't get how you usually draw it."
He had been hoping to try something new to mark the new Izumi Sena that would be graduating. "I did my own makeup."
Arashi laughed. "No wonder, then." Without warning, she grabbed a packet of makeup wipes and dug out half the contents from his cosmetics bag. She didn't miss a single product. "Hold still, let me do it. Good thing you didn't try something like this yesterday, or I'd be wondering who it was that got on stage next to me!"
With him still seated, Arashi had to stoop slightly to wipe away the eyeliner he'd been fussing over for the past twenty minutes. But the way she erased the makeup he'd spent so long trying to perfect didn't sting, not when she replaced it with his usual style in half the time. Arashi kept one hand on his cheek as she dropped his pencils and eyeshadow palettes back into the pouch, though her touch was light enough to keep the heavy makeup from smudging. Goodness knew they didn't have the time to polish that. "Now there's the Izumi I know and love. Don't try and change too much while you're away, alright?"
"I could say the same to you," he huffed. "But I'm not about to make any promises. I'm going overseas to become even more beautiful, remember? Won't be my fault if you're mad about that."
She pouted, a bit of that little kid emerging beneath the gold, gilt and glitter. "Hmph. I bet a couple months from now, I'll look so breathtaking that you'll drop dead on the spot."
"All this time and you still haven't learnt how not to smudge your lipstick." Izumi reached into the inner pocket of her jacket, where he knew she always stored a tube of lipstick. Apparently, her body heat kept it from clumping. "Come here, beauty queen. You're still my shitty junior who needs to be taught things sometimes."
Somehow Arashi didn't complain as Izumi tugged her downward, rising partway from his chair so he could fix the discoloured spot. He traced the outline of her Cupid's bow, first with the lipstick, then with his thumb to make sure he got the shape right. Her lips were soft under his fingertip, warmth making his skin tingle with every short exhale. Izumi's eyes flicked upward, half-afraid of what he would see. Arashi stared back with pink cheeks, her eyes bright and wild like she wanted to break away and run.
Though her makeup was perfect, Izumi traced her lips again in case he messed any of it up. Arashi reached down with the hand Izumi wasn't holding onto, bracing herself on the back of his chair. When she pursed her lips, she almost caught the tip of Izumi's thumb in between.
Neither of them needed to say anything. Izumi sighed, if only to find a way to fill the silence. They were caught in the space between sitting and standing, legs trembling to keep from falling. Staying in place took more effort than the weaving duel-dance they'd performed yesterday.
"Naru," Izumi whispered.
Her eyelashes fluttered. "Yes?"
"When the show's over, wait for me back here."
For once, Izumi held his words back just in case Arashi turned him down. The Repayment Fes was about her, not him, so he'd understand if she wanted to stay in the spotlight for as long as possible. But he knew how tonight would end, could almost see how their lives would unfold once he graduated. Even when they were half a world apart, Arashi would fight to keep pace with him, kicking at his heels to buy herself a few seconds. They had both come too far to let their lifelong feud end one way or another.
Arashi tugged her wrist back so she could lace her and Izumi's fingers together. "Alright," she said softly. "Alright."
I will be waiting for you, he didn't say, once your tears have dried, heads have rolled and a new King has been crowned. No matter how tonight ends, you will always be Arashi Narukami. You will always be beautiful.
The rest Izumi could tell her when the world was there to bear witness, so he wouldn't be tempted to go back on his words. He lifted Arashi's hand, pressed his lips against her flawless skin just enough that his lip gloss left a mark. Her heartbeat fluttered madly where he'd kissed. She stared back, eyes piercing through him, and he knew that he couldn’t go on any longer without her.
Tightening his grip, Izumi stood up fully. "Go put your gloves on," he told Arashi. "It's time."
4.
"Is everyone ready?"
"Absolutely!" Arashi called. She flashed the camerawoman a smile that brightened the entire room, adjusting her glove so it fit the elegant curve of her wrist. "Now then," she told the rest of them, "we've messed around for long enough, myself most of all. If we don't get this part done in one take, I'm going to be very disappointed."
Izumi raised an eyebrow. "So that gives us a free pass to bully you if you're the first one to make a mistake, right?"
Arashi gave him a pointed look. She never looked the same every time he got back to Japan, whether that was a newfound sparkle in her eyes or a different shade of blush. Izumi couldn't tell if it was true that distance made the heart grow fonder or if she'd really bloomed so much since progressing towards her third year. Nothing physical had changed, it seemed, only that she now knew how to wield her beauty and strength in a way she'd held herself back from before.
"No nonsense, Izumi," she said, strolling towards the centre of the set. "I have an obligation to present Cocktail Piano in the best light possible, and you're not about to get in my way. Now, shall we begin?"
He didn't protest further. Getting Arashi to take on this gig had felt like pulling teeth, and that was after Izumi managed to look past the perfectionism that was supposed to be his problem, not hers. So Izumi rushed into position, careful to stay out of frame as the camera began to roll.
Arashi would sooner kick his ass than let him get involved in her business, but Izumi likely would've never forgiven her if she'd let her rose-tinted memories of Akiomi take priority over a gig that could see her face plastered over half the billboards in Tokyo. Sure, they might not have done a perfect job, just as this commercial would still have its flaws no matter how hard everyone tried, but it would've been done well nonetheless.
That was just how things were done in their shared career paths, and he knew that Arashi was smart enough to figure that out. The fruitless search for perfection would always be at odds with the seconds slipping through their fingertips — they could polish themselves here and there, but once they put their best selves before the eyes of others there'd be no turning back.
Now that he had an actual relationship, not the idealised fantasy future he'd dreamt of spending with Makoto, Izumi had to do his best to curb his jealous streak. It was kind of required, since there was no way Arashi wouldn't spend time with others while he was in Italy — and she had nothing to say about him living with Leo most of the time either. Still, he couldn't help but feel that he'd triumphed over Akiomi Kunugi — he was content teaching the next generation of idols-to-be, no longer a star himself even though he was less than a third of his way through life, while Izumi had his entire life ahead of him. She might not see it, but Arashi had surpassed Akiomi, too, if she had no plans of retiring from the spotlight in only a decade's time. Izumi knew he didn't.
Only time would tell which of them made it further.
He spent the first verse feeling almost giddy from a combination of the harsh set lighting, the focus he'd put in to give the best performance possible and the sight of Arashi, her outfit swishing with every little movement to give her an almost ethereal glow. Izumi couldn't get rid of the slight melancholy that bittered her smile yet, visible even through her heavy makeup, but one day she'd learn how to adjust her expression just so and it would disappear.
The set dimmed for the pre-chorus. Izumi sprinted to join Leo and Tsukasa, catching Arashi's eye for a split second as he got into position just in time. He had to start moving again once Ritsu stepped forward for his solo line, keeping his footsteps light as air so the sound wouldn't get caught by the mic. He briefly registered Arashi running next to him, leaning to the side so she wouldn't get in frame. She was a little faster, as always. That track-and-field training had to count somehow.
Once they reached the little alcove in the wall, Arashi was supposed to stand in the centre while Izumi would do a vague sort of pirouette before disappearing to the side. But instead of preparing to spin according to the choreography, he took another glance at Arashi, smiling to herself with nobody watching, and decided against it.
He knew the entire story of Swan Lake and how this song defied its ending. Arashi was no lovesick Odette, ready to drown in a lake the moment she was snubbed, but the supposed villain of the tale. For it was beguiling, seductive Odile who got the prince in the end, having stolen the identity of the maiden unable to pursue love on her own. Izumi might not be a fool like Siegfried was, so easily swayed by a pretty face and nothing more, but he just couldn't look away from the spectacle of his swan queen transforming her old love for Akiomi into something completely new.
The camera would be pointing at them soon. Izumi sank to one knee just as the deceived prince did in Swan Lake, returning Arashi's heated stare with his own. She looked unworldly from this angle, golden hair like a halo from the lights and her soft pink smile for him and him only. In seconds, she'd take flight with no need to turn into a swan, spurred on by the love she had claimed so selfishly.
Their story wouldn't end in tragedy. Just for today, Izumi was content to let Arashi soar, to rewrite the narrative she thought she'd be destined to live out. As the spotlight above them came to life, Izumi raised his arm and began to sing.
5.
ES insisted on making weigh-in take twice as long as usual out of respect for their idols' privacy. Izumi didn't see the need for it, since he’d been ass-naked at his agency clinic every month for over ten years and had his measurements taken in a room with a curtain instead of a door with no soundproofing whatsoever. But then, most of the others here had been spared from the modelling industry.
"You're one kilogram lighter than the weight we recorded last year," the nurse remarked once he got off the scale, "but I see no need to worry since you're still within a healthy BMI. You’ve grown as well — you’re now a hundred and seventy-four centimetres tall."
Once he was dressed, the nurse sent Izumi out of the room with instructions to ask for Leo next. Once the clinic door clicked shut again, Arashi got up from her chair to approach him. She'd gone shopping recently, having showed up today in a green blouse Izumi hadn't seen before. "Nothing special?"
"What, do I look that different?" Izumi no longer felt flashes of panic whenever he heard about his weight, aware that he could cut down on his calories without the risk of passing out on stage. The cloying satisfaction of kilograms going down was more of a nagging voice that appeared once in a blue moon rather than a constant urge, enough so that he didn't protest when Arashi implied she wanted to go on cafe dates. "To answer your question, apparently I got taller. Only by two centimetres, though, so it's not that big a difference."
"Mm, I disagree." Arashi took a step closer, swaying a little so Izumi couldn't tell whether she was standing on tiptoes. Probably not. "I mean, you can't imagine the relief I felt when I heard I hadn't grown taller! I was wondering why I don't have to look down at you as much now. This is good news for both of us, isn't it?"
Izumi rose on tiptoes himself, just to see what it was like to not have to look up. "Honestly, I'm just glad that means I'm not done growing yet. I just know I got snubbed last Fashion Week because of it — they'll only look for models over a hundred and eighty centimetres, never mind that I can probably get there with high enough heels."
Arashi giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder to push Izumi back onto his heels. "You're one of the shorter ones in your cohort too, aren't you? It's kind of cute, actually." She dodged his attempt to step on her shoes, even though they didn't seem very expensive anyway, so it wouldn't have been all that bad. "By the way, did I mention that my manager got me on the runway just last month?"
How could he forget? Arashi had gotten to walk for the autumn-winter season, just a few months after some old connections had snagged Izumi some time down the runway for a smaller show. She'd swept out in a whirlwind of glitter and flowing silks, sailing down the runway like she was being spurred forward with a powerful gust of wind. Every camera flash caught a different angle of her beautiful face, every pose she struck so vivid that she looked like she'd stepped out of his wildest dreams. Izumi might have made his runway debut before her (the silly charity shows they’d been picked for as kids didn't count), but Arashi had the chance to walk for a bigger brand, was the one whose photos ended up in the popular magazines and all over social media. "The clothes were nice," he settled on saying.
Unexpectedly, Arashi didn't give chase with an equally incomprehensible remark. "You probably couldn't tell with how androgynous the outfit was — most of the press couldn’t, I'm sure — but they got me to walk for the womenswear section. I'm just tall enough that I was perfect for the runway, and I even heard them talking about how I didn't even need heels to make the perfect lines." She shrugged. "I mean, I wouldn't have said no to some nice pumps, but you could only dream of being told that you don't need much to be runway-ready."
Izumi had to resist the urge to yank Arashi down then, so she'd stop looking down at him when he was the older one. He'd expected her career to take off quicker than his — she hadn't started from scratch in a different country, after all — and he shouldn't have expected her to be humble about it. So Izumi settled for crossing his arms and retorting back, "I think several people fucked up if they couldn't find a pair of heels that fit you. But then, you would've fallen on your face even if you'd got to wear some."
"Worry about yourself, darling. I'm not the one who still can't meet basic industry standards." Arashi shifted in a way that made her earrings catch the light perfectly, her blouse creasing just so around her waist. "They could have me on that runway naked and I'd still have the whole world looking."
She'd always been the one with typical model proportions — those long, lightly muscled limbs and statuesque frame combined to create a silhouette that turned heads wherever she went. Izumi's body had stubbornly refused to cooperate with him where Arashi's had bloomed over the years, but he knew better than to consider her the lucky one now. What others saw as a blessing was something that she hoped to escape one day, until her inner self and the beauty that the modelling industry asked of her were one and the same.
When that day came, he'd have to fight twice as hard to make sure she never surpassed him, so it was best he got a head start now. "Don't get too cocky," Izumi snapped. "I might end up taller than you in a couple of years, then you'll be the one left in the dust."
He didn't realise how close he'd gotten until Arashi hooked her ankle around his, like she wanted to trip him over. "One day, maybe. I think you've got a long way to go."
+1
When she and Izumi first got together, the rest of Knights didn't bat an eye, save for Leo joking that they'd now take even longer to get ready in the morning. The two of them have yet to prove them right, but that might end today, seeing that Arashi's been waiting outside the metro station for ten minutes since she and Izumi agreed to meet up.
While she sends him another message asking where on earth he's gone, Arashi tries to ignore the various people giving her poorly hidden glances. She smiles at the few that pause to say hello, and one even presents a photocard of her from a cute bag charm for her to sign. None of them say anything about her outfit today, a little more ladylike than the clothes she typically wears for work. She's stuck in ballet flats, though, even if they are dated.
if you don't show up in five minutes, you're paying for coffee! (Sent 14:11)
The minutes count down, and Arashi's fully ready to make Izumi foot the bill for the fanciest, most sugary drink in her favourite cafe when he finally shows up in the opposite direction. Typical — she's not above taking the metro to the shopping district on weekends, but he most likely hailed a taxi and billed it to NewDi. "I can't exactly control the traffic, you know," he says instead of greeting her, looking a little breathless. "Did you want me to get out of the cab and start walking?"
She pouts. "It's just very rude to leave a lady waiting. Besides, you're never late, even in the past when accidents happened during your commute. Did you oversleep?"
"No, I just took longer than expected to get ready." He looks her up and down, so naturally Arashi strikes a little pose and blows a kiss. “You should've done the same, you look like a middle-aged teacher."
Arashi sputters, wondering for a moment if she really looks that frumpy, before shooting back, "it's called situational awareness, darling. If I dressed in fancy clothes today, we wouldn't have a moment of peace to ourselves. I'm doing us both a favour."
"You're about to hold a lesson on algebra is what you're doing. Since when did you play it safe with fashion, anyway?"
"If you think I'm 'playing it safe', you can be the one to hold my bags when we go clothes shopping later." Arashi tilts her head towards the mall entrance. "You've wasted enough time already, let's go."
It's when they start walking that she realises something's different. Izumi goes everywhere like he expects the crowd to part for him, his every step firm and certain which has made him unapologetically slam into countless people over the years. But there's a lightness in his gait that wasn't there before, not unlike the flighty little dancer's runs Arashi has seen him show off during his ballet performances.
Having spent so many years perfecting his catwalk, why change things up now? She stops him before they can go inside her favourite clothes store. He's standing differently, too, and Arashi realises why when she has to look up to make eye contact with him.
There aren't many ES idols Arashi has to look up at — there's Madara, who reassures her that he'll always be the taller one as her Mama; Hiyori, Adonis and even Shu. But never someone from Knights, not until today. "Izumi," she says bemusedly, "are you wearing heels?"
The unmistakable click against the marble floor says it all. "How does it feel to be the shorter one?"
Having it spelt out makes Arashi's breath hitch. All the romance movies make it feel like tall girls don't get the guy, that their limbs are too long and joints too pointed for them to ever be dainty or soft. But now she's looking up at the man who has seen her when she was pudgy and potato-shaped and he was equally pudgy and potato-shaped, who teased her through the growth spurts that always seemed more drastic and embarrassing than other teenagers', who complained nonstop when she became properly good at track-and-field and started beating him in arm wrestling. It might have taken him close to twenty years, but of course Izumi has finally found a way to one-up her in this area.
She finds she doesn't mind.
There are a thousand things Arashi could say to turn this into the date of her dreams, content to be swept up in someone's arms for them to take the lead. Kiss me, she could demand, but wouldn't that cause a scandal?
Silence weighs down on them. She's falling behind, her heart skipping stupidly because of such a simple, petty defeat. Izumi's grinning, too, drinking in her blush and the way she can't help but look anywhere but at him for more than a few seconds at a time.
He takes the spoils for himself.
"Now who's the one wasting time?" He grabs Arashi's hand, tugging her forward, and she follows without complaint. "Come on, let's get going."