Work Text:
Freestyle has always been Riki's element.
Feeling the bass throbbing through the floor, into his feet and the rest of his body; the sweat dripping down his forehead and against the nape of his neck barely cooling him as he moves. It's him and the music, the whole rest of the room fading away into nothing.
The song ends, as does the moment. The whooping and cheering of his other classmates are distantly audible, pumping his body full with confidence.
There's a hand at Riki's shoulder; when he looks up at the mirror again, it's his dance instructor. There's a small, proud smile playing on his face.
"Nice isolations, Taki," he comments. There's always something in his expression, like quiet determination and pride. It's worlds beyond the way their old teacher would scold him, cruel and mean-spirited.
Riki breathes out a sigh of relief. He's been working on his isolations for the past few weeks now, always something to be picked out and critiqued; he's glad the work is finally paying off. But…
"I want to go again," Riki says, breathing still laboured. There's something about dance that makes him greedy; an insatiable hunger for movement.
His instructor laughs, a quiet, giggly noise that sounds slightly ridiculous coming from the well-built man before him, but somehow, it works.
"Not today. You remember what I told you?" he asks, walking over to pull his phone off the speaker dock and shove it in his pocket.
"That I shouldn't over do it," Riki recounts, sighing. He's right, though; the last time he danced through exhaustion, he ended up badly rolling an ankle and not being able to dance for a whole week. His dad had said the exact same thing, frequently chastising him for being so obsessed with dance. Funny he should say that, Taki thinks.
"Mhm. We all want to practice as much as Jo likes to, but… we all need rest eventually. You've been at it for a while now. Go home, have dinner."
Riki nods with a yawn, picking up his bottle to furiously swallow down some water before he shoves it into his bag, zipping it all up. Everyone else seems to be doing the same, saying their goodbyes before heading out. He can see Maki waiting for him at the door.
"Great work today, everyone! See you on Saturday. And don't forget — next weekend, we're showing off what you've all learnt to everyone" their instructor says, picking up his own bag. An Eevee charm rattles as he hauls his bag onto his back and leaves with a wave.
Riki makes his way over to Maki, and they both start walking down the stairs.
"You were kinda crazy at the end there," Maki comments, nudging him.
"Ah, really?" Riki says, scratching at the nape of his neck sheepishly.
"Yeah, dude! I was watching like, wow, I wish I could freestyle like that. I'm still kinda shit at that sorta thing."
Riki hums. "It's all just… lots of practice, I guess. Same with your singing." Maki only took these classes in the first place to improve his dancing skills for musical theatre; he mainly worked on his overall skills by practising choreography.
"Yeah, I guess so," Maki says, as they end up on the street and start making their way home. It's already dark, streetlights barely illuminating the sidestreets on their makeshift footpaths. "It's good to have Fuma, though. He's insanely good at dancing, right?"
Riki nods furiously. "You know he's danced with idols, right? And in America?"
Maki looks at Riki, wide-eyed. "Seriously? Woah…" he trails off, in awe. "What's he doing at some random old dance academy then, huh?"
Riki's got no idea, either. He always figured that anyone that managed to get into back-up dancing with serious artists had basically made it - what made him come and start working for their academy for the past month, he had no clue.
"Well, either way… I'm glad to have him with us, especially with the showcase upcoming. Much nicer than the other guy, that's for sure." Riki could agree with that; their last instructor had berated Jo enough to make him cry. That had been enough for all of them.
"He's kinda like your dad, in a way."
Riki's brows knit. "Huh? You think so?"
"He's kinda… silly."
Maki is right about that. They'd recently watched Fuma stuff a burger into his mouth in four bites and then insist he could fit another one in. But to compare Fuma to his dad…
"I don't mean anything bad by it!" Maki shakes his head furiously. "I just thought, like… maybe they'd get along. They're the same age, aren't they?"
Riki shrugs. He can't really tell, to be honest, but Maki's kind of right—they probably would get along. His dad has surprisingly few friends, too; maybe he needs an introduction.
They reach the front of Riki's house, and he says bye to Maki. He can't shake the thought from his mind, though; what if…
The door bursts open in front of him.
"Riki!" his dad shouts enthusiastically. "You're back! Come, come, dinner's already on the table," he says as he ushers Riki into the house. He's pretty sure Maki just heard that entire spiel. He'd be more embarrassed about it if Maki weren't already greatly familiar with his dad's unabashed flamboyance.
"Alright, alright," Riki says, shucking his shoes off and a pair of slippers on before dumping his bag and sitting down at the table. There's a variety of things prepared; grilled chicken, rice, a variety of side dishes, and a little bowl of soup. He's not even sure when his dad had the time to do this in the first place, given he probably got home barely before Riki.
"How's dance going?" His dad says, pulling up his shirt sleeves to his elbows and sitting down opposite him.
Riki nods, mouth already full of chicken. "Good," he says through the mouthful.
"Don't eat with your mouth full like that, Riki," his dad whines, head propped up by his hand . "Didn't I teach you not to do that?"
"Sorry, sorry," he says, once he's swallowed. "Um. Good, yeah. Got compliments on my isolations today."
His dad's eyes widen, animated surprise clear on his face. "Really? Ah, that teacher must be so much better than the last one! You're actually getting complimented for real, now." He reaches over the table, ruffling Riki's hair with a look of pride in his eyes. Riki leans into it as he picks up a bowl of salad.
"Your hair's getting longer — do you want to get it cut again?"
"No, it's fine. Kinda like it like this." His hair's started to fall over his eyes, over the nape of his neck; he finds himself liking it more than he'd ever thought. At least their school doesn't have any rules about hair length.
"Hm. Mine's getting longer, too. Wonder if I should cut it…"
Riki squints at his dad. He hasn't had shorter hair in a few years, now; he's used to seeing him with longer hair.
"It looks good like that."
His dad smiles at him. "You think so?"
Riki nods genuinely as his dad's eyes crinkle. For a man who's looked after a kid for just under ten years, he certainly doesn't look it.
"You know I had really short hair once, when you were a baby? Like a bouzu."
"Huh? Really?" Riki laughs.
"I'm serious! Back in those days, I only cared about running."
"Do you have any pictures from back then?"
"Oh, we've got some somewhere here, I think… I wonder where," His dad questions, face twisting in thought. "Ah, well. I'll find them another time; I'm too hungry to even think about it."
"Just eat, dad."
"Fine, fine," he sighs, picking up his chopsticks and digging in. He moans around his first bite of food. "Oh, man. This is so good."
Riki laughs around his own mouthful, his dad's dramaticism never disappointing.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," his dad starts, swallowing. "I'll be, um. Out, um, on Saturday night."
Riki raises a brow. "Out? What, like out with your friends, or—"
"Yeah! Yeah, out with friends. But don't worry! It's not next week, so I won't miss your performance, of course."
Riki carefully watches the way his dad attempts to divert the topic before he hurriedly returns to eating, heaping a bunch of rice haphazardly into his mouth.
"You're going on a date, aren't you?"
His dad nearly starts to choke on his food, leaning forward. He eyes Riki over the top of his bowl.
"You're too observant for your own good, Takayama Riki."
An easy silence sets over the two of them as they keep eating, but Riki realises he can't help but be curious.
"Do you know anything about… them?"
His dad shakes his head, swallowing. "Him. And no, not really. Damn ladies at work being all secretive about it," he grumbles.
"Maybe it'll be good, then," Riki says optimistically.
"I dunno," his dad responds, hesitance clear in his voice even if he's trying to remain even-toned. "These things… hm," he stops himself from saying more.
But Riki knows his dad too well. He can't recall a time when his father has ever introduced a partner to him, and the thought fills him full of something grim and raw. He knows people really like his dad; what was stopping him from having a partner?
"But it doesn't matter either way, does it? 'Cause I've got you," he says, reaching across the table to pinch Riki's cheek.
Riki smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
When Taki comes downstairs the following Sunday morning, a bunch of boxes is admittedly the last thing he expects to see.
He pauses at the first one, looking up at his dad, rifling through one of the boxes. Clearly, the date didn't really go well.
"Um," he says, gingerly moving the box out of his way to the kitchen. "Are we moving house, or something?"
His dad looks up at him, down at the boxes, and back up at Riki, open mouthed.
"I—no, don't be silly! I'm looking through these boxes of photos and things that I packed away. Haven't really looked at them since you were a kid, I don't think," he says.
"Ah…" Taki says. Now that he looks more closely, his dad's rifling through a photobook. He sees himself there, he's pretty sure, with his birth parents.
His dad sighs, tapping his finger over one photo, with his birth parents holding Riki and smiling. "I still miss them, you know? My sister especially." There's a sad, reminiscent look on his face.
Riki can barely remember them, to be honest. They had died when he was five. His oldest memories are of Yudai; he might technically be his uncle, but it had never mattered to Riki.
"I'll leave these here, yeah? I'm going out to see Euijoo and Nico. You can keep looking through, though — you might find something fun," he smiles. "There's lunch in the fridge, just reheat it if you're hungry."
"Yeah, I know," he mumbles as his dad pulls at his cheeks briefly before walking to the entrance hall.
"See you later!" he calls.
Riki waves at his dad as he shuts the door.
Yawning, he turns back to the boxes piled across their small living room. He stares at all of them for a moment, eyes curiously drifting to each of the different coloured and sized storage boxes. He never knew they had so many.
His eyes fall on the smallest one; an easy one to look through. Stepping through the boxes to reach it, he carefully carries it to the couch and pulls its lid off.
There's a pile of photographs at the top, face down, and he flips them over.
Riki squints, looking more closely at the first photo on the pile. It's definitely his dad — his hairstyle is much shorter, like Riki remembers it from his childhood. And—
Riki sucks in a breath.
Smiling next to him in a gleeful selfie is unmistakeably Murata Fuma.
He leans in closer, barely able to believe it. He flips through more photos, each of them depicting Yudai, Fuma, or the both of them together. The hairstyles change, as does the clothing, like the photographs were taken over a long period of time.
Below all the images are a bundled set of postcards and letters. A pit grows in Riki's stomach. If apprehension hadn't yet set in when he'd first opened the box, then, well. It certainly has now.
He picks up the postcard at the top of the pile, barely glances at the contents. I miss you, it says. I'll be back in Japan before you know it, another line says. On the other side, a picture of a beach; Greetings from Santa Monica! says the garish type below.
"Shit," Riki whispers.
He stands up, patting down his sweatpants for his phone before realising he'd left it upstairs. He stumbles over the boxes, hurrying to get it, and once he does, he's frantically texting his group chat with the others.
taki: guys help
taki: ive just found something crazy
taki: come here quick
catboy: ????
taki: [picture]
taki: [picture]
taki: [picture]
He sends through a few of the photographs, just for good measure.
dogboy: HOLY SHIT
haru: is that your dad and fuma??
jojo: :o
dogboy: omw rn dude i'm not missing this
catboy: lol same
True to their word, the four of them are over within the next hour. It takes Maki mere minutes but Harua, who lives just outside the city on his family's farm, slightly longer; the two others in between.
They all sit around his living room, passing photos, postcards and letters around. Each new letter that Riki sees feels like a gut punch once he works out the timeline; From barely three months after his parents had passed to nearly two years after. They place each postcard and letter in a row, based on the dates, and the story slowly becomes clear to them all.
"This is the last one, I think," Jo says, sombre.
"Read it," Riki insists quietly. "I want to hear it."
Jo sucks in a quiet breath, readjusting himself to sit comfortably.
"To my Yudai," he starts. "It's been a while since I've heard from you. With how much work you've had to pick up, and looking after little Riki, it must be tough, right? I didn't think I should send this one in a text, or call you to tell you this, so I've sent you this letter.
"The truth is, I think we've both been holding onto this relationship when we know it's not feasible for either of us. I guess both of us have always been stubborn like that. But as much as I've wanted to be there with you, or you here with me in America, we both know neither of those things are possible.
"Do you remember when we first met? When you told me you were grateful I was around because we were dancers of the same age, even among all the younger kids training. I've always been grateful for you, too; for all those dance practice sessions, those video calls that were so late at night for you, all the sleep you missed trying to look after Riki and keep in contact with me. If circumstances were better, this never would've happened. I love you, and I miss you. I'm sorry, Yudai."
The silence that overtakes the five of them is oppressive; for Riki, perhaps the most so. His dad has never mentioned dating, or any previous partners, or anything like that, as far as Riki can remember. Now, it's clear why.
"We've got to do something about it, don't we?" Maki asks, and Yuma pokes him in the side to make him yelp. "What? What? It sounds like they were in love or whatever, and had to break up because of the circumstances, right? What's stopping them now?"
"It's not your decision, Maki. It's Taki's," Yuma says, poking Riki on the leg. The four of them look over at Riki.
"I don't know," Riki says quietly, fiddling with one of his cuticles, the nail already chewed clean. "I already feel like I've invaded his privacy. What if he gets mad?"
"I don't think I've ever seen that man angry in the whole time I've known him, but sure, hypothetically, he could get mad. But what if this makes him, like, really happy?" Yuma asks. "You've said it yourself, he's a workaholic. All he does is eat, sleep, run or work. It's not even like you have to actively make them date again, right? Maybe all they need is a little… nudge."
"Sounds like you've already got something in mind," Harua says, poking him.
"Maybe I do," Yuma replies, poking him back, slightly harder. Jo catches Harua's hand before he can attempt to do anything else, and Yuma squints at him suspiciously.
"C'mon, don't start fighting over this whole thing," Maki whines. "Just tell us what the plan is."
Yuma rolls his eyes, but suddenly he's looking determined, like he's got no doubt that whatever he's got up his sleeve will succeed. As soon as Riki sees it even he's leaning in, curiosity overtaking his fear.
"So, I was thinking…"
If there's anything that can make Jo go even further overboard than he usually does, it's an upcoming showcase he's anxious to prove himself for.
"Just—just one more, I promise," Jo insists, determination in his eyes, staring himself down in the mirror while Harua throws his head back in frustration and exhaustion next to him.
"You're killing me here, Jojo," Maki wheezes as he leans over to catch his breath.
"C'mon, let's finish up for now, Jo," Yuma insists. Riki's on the floor; he can barely even stand, with the number of run-throughs they've done under Jo's leadership. He's not sure why they even put Jo in charge, knowing they'd be tortured into extra practice like this.
Fuma watches them all at the mirror, arms crossed. At least Fuma was insane enough to agree with their extra hours of practice.
"No, I agree. Harua, your lines need a bit of work; Yuma, you need to pull back slightly," he starts. "You all know you've still got that little bit more to work on before tomorrow's performance. You all want to show your families what you've been working on, right? Show them your absolute best."
Riki stands back up with a grunt, wobbly, wiping sweat off his face with the hem of his t-shirt. He looks at Fuma through weary eyes, and he sees the same bold motivation that he sees in his dad. It's almost crazy, the fact that he hadn't seen it before. Riki looks down, sees the glaring bareness of Fuma's left ring finger. Maybe both of them have been just as lonely as each other, this whole time.
But how would Riki really know? After so many years apart, who's to say he's right to try to push them back together?
"—Taki? You there, Taki?"
Fuma's suddenly right in front of him, concern clear on his face, and Riki immediately snaps out of his daze.
"Yeah! Uh, yeah. I'm totally fine," Riki says, running a hand through his hair, swallowing drily. "Yeah."
He sees Yuma give him an incredulous look from the side; one of those dude, what the fuck are you doing? looks. He's not sure, either.
"Alrighty… then. So—" Fuma quirks a brow, starting to wander off.
"Uh, Fuma?" Riki asks before he can stop himself. Fuma turns back, pausing.
"Are you bringing anyone with you to the show?"
The others look at Riki with varying levels of shock. Maki's making a cut it out right now motion out of Fuma's line of sight, and Harua's got his head in his hands.
Fuma twists his head, furrowing his brow. "Uh…" he trails off. "…No, I don't suppose I was intending to. Why?"
Riki's mouth is stuck open, and his mind-body connection is slightly too slow to give a timely reaction to that.
'Um. No reason," he bails out. What was he even thinking?
"…Okay, then. Let's get back to practice, shall we?"
Riki's never been happier for an extended rehearsal before.
Riki snaps back into reality when the car finally stops in front of the town hall; the location for their showcase tonight. It really was happening, tonight. They were performing in front of so many people, and potentially scouts, and then his dad, and Fuma—
There's a warm hand on his knee, halting it from its incessant shaking. Riki looks up at his dad; he hadn't even realised he was doing it until his dad had stopped it.
"You always do that when you're this nervous," Yudai muses.
"I can't help it," Riki says, quietly.
"Of course I know that. You're allowed to be nervous. But you're going to do just fine, tonight. Even better than fine! You're going to do amazing," his dad insists, squeezing his leg.
Riki smiles, putting his own hand on top of his dad's. "Thanks, dad."
With a breath, he pushes the car door open, and rushes into the building to meet everyone.
It's packed, and the noise levels are through the roof, as is the tension. All he can see in the sea of other kids is Fuma, who quickly pushes through to get to him.
"Ah! There you are, Riki. The others are all waiting for you in the green room," Fuma says, patting him on the back. "I'll see you soon. Good luck!"
"Thank you!" he shouts back, attempting to cut through all the building noise of the other performers. He wades through the rest of the crowd, and it gets slightly quieter when he gets to the rehearsal rooms. The pit in his stomach is worsening by the second; no matter how many times he might perform, the stage fright doesn't always get easier. He's sure it's not just that weighing on him, either.
Before he can react, he's being pulled over to the side by Harua. Everyone else really is already there, already decked out in their stage clothes. Yuma's busy applying some kind of glitter, or something, to his eyelids.
"There you are!" Maki says.
"Ah, sorry, sorry. We got caught in traffic," Riki apologises.
"Never mind that, Taki— is he here?" Yuma would probably have whispered this elsewhere, but with all the noise, he's forced to shout at Riki from where he stands with one glittery eyelid.
"Who, my dad? He's probably in the audience by now."
"Okay, yeah, that's great and all, but like," Maki squints, "how are we actually going to do this?"
Riki doesn't know. He's actively trying not to think about it, if he's being honest, because every time he does, he just thinks about all the ways this could go horribly wrong.
"Can we just… not worry about it, for now?" he asks, looking down. "I want to focus on doing well here."
When he looks back up again, the rest of them are nodding, and Riki feels relief surge through him even through all the anxiety.
"Let's do this," Jo says, a hand on Riki's shoulder.
The music stops, but the pounding of Riki's heart continues. The cheering is near deafening, and in the corner of his line of sight, obstructed by the hair in his eyes, he can see Yudai standing and clapping furiously. He'd be embarrassed about his dad's dramatic antics if he didn't feel similarly overwhelmed.
It was over. It was really over. All these weeks of practice, finally feeling like he'd truly improved as a dancer, improved in this team, all thanks to Fuma.
The five of them bow, rushing off stage.
"Holy shit," Yuma laughs through heaving breaths. Jo's wiping copious amounts of sweat from his head, Harua's already running to their water bottles, and Maki's red faced and in awe. Riki's so buzzed he's almost nauseous with the feeling.
"That was so fucking good, right? How did we even do that?" Maki asks, incredulous.
"With a lot of hard work, boys."
They all turn to see Fuma, a proud smile on his face. They crowd around him, desperation for feedback overwhelming them.
"Did you see my popping? It was better, right?"
"I didn't mess up the timing on the jump!"
"Everyone was cheering so loudly—"
Fuma laughs bodily, gesturing for them to follow him back to the green room.
"It was perfect. You should all be very proud of yourselves for the skills you've developed in such a short time."
"All thanks to your help, teach," Maki says with a grin.
Fuma looks down with a smile, shaking his head. "No, I didn't do anything, really. It was all up to you boys."
"That's not true!" Yuma argues.
"Yeah, the last guy really sucked, so…" Harua sucks his teeth.
"I really would've quit if he'd stayed," Jo quietly admits.
"We're glad you're our teacher, Fuma," Riki manages to pipe up.
If Fuma's red ears are anything to tell by, he's flustered by the compliments. "Well, uh…" he trails off. "We've still got to wait till the awards at the end of the night, so let's keep watching, and see how everything goes."
If Yudai's reaction to their performance had been intense, well. When they win performance of the night, it's amped to eleven, tears barely starting to stream down his dad's face. Riki kind of wants to cry himself too, if he's being honest, or scream, or something. Instead, he grips his medal, and desperately hopes that this feeling — the unbridled happiness, overwhelming appreciation — can continue.
When they get off the stage again, Yuma's nudging him.
"Hey, Taki," he murmurs into Riki's ear. "You think we can convince Fuma to come to the foyer with us?"
Riki's stomach lurches again. He's been trying to forget about it, really. This is make or break for him; succeed, and make his dad even happier; fail, and disappoint him immeasurably.
"Yeah. Let's do it," Riki decides. This is it.
"Hey, plan's a-go," Yuma calls out to the others. Harua immediately leaps into action, running over to Fuma.
"Would you come out to the foyer with us, Fuma? Our parents really want to meet you," Harua asks, dialling up his charm.
Fuma looks slightly taken-aback. "Oh, uh…" he shifts, awkwardness quickly becoming apparent.
"Please? Hey, Taki's dad especially wants to meet you," Maki insists dramatically. Several heads jerk in his direction, Harua subtly pinching Maki on the arm.
Fuma smiles, still appearing confused, but follows them nonetheless.
When they finally make it out, the others are rushing to their parents as soon as they see them. For a tall man, Riki's dad does a remarkably good job at blending into a crowd. When Riki finally sees him, a small bouquet in his dad's hands and a massive smile, he can't help but do exactly the same as the others. His dad envelops him in a tight hug, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around him.
"My baby…" Yudai blubbers. "I'm so proud of you, you were so amazing tonight."
Riki can only laugh. "Only because of everyone else."
"Don't say that!" his dad chastises, pulling away from the hug to look him in the eyes. "It's all the hard work you've been putting into it. Oh! And that new teacher, where is he—" and he starts to search across the room, eyes straining.
Riki's mouth opens, but he finds himself unable to speak. He turns his head in the direction they'd all come from, and suddenly the crowds of people part like they're in some kind of drama, and—
"Oh," Yudai breathes out, arm loosening, bouquet nearly falling out of his grip.
Riki's never seen Fuma look so shocked before, shrinking back into himself like he's trying to hide it. But the next second, it's like the two of them have completely switched gears, Fuma approaching with a smile, and a similar one on Yudai's face that Riki sees again when he turns to stand at his dad's side.
"I'm Riki's dance teacher, Murata Fuma. It's lovely to meet you," Fuma says, proffering his hand.
Yudai shakes it with a slight bow. "Likewise! I'm Riki's father, Koga Yudai. Thank you for looking after Riki's dancing. I hear you're a wonderful teacher," he says, positively, smiling brightly.
"Oh, I don't know about that. These boys are just so talented, you see," Fuma deflects, a similar smile on his face.
Riki dares to look down where they're still shaking hands, both squeezing each other so tightly it looks like they're both losing blood flow.
"Um," Riki says slowly, barely wanting to interrupt the moment. It jolts them apart nonetheless.
"Oh, look at the time!" Yudai feigns looking at his watch (the one Riki knows for a fact doesn't work, since his dad hasn't had time to get the battery replaced). "Riki and I have a dinner reservation to get to, and I'm sure you've got something to do now, too—"
Fuma smiles, but it's tense, and doesn't really reach his eyes. "Yes, of course. I'll see you around." His eyes dart between Riki and Yudai, noteably resting on Yudai once more before he turns and walks quickly away.
"Let's get going," Yudai says, putting a hand on Riki's shoulder and turning them both the opposite direction. When he looks up at his dad, the façade is gone.
The mood at dinner doesn't get any better. Riki's almost devoured an entire rice bowl, while his dad's barely made it through half. There's some kind of conversation flowing between them, but neither of them are invested in it; Riki in his anxious avoidance, and Yudai in whatever mood he's put himself into since seeing Fuma.
Yudai sighs, putting down his chopsticks and instead putting his head in his hands, rubbing at his temple.
"You went through that box, didn't you?"
Riki pauses, mouth full, caught like a deer in the headlights. He chews, once, twice, and nods.
His dad lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. Sorry, no, I'm not mad, I just didn't mean to put that box out with the others. It wasn't something you were meant to know about."
"I'm sorry, dad," Riki responds after swallowing. "I just... when I realised, I thought that this might be something I could, you know," he trails off. "Do for you…"
Yudai sighs again, but he's looking at Riki with an infinite amount of love in his eyes.
"What did I ever do to get such a good kid like you?" he asks, smiling gently. "You don't need to worry about it, okay?"
"But what happened? In the end, with Fuma," Riki asks, a burst of tonight's courage still left in him.
"Uh…" his dad looks up in thought. "I guess you could say it was just right person, really wrong time. Or circumstances."
"Because of me?"
"Because it was my choice to take you on, not his. We had all these grand plans, right? Becoming idols together, taking on the world stage, and all," Yudai looks down, grasping his cup, and swirling the melting ice in it around. "And then I got the news. At the time, your grandparents were already dealing with enough, so I offered to take you. Not long after, Fuma was offered the chance to dance in the US. As much as we wanted it to work, it just… it just couldn't."
Riki nods, but he isn't sure of anything, anymore. Any time that he thinks he might understand anything about the situation between his dad and Fuma, uncertainty ebbs closer and closer.
"I'm sorry to have gotten your hopes up about all this, baby." Yudai says, reaching over to smooth Riki's hair, gelled up strands falling out of place.
When his dad pulls away again, they both get back to eating. It seems like Yudai's regained his appetite, because he's ravenously eating through the rest of the bowl as Riki finishes the last of his.
"Hey, dad?"
Yudai looks up from his bowl, still chewing, and makes an affirmative noise.
"Do you think it'd ever work out, if you tried again?"
His dad freezes, brow furrowing as he keeps chewing.
It's silent for a while; Riki almost gives up on hearing a response. Maybe he'd annoyed his dad with that last question.
"Who knows," Yudai finally answers. "That was a whole other part of my life, and of his. We were just kids back then. Maybe I'd be a little too neurotic for him now."
Riki's not too sure about that, but he's not about to argue with his dad about whether or not he'd be compatible with his ex. Maybe it really is just in the past now.
"Speaking of, I've got another blind date tomorrow night."
"Oh? Another?"
His dad nods, finishing off his bowl. "Not that I'm really in the mood for it again, but Euijoo insisted. Said he was a really nice guy and all, so I guess I'll indulge him…"
"Maybe it'll be good this time," Riki offers. In the end, it's not about him at all. He just wants the best for his dad, after everything he's done for Riki.
Yudai smiles wistfully. "Maybe it will be."
Yudai's not quite sure what he's doing anymore.
Almost every day in the past week, he's been reminded of how long it's been since his life changed forever; since Riki became his permanent responsibility, and Fuma grew further and further away until he was no longer Yudai's.
What a trade. Back then, when it had all first happened, it really had been like the end of the world for Yudai. The end of his dream, the end of his sister's life, the end of his relationship, all for reasons out of his control. It was like some cruel joke; an unending nightmare. There he was, twenty-three and left with his five-year-old nephew, all his friends left at his agency in Korea. Suddenly, there was nobody his age that he could relate to, and he was left figuring out how to look after a young child with little support.
Fuma had begged Yudai to let him come and help. Yudai had refused; how could he take down two dreams at a time? This was Yudai's responsibility, not Fuma's.
But nevertheless, Yudai was selfish. Too selfish to let go of Fuma, even as their lives diverged further and further. He never wanted to be the one to end things, but it was inevitable, at a certain point. It was unfeasible for him to spend his days working or looking after Riki, and his nights on the phone. Sleepless nights turned into sleepless months, running on nothing but fumes and coffee. More often than not, he'd fall asleep before even being able to talk to Fuma, sending him apologetic text after text. He knew it wasn't sustainable, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.
He can remember the day things had all changed. Fuma, ever the non-confrontational man, had thought it would be better to break up over letter, of all methods of communication. At that point, when Yudai had finished reading through everything - finished tearing through his heart with each passing sentence - he had sat down on his bed and cried. The weight of his new world had crashed down around him, a hermetic seal of loneliness.
And then suddenly, there was light; dim, fluttering, from a distance, and he was waking up. It was the next morning, and there was a weight next to him; Riki, curled up into his side.
He had jolted up, sleep still crusted in his eyes, and properly looked at the boy there. The spitting image of Yudai's sister, in miniature form. He'd made a promise to himself back then, when he'd first taken Riki in; that he'd put all his effort into looking after Riki, just as his sister had.
It was at that point that he realised he needed to make good on that promise, for once.
And now he's thirty-two, and he hasn't had a long-term partner since. Too busy when he was younger, besides the fact that no sane person in their mid-twenties would date someone with a child, at least by Yudai's standards. Nobody has ever come close to Yudai's standards — if you count Murata Fuma as a standard, of course. But moving on — god, has Yudai tried, recently. With Riki now starting high school, settled, happily dancing and doing well at school, he knows it's time to look out for himself, as Euijoo and Nicholas have attempted to tell him on numerous occasions.
Seeing Fuma last night was a mistake. A blip in the system, an anomaly. They weren't ever supposed to meet again; Fuma was supposed to live successfully in the US, find some wonderful man, and move on, not find himself back in suburban Japan, teaching a bunch of school kids how to dance. But it's fine; Yudai won't ever see him again, more than for a few seconds. Polite interactions, Yudai can do.
And maybe that's why he's here, at some swanky bar, closer to the city centre, nursing a negroni. He doesn't even like the damn drink, if he's being honest, but he's doing a few things out of his comfort zone either way, and the bitterness is keeping him alert.
Maybe Riki's right. Maybe he'll finally meet someone who'll actually get him, and he'll be able to properly settle down and live a little, rather than spend his days doing overtime. If Euijoo says he's a good man, then maybe he will be.
It's with that thought that he realises the waiter is talking to someone, over by the entrance. Admittedly, his eyes aren't good as they used to be; he can't see that far, but he knows it's a man. His stomach fills with anticipation, and he sits up straight, intending to make a good impression. He looks away, trying to seem like he's not anxiously awaiting as the man approaches, and then—
"K-kun?" an incredulous voice asks.
Oh, fuck.
Yudai's head whips up to see Fuma, once more, in the flesh. The blow isn't lessened compared to yesterday; the gut punch of memory and emotion that floods his mind and body. A name he hasn't been called in ten years. A man that hasn't been his for the same amount of time.
"Fuma, you—Euijoo—I, uh—" he sits, open mouthed, not even sure if he can process it, this time. Yesterday, he was forced to hold his reaction back, push the emotion welling up back down in front of his son. Today, he can finally look at Fuma. The same kind eyes, shocked; the same sturdy body dressed far more nicely than either of them ever used to.
"Um," Fuma says, as he slowly sits down opposite Yudai. He looks just as clueless as Yudai; he can only hope they've both been blindsided by—fucking Nicholas and Euijoo. "This is unexpected."
"That's an understatement," Yudai groans. "Um…" he rubs at his brow, uncertain and awkward. "I mean, you don't have to… stay, if you don't want to. I don't want to force you to be here."
"No! No, it's fine," Fuma reassures him with a smile. "This doesn't have to be a date, by all means. I'm happy to just… catch up with you."
Somehow, Fuma still has the remarkable ability to make Yudai relax immediately.
The waiter brings along Fuma's drink; light coloured, in a tall glass. A familiar drink to both of them.
"Highball?" Yudai asks.
Fuma nods. "What's yours?"
"Um. A negroni," Yudai responds, swirling the drink around.
"Oh. Is it good?"
Yudai shrugs, offering Fuma the drink. Fuma barely hesitates, taking a sip from the other end of the glass. He smacks his lips, brow furrowing as he tastes the cocktail.
"Bitter," he comments, sliding the glass back across the table.
"Right? I've never tried one. Thought I'd give it a go, but… yeah," he twists his head.
"Not a fan?"
"I mean, it's alright, but…"
"Not really your thing," Fuma finishes the sentence for him. "Wanna swap?"
"Eh? No! No, it's fine. You ordered that for yourself, after all," Yudai shakes his head.
"You sure? I'd be happy to," Fuma insists. Even after ten years, Fuma remained self-sacrificial. He never was fussy; if you're happy, I am too seemed to be his personal motto, even now.
"It's fine, I promise," Yudai takes another sip, if only to appease Fuma. It really isn't that bad, now that he's more used to it.
"Hey, I'm sorry to have given you such a shock yesterday," Fuma says, clearly apologetic. "I really had no idea that Riki was your Riki."
"Oh, please! There's no need to worry. If anything, I should've been the one to check up on who this fandangled new teacher was."
Fuma smiles into his own drink as he takes a sip. Are they both ignoring the elephant in the room? Maybe. Is it more pleasant this way? Definitely.
"So what brought you back to Japan, after all this time?"
Fuma leans back into his seat, getting more comfortable. "Would you believe me if I said I got homesick?"
"Homesick? After all that time in America?"
Fuma shrugs. "Dunno. I guess it was just harder to settle down. In some ways, I never fully fit in over there. I wanted to come back for more familiarity, I suppose."
Yudai nods slowly. It makes sense; Fuma was always the homebody type. He never did think the LA lifestyle totally suited Fuma.
"And you, K-kun?" he asks, making eye contact with Yudai. It's unsettling, the effect it still has on Yudai, even after all these years. Fuma should be completely foreign to him now. Somehow, he's a familiar presence, even with new smile lines, a different perfume, and a whole new wardrobe.
"Nothing special. You know me — just work, and Riki."
"After all this time," Fuma muses, face unreadable.
"I've got an actual work-life balance these days, I promise you," Yudai leans forward. "Riki makes sure of that. He's a really good kid."
"He is. And a wonderful dancer, too."
"Right? Oh, watching him and the other boys last night—"
"They really outdid themselves," Fuma nods, taking another sip.
It's almost weird how well the conversation flows, given their ten years of separation. Each time he looks back at Fuma, each time they make eye contact, he sees the exact same twinkle in his eye that had attracted him to Fuma in the first place.
Before Yudai even registers it, they're both onto another drink; beers, this time.
"—So Euijoo's been trying to convince me to go out with someone he and Nicholas recommended for ages, right? How is it the one time I agree, it's someone I already know?" Yudai questions, gesturing wildly.
Fuma laughs bodily, like Yudai's the funniest person he knows. "Right? I only met Juju through Nicholas, and I met him through dance, but it seemed like they were really looking to set us up," he says, before his brow creases in thought. "Wait, did they know? About… us?"
Yudai shakes his head, pursing his lips. "Not specifically, no. I guess I've just been single for so long, they started to pity me," Yudai sighs dramatically, intending a joking tone and probably missing the mark slightly with the way Fuma narrows his eyes. Even after all this time, he sees right through Yudai.
"How long?"
"Do you really need to ask?" Yudai laughs, even if he feels a little pathetic. He doesn't count the dates here and there, the one or two month things that fizzled out. There hadn't been anyone else like Fuma.
Fuma simply smiles, looking down at his drink. "Would you be surprised if I said me too?"
In some ways, yes. Fuma has always been incredibly attractive to Yudai; highly motivated, hard-working, caring, and the funniest man he'd ever known. But there were always two sides to the same coin; he could imagine that people would mistake his diligent focus and determination for his work as apathy, or misinterpret his unusual sense of humour.
"You're taking too long to answer, K-kun."
Yudai splutters, putting his arms up in defense. "Sorry! I was just thinking, I promise. Of course that's surprising! I'd have thought you were a real catch, Fuma."
"Maybe if I went outside a bit more often, someone would be able to."
"Ah. Still a homebody?"
"The Pokedex waits for no-one, K-kun." Fuma looks completely serious as he shakes his head, but there's still a sarcastic tone to his words that makes Yudai cackle, and Fuma follows suit.
A short silence follows, both of them digging into the snacks they'd also ordered. It really is a nice bar; he'll have to come here again, some time.
"You really haven't dated anyone long-term since then, huh," Fuma repeats, and Yudai nods. "What made you try dating again?"
Yudai shrugs, sighing. "I don't know, really. Riki's grown up, and he's not around so much anymore. I just wanted a companion again, you know? Like back then," he admits, looking away.
He can feel how Fuma stares, his eyes boring into Yudai's soul, burrowing back in like he'd never even left. "Like back then," he echoes.
Yudai dares to sneak a look at Fuma, and the eye contact they end up making causes his heart to race in a way it hasn't in many years.
"K-kun," Fuma asks, just loud enough for Yudai to hear. "If I asked to see you again, would you… oppose?"
Yudai feels himself flushing, and it's not even from the alcohol this time. "I wouldn't mind that at all, Fuma."
Several more drinks and hours later, they're finally leaving the bar, Yudai feeling significantly wobblier than he had going in. He really never drinks this much; doesn't often have the opportunity to in the first place. Maybe it's also the giddy feeling that he has, Fuma at his side again. It's comfortable, familiar; yet something about it feels new. He supposes ten years can do that to you.
He's laughing at some story Fuma's telling him when he loses his balance, stumbling. Before he can fall, Fuma's arm is at his side, bracing him. His grip is firm and warm, a stabilising presence.
"Careful, K-kun," Fuma says, almost right into his ear. Yudai has to stop himself from shivering — what is he doing? It's like he's young and naive all over again.
"Um. Uh. Thanks, Fuma," he stumbles through his words.
"Mm, of course," Fuma replies, voice all mellow and deep and still so, so close, arm still around Yudai's waist to stabilise him. Yudai leans into him; lets himself indulge, if only until they get to the station.
Thankfully, they do manage to catch the last train; it's a miracle, with the way they're drunkenly clinging to each other. There's barely anyone on the train; certainly nobody on their carriage, so they both take a well-deserved seat. They're probably sitting way closer than necessary, but who's going to tell them to stop?
"Hey," Yudai says, not slurring in the slightest. "Your phone," he holds out his hand, apparently asking.
Fuma lifts an eyebrow in amusement, but unlocks it and hands it over nonetheless.
Yudai greedily takes it, going into Fuma's LINE contact list. When he attempts to add a new contact, Fuma puts his hand over Yudai's, stopping him.
"You're still on there, K-hyung," he laughs, scrolling down to where, as expected, the contact reads K-hyung.
God, Yudai thinks, as he groans. He hasn't been called hyung since their breakup; it kind of kills him now. "I can't believe you, Fuma, you're so…" he pauses.
"So…?" Fuma smirks at him, eyebrows raised, and Yudai suddenly wants to—
"So annoying," he says, petulant, stopping his thoughts in their tracks before he does something crazy. He hands Fuma's phone back to him.
Fuma pockets it, sighing as the announcement for his station plays. "This is my stop, K-kun. I guess I'll see you around," he tells Yudai, standing up.
In a rush of drunken courage, Yudai pulls himself up using the pole next to him. "Fuma," he calls, gaining the other man's attention. Fuma looks back at him, a deer in the headlights, and suddenly Yudai's pulled back to another era. Fuma's twenty again, and he's twenty-one, and they're both in love.
In a split-second decision, he rushes forward and kisses Fuma. It takes a moment for Fuma to register it, but he's pulling Yudai in closer by the waist, deepening the kiss.
They're only interrupted by the doors opening. They pull away from each other, breathing in each other's space for one final moment.
It's in this moment that Yudai realises he no longer wants to be apart from Fuma; not anymore.
"I'll see you again soon," Yudai murmurs, reluctant to move away. Fuma nods, silently unwrapping himself from Yudai and stepping back onto the platform.
Their eyes follow each other as the doors close again and the train starts to move.
When the train finally passes into a tunnel, Yudai takes out his phone, furiously tapping to find his group chat with Nicholas and Euijoo.
Yudai: You're both crazy
Nico: completely unwarranted
what did we even do
Yudai: YOU PUT ME ON A DATE WITH MY EX
Juju: ????
THE ex?
Yudai: YES
Nico: what a coincidence ahahha
well was it good?
Yudai: .
No comment
Juju: well that's good then, isn't it?
Yudai: …Yeah
Thank you both
When Yudai finally gets back home, the lights are still on in the house, even though it's almost midnight on a Sunday. His eyes narrow.
He unlocks the door, pushing his shoes off haphazardly, listening to the sound of the TV playing; clearly Riki was still out of bed.
"I'm home!" Yudai calls into the room.
"Welcome back!" Riki shouts back from the couch, smiling as Yudai walks into the room.
"Now, what are you doing up so late, Mister Takayama? Hm?" He pinches at Riki's soft cheek.
Riki looks at him sheepishly, scratching the side of his head. "I was waiting for you to come back. Didn't expect you to take so long."
"Excuses, excuses. It's a school night! C'mon, off you go," he attempts to shepherd his son, failing immediately.
"Wait, are you drunk?" Riki asks, suspicious of his dad's lack of finesse.
Yudai closes his mouth immediately. "…No," he slowly disagrees.
"You so are!" Riki says, giddy. "It was good, then? The date?"
"I'm not telling you," Yudai says, picking up Riki's abandoned dishes and putting them into the sink. At least he could cook for himself; the cleaning part was still a work in progress.
"Aw, come on, dad."
"Maybe another time," he reasons with Riki. "Just—we both need to go to sleep."
"Fine," Riki grumbles.
Yudai smooths his hand over Riki's head once, before climbing upstairs.
Riki huffs. He'll get information out of his dad one way or another.
"Keep up the energy, Harua! Yes, that's it! Yuma, great work — Jo, careful with your lines!" Fuma calls, watching the five of them, arms crossed, standing in front of the mirror.
The song ends, and they all collapse from their poses.
"Ah, come on, boys. It's barely been an hour," Fuma jokes, but he's passing cold bottles of Pocari Sweat along to them anyway.
"That choreography's brutal, Fuma," Maki says, near-hyperventilating. Riki feels similarly worn out, chugging the whole bottle as quickly as he can.
"Careful there," Fuma smiles at Riki, a hand on his shoulder. "Don't start choking on your drink."
Riki smiles once he's swallowed. "Thanks, Fuma."
It's been a month since their showcase; a month since they'd all caused his dad and Fuma to meet for the first time in years. Nothing had happened since then, as far as he knew.
But there was something different about the two of them; that was for certain. The extra pep in his dad's step, how he seemed to anxiously await texts; Fuma's newfound enthusiasm, and the extra care he gave towards all five of them, especially Riki. He'd never quite managed to work out exactly who his dad had gone on that date with.
"Well, that's about it for today, boys; unfortunately, I have to leave…" Fuma checks his phone clock, "…about now."
There's a chorus of questions around the room, everyone wanting to know what had Fuma in such a rush leaving his favourite place in the world.
"If you must know, I have a date," he says, that twinkle in his eyes once again as he picks up his bag. There's a new Eevee charm on it, Riki notices; it looks suspiciously familiar.
The room erupts in surprise; the questions get louder. Who'd have thought that Fuma might finally have a date? Certainly not Riki, by any means. His brow furrows as he considers what this means — that Fuma really has moved on from his dad, and that there was no chance of them getting back together. That his plan has failed. The others' eyes are darting between him and Fuma, clearly wondering the same thing.
There's a knock at the door that has everyone's heads whipping toward that direction.
"Come in!" Fuma says, already a small smile forming on his face.
The door inches open, and a head pops into the room.
"Are you all done now?" Riki's dad asks.
Riki tilts his head in confusion. "Dad? What are you doing here?"
"Going on a date, of course," Yudai answers slyly. "See you later! I left money for you boys to get dinner!"
Five jaws drop simultaneously as Fuma follows Riki's dad out the door.
"What the fuck was that?" Yuma exclaims, shock clear in his facial expression.
"Dude, you didn't tell us you actually did it—" Maki shakes his head.
"I didn't know," Riki says, shell-shocked.
"Good for them," Jo says, smiling.
"Okay, well. I heard free dinner," Yuma calls out as he picks up his bag.
"Give him a second, Yuma," Harua argues.
"What? He's happy about it, look at him."
Yuma's right; Riki's just not able to outwardly express it just yet. He's buzzing with emotion: elation, relief, even something vaguely sad. But most of all, he's glad his dad will finally have the partner he had always wanted.
"Woah," is all he can manage.
Harua pats him on the shoulder. "It's been a big day, huh? Let's go get aburasoba."
"Oh. Yeah, that sounds good…" he nods as the others lead him out the door.
"I still don't get how none of us pegged onto that," Maki wonders out loud.
"They were trainees, right? They're probably used to hiding a relationship," Yuma reasons.
"It's good that they don't have to hide it anymore, then," Jo responds as they round the corner to the ramen place.
Suddenly, Maki taps Riki on the arm repeatedly. "Hey, look, look! It's them, up ahead."
Snapping out of his stupor, Riki looks up to see Fuma and his dad in the distance; far enough away that they probably won't notice the five of them.
The two of them seem to be in their own little world, hands tightly held together, swinging as they chat.They look like they're in love.
Riki smiles. In the end, he really had done it.