Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The post went live at 5:42 p.m.

It was an average Asagiri Gen update. Tastefully curated, a perfect blend of polish and personality. He sat cross legged in a plush armchair by the window, dressed in his signature deep purple suit. One arm was raised in a casual wave, the other loosely draped over the armrest, hidden by the table covering it. You could see the beads of sweat on his forehead and strands of hair sticking to his skin, which was understandable after another long dazzling performance; still he put on an elated and charming smile for his audience. 

It was just another post thanking his dear fans who came to his most recent show and hoping they enjoyed it.

At first fans loved it, they always did. Floods of hearts and encouraging comments filled his feed within seconds.

But it didn’t take long for someone to notice.

It was a genuine mistake. You had to look twice.

There, in the glass of the mirror behind him, was a faint reflection—some of the skyline, but most of Gen himself.

Mostly.

His hand, resting on the arm of the chair, was clearly clasped around someone else's.

Someone else was in the room.

Holding his hand.

By 6:03 p.m. , the internet was in full spiral.

> “WAIT… WHAE IS THAT???”
>
> “Zoom in. Zoom in RIGHT NOW.”
>
> “Is this finally it?? Soft launch??? WHO IS HE DATING?!”
>
> “Everyone is overreacting. It’s probably just his manager.”
>
> “THAT’S NOT HIS MANAGER.”
>
> “Nooooooo Gen you were supposed to be mineeee.”
>
> “Okay, but like, that’s DEFINETY not his manager. Wrong build.”
>
> “Am I delulu or does Gen have a BOYFRIEND???”
>

The photo was dissected extensively. Brightness adjusted. Cropped and enlarged. Fan accounts created diagrams of hand comparisons to other celebrities. Tiktokers argued over whether it was real or AI-faked.

Within thirty minutes of the photo being posted, #AsagiriGen and #GenSoftLaunch trended globally. News outlets called it “an uncharacteristically subtle moment from the king of theatrics.”

---

But fans weren’t the only ones confused.

This wasn’t like Gen’s usual stunts. When Gen hinted at a lover before, it was always grew suspicious enough to raise engagement, always turned out to be a show collaboration or a fake-out with a friend.

Bottom line? Usually, someone from the group knew.

This time, However?

None of them had a clue.

No heads up. Not a slip.

And that silence… was deeply suspicious.

---

The group gathered a few days later at Ryusui’s place for their usual hangout. The atmosphere here was usually warm, noisy, filled with overlapping jokes and bickering.

But today?

Charged. Like a game about to begin. Like a stage just before the spotlight hits, the audience holding its breathe, waiting for how the magic trick will unfold.

Gen strolled in, perfectly at ease. Sunglasses perched on his nose, a lavender silk scarf tied loosely around his neck. He smiled and waved, sliding into the booth beside Chrome and greeted everyone like nothing happened.

He didn’t bring up the post. No one else did either, at least not at first. Even Kohaku, who normally had zero filter, said nothing.

They caught up in normal things: work, Suika's learning, Chrome’s new Rock, Mirai’s recovery from a recent illness. Gen nodded and hummed, sipping his iced tea like his entire fanbase wasn’t currently on fire.

Finally, Ryusui cracked.

“Okay, someone has to ask. So,” he said, biting into a pastry, “who was in the room with you last week, lover boy?” looking directly at Gen.

The performer halted, still smiling. “Pardon?”

“The post,” Ryusui said, licking jam from his thumb. “Lovely photo. Gorgeous lighting. But someone forgot to crop out a mystery hand.”

The entire table fell silent, waiting for the response.

Gen offered a lazy smile at accusation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ryusui-chan.”

“You do KNOW what!” Ginrou gestured wildly. “The HAND! You were holding hands with someone in that post! Everyone saw it and-!”

“I hold many hands,” Gen said dreamily, swirling his cup. “Hands of fans. Hands of fate. Hands of—”

“Oh my God.” Kohaku groaned, dragging a hand down her face.

Yuzuriha leaned in gently. “You don’t have to tell us if it’s serious or private, Gen, but you did post the photo and…”

“And let a thousand conspiracy theories start.” Tsukasa added.

“I counted at least nineteen threads that think it’s Tsukasa,” Ukyo said, amused. “Two even suggested it was Hyoga.”

Hyoga blinked. “I don’t even use social media.”

Gen laughed. “I do love my fan's imaginations.”

“OKAY, cut the crap Gen, you flowerpot of a man,” Kohaku interrupted, which got her a small glare from Ruri for swearing in front of their younger sister.

Gen chuckled at the unique nickname. 

“I thought it was a publicity thing,” she continued “But no one was told anything. Not even Ukyo knew what the post was about. So who is it?”

Gen rested his chin in his hand, smiling wider.

“who's what?”

.

Twenty minutes later~~

“No comment.”

“Maybe it’s just a trick of the light.”

“I’m dating my career.”

“Have you tried holding hands with yourself? It’s very enlightening.”

Ryusui leaned forward suddenly, eyes sparkling. “What if I paid you?”

Gen raised a brow. “Darling, you already pay me when I work your parties.”

“No, no,” Ryusui said, waving a hand then clicked his fingers. “This is different. I’m offering… let’s say… three million yen for the answer. Five million if they're famous. Who’s the hand? ”

Everyone turned.

Gen sipped his tea slowly. “Tempting.”

“Six.”

“Now you’re making it feel cheap,” Gen teased. “I’m worth at least twelve.”

“Ten.”

Gen laughed softly, looking at his nails. “Still not talking.”

Slamming his hand on the table and leaning forward swiftly. “FINE. Fifteen million. I desire to know, dammit!”

Chrome stared. “What the hell kind of bribery budget is that?!”

“Fine.”

That got everyone’s attention—even the one who had been purposely quiet looked up, on the edge of their seat.

“My dear friends,” Gen said, face suddenly serious. “Must I remind you…”

.

.

.

“A magician never reveals his secrets.”

The table erupted.

Kohaku threatened to grab his phone. Ginrou flopped on to the table with a large groan. Ryusui accused him of ruining the economy by withholding such a valuable answer. 

Ukyo said nothing, just watched. He knew he’d have his own time with his best friend soon enough but it didn't make him any less curious.

Ruri tried to calm everyone down to no avail. Tsukasa gently chatted with Suika about her day, ignoring the chaos in front of him.

Hyoga didn't know why he was here.

Placing his cup down.

“You’re all so eager. I must be more mysterious than I thought.” Gen said in an aside, looking thoughtfully at the invisible camera in the room.

“You posted the photo!” Chrome half-shouted. “You can’t act mysterious when you literally soft-launched yourself on your main account!”

Gen waved a hand, effortlessly smug. “If people try to read into something that isnt there.. Is that really on little ol' me~?”

Chrome grumbled. 

“I can’t take this anymore.” he muttered, standing up.

“I’m going to hack your phone!” 

Gen blinked. Then blinked again.

“Oh?”

“I swear on my new rock, I will hack into your phone if you don’t give us a real answer in the next thirty seconds!”

Gen didn’t look impressed at the threat—no one did. Everyone in the room knew Chrome couldn’t hack anything.

“Right. Sure, Chrome-chan.”

“YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME?! I WILL!”

“Dude, no one thinks you can hack.” Even Kohaku didn’t back him up.

“SENKU CAN.”

Gen raised an eyebrow at that, barely suppressing the laugh rising in his throat.

But finally, he had a reason to turn to the one person he’d been trying to elicit a reaction from for the past half hour.

Oh.

Oh, this was beautiful.

Chrome really didn’t know what he just did.

Senku sat beside Kohaku and the rest of his step-siblings— hunched over his tablet, quietly tapping away at his latest project.

“Don’t pull me into something stupid. I’m not doing anything.” Senku said.

No one listened to that.

Ryusui nodded in agreement. Kohaku looked delighted.

“I back this plan” she said, already moving closer. “He’s clearly hiding something.”

Gen held up his hands. “Now, now, let’s not resort to violence or cybercrime—”

“Too late!” Kohaku lunged and Gen scrambled backward over the couch, laughing.

“Kohaku-chan, you brute!”

“You deserve this! Chrome, help me!”

Chrome was already digging in his bag. “Just give me one minute with that passcode screen.”

"NO! you'll lock me out of my own phone for a week." Gen laughed, gripping tighter on his phone

Ruri sitting off to the side with Suika, sighed. “They do this every few months.”

Suika giggled. “It’s really fun to watch though.”

Next to them sat their stepbrother.

Still tapping away. Silent. Focused.

Until Taiju glanced at him.

“Aren’t you curious too, Senku?”

The young scientist paused for a second.

Looking up and making eye contact with the dual haired man, but not for the first time today, with one finger picking his ear, he smirked.

“Kukuku I’m 10 billion percent not interested in who the mentalist is sleeping with.”

Gen stilled. Fingers twitching. His expression tightened.

His ears turned just the faintest shade of pink.

That asshole

Chapter Text

The post had barely cooled.

Gen had done everything right. He’d smiled through the chaos. Laughed off questions in interviews. Pivoted attention back to his book and his next collaborations. He even skipped a press event entirely, claiming laryngitis—though Ukyo suspected it was just to avoid too many cameras.

But no amount of mentalist finesse could stop the internet from doing what it did best.

obsess.

The image was everywhere.

Speculation spread like wildfire. Gen’s fan accounts turned into amateur detective boards. His past interviews were picked apart like sacred texts. Memes born. Theories evolved. A dramatic fan even wrote full-blown essays titled “The Psychology Behind the Reflection and what It Says About Gen's Love Language.”

Paparazzi swarmed, especially when Gen was with other celebrities—Ukyo saw a photo of Gen and Ryusui just two days ago.

Others posted zoomed-in grainy edits of the mystery hand with captions like:

“This is my Roman Empire.”

All in all, Everyone wanted to know the same thing.

Who was it holding Gen Asagiri’s hand?

Not even the people closest to him were immune from the press. Not even Tsukasa.

That afternoon, during an otherwise calm interview about the upcoming fighting season and predictions for the competition.The final question, delivered with a too bright smile, had been;

"Before we wrap up—just one lighter question, if i may haha! There's been a lot of buzz online.. about a good friend of yours, Asagiri Gen." the interview smiled "Do you know anything about the famous mystery hand"

Tsukasa answered without missing a beat.

"I do not comment on my friend's personal lives. Thank you."

The interviewer had laughed awkwardly, shifted papers, and thanked him for his time.

The rooftop bar Tsukasa chose was quiet, perched high above the bustling city- far removed from the chaos of public speculation. A private, soft jazz humming from vintage speakers, low lighting offering the perfect setting for a careful conversation.

Ukyo was already there, seated with his usual relaxed posture, one hand curled around a lukewarm cup of tea, the other gently drumming a rhythm against the table—not restless, just thinking.

Tsukasa arrived next, on time as always. Fresh from the interview, he was dressed in a polished turtleneck and tailored dress pants, carrying the same effortless calm as a lion at rest. He greeted Ukyo with a nod and took his seat without fanfare, taking a slow sip of water.

Ukyo glanced up, eyes flicking toward the fighter’s outfit.

“Let me guess,” he said, lifting his tea. “You got asked about Gen again today.”

Tsukasa raised a brow as he sat. “You saw the clip?”

“Please,” The shorter said with a dry smile. “I got tagged in it twenty times. Someone edited in Gen’s dramatic gasp from that variety show last year and decided, I must see it.”

Tsukasa gave a short huffed laugh.

Ukyo signed, resting his head in one hand “It’s not even your scandal, and still, here we are.”

“Gen has an impressive talent for drawing gravity.” Tsukasa said, pouring himself a glass of water.

“More like creating black holes. I’ve been a retired Olympian for years now, yet I'm in the spotlight again for being a close friend people can question.” Ukyo murmured, looking at his watch.

Then glanced at the elevator. A knowing smile.

“and guess who’s late again.”

The brunette checked his phone. “Modelling gig overran. Twenty minutes he said.”

Ukyo nodded, unsurprised. “He always says twenty. It’s thirty.”

They both took another sip of their respective drinks.

A quiet tension stretched between them, thin but present, an unspoken thread tugging at the edges of their conversation. The real reason of this meeting.

“You were at his last performance, weren’t you?” Ukyo initiated, tone light.

“I was” Tsukasa replied, meeting the other’s gaze without hesitation.

Ukyo hummed. “Then maybe you can help me with a theory.”

It was a casual, but there was a shallow glint buried in blue eyes. There was no direct accusation, however from how long the two knew each other, Tsukasa knew better.

“The post, the reflection. There’s one thing people keep overlooking.”

Tsukasa raised his head—a silent prompt.

“The person holding Gen’s hand wasn’t visible, yes,” Ukyo continued, “but someone else took the photo.”

Silence.

Ukyo let the words settle, then

“Which means someone in the room saw everything. Knew everything.”

Tsukasa nodded thoughtfully, eyes flicking to his drink. Then back to Ukyo. “And you think that someone… is me.”

The shorter shrugged, eyes on point, calm. “You were there. You’ve had backstage access before. Gen trusts you.”

“I didn’t take the photo.” Tsukasa said without pause.

Ukyo watched him. There was no flicker, no tell.

He leaned back.

“You’re not the type to lie.”

“That’s more Gen’s department,” Tsukasa said dryly.

Ukyo gave a short laugh. Still, he leaned back a bit more. “But you would keep a secret to protect him.”

Tsukasa’s glass clicked softly against the table. “I didn’t take the photo,” he repeated, calm and steady.

Ukyo nodded once, look unreadable but certain. “Yeah. I figured. You’re not subtle when you lie.”

Tsukasa arched a brow. “I don’t lie.”

"Exactly.” Ukyo said, with a smile that wanted something from his friend across him. “Which is why I think you might be helpful.”

“Helpful?”

The blond twirled a bit of his front bangs, probably as an replacement of the hat he usually wears. A habit Tsukasa knows of the archer thinking and planing. “You’ve known Gen longer than most of us. You have a good read on people.” He let the implication settle before adding, “I’m curious. He’s my friend. I’ve watched him charm and lie his way through every romantic question he’s ever been asked. I just want to know who finally..cracked him.”

“That’s not a good reason,” Tsukasa said flatly.

“Maybe not” Ukyo admitted, but his expression stayed the same innocence and thoughtout. “But you’re curious too.”

Tsukasa didn’t deny it. “I’m not going to dig through our friend’s private life just because you’re bored, Ukyo.”

Ukyo nodded slowly. “What if he wants to be found out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Gen’s a master in manipulation. If he really didn’t want us to find out, he would’ve faked a boyfriend, dumped him, and distracted everyone. But he didn’t.” Ukyo sipped his tea to let the words do the work. “He’s not just hiding. He’s teasing us.”

Tsukasa was quiet, his line of sight fixed on the street outside.

“Why do you think he kept it a secret?” he asked eventually.

Ukyo let out a slow breath, tapping a finger lightly against his glass. “Could be privacy. Could be to protect the other person. Hard to say.” He paused, then added, “But there’s one thing I do know.”

Tsukasa waited in silence.

“He’s calm,” Ukyo continued. “Too calm. He’s not deflecting, not denying. He’s not even guiding us toward a false lead. That means he’s not trying to stop us from guessing—he’s… Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” 

Ukyo smiled again, "For someone to figure it out. He’s ready, just not rushing it. He’s playing a game with us. And knowing Gen, he probably thinks it’s more fun this way.”

Tsukasa raised an eyebrow. “That sounds manipulative.”

“It’s Gen. Everything’s manipulative.” Ukyo gave a small laugh, lifting his head, now him turned to the window. " And it's working. I want to figure it out."

"Hm" The fighter lets out, fingers tightening around the glass, thinking. Ukyo can see that he's almost got him.

They sat in silence for another moment. Then, reluctantly,

“…Only to make sure whoever Gen’s dating isn’t going to hurt him.”

Ukyo smiled, satisfied at collaboration and also at his friend uninterested act.

“Not even a little curious that the most ‘selfish’ person we know might actually be in love?”

“He deserves his privacy,” Tsukasa answered.

Ukyo didn’t miss a beat. “But you still want to know, don’t you?”

Tsukasa hesitated, then muttered under his breath, “…If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here today, would I?”

Ukyo grinned. “Exactly.”

Tsukasa glanced over. “So what’s the plan?”

“Start with the person behind the camera. Whoever took that photo knows who it is.” Ukyo said , with his hand on his chin.

Tsukasa nodded. “Wasn’t me.”

“yeah” Ukyo replied. “But you were backstage.”

The fighter’s eye narrowed, looking at nothing in particular, trying  to remember details of that day.

“Not for long. Mirai was tired, so we left right after greeting him.”

a dead end.

Then

“But I know for a fact Yuzuriha was there. I saw her as I was leaving. She was far enough that I don’t think she noticed me.”

Ukyo’s gears instantly turning.

“She’s the next person we need to talk to.”

They exchanged a look—mutual understanding. A shared conclusion of two quiet thinkers.

They will figure out who Gen was seeing.

.

The elevator dinged.

Gen stepped out, wind-tousled and fashionably late, sunglasses and facemask still perched on his face. He slid into the booth beside Tsukasa with theatrical flair, sighing as if he’d just returned from a world tour rather than a modeling shoot.

“So sorry, darlings! Fame is such a burden. “ He pulled off his sunglasses with a flourish, setting them on the table softly.

Ukyo smiled politely. “All good. We were just talking about your show.” Gen arched a brow removing his mask, his expression sharp with interest. “Were you now? Flattering. I must be doing something right.

Ukyo watched him closely.

“…Gen, this isn’t like you,” he said finally. “Normally, you’d turn this into a PR stunt. A fake boyfriend reveal. Mystery hand references. But you’ve said nothing. That’s not your style..”

Gen’s smirk flickered—just slightly.

“Believe me, I considered it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

The mentalist hesitated, just for a beat. Then he clicked his tongue lightly, swirling the ice in his water glass.

“…Because it wasn’t planned,” he muttered, voice low and unusually honest.

 Being the oldest friends with Gen, they had the privilege of seeing him more truthful than other. 

“I didn’t mean to post that photo,” Gen then pulled shrugged it off with a lopsided smile, back to himself. “I thought I was posting the solo shot. Turns out I picked the one with… a little more reflection than I eant may~.”

Tsukasa, steady as ever, studied him without judgment. “So it was real.”

The illusionist nodded, eyes fixed on them. “Very.”

Ukyo’s voice was careful now. “And the person whose hand you were holding?”

Gen’s lips curved into that familiar smirk. “..Still none of your business, darling.”

But it also came with its own price of performative manipulation and front seats to a certain art of ragebait.

Tsukasa allowed himself a small chuckle, pointing out the obvious. “Even after you basically confirmed it just now?”

“I didn’t confirm anything,” Gen replied breezily, resting his chin in his hand. “You’re all just very good at reading between the lines. And very, very nosy.”

His best friend gave him a long, flat stare. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, to pieces.” Gen said, beaming.

Tsukasa leaned in, and spoke calmly but body language made to intimidate a tad. “You know we’re going to figure it out eventually.”

“Well, try all you like” Gen’s smirk widened, unfazed at his friends little pressuring moves. “but I won’t make another mistake.”

The table became a battlefield of standoff glances, the wright of the challenge hung. 

Then drama maker plucked a menu off the table, eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

“Now. Who’s buying me a drink for all this emotional labor?”

As they left the café parting ways with Tsukasa, the sky was already turning dusty pink, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the quieter streets. The hum of Ukyo’s car filled the easy silence as they drove through the familiar neighborhood.

“…Is that a new charm?” Ukyo asked, glancing briefly at Gen’s bag as they paused at a red light.

Gen followed his gaze. “Hmm? Oh, this?” He tugged gently at the small charm dangling from the side of his messenger bag—a tiny, handmade rocket ship woven from red and gold thread. “Just a little trinket. A fan gift. Sweet, isn’t it?”

Ukyo tilted his head and smiled. “Cute. Did they make it themselves?”

“I believe so,” Gen replied breezily. “Came with a letter and everything. Very heartfelt.”

The older hummed, then looking back to the road. “There’s a date stitched into the side.”

Gen froze—for half a second.

“…Is there?”

“Mmhmm.” Ukyo didn’t look away.

The mentalist laughed it off, too smooth. “Must’ve been from that charity show last spring. Fans get so sentimental.”

Ukyo didn't argue. Instead, he shifted the subject. “Got plans after this?”

Gen glanced sideways, smile still lingering. “Why? Want to interrogate me in private? I might start charging for interviews.”

Ukyo chuckled softly. “Not this time. I figured you could use a break. Thought I’d swing by your place. Play some music. You’ve been under a lot of eyes lately.”

Gen feigned deep thought, looking up at the sky. “Tempting. Very tempting.”

“But…?”

Gen sighed theatrically. “But my darling father has summoned me. Apparently, there’s something he wants me to help him with—Something terribly ‘critical’ I’m told. Very… father-son bonding.” Ukyo chuckled quietly. “Sounds like him.” He clearly wanted to suggest tagging along—but was mostly too scared of Xeno to ask if he could just wait until Gen was done. he wisely held back. “Alright. Just don’t let him rope you into another particle accelerator.”

“No promises. ” Gen said with a grin.

They pulled up in front of Gen’s apartment complex- a tall, modern structure in the nicer part of the city. Gen had insisted on buying his own place at 21 for independence, but eventually he just rented three floors down from his parents. His parents' rooftop apartment was much larger, spanning two floors—but staying nearby had a lot of perks. Still eating dad’s dinners and, more importantly, being close to a certain someone who was always over at his father’s private lab.

“Thanks for the lift,” Gen said, tugging his bag up on one shoulder, stepping out.

Ukyo gave a small wave. “Let me know if Dr Xeno lets you come out for air.”

“I’ll send a distress signal if needed,” Gen replied, flashing a smile, eyes warm. “Night, Ukyo-chan.”

He waited until Ukyo turned the corner.

Then, slowly, he turned around.

Sorry, Ukyo-chan.

Gen pulled out a small key card from his pocket, stepping inside the apartment complex, waving politely to the front desk and security guard before slipping into the lift.

I was free.

He entered his parents apartment and with a few turns down the hall. He stood before a plain white door marked— Lab.

The door opens in front him with a soft click.

Inside, the lights sterile and bright. Machines buzzed, quiet and constant rhythm of whir and clicks. The air carried the bite of disinfectant and ozone, laced with the warm, metallic scent of machinery- a fragrance familiar with nostalgia.

There was one figure hunched over the far table.

Wild, unmistakable white hair with green tips. Still in his hoodie, sleeves rolled up as he jotted equations onto a glowing tablet, fully immersed in whatever intricate project had his attention.

I just wanted to see my boyfriend today.

Stepping forward quietly, he shut the door behind him.

“Guess who survived another interrogation and made it back to you in one piece?” Gen drawled softly.

"Let me guess. The nation's most dramatic liability.” not looking up from his glowing tablet. “

“That’s award-winning dramatic liability to you.”

His boyfriend shifted just enough to glance at him from the corner of his eye. Gen, catching it, let the usual flair slip. His bag slide off his shoulder and he stepped closer.

“Hey, Senku-chan,” he breathed, voice dipping. “Miss me?”

“Miss the silence, maybe.”

Pressing in close, wrapping his arms around Senku from behind. Gen murmured, “Liar.”

Senku let out a soft sigh, but his free hand reached up, and without looking, he found Gen’s fingers and pressed a kiss to the back of them.

“There’s a 0.0001% chance I’ll finish calibrating this if you cling to me like a magnetized octopus.”

Which only made Gen squeeze tighter. “Too late.”

And in the quiet hum of Xeno’s lab, they stood like that for a moment—hidden, secret, and completely safe.

But all good things some to an end. The door clicked open again.

“Gen.” Xeno’s voice cut in like a scalpel. “If you’re going to harass my assistant while we’re calibrating a micro-resonance chamber, You can kindly get out. ”

Gen rolled his eyes. Senku didn’t so much as flinch.

“Well, hello to you too, Father Dearest,” Gen sighed, finally untangling himself from Senku and turning to Xeno. “No warm welcome? Not even an inquiry about what it’s like to be publicly devoured by the media like a defenseless gazelle?”

Xeno, eyes stuck on the clipboard in his hands. “Considering you’ve faked a televised elopement with a digital avatar, I’d say this scandal barely qualifies.”

Gen gasped, throwing a hand over like he'd been personally wounded. “That was for ratings! intentional. Unlike this mess— which, by the way, was entirely SOMEONE’S fault.”

Senku blinked, glancing over his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed- asking a silence ‘..Me?’

“No, not you , you nerd” Gen huffed, waving him off “HIM.” Pointing at the older man standing by the main terminal, looking far too calm for someone who had just ruined his life, his father.

Xeno, still not looking up, “I don’t appreciate the passive aggressiveness.”

Gen continued annoyed. “You took the photo that got me in trouble!”

“I took it because you asked me to,” Xeno replied coolly. “You said, and I quote, ‘make me look ethereal and heartbreakingly tired.’ Which I did.”

“WITH MY BOYFRIEND’S HAND REFLECTED IN THE WINDOW!”

“Then perhaps next time, review your media before posting. That’s standard protocol.” Gen tried to retort but was cut off. "Unfortunately, my son is as photogenic as he is careless’”

Senku snorted.

“Oh, laugh it up, science boy,” Gen huufed, swatting his shoulder. “I am in so much trouble. My manager had a minor aneurysm. I’m being shipped off to PR purgatory. SOMEONE didn’t even comfort me through this hard time “

“My only mistake was assuming you’d notice basic optics. Reflections are hardly advanced physics. But i shouldn’t have assumed knowing your SAT scores”

Gen looked like he was about to explode, but didn't know what to say. 

Senku shrugged. “I mean, you did post it.”

Gen recoiled dramatically, stepping back with theatrical horror like being shot. “My own boyfriend.. betraying me ?”

Xeno, already turning back to his terminal,  adjusting calculations with practiced ease. “Let’s not get dramatic.”

Gen scoffed, leaning against the desk with all the ease of someone who had spent his entire life weaving in and out of Xeno’s space .“I was born dramatic, old man.”

Xeno hummed, utterly unfazed. “ I raised you. I know.”

Senku laughed again.

Gen spun toward him, arms around Senku, jokingly half choking him. “You’re laughing? You’re supposed to be on my side, Senku-chan!”

Senku held up a hand, as a surrender. “Okay, okay. He did take the photo. Maybe you’re right.”

Xeno turned to them with a pointed glare. “Dr Senku, if you’re going to waste lab time cuddling and enabling my son, I will kick you out too.”

Senku blinked. “Then obviously I support Dr Xeno. Wholeheartedly. Justice for science. Down with mentalism.”

Gen gasped loudly.

“You traitor.”

“He signs my lab budget,” Senku said picking his ear. ”Not you”

Gen clutched his chest once again, like the pain of such disloyalty could be felt physically. “I’m telling Dad! He’ll hear about this. He’ll cradle my broken heart and shoot you both on sight!”

“I’d like to see him try.” Xeno muttered.

Gen groaned, burying his face in Senku’s shoulder, in his partner personal space once again. “You’re both the worst.”

Xeno finally turned to face them, arms crossed. “If you’re both done polluting my lab with whatever this hormonal display is, we have work to do.”

Gen groaned louder. “Fatherrrr, I’m not doing anything—”, Then, with zero shame, he fully wrapped his arms around Senku’s head, blocking his vision entirely- just to annoy Xeno further.

Senku made a noise of distinct irritation. 

Xeno watched unimpressed. “You’re smothering him while he’s working.”

Gen didn’t budge. “That’s because of everything that’s been going on. Its been alot lately. This is a medical coping mechanism.”

Xeno gave him a look.

Gen threw up his arms. “Fine, You’re heartless! when the PR fires start, I am blaming you.”

Xeno didn’t respond. But he did …moved to the labs food fridge and pulled out an expensive packet of Gen’s favorite tea and slid it across the table without looking.

...a silent apology, a small comfort he's been waiting to give.

Gen beamed, recognizing his father’s love language of gift giving.

“See?” he said smugly, picking it up. “You’re both soft for me. Adorable.”

Senku shook his head. Xeno pretended to type faster.

Gen huffed and turned to go.

“Bring snacks if you come back,” Senku said.

Gen paused at the door. “Only if you’re planning to kiss me properly next time. Thank you for the tea, Love you father!” and skipped out.

Xeno groaned, rubbing his temples.

The door slid shut behind Gen—leaving only the soft hum of machines, the clack of keys, and the faint trace of chaos he always left in his wake.

.

.

.

“And you said Stanley was the one spoiling him too much-”

Chapter Text

Golden stripes of sunlight spilled through the windows of Gen’s apartment. He laid on the couch, phone in hand, scrolling with a kind of focus Senku had come to recognize, and not in a good way.

From his place on the floor, surrounded by open notebooks and scattered calculations, Senku watched him. Quietly.

He noticed the tension in Gen’s posture.

Noticed the absence of his usual humming.

The jokes and teasing had dwindled in the last few days, along with his appetite.

The human mind wasn’t his area of expertise, but pattern recognition? That was second nature. And Gen– although complex and unpredictable -was still a pattern he’d learned to read as intimately as constellations.

So when something shifted, especially for more than 72 hours, Senku noticed.

“Don’t tell me you’re reading comments again.”

The perfectly manicured finger flicked the screen again, but the tightened grip on the phone didn’t go unnoticed.

“Just checking a few things.” Gen hummed. “You know, for work.”

Senku raised a brow. “ work?”

“Monitoring public sentiments, brand-deals, keeping my dear fans entertained—”

“Uh-huh uh-huh, Sure.”

The awkward silence stretched across the room. Pressing heavier with each second.

He could’ve called it out. Ask his mentalist to knock it off and just talk already.

But he didn’t.

Because what would that accomplish? Gen would smile, deflect and give a better acting show to the point Senku might not know what to believe. All cons in bringing up concerns too up front. 

So what did he do instead?

He adjusted the stage for an easier confession.

The tea tasted a little sweeter.

He upgraded a few things around the flat for comfort.

Stayed longer than necessary, always under the pretense of efficiency or deadlines.

Waiting. For something real to emerge from beneath the carefully crafted illusion.

Senku was patient.

And sooner or later, the spell would break.

Gen’s fingers twitched, scrolling now paused, most likely aware of Senku’s unshakeable gaze.

Finally, Gen groaned, sinking further into the couch “Fine~. Maybe i did look through some threads, but is it so wrong to be mildly interested in public perception.”

“You told me you weren't going to look at them anymore.” Senku glared.

The performer unaffected. Brought the phone up to his chin, batting magnified doe eyes of faux innocence. “ Oh?~ Was that the one when I was half asleep, or that time when you tormented things out me by *sob* fixing my coffee machine shirtless.”

His audience unimpressed, “The one where you swore not to subject your neural pathways to cognitive degradation via the internet stupid.”

Gen pouted.

“Well” Gen signed as he rolled onto his side, fully facing Senku “I also once said I'd never date a grumpy scientist with a social range of a rock, so clearly, I have great decision making skills~.”

Senku huffed picking his ear, but couldn't stop the ghost smile from creeping up his face. “I’d say that that's a statistical outlier in your favor for once”. 

“in favor? debatable.” gen smiled muttering, attention slowly slipping to the block in his hands.

Tsk

Senku clicked his pen a little louder than he should.

“You really can’t put down the phone, can you? You’d think a self-proclaimed mentalist would have better control over his impulses. ”

Gen gave him a playful glare. “Well, what can I say? The human mind is endlessly urious-cray~. ”

Senku held eye contact. “Flooding your dopamine receptors with negativity reinforces stress responses. The more you engage, the harder to pull away—your focus shrinks, your baseline stress spikes, and cognitive efficiency drops. It’s unhealthy.”

Not mentioning the hate comments directly—just stating the facts.

But Gen already back to the screen, gives a soft hum of amusement. “Oh, coming from the guy who hasn’t slept more than four hours last night and thinks a balanced diet is instant ramen and coffee.”

Hit 1

Senku crossed his arms, now the one in defense instead of offense. “ Oi My methods are… unconventional. But effective and needed.”

“ ‘Unconventional’ is one way to put it. whatever you helps you define self-sabotage.”

Hit 2

“You'd also think a self-proclaimed scientist would know that people cope with stress in different ways~. Mine just happens to involve scrolling through bad takes and sarcasm. Yours involves nearly setting the kitchen on fire last night because you couldn't produce supercritical fluid.”

He saw those amused grey eyes lifting up above the screen.

"So, between the two of us…"

Gen leaned in just slightly, before delivering the final blow:

"who's really the one being unhealthy here?"

K.O.

The younger narrowed his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the loss, refusing to grant the other the satisfaction of a proper win.

It was always like this, the other would twist logic, maneuver conversations with well thought out reasoning—it was, objectively impressive. And more annoyingly- attractive. The sheer mental agility and ability to talk his way of anything. It was something that had always captivated him, even if he'd never put it into words.

But he liked it far less when he was on the receiving end.

Gen, smirk victoriously, tucking his hair out the way. “Ah, but health is subjective, isn’t it, Senku-chan~?”

Senku exhaled through his nose, begrudging acceptance, because what did he expect. There’s a 0% chance he was going to break through that mentalist wall that easily. 

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed—you’ve been coming over more often.”

Ah.

Senku turns away, his notes suddenly more important, hiding behind the pages like it was a shield. “I have my tech competition coming up. Working with Dr. Xeno. You know that.”

Gen shifted closer from the couch, movements unhurried, deliberate. Voice too smooth and phone forgotten.

“Do I, though?~ Because from where I’m sitting, you spend a uspicious-say amount of time here instead of in that lab.”

Senku didn’t dare make eye contact. “Yeah. So?”

"So~," Gen drawled out, tone too cheerful for Senku's liking. “I’m touched. My dear scientist, risking important time to comfort me. And if this is you pretending not to protect me from the Big Bad Internet, you’re doing a spectacularly bad job of it.

Senku should've stayed silent , should've changed the subject

Could’ve admitted it.

but instead “ ..no , your Wi-Fi is just better.”

He wasn't even using his computer right now.

Playing the lying game with your mentalist boyfriend was stupid, but Senku allowed himself to be a bit childish with one person.

Gen gave him a look that said 'Really?'

“Ah, so it’s the Wi-Fi." the older laughed, a bit surprised at something so dumb came out of the mouth of his 'genius' with an always 'logical' mindset. "Silly me. I thought it had something to do with the charming~ company.”, fake wiping a tear of his face. 

But Senku focus more on the movement of his other hand that was once again reaching for the device.

So he moved.

“HEY–!”

“No.”

Senku held the phone and set it to the table out of the dualed haired man’s reach.

That coded, scientific gaze– the one Gen saw usually reverse for engineering projects, focused directly on him.

The one with the mask stilled, just a second, briefly betraying.

Senku closed the book on his lap quietly and set it aside as well, the click too loud in the soft quiet of the room.

Then stood to crossed the short distance to the couch, settling beside him.

Gen finally let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He nudged Senku with his foot. “Seriously I’m fine. You’ve being... uncharacteristically sweet now.”

“I’m literally just sitting here.”

“Exactly. ” Gen said gesturing. “Not slaving away in the lab. Not building some metal monstrosity in my kitchen. just.. here.”

“Don’t get used to it.” the leek said, voice bland but lacking any real bite.

“Oh, I won’t,” Gen smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can’t wait for you to go back to acting like affection is a bloodborne pathogen.”

Senku saw it again. The tremor under the grin. The fingers worrying at the hem of his sleeve. How his shoulders never quite relaxed lately, always poised for some unseen weight. As if on instinct, Gen drew his sleeves up and pulled them over his hands, pressing them against his face in that familiar, practiced way he always did.

Senku reached out, catching Gen’s wrist, thumb grazing over the fabric before gently pulling his hand away from his face.

Gen glanced at him, confused.

Tilting his head, Senku studied him. Leaving the other more unsettled, mask cracking by the second. 

“You know,” he said, quieter now, “you’re not as subtle as you think.”

Huh

Then without warning— Senku leaned in.

The kiss to Gen’s temple was brief, nothing grand.

But it felt like shockwave.

Gen's breath hitched.

Unfair.

So unfair.

“You overthink everything.” Senku said, drawing back.

He didn’t say it unkindly. Just matter of fact.

Gen let out a low, incredulous laugh, his hand drifting to rest lightly on Senku’s forearm.

He was used to performance. Concealing reality beneath an entertaining facade.

Being seen this clearly without one felt like standing on stage naked. The unfamiliar territory made him fell off-balance .

He shifted a bit, uncertain how to play this.

“You really picked now to be emotionally literate” Gen said, eyes narrowing. "Not your usual brand of logical routine.”

“I’m being practical.” Senku replied. "Cortisol spikes screw with your immune system and letting it escalate in silence is pointless.”

“I don’t need comfort” Gen muttered, shifting to leave.

Senku calmly rest his hand over Gen's shoulder, stopping him.

“You wanna talk, talk. If not, at least eat something.”

Beneath the usual steadiness in Senku’s voice, Gen heard it—the quiet concern threaded through.

Gen’s mouth parted, but no words came. His brain offered a dozen deflections, but none made it past his lips. He wasn’t even sure what the right thing to say would be. Or where to start.

Then he felt it—Senku’s fingers threading into his.

Familiar. Comforting.

Just like the photo from that day.

Senku leaned in, voice softer now.

“What’s going on in that mentalist brain of yours?”

You’re being unfair, Senku-chan

“…I don’t know what I’d do if the media found out.”

The words slipped out– raw, unguarded. Too real. He winced the second they left his mouth, like he could reel them back in.

“You scared?”

The dual haired man stared down at their joined hands.

“…A little,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

.

“Because it’s not just about me anymore.”

He didn’t meet the other’s eyes but the implication landed.

“You’re worried about what happens when my face is out there.”

Gen nodded faintly.

Senku pulled back slightly-- not to leave, but to give space. “Gen. You know I don’t care if they find out.”

“Senku.”

No honorific. No cute charm. Just his name. Senku couldn't stop the little shiver that went up his spine.

“You should. You didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t ask for your name to get dragged into the headlines again because of me. You hate attention.”

Senku’s eyes narrowed, a flash of disdain crossing his face. “And you overestimate how much I give a damn about the opinions of people who think of you as property.”

“You’re not listening.” Gen said quietly, anger slowly bottling in his voice. “Your lab, your university, Suika- everyone around you. You'll be under so much scrutiny, every move dissected. And when it gets bad—because it will—you might wake up one day and realize…”

Gen’s hand gripped the other's arm tighter.

"you might realize that it's not worth it. That I'm—”

"Don’t. Finish that.” Senku cut him off, irritation bleeding through. “You think some reporters or clickbait headline's going to scare me off? You think I'd give up that easily? ”

When he spoke again, it wasn’t a yell but it hit just as hard.

“Use your damn brain, Gen. You’re not this dense.”

Gen’s eyes snapped to his, taken off guard by the force of the voice. But the shock burned off quickly, replaced by his own frustration.

“You haven’t been through what I have.” His voice was tight with agitation.

“They don’t just stop at headlines. Your past, your mistakes, they'll twist it until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. Harassment. Stalking. It’s like drowning, and you’re expected to just keep swimming.”

His voice cracked as he curled his fingers into Senku’s shirt.

“And you think you can brush that off? That you're immune from it ?”

Senku’s expression didn’t budge.

“You're right, I haven’t been through that. Not exactly. ” His tone was blunt, pointed.

“But don’t act like I haven’t had people watching my every move since I was fifteen, that i don't know what pressure feels like— my astronaut father, Lilian, your father and the tech world breathing down my neck.”

“That’s differe–”

“And don’t insult my intelligence by pretending I didn’t know what I was signing up for when I started dating you.” His voice didn't waver when he continued. “I didn’t stumble into this, Gen. I’m not some clueless idiot. I chose this. I chose you.”

Gen pulled back slightly, instinctive, guarded—but Senku didn’t let the distance grow by snatching the hand on his chest.

“So if you think a few haters with nothing better to do, or some rude reporters are going to scare me off—”

He leaned in, closer now. Ruby eye's burning into grey one's.

“—from the only person who manages to piss me off and keep me interested in the same breath—”

Too much

This was getting too much

Gen tried to turn away, but Senku’s hand was already there, fingers gentle under his jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes again.

“Then you’re 1 billion percent an idiot.”

A long, tight pause as Gen stared back at him, eyes wide, breath shallow.

Then—he laughed. It wasn’t loud– all breath and disbelief. So much disbelief.

He let his head fall against Senku’s shoulder, flushed from not only the leftover heat from the fight.

“God, you’re such a condescending asshole,” he muttered, voice muffled against Senku’s shirt.

Senku relaxed back, letting his face go, “Yeah, well, Takes one to date one.” patting his head.

That did it—Gen laughed, short and startled.

“Seriously how do you do that?” he asked, creeping his head up with a half-smile. “Be so rude and so sweet at the same time?”

Senku expression turns smug. “It’s part of the charm.”

Gen let out a small scoff and rested his head back on Senku’s shoulder with ease. Heartbeat still so loud in the quiet.

“I’m scared, Senku. Scared that one day it’ll be too much—”

Senku voice firm but gentle. “Then we face it together. I’m not going anywhere.”

He rested his chin lightly on Gen’s hair, absentmindedly twirling a white strand in his fingers as Gen lets his words sink in.

Calm silence rests on them as they stayed in the comforting position.

“..Did you know skin-to-skin contact activates mechanoreceptors, which suppress the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis. It lowers cortisol, slows your heart rate, regulates breathing.” he muttered.

“geez, just say you want to cuddle me .” and Gen leaned in more, the scientist thankful the other picked up the signal.

Gen's hand fidgeting with Senku’s while his heartbeat settles.

“I spent years thinking they’d hate me for this,” he said, quieter. “For not being perfect. For not being… alone.”

He hesitated again.

“But it’s almost the opposite. Some of them think it’s brave. Our photo started a big discussion about celebrity culture and parasocial relationships. ”

“Is that why you didn’t deny anything to the public?”

Gen didn’t respond immediately.

“…It felt nice,” he admitted. “To think we might not have to hide anymore.”

Senku watched as Gen tilted his head up, searching his face.

“Be honest,” Gen whispered, voice laced with caution. “What if I wanted to tell people?”

Senku didn’t miss a beat.

“Then I’ll be in the next photo.”

Gen blinked, caught off guard, then let out a quiet chuckle shaking his head. “You make things sound so simple.”

Senku gave a careless shrug. “It is simple. Besides, With your only-child demands and that crazy family, statistically speaking, people shouldn’t be surprised I’m the one patient and insane enough to date you and survive.”

Gen burst out laughing—the sound dancing in the space around them.

“God, You're so unromantic.”

Senku smiled, sunbathing in the rare sight of the other’s unguarded happiness. “They're your standards, not mine.”

“You’re right.” Gen breathed, eyes still crinkled from amusement. “But you’re the one who put them there.”

Gen then shifted up, arms now draped around the younger’s shoulders- teasing the space between them. He looked at Senku through dark lashes, strands of silver-blond falling over his face. His voice dipped, threading between playfulness and something quieter.

“You really mean that? you wouldn't be mad if people knew?”

Senku looks back at him, serene. Then slowly brushing aside the strands of hair gently, fingertips ghosting over skin with cherish.

“Mad? Not a millimeter close... Just glad that the world will know you're mine to observe this closely.”

The room felt warm, possibly smaller to push them closer.

Gen reached up tenderly, brushing his fingers across Senku’s cheek with a kind of reverence.

“Careful, darling,” he whispered, his signature smile with a touch of something shy. “Say too many nice things and I might start thinking you have a crush on me.”

Senku rolled his eyes, but tilted his head slightly looking closer.

His gaze drifting to the lower part of the other’s face.

“Then your deduction skills are finally improving. ” Senku breathed back.

And, without hesitation, he closed the distance.

Their lips met with a mere brush of warmth at first, before settling into something weighted and undeniable.

The world narrowed to soft warmth and steady heartbeats. Where It was only them and nothing else.

He let himself register the warmth of Gen’s mouth, the pressure of his hand ghosting the mentalist's waist, Gen’s fingertips that curled slightly into neck.

His brain, annoyingly, didn’t quiet.

Heart rate increased. Dopamine spiked. Electrodermal activity intensified.

The results were consistent. Reproducible. Every time Gen looked at him like that, every time he got close… his carefully managed systems short-circuit.

The conclusion was inescapable.

Gen was the variable that always yielded the same result. Perfect for him.

Why would he leave?

They parted, slow and panting.

Gen was smiling like an idiot. “You’re being nice. It’s unsettling~. Are you dying?”

“Technically, everyone’s dying.” back to his cool look, but the telltale blush on his face gave a funny sight.

“I love when you talk nerdy.” gen sighed as he lays onto Senku's lap, demanding attention.

Senku raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You’ve got questionable taste.” ,Indulging him.

“Mm. So I’ve been told.” Gen hummed in relaxation.

Senku watched him for a second while continuously stroking his hair, then , “Do you want to tell the group? Before some tabloid beats us to it.”

Gen tapped his chin like he was pondering the grand mysteries of the universe. Then looked back up with an evil grin.

“Nah. I like watching them scramble. Half the them bribing me with things to get information. Why ruin the fun~?”

“You’re horrible.”

"You like it.”

Senku huffed a laugh, he really really did.

Gen looked up again, something playful behind his eyes.

“Do you think anyone suspects you?”

.

.

.

---

The door swung open with a hiss, Senku stepped inside like a man who's just climbed out of a malfunctioning radioactive reactor. His coat hung halfway off one shoulder, his gravity-defying hair even more chaotic than usual, and the unmistakable scent of ozone clung to him like cologne.

Byakuya looked up from the kitchen, still drying his hands with a dishtowel.

“Well, well. Look what the science dragged in. You eat yet?”

“I had vending machine coffee. That counts.”

Senku dropped his bag by the door, toeing off his shoes as he trudged over to the table and collapsed into a chair like gravity suddenly increased by 2g.

Byakuya raised a brow. “You really wanna test that definition with me?”

Senku waved him off. “I don’t have time to care about food right now. Do you even know what I’m competing with?”

“Enlighten me.” Byakuya said, pouring tea for them both.

“They want shielding that's low mass and high thermal resistance while optimizing mechanical durability under extreme aerothermal loads. The problem? Maintaining structural integrity through dynamic pressure shifts, plasma-induced thermal fluctuations, and vibrational stressors during hypersonic traversal. So I’m layering a carbon-silica composite matrix, embedding phase-change materials that exploit latent heat transfer to dynamically regulate localized temperature gradients during peak atmospheric compression.”

Byakuya slid the tea across to him and leaned against the counter. “Fun! Just making sure you do know this is just a student design competition, right?

“That’s quitter talk,” Senku muttered, gulping the tea. “ if I win, something I built with my own hands gets strapped to a rocket and launched beyond the Karman line. So I'm 1 billion percent winning.”

Byakuya chuckled, shaking his head. “And you’ve been running this out of Xeno’s lab?”

“He has good wielding equipment,” the college student admitted. “And a vacuum chamber. I mean, who wouldn’t want to simulate the conditions?”

Byakuya gave him a smile, that changed every so slightly.

“Senku…I've only been back for a month, but I've noticed you’ve been over there a lot lately.” Byakuya said carefully, taking in a breathe before continuing. “Just… make sure you’re not pushing too hard, okay? Even a genius burns out if they forget they’re human.”

Senku smirked. “What, are you gonna suggest I meditate with you?” already getting his notes out to look over.

“I was going to suggest you sleep more than two hours. Or eat a vegetable.”

“I’m too busy making science happen to have a salad,” Senku replied dryly, flipping through the pages.

Byakuya smiled, crossing the kitchen to ruffle Senku’s hair. “Just don’t forget to be a person in between.”

Senku swatted at him, grumbling, “Yeah, yeah…”

Clink.

Byakuya’s gaze dropped.

Hanging from Senku’s key ring was a tiny charm— a rocket, sleek and handmade. Tied on with careful stitching.

“What’s this?”

Senku glanced down—and slightly stiffened. “Huh?- Oh.”

He snatched the keys up with speed and jammed them into his coat pocket. “It’s nothing. Just thought it'd looked cool.”

Byakuya raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never cared about aesthetics.”

Senku avoided his gaze, sipping his tea instead, papers in his face. “…Hmm.”

The astronaut studied his son a moment longer, then softened his expression.

“Alright,” he smiled. “Cool charm.”

Senku groaned and muttered without looking up, his cheeks faintly pink. “Don’t say stuff like that.” 

Byakuya only chuckled again, ruffling Senku’s hair more.