Work Text:
The editorial room was abuzz with the usual Monday morning lack of energy: tired yawns, clinking coffee mugs, and passive-aggressive printer battles. At the head of the table, the Editor-in-chief—a thin man with glasses dangling from a thread around his neck—cleared his throat, signaling the start of the meeting. He had a habit of fiddling with those glasses when he was about to say something he suspected no one wanted to hear.
"Alright, people. New initiative," the Editor-in-chief began, toying with the glasses hanging from his neck. "The higher-ups want us to launch an LGBT-focused column."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Miyata Akihiro, mid-sip of his morning coffee, choked—and jerked forward just enough to splash a streak of it down the front of his slacks. Great, he thought darkly, Excellent start to the day.
"Are you okay, Miyata-kun?" the Editor-in-chief asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Y-yes, just... strong coffee!" Miyata wheezed, cheeks already pinking.
The Editor-in-chief fixed Miyata with a half-stern, half-amused look. "Watch it, Miyata-kun. I know you didn’t mean to laugh, but let’s make one thing clear—this isn’t something we joke about. Not anymore. Times have changed, and if we’re going to do this column, we do it with respect. That said... I’ll take your sputtering as a form of moral support."
Miyata nodded too enthusiastically. God, reel it in, man, he thought. You're acting like someone just outed your browser history. "Support! Yes! Very supportive!"
Across the room, another editor tilted his head. "An LGBT column? For us?"
“I know it’s not the sort of thing we usually cover,” the Editor-in-chief continued, his tone dry. “We're not switching to fluff pieces" He assured everyone, "but the numbers from upstairs say we're bleeding under-30 readers—especially online. BL content, LGBTQ commentary—they’re pulling in clicks and, frankly, shaping parts of the economy whether we like it or not.”
"This again? We chasing clicks now?"
"Partly," the Editor-in-chief admitted. "But it's more than that. Even here in Japan, culture and consumer behavior are all tangled up now. So yes, we’re an economics magazine—but that doesn’t mean we have to be boring about it." He actually looked a little excited, which was bad. If he was already enthusiastic about this, the rest of them might as well just give in and get onboard.
Across the table, the second-in-command editor shifted in his seat and scratched at his neck, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "So, uh... who's actually going to write this?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral but failing to hide the doubt. "I mean, we don't exactly have a deep bench when it comes to... that kind of experience."
He paused just long enough for the awkwardness to settle, then added, "Unless someone’s been hiding a secret side hustle in progressive journalism, I don’t see how this doesn’t crash and burn."
No one looked at Miyata—why would they? As far as anyone in the room knew, he was just another straight-laced staffer: competent, unobtrusive, and definitely not the kind of person you'd expect to lead a queer-focused content initiative. The silence dragged just long enough for everyone to suddenly find their coffee cups really interesting. No one had an answer, and no one wanted to be the first to say something dumb.
The Editor-in-chief sighed. "We’ve got two problems. First, we need an editor to lead the column—someone who understands the voice, tone, and nuance. Ideally someone with lived experience, sure, but let's be realistic: we don’t have anyone openly out on staff. And I’m not about to go fishing for volunteers or pressure anyone to out themselves for a column, no matter how strategic it is. If we find someone perfect for it, great. If not—we pick the best editor for the job and make it work."
Miyata stared intensely at his notebook, like it might suddenly give him an excuse to bail. Anything to get out of this awkward mess. He knew someone who’d be great for the job—unfortunately, it was him. He might not have read stacks of BL in his spare time, but he’d watched a few with his boyfriend recently. A little too fluffy for his taste, but still—he knew his way around the tropes. And thanks to said boyfriend, he also knew far too much about the economics of streaming platforms and queer-targeted consumer trends—information often shared by his boyfriend, who had a propensity to discuss economic theory in bed, usually when Miyata was trying to sleep—or occasionally, right after he'd dozed off. But outing yourself in a staff meeting? Yeah, no thanks.
"Then we need a writer." The Editor-in-chief leaned forward, tapping his pen against his notepad. "Maybe we’ll get lucky—one of our contributors might come forward. Or we can find someone new out there already publishing under their own name. They can always write under alias if they don't want to come out publicly"
He knew exactly one good candidate. Iwanaga Takashi. Distinguished economics professor, high-profile contributor... and the smug bastard probably at home sipping overpriced coffee and grading midterms, pretending like his messy history with a male assistant wasn’t a whole HR nightmare waiting to happen.
But his mouth stayed shut.
"We’ll take our time with it," the Editor-in-chief continued, oblivious to Miyata’s visible internal struggle. "Casually feel things out. For now, let’s not force anything."
"Force? No! Forcing is bad!" Miyata blurted, then immediately regretted the phrasing. A beat of silence followed.
"I-I mean, nobody likes being pushed out... of their comfort zone," he added hastily, his voice cracking at the word "out."
"...Right," the Editor-in-chief said slowly, giving Miyata a sidelong glance. "Anyway, it’s payday, and we’ve survived another deadline. Let’s put a pin in this and revisit it after a few rounds of beer. I’m buying."
"Kanpai!" someone cheered.
Miyata exhaled through his nose and took a sip of his now-cold coffee. It was going to be a long day.
-
The restaurant was the usual post-payday haunt—loud, cozy, and vaguely greasy. Plates of mackerel and grilled squid covered the table like battlefield rations, and pitchers of beer flowed freely. One drink in, and the conversation had already circled back to the morning meeting.
"So," one of the junior editors said, swirling his beer, "an LGBT column, huh? Didn’t think we’d be dipping our toes into that market."
"You’d be surprised," another chimed in. "BL content alone is a multi-billion yen industry. Streaming, manga, themed cafés—it’s not just about niche romance anymore."
"Still feels like we’re one article away from ‘What shipping preferences tell us about market segmentation.’"
That got a round of chuckles. Miyata raised his glass and took a slow sip, quietly dying inside.
"Honestly, I had to Google what BL even was," someone said. "Boys’ Love, right? Thought it was Balance Ledger."
Miyata kept his face carefully neutral. Yes, please, let’s keep discussing gay romance tropes like we’re reading an instruction manual.
"You doing okay, Miyata-kun?" someone asked, nudging him. "You’ve been quiet."
He nodded, forcing a polite smile. "Just listening."
And praying no one asks me to define the word 'seme.'
"I mean, it’s still economics," another editor added. "Consumer behavior, subcultures, spending trends—it fits."
Someone, likely emboldened by beer and stats from an article they'd half-read, decided to announce, "You know, statistically speaking, around five to ten percent of people are gay."
Miyata tensed. Ah yes he thought, let’s start a round of ‘who in the room might be secretly gay.’ Fantastic drinking game.
"So there’s probably someone in this office," another said, squinting around like it was a murder mystery dinner.
"Not Miyata-kun," someone chimed in. "Didn’t you have a girlfriend? Ako-san, wasn’t it?"
Miyata gave a tight smile and nodded. And the Oscar for Best Alibi goes to...
The room turned—half-jokingly—to the Editor-in-chief.
"What about you, Chief? You've been suspiciously supportive."
He didn’t miss a beat. "I'm married."
"To a woman?"
"To my work," he replied, lifting his beer. "Though I have been divorced. Twice. Both Women."
That got a good round of laughs—just enough to let Miyata drain the rest of his drink and focus on keeping his face still. No crawling, no fleeing—just silent suffering with dignity. He picked up another beer.
One by one, the coworkers peeled off—trains to catch, partners to meet, polite bows exchanged over half-finished beers. Soon, only Miyata and the Editor-in-chief remained at the booth, the air hazy with grilled smoke and the low, flickering hum of a restaurant winding down.
Miyata was no longer sipping his beer—the Editor-in-chief glanced over just in time to catch him slumping forward onto the table.
"Miyata-kun?"
No answer. Just a soft, unintelligible murmur that might have been a snore.
The Editor-in-chief sighed and reached for his coat with one hand while pulling out his phone with the other. "Alright, taxi it is..."
He scrolled through his contacts and selected Miyata’s old address, which still showed up in the rideshare app.
As he tapped Miyata’s contact, the old address auto-filled. The Editor-in-chief glanced at the screen, hesitated, and leaned over toward Miyata. "This still has your old place. That where you're headed?"
Miyata stirred slightly, eyes half-closed. "No... not there. Moved."
Miyata’s head rolled to the side. "Couple months ago. Moved in with someone."
The Editor-in-chief raised an eyebrow. "Ah, your girlfriend?"
Miyata cracked one eye open, unfocused. "Roommate."
The eyebrow twitched. "We pay so little now you’ve got to share rent?"
The question clearly went over Miyata’s head. He was now fumbling with his phone, slurring, "Speed dial two. Picks me up. Always does."
Too far gone to argue, he shoved the phone toward the Editor-in-chief and promptly drooped back onto the booth.
Slightly bemused, the Editor-in-chief pressed the call.
"Hello? This is the magazine. Miyata’s not... well, he’s horizontal. I think he—wait. Iwanaga-sensei? Oh! Sorry, I must’ve—did he mean to call—ah, this must be a mistake, I’m sure he meant to—"
A pause.
"You're coming? Right. Yes, thank you, Sensei."
Another pause.
"Ah. No, no trouble. He’s safe. Yes. Thank you."
He hung up and set the phone gently on the table. Miyata was now gently snoring, one hand still curled near his empty glass.
The Editor-in-chief sat back, blinking once.
"Roommate, huh," he murmured.
-
Takashi arrived twenty minutes later, dressed in a charcoal-gray suit with a matching overcoat and scarf—elegant, understated, and clearly not designed for a place that smelled like grilled mackerel had been ground into the wallpaper. The contrast was almost comedic, like a luxury car parked outside a convenience store ramen stand.
He stepped into the restaurant and spotted Miyata immediately—still slumped, still softly snoring. The Editor-in-chief stood to greet him, giving a small, slightly sheepish bow.
"Iwanaga-sensei. Thank you for coming. And… sorry for the confusion earlier."
"No trouble," Takashi said calmly, eyes flicking toward Miyata. "He always overdoes it when someone else is paying." He smirked.
The Editor-in-chief chuckled politely, then motioned to the booth. "Would you like to sit for a moment? I think he’s out cold."
Takashi obliged, removing his coat and settling beside Miyata, whose head immediately tilted toward him with the instinct of someone who knew where his pillow lived. But instead of letting it rest there, Takashi gently nudged his head back upright—just enough to keep him from outing them both in his sleep.
There was a pause, then the Editor-in-chief, curiosity getting the better of him, asked, "So… since when have you two been roommates?"
Takashi blinked once, about to answer, but Miyata, eyes still shut, groaned softly and mumbled, "We’re not roommates… We’re boyfriends, Editor-taichō."
Silence.
Takashi glanced at the Editor-in-chief, whose expression flickered somewhere between surprise and the realization that Miyata had just very casually outed himself.
Miyata shifted and let out a tiny snore.
"Ah," Takashi said dryly, looking at Miyata fondly. "Well. Almost a year now."
The Editor-in-chief coughed into his fist. "I… see. Right. That’s... not what I expected."
"Me neither," Takashi muttered. "At least not like this."
"He might regret that in the morning," the Editor-in-chief said.
"He definitely will. But that’s future Miyata’s problem."
The two men casually traded remarks about recent market shifts and a particularly disastrous policy paper they’d both read the week before. Nothing formal—just two professionals blowing off steam in their shared language. Takashi snuck a glance at Miyata snoring beside him and smirked. The Editor-in-chief noticed and chuckled quietly.
"You’re going to hold this over him forever, aren’t you?"
"Oh, absolutely," Takashi replied without hesitation.
The Editor-in-chief glanced again at Miyata and added, "For what it’s worth, he’s one of the sharpest on staff. I give him hell, but I trust him.".
The check arrived, and the Editor-in-chief paid.
"Well, I’ll leave him in your capable hands."
Takashi nodded. "Appreciate it."
The Editor-in-chief adjusted his glasses by the thread. "Goodnight, Iwanaga-sensei."
"Goodnight."
Takashi looked down at Miyata, who was snoring quietly against his shoulder, and allowed himself a small smile. Oh, Miyata was going to be absolutely mortified in the morning. He almost felt bad—almost.
-
Miyata woke up to birds chirping, a blinding headache, and the distant, creeping sense that something had gone terribly wrong. His blanket was tucked just right, and someone had clearly gotten him into pajamas. Even his phone was charging. Which meant one thing: Takashi had taken care of his drunken self, again.
He sat up slowly, squinting around the room like he’d just emerged from a bunker. The hungover medicine on the nightstand mocked him with its practicality. His coat was neatly hung. The apartment smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and smugness.
He groaned.
From the kitchen, Takashi’s voice drifted in, maddeningly cheerful, passing him a coffee cup. "Oh good, you’re up Miyata-kun. I wasn’t sure if you were sleeping or trying to manifest nonexistence."
Miyata dragged himself out of bed, clutching the drink like a lifeline. "Tell me I didn’t say anything stupid."
Takashi didn’t answer right away. He poured himself another cup of coffee.
"...Takashi."
"You didn’t say anything stupid," Takashi said, far too calmly. "Just very... informative. To your boss."
Miyata groaned again, louder this time, and slumped against the table. And then it hit him—snippets of conversation, the Editor-in-chief’s raised eyebrow, Takashi's amused voice, his own voice slurring something very mortifying.
He clutched his head with both hands. "I’m never showing my face in the office again."
"Yes you are, Miyata-kun" Takashi replied, already setting a clean shirt over the back of a chair. "You have a job"
Miyata stared at him. "You’re enjoying this."
"Immensely."
-
At the office, Miyata slinked in like someone hoping to quietly reverse time and un-say a few key things to his boss. Someone passed him with a nod. Probably just greeting him. Hopefully.
Then came the inevitable: a polite but firm, "Editor-in-chief wants to see you."
Inside, Editor-taichō looked disgustingly well-rested after night of drinking.
"Miyata-kun. You’re alive. Good. Sit."
Miyata sat.
"So. You were memorable last night."
Miyata froze. "How memorable are we talking?"
"Verbal confirmation of romantic involvement with a well-known male contributor in front of your superior. Possibly also while snoring."
Miyata buried his face in his hands. I knew it. The gay gods are punishing me.
"I’m really sorry," he said aloud, voice muffled through his fingers. "That must've been... unexpected."
"My thoughts exactly, Miyata-kun," the Editor-in-chief beamed at him. "If it helps, no one recorded it. Technically, there’s a potential conflict of interest—relationship with a contributor and all that—but honestly, I’m not too concerned. You’re already editing his articles and doing it well. Just let the financial department handle the contracts and payments, and we’re fine. And for the record, I support you, Miyata-kun. I mean, with Iwanaga-sensei’s face? Even I can see how his face could sway a man."
Miyata looked up slowly. Was Editor-taichō being supportive?
"And more importantly, ..." the Editor-in-chief continued
"... I want you to take the lead on the new column."
"...What?"
"You seem to have firsthand experience—which makes you the perfect fit."
"Is this just because I'm dating a man?"
"Partly," the Editor-in-chief said with a shrug. "Also because you're good at your job. And because watching you squirm has been the highlight of my week."
Miyata narrowed his eyes. "That’s workplace bullying."
"It’s editorial faith with a dash of seasoning. And I’m not taking no for an answer."
Miyata considered arguing. Briefly. But the man was already excited—and Miyata knew better than to fight a losing battle.
"What's the first topic?" Miyata asked, already resigned to his fate.
"We’re starting with how top BL titles are shaping consumer trends. First case study is, uh... Cherry Magic! Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!—yes, that's the actual title."
Miyata sighed. "Of course it is."
"It’s been a hit across demographics, and Iwanaga-sensei personally suggested it. He also mentioned you’d have... some perspective on it."
"Of course he did". Miyata closed his eyes briefly.
I am going to kill him. Gently. In his sleep. After he files the draft for the article.