Chapter Text
“Sorry for the wait, Sanmeitei-san. They’re ready for you now.” Karashi rises from his seat backstage to enter a private room down the hall, one where he often sees the older Shinuchi sit and have tea. Today, instead of wrinkly old men, there stands a woman in a freshly pressed suit, no more than 35 in age. Once the door closes, they greet each other.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to speak with me today," she says. "The rakugo world is abuzz since you announced your latest collaboration with the Excellence brand.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Please, take a seat. It’s what they’re for.”Karashi gestures to the couch behind her.
“So you have jokes off-stage as well?”
“Occasionally.” He sends his best camera-smile her way.
The reporter, Mizuki Sato, wastes no time with further pretense. She confirms that her team received the necessary paperwork from his agent, and, yes, he is aware anything on record can be published by the magazine she represents. Yes, he is familiar with the interview process.
“Don’t tell me you already forgot? I thought we had something at the end of the Comedy King finals.” Sato-san gives a polite laugh in response. It wasn’t particularly funny, but she appreciates an interviewee with an open, relaxed air. It makes the conversation more natural for both her and her audience.
“In that case, are you ready to start?” Her pen is already poised at the top of her notepad.
“Shoot.”
A true professional, she eases in with a few broad questions about how he feels at this point in his career. He's one of the few Shinuchi to graduate out of the rigorous Sanmeitei school, and even seems positioned to take on the myoseki mantle. Considering the vast amount of students to come out of the, frankly, ancient Enso Sanmeitei, it's no wonder the rakugo community has zeroed their attention on him when he first broke out into the scene. What's truly impressive, however, is that he's kept their attention enough to secure a private interview outside of the competition scene.
When he passively mentions a recent change in his wardrobe, she jumps into the true meat of today’s interview.
“Currently, you’re wearing a custom kimono designed by the Excellence team, no?”
He runs through his lines. “Well, the exact design is actually under the Shiozaki name, a long family line of textile specialists. One of them, Yuki Shiozaki, recently collaborated with Excellence to create kimono that put a modern twist on Japanese heritage. They call the project Neo-Classic. I’m just honored to show off their hard work.”
Admittedly, his compliments aren’t just lip-service to his sponsor. He sports an earthy dark-green haori with square cross-hatch patches tastefully placed on his upper left arm and lower right forearm. Each patched square is bordered by midnight black stripes that match the kimono and hakama pants underneath. There’s a small shimmer of light that reflects from the bit of his under-kimono peaking out, attracting the attention of random onlookers. He’s even traded out his usual shoes for a pair of designer black geta sandals to complete the look. Every aspect of the outfit exudes elegance.
Yuki clearly knew him well enough to pick an outfit to suit his form and personal tastes. And it all fits so comfortably, to boot. Like a second skin. If he didn’t have to give this outfit back by the end of the week, he would sleep in this.
“And the name, 'Neo-Classic,' is that meant to be the reference I think it is?”
“Yeah, it’s not very subtle, is it? It’s a reference to a genre of rakugo, the fake-classic. They use similar spelling for a reason.” Sato spells out the exact letters to confirm with him, then writes it down for reference.
“Was that your suggestion?”
“I wish! No, I’m not one for marketing or fashion.” Untrue. He is very intentional about everything he wears, but he'd rather keep that aspect of his life private.
“Really? You don’t think Koragi-san’s influence has rubbed off on you by now?”
His smile, easy and relaxed before, tightens ever so slightly.
“I’m not sure I’m familiar with a ‘Koragi-san,' but my colleague, Hikaru Arakawa, has certainly been supportive of the Neo-Classic brand.”
The reporter brushes past the hiccup. “Speaking of Arakawa-san, she also seems to be changing up her look lately.”
“Really? You know, I’ve been told I need to be better about picking up these kinds of details.” A blatant lie. To Hanae’s annoyance, he’s the first to point out when she needs a hair trim, adjust the straps of her tops, or iron her blouse after taking it out of the laundry. However, sometimes a little white lie is necessary to ward off particularly nosey reporters.
If she notices the subtle warning, she pays it no heed. “Well, in the same week you debuted your new look up on stage, Arakawa-san was seen performing in a different uniform than usual.” She looks up from her notes, gauging his reaction.
“You know, I’m no journalist, but is that really such jaw-dropping news? Things can get a little monotonous, sitting in the same spot for up to an hour. Sometimes I even think about bringing my own memory-foam cushion.” He lets out a forced chuckle. “I think all rakugoka need to change up their presentation every now and then.”
“Usually, Sanmeitei-san, you would be correct, but most rakugoka don't go out of their way to dress like a married woman for a stage performance, do they?”
His smile remains firmly glued to his face. There have been rumors suggesting a less-than-professional relationship with Hikaru since the start of their careers. Questioning like this was, unfortunately, inevitable. But they usually aren’t this bold.
“Any thoughts as to why Hikaru Arakawa wore a tomesode within days of your Neo-Classic debut?”
Aw, hell no.
Prompt as always, Hikaru picks up the phone within two rings.
“Hello?”
If she’s busy, she’ll send it to voicemail within two rings, too.
“So the Emperor couldn’t wait to try on her new clothes?”
“It was a gift!” she squawked.
“For what? Do you have something to share with the class?” Not all tomesode are designed to be worn by married women, but he also wouldn’t put it past her to elope with Jugemu Girl since the last time he saw them.
“It’s an irotomesode, irotomesode!” Ah, so not necessarily eloping. Engagement is not off the table, though.
“You shouldn’t be so quick to deny,” he says with mock concern, “what if you give your darling the wrong idea?”
“Don’t call her that,” she shot back.
“Ooooh, scary.’”
“Karashi.” Her voice darkens to a deadly degree. It would be a lot more intimidating if her voice wasn’t wobbling.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful around your baby” he drags out the last syllable so it’s sickeningly saccharine, like a roll of taffy.
“It. Was. A. Gift. From her mom.” Her explanation comes out in stilted grunts. Poor girl, each syllable of honesty must give her immense pain.
“Said it didn’t fit her anymore, wasn’t really Akane’s style. She used to wear it to her husband’s rakugo performances…”
That sounds like it had emotional significance. And she gave it away, just like that? She really is Akane’s blood.
“Wow, already got the in-laws wrapped around your finger.”
“Aw, you jealous?” The time it takes for her to regain composure is as annoyingly fast as ever. That, and she knows Karashi didn’t even get to properly meet Hanae’s parents until they were engaged. Despite his accomplishments, they weren’t exactly thrilled to meet a stage actor.
“No, I’m disgusted,” he sticks out his tongue, then quickly shoves it back upon remembering she can’t see his face, “Everyone thinks you’re a delicate flower poised to bloom. They’re blind to the poison warts leaking all over your body.”
“You have such a way with words.”
“And you better be grateful for it. You know my interviewer for the Excellence collab tried to insinuate we’re together? With a coordinated couple's outfit and everything?”
“Aw, hell no.”
“You’re lucky I started geeking-out on fabric dyes until she had no choice but to change the topic.” He briefly recalls the interviewer’s relaxed shoulders when he paused to take a drink of water, only to immediately straighten herself back into work-mode when she realized he wasn’t done talking.
While he would have rather focused on his own art, he knew the main purpose of Excellence arranging the interview was to advertise the Neo-Classic brand as a celebration of “timeless heritage,” trying to tap into a rising young customer base that romanticizes historic aesthetics. It was the whole reason he was able to secure a sponsorship in the first place. He was just grateful they at least brought in someone with experience in covering rakugo journalism.
The bottom line was, she couldn’t brush him off for ranting about different dye agents without coming off as dismissive of a product under a major fashion label, but it was just off-topic enough that he stopped the romantic-fashion-statement narrative right in its tracks. Really, she should be grateful he was literally trained in public relations since he was a middle schooler.
Although Hikaru was well aware of all of this, having experienced the ins-and-outs of being a walking advertisement herself, it didn’t stop her from grabbing an opportunity to take a jab at Karashi. “Fabric dyes? Is that rich boy 101 or something?”
“No,” he replies a bit too quickly, nearly biting his tongue.
It’s childhood friends with the inheritor of a major textile manufacturer 101. How else would he have landed the Excellence opportunity with no prior industry experience? Rakugokas aren’t exactly the most ideal target for brand sponsorships.
“So, yes.” She sees straight through his lies like a witch.
“No, it’s--whatever. Care to enlighten me on what possessed you to wear a tomesode to Kaisei’s event?” He sinks into the couch of his studio apartment. If this is what he thinks it is, it’s going to be a long conversation.
Every once and awhile, Hikaru gets a severe case of tunnel-vision when it comes to Akane. Exhibit A: Competing against Akane at a career-defining event with a rakugo story that directly references her name. Exhibit B: Immediately racing to the ocean shore when Akane said she stayed on the beach overnight to improve her rakugo. Exhibit C: Publicly wearing the formal kimono gifted by her girlfriend’s mom at her own rakugo performance. A kimono typically worn by married women.
“Well, you know how I’ve been goin’ more theatric lately.” It’s a humble way of saying she’s managed to refine her taste for the dramatics to the point that her Karaku Cup performance was like a cheap party trick in comparison. He would never tell her this in so many words, though.
“Kaisei’s event was important, ya know?” The 40th anniversary of the Issho Arakawa school, a perfect reason to show off all their talented new blood. He was aware. “I already had to dress up for the occasion. And if I wore a tomesode, it would help me get in the mindset of a prideful wife, like in the story.” A little crazy, but fortunately not “I spent the night on the beach” crazy.
“But did it have to be the kimono from Akane’s mom? Didn’t you know she was going to see it?” As he spoke, he realized how stupid his question really was. There was only one possible explanation.
“That was kinda the point.” He coud hear the pout in her voice.
This woman…‘the point,’ huh?
Karashi braced himself for the kind of conversation he liked having the least. “Hikaru, have you guys…I mean, did you talk about this with her? Are you both considering marriage?” It was a logical next step. They had already been living together for over a year, now.
Hikaru releases a heavy sigh, pushing out all her nervous energy with it. Her voice goes soft, yet firm in its confidence, “We’re not just ‘considering,’ we’re ready. Of course we are. It’s just…” she trailed off into silence.
Karashi has never been known for his patience. “Just what?”
She mumbles, “Darlin’ said…it’ll be a surprise.”
“Like, a surprise proposal?”
She hummed in affirmation.
“So you, what, thought wearing her mom’s tomesode on stage would give her the green light? Move things along?” He doesn’t bother hiding his exasperation.
Hikaru only offers her silence as explanation. She’s probably pouting again, which is. Fine. Who is he to judge her courting methods? Hikaru only gets this right-lipped when you ask details about what she does with Akane. He can only assumed Akane loved it. The performance, the fit, everything.
Akane loves Hikaru so much she’s planning a surprise proposal. As in, Hikaru’s waiting in anticipation for a promised proposal from Akane Osaki, the most moronic, spontaneous, and horrifyingly capable person he’s ever met. Does she realize what she’s done, giving her this much free reign? Is she prepared to wake up and find her face carved into the moon?
What was the point of a formal proposal if Hikaru was going to pull stunts like this, anyways? Why did Karashi have to get involved in their multi-step flirting routines when he has nothing to with any of it?
He remembers, ruefully, that he was verbally cornered by a journalist for this. He ventured out of his comfort zone for this. This is why he hates having friends. May they live long, healthy lives together, away from him.
“Don’t talk to me again. I’m homophobic now.” He grips the bridge of his nose for support, but it’ll never be enough.
“You’re the one who called me in the first place! You’re bisexual!” She fires back.
“Maybe I’m dealing with some internalized homophobia, hah? Don’t you know bisexuals have to be with exclusively other gay people or it doesn’t count?”
“It’s a bit too early to be joking about that,” her tone noticeably dropping.
“Touché,” Karashi conceded, spoken like a bisexual who has gone to relationship counseling after finding out his own fiancé was unsettled by the infamously self-motivated Karashi being too conscientious as a fiancé to the point she thought the only viable explanation was that he was overcompensating for his sexuality. At the height of her paranoia, she even questioned whether he was hiding an affair with a man.
Needless to say, they cancelled the wedding, prompting several long, mediated discussions about internalized bias and what they both wanted from the relationship.
In their rush for a sense of security in their chaotic lives, it seems they had both let too many things slide off the discussion table, but their inner anxieties never really left. They just became dormant until, evidently, blowing up in his face.
Though he is proud to have made it through that rough spot to reach the life he had now, together with Hanae, a part of Karashi still can’t believe how vulnerable the entire situation made him feel. He would have rather been chewed out by his father for being born.
When Hikaru heard about all of this, she needed to mute herself on the VECTOR call for a solid five minutes just to laugh in Karashi’s face. I muted myself out of respect for Hanae in the room with you, she would later explain.
What about respect for me, asshole? He hissed into the phone.
Hikaru was quick to retort, It’s your own fault for spending your life crafting an aloof, non-chalant persona.He had meant the question rhetorically, but he should have known Hikaru would seize the opportunity to remind him of his place.
The whole tsundere act only works in anime. And in your 30s? Please. Honestly, I knew you guys worked it out after you sent an invite to hang out after weeks of backing out on us. Did you know that, until y’all started dating, you used ta’ never initiate without some work excuse? I ought to thank her personally for losing her marbles on you!
He had hung up soon after that, having breached his max tolerance for embarrassment.
It takes a lot for Karashi to let someone in. Hikaru practically had to drag him, sometimes literally drag him, huffing and grumbling. But with Hanae, he actually wanted to be understood. He wished he could have told her that sooner. It would have saved him a lot of heartache. At least they got there in the end.
He hopes Akane and Hikaru are not hoping for a summer wedding. Sharing an anniversary month would just be so tacky.
“Well, congrats on your not-engagement, I guess.”
He lets her get in one indignant, “Oi, wha’ did ya just say?!” before he hangs up, noticing how her screeching voice was so different from the small, shy tone from just a few minutes ago.
‘Darlin’ said…
Ugh. He had another phone call to make.