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The hour before a Live is a sugary, fatty, carb-filled bliss. It’s a comforting ritual Niki has established early on during his and Rinne’s duo days, and dutifully kept up ever since: he finds a quiet place, a vacant room or a forgotten corner, spreads the bright yellow tablecloth with the smiley carrot print, sets up an all-you-will-eat buffet just for himself, and indulges in peaceful quiet only filled with the sound of his munching and the unrivaled pleasure of stuffing his stomach to the brim.
It’s what gets him through what follows. A Live means two hours of burning calories at rapid speed. And even when the staff nowadays prepares what they dubbed a pic-Niki basket backstage for him to recharge energy when the lights go off between songs, he needs to fill up as much as he can beforehand. Being an idol is more than the promise of a full fridge now, he gives his all.
Today he’s especially pumped: he managed to snatch the dressing room and its comfy couch, all to himself. Not that he really had to do anything for it, the room practically emptied itself. Rinne’s obnoxious aura vanished the moment he deemed his makeup perfect after requesting three touch-ups, HiMERU and Kohaku excused themselves shortly after, said they wanted to discuss something with the producer. They were all suspiciously focused and quiet today, kept throwing each other glances and whispering when they thought Niki wouldn’t notice. Not that he asked about any of it, he’ll find out soon enough, hopefully he won’t. It’s probably one of Rinne’s plans he doesn’t want to be involved in.
He refocuses on the important things in life, leans back on the couch and takes in his work: three licked-clean bento boxes, five plastic wrappers that used to cover curry bread, and two empty bottles of sugary iced tea he washed it all down with. He nods to himself, a little proud, if he’s honest. He unwraps the pudding roll he saved for last, to top it all off. “Never be content, always want more,” is one of Rinne’s rare wisdoms, at least in a food context.
Speaking of, his curses drift in from the hallway. Something about “That lazy bastard.” It makes Niki frown, there’s only one person he calls a ‘bastard’ nowadays, and it usually means he wants to wrestle or pull on Niki’s hair. The day would have been too good to be true.
“Niki, are ya still here?” Rinne peeks through the door. “We’re on in ten.”
Niki blinks.
“Ten?”
He checks the time on his phone. Rinne would lie about this just to see Niki scramble and laugh at him, but, to his horror, it says the same. Maybe he’s been dawdling around a little too much today.
“I’m not ready!” He still shoves the entire pudding roll into his mouth, chokes on it as he tries to swallow it down, hurries in front of the mirror to change something about this… very unfortunate fact.
Rinne curses. “You’re only wearing half of your shit, you fucking idiot!”
“Help me!” Niki presses out around half-chewed dough and in between coughing fits, as he tries to make sense of all of the shiny pieces on the accessory tray. He can never remember what goes where.
Rinne groans, but moves over, claps him on the back a few times. Roughly, but it does the trick. Niki doesn’t die and the pudding roll finally goes down the right pipe. The rest of his outfit finds its place on him in a blur. Niki shrugs on the jacket, clips the earrings in place, Rinne ties the sash at his hips, straightens the bow around his neck, adds a chain here and there, gropes his ass.
Niki gives himself a look-over in the mirror once the tray is empty. It looks okay enough, he thinks. And even if he doesn’t, being endearingly messy is his trademark, according to the producer. Rinne puts a hand on Niki’s chin and wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, probably to remove any evidence. “You’re such an airhead.”
“You’re running late, too.” Niki kisses the pad of his thumb, hoping it’ll sooth his temper. Usually, Rinne picks him up earlier, so they have a little more time for this, too. And Niki wishes he would have, Rinne tastes even better than pudding roll.
“Was preparing something, but I just came up with a better idea,” Rinne says with a smug grin. “Gimme your hand.”
Niki presses his lips together at the confirmation that his hunch was correct, and the fact that a ‘better idea’ coming from Rinne only means it’ll get worse. Still, he does as he’s told. There’s something missing.
Rinne adds the most important part of the outfit: the ring Niki is supposed to kiss at the end of Honey Trap Marriage, their first song today. Rinne meets his eyes as he slides the cool metal onto Niki’s finger, still grinning, but with a flirty edge, now.
“Pretty romantic, don’tcha think?” Rinne says. “Just you and me, in these outfits, me putting a ring on your finger…”
Niki rolls his eyes at the teasing. “You’d have to put in a little more effort. Like getting on your knees.”
Rinne barks a laugh. “Not my style.”
Before Niki can retort anything, someone calls their names. Rinne grabs him by the wrist, and they rush out of the dressing room and down the hallway. HiMERU and Kohaku are already waiting right behind the stage, expressions exasperated but fond when Niki flashes them a grin, and Rinne claims the real stars of the show are always late. Each of them gets touched up by the makeup artist one last time, and then they’re sent out on stage.
Up there, it’s a cooking pot. The spotlights are hot on Niki’s skin, the crowd is a boiling mass around them. Music blasts from the speakers, shakes every corner of the hall that’s a sea of glowing lights waving in rhythm with the beat. Their fans cheer and scream, the lyrics echo in hundreds of voices.
Adrenaline pumps through his body, his blood rushes in his ears, tingling in his fingertips and toes, his heart gives its all, his body moves by itself as he dances and sings and laughs. It’s fun. It’s so, so much fun. The energy is dizzying, this song is one of his favorites, and it’s almost bittersweet when they near the end.
He brings his knuckles to his face for the next part, his lips close to place a kiss on there—only to freeze right before they make contact.
This isn’t the right ring.
The one he’s supposed to wear is flashy, features a big stone. This one is a simple, golden band, and its simplicity has a weight to it that leaves him lightheaded. This isn’t a costume, this isn’t a stage prop. This is something to wear every single day, for the rest of his—
He thinks about Rinne’s comments in the dressing room and how he slid the ring on. Just the one.
The stage becomes a blur as realization hits him.
The song continues without him, around him. Out of the corner of his eye he sees HiMERU and Kohaku immediately adjusting their choreography to cover for what they must think is a slip-up. They move to the front of the stage, continue with the chorus on their own, and the spotlight shifts away from him.
He whirls around, and to his side.
Just a few steps over, Rinne is beaming, still dancing. He doesn’t need the spotlight. The stage is where he shines, where he belongs, where he’s home. Even when his legs are wobbly and his eyes are wet and his face is flushed pink.
Even when all he sees is Niki.
Rinne holds up his hand, there’s a matching band around his own ring finger. He brings it to his lips to kiss it. It’s a question.
Niki huffs out a teary laugh. This is Rinne’s style: in front of everyone and still just between them. When he’s fully himself, when Niki can’t even give his answer with words. When he knows they will bicker about it later. He wouldn’t have it any other way. This is his home, too.
He finally closes the distance, kisses the warm metal. It’s his answer.