Chapter Text
Airi tapped her pen against her cheek, her eyes unfocused as she sat in her usual corner booth at Le Lien Café, just a few blocks from Miyamazusaka Girls Academy. A tall, sparkling soda with extra lemon sat untouched next to her notebook, the one she pretended to study from when she had fifteen free minutes—a rare miracle these days.
Her phone buzzed.
[Ena]: [5 mins away. Don’t let them take our table this time.]
[Ena]: [Also pls order fries. I'm dying.]
[Ena]: [And I swear if you post another pic of me mid-bite...]
Airi snorted quietly and typed back.
[Airi]: [No promises.]
[Airi]: [I already told them to hold the table. Fries ordered. Soda’s going flat. Hurry up, dummy.]
She set her phone down and sighed, a small smile playing at her lips. The café smelled like fresh pastries and slightly burnt espresso. She loved this place. Not because the drinks were good—although they were—or because the lighting was great for selfies—though, again, it was. No, she loved it because this was their place.
Airi and Ena.
Best friends since middle school, when Ena transferred into Airi’s class halfway through the year with too many sketchbooks and an attitude that could cut steel. Everyone else had backed off, but Airi had been stubborn. She always was when she saw something good in someone—even if they didn’t see it in themselves.
And Ena had been worth it. The bell above the door chimed, and Airi didn’t even need to look up.
“You’re late,” she said, sipping her soda dramatically.
“I said five minutes. It’s been four and a half,” Ena Shinonome muttered, slumping into the booth with all the grace of someone who’d been on her feet since sunrise. “And I ran. In heels.”
“They’re literally platform boots.”
“I suffered.”
Airi rolled her eyes, grinning as she pushed the fries toward her. “Eat, drama queen.”
Ena didn’t hesitate, popping a fry into her mouth and sighing like she was tasting water after a desert hike. Her dark eyes were shadowed from lack of sleep, probably a result of both her night classes at Kamiyama and whatever project Nightcord de. had her tangled in. And yet, even in her usual monochrome outfit and her slightly tired expression, she still looked unfairly photogenic.
“You need to sleep more,” Airi said, nudging her gently with the toe of her shoe under the table.
“You sound like Mafuyu.” Ena paused. “Except you smile more. And wear colors.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. Just... different.” Ena blinked slowly. “Honestly, you’re like... sunshine. If sunshine had a tendency to send me fifty pictures a day with the caption ‘cute or cuter?’”
“Admit it, you love them.”
“I tolerate them,” Ena said, stealing another fry.
Airi leaned forward, arms on the table, voice lower and teasing. “You have every one saved. I know you do.”
Ena looked away too quickly. “That’s classified information.”
Airi beamed, triumphant. “I knew it!”
They fell into easy conversation after that—Ena talking about a complicated perspective assignment from art school, how she nearly screamed in the library when she found a book on anatomy she’d been hunting for. Airi talked about her upcoming shoot for MORE MORE JUMP!, the new song they'd been rehearsing, and how Minori accidentally hit herself in the face with her own mic during practice.
“You’re seriously balancing classes, idol life, and fan events?” Ena asked, shaking her head. “That’s insane.”
“You do art school, night classes, and you’re part of a secret online music circle where your voice is probably breaking someone’s heart right now.”
Ena blinked. “I mean. That’s fair.”
They paused when the server came with a new drink and a complimentary slice of strawberry cake—something the staff always gave them when they came in together. “You two are, like, our most adorable regulars,” the server said cheerfully.
Ena stiffened slightly, cheeks pink. Airi just laughed.
“Thank you~! We’ll take a picture with the cake for your story!”
The server grinned and nodded. “You always know how to sell it, Airi-chan.”
Once they were alone again, Ena reached into her bag and grabbed her phone. “Okay. Come here.”
“Selfie time?” Airi leaned across the table without hesitation, their faces close—cheek to cheek.
Ena snapped one, then another, adjusting the angle until both of them looked cute. Which wasn’t hard.
“Let me see!” Airi leaned in again, peering at the screen. “Oh, that one’s good. You look hot.”
Ena blinked. “You look like an idol.”
“I *am* an idol.”
“Yeah, but like. In that photo? It’s like you glow.”
Airi looked at her then, really looked. Ena’s voice had gone quieter. Her eyes were focused, but not in the usual way—not with the sharp critique she gave when she was judging angles or lighting. No, this was different. Softer.
“You say that like it surprises you,” Airi said, tone light, but something in her chest fluttered.
Ena looked away. “Just shut up and post it.”
Airi uploaded it to her story without a caption. She didn’t need one. Within seconds, hearts and comments flooded in.
* * [You two are so cute!!]
* * [Is that your gf?? omg]
* * [The food looks so yummy!!]
She tilted the screen toward Ena. “Fans are obsessed.”
Ena rolled her eyes but didn’t move away from her.
“We’re just best friends,” she muttered, voice low.
Airi didn’t respond right away. She just watched Ena scroll through her camera roll, eyes tracing their smiles in dozens of photos.
Yeah. Best friends, for now.
The plate of fries had long gone cold, and the café had started to quiet down, the golden hour light outside casting a warm haze through the windows. Most students had cleared out, leaving only a few lingering college kids with textbooks and cappuccinos. Airi and Ena, still leaning into each other's space, sat in comfortable silence—something they'd gotten good at over the years.
Ena scrolled aimlessly through her social feed, the same way everyone does when they're trying *not* to think too hard.
Airi noticed. She always did.
"You're fidgeting," she said, gently nudging Ena's foot again under the table.
"I'm literally just sitting."
"You’re doomscrolling. That’s worse."
Ena sighed. "It's my job, technically. Maintaining an aesthetic. Posting my sketches. Pretending my life is mildly interesting."
"Hey," Airi said, tone sharp but soft, "your life *is* interesting. You’re juggling two schools, an art portfolio, and a shadowy music group that makes emotionally devastating songs. That’s peak interesting."
Ena gave a weak smile. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”
Airi tilted her head. "Something happen?" A pause.
“I dunno,” Ena mumbled. “I guess I just… heard a couple of girls talking outside Kamiyama earlier. About you. And me.”
Airi blinked, suddenly a little more alert. “What kind of talking?”
“The usual stuff. They saw your story, the selfie. They thought we were dating.”
Airi chuckled, relaxed again. “Oh? That again? People have been shipping us since we were fifteen.”
"Yeah. I know." Ena stared at her phone, like it might give her an answer if she glared hard enough. “Used to bug me.”
“Does it still?”
“…No. Just caught me off guard, I guess. I mean—we're not. Obviously. We’re just…” She trailed off.
Airi didn’t respond right away. Her fingers toyed with the straw in her drink. It wasn’t an awkward silence. Just one that suddenly felt heavy with something unnamed.
“I don’t really mind when people say that,” Airi admitted. “Honestly, sometimes I forget how it might look from the outside. We do spend a lot of time together.”
“Yeah,” Ena said, quietly. “We do.”
Airi’s voice softened, gentler than usual. “But, I mean, it’s just us, right? It’s always been us. I don’t really care what anyone else thinks.”
Something in Ena’s expression shifted—just for a second. Then she was back to herself.
“Right,” she echoed, clearing her throat. “Same.”
They both knew the rhythm of this. How to tease, how to sidestep, how to laugh something off before it got *too* close. But this felt different.
“I think I like the way we are,” Airi added, more thoughtful than before. “But it’s weird, right? How it feels so normal to be with you. Like… you’re the only person I can just be with. No fans, no lights. No pretending.”
Ena smiled faintly. “That’s kind of sad. You should get better friends.”
“I have the best one already,” Airi said.
Ena looked at her. And looked away.
“Shut up.”
Airi laughed.
When they left the café, the sun had dipped behind the skyline, casting the street in soft blues and oranges. They walked side by side, bags slung over their shoulders, footsteps matching without trying.
“Are you heading to the studio tonight?” Airi asked, glancing sideways.
Ena shook her head. “No Nightcord stuff till tomorrow. Kanade's still recovering from the last session. It got intense.”
“Okay. Then…” Airi stopped at the corner, under the streetlight. “Wanna come over?”
Ena blinked. “Like, now?”
“Yeah. I haven’t seen your new sketches and I missed last week’s Nightcord drop. We can do a mini catch-up.”
Ena hesitated. “Airi, you’ve had a whole day of idol stuff and school. Aren’t you tired?”
Airi grinned. “Yeah. But I wanna hang out with you more than I want to sleep.”
Ena opened her mouth to say something—maybe to protest, maybe to accept—but then paused. The light flickered above them, catching in Airi’s hair like little sparks.
“Okay,” she said softly. “Let’s go.”
-
Airi lay on her stomach across her bed, head propped up by a plush bunny pillow, watching as Ena pulled out her sketchbook.
“You always keep the best ones hidden,” Airi said. “Let me see.”
“I’m showing you,” Ena muttered, flipping a few pages. “Stop acting like I’m hoarding national secrets.”
She held the sketchbook out, letting Airi thumb through it slowly. Pages filled with detailed portraits, messy expressions, tangled hands—emotion bleeding out in graphite and ink. “Whoa.” Airi paused on one of the pages. It was… her.
Drawn from memory, maybe. Sitting at this very café table, head tilted with a teasing grin, her hand mid-air with a fry. A soft, light version of her, not the polished idol.
“You drew me.”
Ena looked away. “Yeah. I draw you a lot.”
Airi stared down at it for a long time.
“…Why?”
Ena hesitated. Then, carefully, she said, “Because when I draw you, I remember that the world can be bright.”
The silence that followed was not the kind they’d known before. It was full, brimming with something warm and uncertain and entirely new. Airi didn’t say anything right away.
Instead, she reached for her phone, opened the camera, and leaned in close to Ena, cheek brushing her shoulder.
Click.
“There,” she whispered. “One more for the collection.”
The message came in at 7:43 a.m. sharp.
[Airi]: [hey ena! wanna come watch us shoot today? bring ur camera! pretty lighting! cute outfits! lots of sparkles!!]
Ena blinked blearily at the screen from under the covers, the blue glow of her phone the only thing keeping her awake after another late night editing her newest art timelapse.
She typed back with one hand sticking out of her blanket.
[Ena]: [is this a threat]
[Airi]: [it’s a very sparkly invitation]
[Airi]: [haruka said she wants to see u again too btw]
[Ena]: [fine]
A few minutes passed.
[Airi]: [yayyy I'll pick u up at the station at 2!! bring something black or denim so you blend in and don’t get kidnapped by stylists]
[Ena]: [can’t tell if u mean that jokingly or not]
[Airi]: [you’ll find out]
The studio was a modest high-rise tucked between an office tower and a convenience store, but inside it looked like something out of a fashion magazine. Bright, open space. Clean white walls. Two backdrops set up—one soft pink, the other sky blue. Light rigs hung from metal grids in the ceiling. Racks of pastel dresses and glittering shoes lined one wall.
Ena stood near the back, tucked beside a production assistant, wearing her black turtleneck and denim jacket like camouflage. Her camera hung from her neck, untouched—for now. She wasn’t here to work. She was just here to watch.
Still, her fingers twitched at the sight of the lighting.
Airi waved at her the second she came out from behind the dressing curtain, already in costume—lavender dress with sheer ruffles, pearl-dotted tights, and soft curls styled to perfection. Her makeup was subtle but radiant, glowing under the lights. She looked like a literal daydream. Like something Ena might have drawn out of a dream and put to paper.
“You made it!!” Airi chirped, skipping over and dragging Ena closer to the set. “You’re just in time—we’re starting the solo shots now.”
Ena blinked. “Wait, you’re just… gonna leave me here?”
“You’ll be fine! You’re an observer. Very mysterious. Very cool,” Airi said, then added with a wink, “Don’t fall in love with me while I’m on set.”
Ena scoffed. “Too late, I’ve already suffered.”
But her voice faltered just a little, even if her expression didn’t. She watched as Airi walked away, laughing with Haruka and Minori, then stepped under the lights with an ease Ena couldn’t quite comprehend. Airi moved like she belonged there.
She wasn’t being fake, exactly—but there was a performance to it. Every smile had a purpose. Every tilt of her head, every sway of her skirt, every flutter of her lashes—it was all deliberate. Beautiful. Bright. Controlled.
And Ena watched it all, transfixed.
“She’s good,” someone whispered beside her—a stylist, probably. “Natural. Some idols freeze on camera. Not her.”
Ena didn’t respond. She was too busy watching Airi shift poses with the click of the shutter. Soft smile. Wide grin. Twirl. Gentle eyes. Flirty wink. Again and again and again. It was weird. Ena had seen Airi laugh mid-bubble-tea choke. She’d seen her in pajamas, with a face mask smeared unevenly across her cheeks. She’d seen her half-asleep on Zoom calls. She knew Airi wasn’t this polished, perfect thing.
And yet,
there was something captivating about it. Something she hadn’t let herself see before. Not fully.
When Airi caught her staring between takes, she grinned, waved, and mouthed, “Get my good side!”
Ena rolled her eyes and lifted her camera.
Click.
The shoot ended just before five. MORE MORE JUMP! huddled for a few last group photos, then were released from their makeup-and-glitter prison. Airi darted over as soon as her manager let her go, already pulling pins out of her hair.
“Ugh, finally,” she groaned. “I swear this dress is cute but itchy. Like, why do sequins always betray me?”
“You looked good, though,” Ena said, almost without thinking.
Airi paused mid-pin.
“…Really?”
Ena cleared her throat. “Yeah. I mean. Obviously. You always look good. But like… I dunno. You really know how to be on camera.”
Something flickered in Airi’s eyes, her smile softening. “Well, I try. But it’s different when you’re here.”
“How?”
“Because when you watch me, I wanna be me. Not just the idol.”
Ena blinked. There it was again—that odd little warmth, like someone was lighting a candle behind her ribs.
“…You’re kind of dumb,” she muttered, brushing past Airi and pretending not to notice the way her cheeks were heating.
Airi just giggled behind her.
“You still took photos, right? I saw you!”
“Maybe.”
“Can I see?”
“Maybe,”
“Come on, Enaaaa—”
“I’ll edit them. If they’re good. You’ll see them on my page like everyone else.”
Airi gasped. “Cold.”
“Professional.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
Airi paused. And then said, voice almost too casual, “Yeah. I do.”
Ena turned slightly, not quite facing her. Not quite not.
“Me too.”
That night, back in her room, Ena pulled the camera memory card into her laptop. Her fingers hovered over the trackpad as the photos loaded one by one. Airi mid-laugh. Airi reaching toward the camera. Airi spinning, skirt flaring, light in her eyes.
And then one still.
Just Airi, standing still, arms at her sides. No pose. No smile. Looking off to the side with the faintest hint of something tired, something *real.*
Ena stared at it for a long time.
And without meaning to, she whispered aloud to the empty room, “You’re beautiful, Airi.”
The final photo sat open on Ena’s screen for longer than she intended.
Airi, caught off guard between shots. Her posture relaxed, face bare of performance. There was no glitter, no idol gleam — just her, standing still, framed by light that made the soft ends of her curled hair almost glow. Ena dragged the exposure down slightly. Warmed the tones. Pulled the shadows toward gold.
She didn’t upload it.
Not yet.
She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to.
She closed the laptop, sank back into her chair, and exhaled like she’d been holding something in the whole day.
Her phone buzzed.
[Airi]: [hey]
[Airi]: [r u still awake]
[Ena]: [barely]
[Airi]: [wanna call]
Ena hesitated. Then:
[Ena]: [fine]
Seconds later, her phone rang with Airi’s caller ID. She answered and dropped it beside her pillow, lying flat on her bed, half-wrapped in her blanket. The familiar static of Airi breathing through her earbuds filled the line for a moment before her voice came through, soft and light.
“You didn’t post any photos.”
Ena sighed into her mic. “You’re checking already?”
“Obviously. It’s the only reason I go on social media anymore. Well, that and to judge people’s outfits.”
“I’m still editing.”
“You always say that when you’re hiding the ones I look bad in.”
“You didn’t look bad.”
Airi hummed. “Then why haven’t I seen them?”
“…Because.”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with them.”
There was a beat of quiet on the other end. Not silence, just Airi thinking.
Ena shifted on her bed, pushing her face half into the pillow. “They don’t look like idol photos.”
“What do they look like?”
“You.”
Another pause.
“I like that,” Airi said eventually, quieter now.
Ena pressed her fingers to her forehead. “You’re going to make me delete them.”
“No,” Airi said quickly. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
Her voice cracked just slightly. Not with emotion — not quite — but with something earnest. Something wanting.
“I like the way you see me,” she added.
Ena stared at her ceiling. “…I don’t know if I’m supposed to see you like that.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
More silence.
Then Airi said, a little hesitant, “Is this about earlier? At the studio?”
“No.”
“It is.”
“Maybe.”
Airi was quiet. Then, in that breezy voice that always came just before she said something that meant more than it sounded, she asked:
“Do you think it’s weird? The way we are?”
Ena blinked.
“…No.”
“But different?”
Ena paused.
“Yeah.”
Another quiet beat. Airi was breathing softly again, and Ena could imagine her lying in bed just like her, wrapped up in the same unspeakable feeling, pretending not to notice it.
“I don’t want it to change,” Airi said eventually. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”
“You’re not.”
“You’re sure?”
“…No,” Ena admitted, voice a little hoarse.
But then she added, quieter, more honest:
“But I want to see what happens anyway.”
They stayed on the phone until they both fell asleep — neither of them saying anything else, but neither of them hanging up.
In the morning, the call would show 3:52:07. Airi would wake first. Ena would wake to her own voice saying her name softly in the night, caught in a dream she wouldn’t remember.
And later that day, Ena would upload a single photo. No caption, just a picture of Airi, the way only Ena had seen her.
It would get thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets.
And a single private message from Airi that just said:
“I think I’m falling in love with the way you look at me.”