Chapter Text
Everything was unusual.
This shooting was already unusual on its own; however, Mayoi didn’t account for things suddenly taking a turn.
But they did.
The back alley behind the filming location still smelled faintly of grease and coffee—remnants of a lunch break no one had bothered to clean up. Valentine’s season meant the streets were bursting with pink paper hearts, sweet shop displays, and couples glued together like overcooked mochi… but here they were, filming for this weird and bad taste of a visual novel that Mayoi regretted agreeing with ALKALOID to take part in.
Mayoi had resigned himself to enduring it. But the day had other plans.
In that very same alley, he saw Tatsumi and HiMERU.
The producer was asking where the two idols were, especially since they had been struggling to get an ‘okay’ for their pairing, Tatsumi Kazehaya X HiMERU, for days now. Their scenes kept coming back with notes, their interactions described as “too stiff,” or “lacking spark.” Anzu was now willing to help, seeing that their interactions had been sour, to say the least. Mayoi had assumed they’d try again later, maybe in a conference room or some safe rehearsal space. He swore he just saw the two, possibly scrambling for ideas to finally end this fever dream that they were all in.
He hadn’t expected… this
Tatsumi stood a few meters away, speaking to HiMERU as if testing the strength of thin ice. His tone was light, the kind of polite warmth he offered to everyone, but HiMERU’s eyes stayed fixed somewhere over Tatsumi’s shoulder, a muscle in his jaw shifting with each word he didn’t say.
Then, HiMERU stepped forward, closing the space between them in a single, deliberate movement. His arm came up — a smooth, almost elegant motion — and pressed against the wall beside Tatsumi’s head.
Mayoi’s heart lurched. Something about the gesture felt both invasive and… unbearably intimate.
Then came the words. “Marry me.”
It was absurd. It was impossible. It was—
—said in a tone that was far too steady for a joke.
Mayoi’s breath caught. His shoulders curled instinctively inward, as though to make himself smaller, invisible. The words that followed, “Marry me”, hung in the air, absurd and intimate in equal measure.
Mayoi’s eyes widened, his body almost curling in on itself. Mayoi’s thoughts knotted in on themselves. His first instinct was to look away, but his eyes refused him, held in place by the sight of Tatsumi’s stillness, the faint, almost imperceptible softening in his expression.
He had never seen Tatsumi look at anyone like that.
Something inside him buckled. He hadn’t even sorted out what this something was these past few weeks, only that it lived in the space between noticing Tatsumi’s steady kindness and HiMERU’s sharp-edged glances. Now it flared into something harder to ignore, an ache tangled with curiosity.
Tatsumi’s refusal came gently, but it landed like a stone. HiMERU’s expression tightened, a flash of frustration breaking his usual composure. It only confused Mayoi, as he looked around to see if any cameras were present. Mayoi’s mind scrambled for an explanation; surely, this was acting? Surely the cameras were rolling?
Although even if in the premise of acting, he felt as if there were more to the words that they were speaking, the stares that they shared in such a narrow space.
Mayoi tried to make sense of this scene, trying to remember if I’d ever seen HiMERU look at Tatsumi with anything but disdain lately.
…Or if Tatsumi had always looked that quietly guilty.
A tug at his sleeve jolted him. Kohaku’s voice cut in, low but sharp.
“Mayoi-han, let’s get ‘em. Before HiMERU-han could do anythin’ with Tatsumi-han.”
Mayoi only nodded, remembering how he even stumbled in that scene in the first place. He sighed to reel himself in as they approached the two, who were slowly calming down already, although frustration was still written all over HiMERU’s face.
“Ya two were ‘ere, after all.” Kohaku’s tone was light, but the glance he threw HiMERU was not.
Tatsumi and HiMERU flinched, the latter’s arm returning to his side as they seemed terrified of being seen like this by two of their closest friends. Tatsumi was less bothered, but he had more of an apologetic look than one of shock. His voice was warm, practiced, but to Mayoi’s ear, that brightness rang a little too perfectly. He almost raised his eyebrows at this.
“Mayoi-san, Kohaku-san.” He acknowledged them, fixing his jacket and pushing himself off the wall. “Did we make you worried?” Tatsumi smiles, as he always does, which seemingly made HiMERU’s eye twitch on his side. “We’re sorry; our talk seemed to have gone on for so long.”
HiMERU felt incredulous that Tatsumi managed to bounce back to his usual attitude after such an admittedly passionate back and forth, the worst way he could have described that. It was more than he needed to not show he was affected at all, when Tatsumi could act just like that.
“Nah,” Kohaku waved his hand, “Producer-han was just lookin’ fer ya, worried tha’ ya two ‘ave already given up.”
Said producer walked up to them with a worried look on her face. “Are you alright, Kazehaya-san, HiMERU-san?”
HiMERU’s slightly upset face immediately shifted to a much more professional yet friendly one as he faced the producer, “Producer-san.” He nodded as he groaned inwardly, cursing the heavens above that they just had to see them in this moment. If they could have waited for a little longer.
Maybe he could have finally ended Tatsumi, so he could move on and continue with his life, his mission.
“We were just…” HiMERU scrambled in his mind for an excuse, which was already in disarray from what he had just managed to say to Tatsumi earlier out of desperation. He just needed to finally end this shooting, as any more time spent with Tatsumi Kazehaya would be the death of him.
“We were just brainstorming, acting out some scenarios. The producer of this game hasn’t given us a thumbs up on any of our shooting attempts, so in a way, we were getting desperate in getting things done already. We’re the only pair left, after all.”
It was plausible. It was even mostly true. However, he left out the part that there was a more personal reason for HiMERU to rush through this shooting, especially one with Tatsumi.
But Mayoi could feel the rest of it hanging unsaid.
Anzu, mercifully, didn’t press.
“I understand. I am deeply sorry.” Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her smile was quite pitiful. “The… game’s producer is quite… peculiar, to say the least.” Her grin was an attempt to make things a little bit lighter, but it seemed even she was already done with this shooting.
“Have you already thought of something?” She grabbed the camera from the bag she was wearing on her back. “I have a recorder here; we could film the one you have practiced. I think this time, we could get a thumbs up.”
HiMERU tried not to let show that he was not happy at all that he had to do that all over again, much less in front of Mayoi and Kohaku, especially the producer. Well, Anzu has never judged anything; work is work, but he’s afraid he wouldn’t have a face to show to Kohaku and Mayoi in their next Sweets Fan Club meeting.
Especially with how Mayoi was seemingly kept staring at both of them, his turquoise eyes drilling to the very fibre of their being.
“I think that would be great, Anzu-san.” Tatsumi was chipper than HiMERU would have hoped; his voice was still beaming with joy, even if HiMERU almost cursed him and strangled him to death in this dingy alleyway.
“Shall we get started, HiMERU-san?” The green idol gave him a bright smile, hand extending towards him as an offer to finally get this job done.
It should have been reassuring.
Mayoi felt the weight of that earlier scene pressing into his chest—the wall, the arm, the words, and the sharp awareness that he didn’t know which part of it belonged to the project…
And which part was theirs alone.
After such a long week, Mayoi felt as though his entire body had turned to lead. The moment he stepped into the quiet hallway, the exhaustion hit him all at once. Heavy, suffocating, as if the day itself had been pressing down on his shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Mayoi-san.”
Tatsumi’s tone was warm, almost radiant. When Mayoi turned, he was met with that ever-bright smile, the kind that seemed untouched by weariness despite Tatsumi having just come from a week of relentless work. It made something twist inside Mayoi—half admiration, half guilt—for feeling so drained when Tatsumi could still stand so tall.
“G-good afternoon, Tatsumi-san…” Mayoi managed a faint smile in return. “How are you? It… must have been exhausting. I heard it took you a while to get the ‘okay’ from the game’s producer…”
Tatsumi’s smile softened, his brow knitting slightly. “It was… at least a little frustrating,” he admitted with a small sigh. “But it’s done now, and that’s something to be thankful for.”
Ah, Tatsumi. Always turning his eyes toward the light, even when there were shadows everywhere. Mayoi could never do that—he always found a way to catch the shadows first.
He only nodded, unwilling to add any bleak commentary.
“Mayoi-san,” Tatsumi began again, “would you like to have dinner at Shiina-san’s workplace? I think a small celebration is in order.”
The purple idol looked at him, his eyes slightly widened, quite shocked at the sudden invitation. Mayoi blinked, caught off guard. His chest gave a small, treacherous flutter at the thought. A dinner with Tatsumi…
But he pushed the thought aside.
Of course, Tatsumi would invite him. He always looks out for the people around him.
“S-sure, should we call Hiiro-san and Aira-san?” Mayoi looked at him, his smile modest at least.
“I already asked them,” Tatsumi said easily. “They’re busy tonight.”
And he had already thought ahead, as he always does.
“That’s pitiful…” Mayoi murmured, rubbing at his arm. “I hope Aira-san and Hiiro-san won’t overwork themselves… but—” he let a small smile surface, “I’m glad they’re growing, taking on jobs of their own.”
“I do as well, Mayoi-san.” Tatsumi nodded. “Shall we go?”
They set off toward Café Cinnamon. The warm scent of coffee and baked goods greeted them at the door—and so did the sight of Kohaku and HiMERU already seated together, mid-conversation over their meals.
“Hello, HiMERU-saaa~n!” Tatsumi is almost ecstatic as he sees him.
Kohaku’s grin was sly. “Oh, yer ‘husband’ is ‘ere.”
HiMERU glared at Kohaku at that. “Unforgivable, Oukawa.”
Mayoi almost smiled awkwardly at that. He almost winced, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to melt into the floor. Their eyes met for a moment, and he felt it—the subtle, heavy tension that always hovered whenever Tatsumi and HiMERU were near each other. To anyone else, it might seem invisible, but to Mayoi, it was unmistakable: the way HiMERU’s gaze sharpened ever so slightly, the way Tatsumi’s movements became measured, careful, as if walking a narrow bridge.
“Tha’ was scary…” Kohaku chuckled before turning to Tatsumi and Mayoi. “Did ya need somethin’? You two are still busy, yeah? Sure it’s fine ta be hangin’ out?”
“We were just going to have dinner from such a… demanding project…” Mayoi sighs, immediately realizing that he might be too frank. “I-I’m sorry…! I didn’t mean that… I should be grateful that ALKALOID is still being offered jobs…”
HiMERU’s gaze flickered toward him, his expression easing just a fraction. “You didn’t need to correct yourself, Ayase,” he said mildly, though there was a quiet firmness to his tone. He glanced away before his eyes could linger on Tatsumi. “HiMERU was simply thanking Oukawa for helping earlier. You were just as helpful, so… you’re welcome to join us.”
“A-ah…” Mayoi pointed his index fingers at each other in an almost automatic habit. “That’s nice of you, HiMERU-san…” He gulped, feeling a little bit embarrassed at HiMERU’s kindness. “But we only did what was expected, so please don’t feel indebted—”
HiMERU had his lips taut and almost let out a sigh. “Yes. We have the same position of work. We’re equals, so there’s no debt involved.” He said, plain and simple. “And so, please allow HiMERU to show his gratitude with this meal.”
“B-but—” Before Mayoi could argue again, Kohaku had already stepped up. “No point in arguin’, Mayoi-han, let HiMERU-han buy ya somethin’.”
Mayoi felt a bit shy, looking at Tatsumi, who only smiled at him. “I think you should take up that offer, Mayoi-san.” He looked at HiMERU, giving him the same smile. “Thank you for your kindness, HiMERU-san. You haven’t changed much, have you?”
HiMERU looked at Tatsumi, almost sneering at the sudden reminiscing. “Just sit, Tatsumi.”
They took their seats—Tatsumi beside HiMERU, Mayoi beside Kohaku. Mayoi noted the deliberate space left between Tatsumi and HiMERU, a quiet distance HiMERU seemed to insist upon, and Tatsumi respectfully kept.
The dinner they had told something more, as if a continuation of what had happened earlier. Tatsumi and HiMERU shared some conversation, but it was much more professional, or some indirect answers whenever Tatsumi asked. With Kohaku with them, Mayoi could tell the difference in how HiMERU treats others compared to how he treats Tatsumi. It was friendly enough not to be noticed by those who don’t know them much, but carries a lot of weight that wasn’t acknowledged by either party, but was just aware.
And now Mayoi was all too aware, thinking it all too much.
And Mayoi did, until he went to bed, finally returning to the dorm after a week’s worth of shooting.
And he thought back to his thoughts earlier and asked.
Was it really a sudden turn of everything?
Or was it just the most noticeable scene from a phenomenon he was already seeing before?
The longer Mayoi sat in his quiet dorm, the more the situation back in the alleyway began to unravel in his mind, not into clarity, but into a series of other moments he hadn’t realized he’d been collecting.
It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed something there.
It had been small things at first, the kind that could be dismissed as a coincidence if Mayoi hadn’t been so… attuned to silences.
It wasn’t just in the filming of Love☆Star.
The distance had been there long before the cameras were set up—Mayoi had simply been too preoccupied to notice.
Not often; they were in different units, their paths only brushing in passing. But those rare overlaps lingered in his memory like stray threads that didn’t quite match the rest of the weave.
He has seen how HiMERU barely acknowledges Tatsumi when they cross paths in the hallways of Ensemble Square. The comments that HiMERU has let out that he heard before when they were struggling in MDM. The way HiMERU would choose to address someone else instead, even if Tatsumi had been the one speaking.
The day before the shooting, they’d crossed paths in the hallway of the venue. Tatsumi had stopped to speak, voice light and careful, but HiMERU’s reply had been short, his gaze already sliding past Tatsumi to some invisible point ahead. No raised voice, no visible anger… yet there was a stillness in the air afterward that clung even as they walked away from each other.
And during filming, those moments were sharper. No lingering glances, no shared laughs. On breaks, they occupied opposite ends of the room. If one moved, the other’s trajectory shifted without a word.
The moment that anchored Mayoi’s suspicion came when Tatsumi offered to carry a stack of costume boxes for HiMERU. The answer had been polite, almost too polite. “That won’t be necessary.” His tone held a finality that needed no explanation.
Tatsumi’s smile thinned, almost imperceptibly, before he stepped back.
Mayoi, watching from the doorway under the pretense of adjusting his scarf, felt a quiet weight settle in his chest.
This wasn’t the friction of mismatched personalities. This was something older, heavier.
And now that he’d noticed it, it followed him like a shadow.
Mayoi knows that HiMERU and Tatsumi had a shared history. Two known idols before their fall, risen again for redemption through their respective units now. He has already heard Tatsumi’s tale back in the sky garden, the time that Tatsumi opened up the wounds that just won’t heal. He knew that there was a hurt between them that was not his to tell, but somehow he couldn’t turn a blind eye to it.
And that scene back in the alleyway made him feel very unsettled about how things were going between them.
He thought of Tatsumi first. That steady, reliable presence that made even the smallest kindness feel deliberate. It wasn’t a surprise to see him reaching out to someone, even if the gesture was met with frost. But there’d been a strain around his eyes this time, a faint downward pull at the corners of his smile.
Then HiMERU, refined, distant, composed to the point of unreachability. Yet Mayoi had caught the briefest flicker in his expression before he’d turned away. Not quite anger. Not quite indifference. Something far more complicated, and far harder to name.
Although one question popped into his mind.
Why should he care?
The distance between Tatsumi and HiMERU shouldn’t have been his concern.
It was not something he should meddle with, nor even be involved at all.
Maybe because he shares the same circle of friends with the two, or because Tatsumi and HiMERU were among the people he had already considered as his friends, from ALKALOID and his leisure circle, respectively. Someone with whom he had already shared memories after almost a year of being an idol.
It wasn’t that he wanted to… involve himself. That would be foolish. Dangerous, even. He was only curious. Concerned, perhaps, as a fellow idol, as a friend.
He told himself it was curiosity, a mentor’s instinct, he could say, piecing together the subtle shifts in tone and movement. But the truth was, these details mattered to him in a way they shouldn’t. He noticed them because he didn’t like seeing them. Because each unspoken slight toward Tatsumi stirred something faintly defensive in him. Each glimpse of HiMERU’s guardedness made him wonder what it would take to soften it.
But the truth, the one he refused to look at directly, was that he didn’t like seeing either of them that way.
And somewhere beneath that, buried deep, was the quiet thought he would never admit: he didn’t like the space between them either.
The questions were stacking faster than the answers.
Whatever this rift was, it wasn’t his to touch.
And yet, he couldn’t stop feeling like he’d already brushed against it.
There must be a way out… or into it.
To them.