Chapter Text
"Hello, Gloomyhara!" Utage called through the apartment, announcing her presence to not startle the idol within. "Pardon the intrusion!"
Humming a F/ACE song softly to herself, she set her cleaning supplies down and began to assess the room, taking in the mess. She huffed a small sigh of relief, having realized she wouldn't have to work for long from what little clutter there was. She tucked her hair behind her ear and started for her supplies, taking out the surface cleaner and spraying a mist of it over the dining table. She swiped a rag along the surface to clean what she hoped was dried juice. She exhaled sharply, frustration quickly pricking her attitude when the mysterious substance wouldn't disappear from under her washcloth.
If he had just wiped it away when he made the spill, this would have been an easier cleanup! she thought, a bit irritated. Utage then gasped in horror when she realized what sinful thought had crossed her mind and immediately fell to her knees to begin repetitively praying "TAMON IS A GOD. HE MAKES NO MISTAKES". Once the worshipping had concluded, she attacked the spot again with a newly awakened ferocity.
When the sticky fluid finally was wiped away, Utage continued her tidying, picking up clothes that were strewn across the floor and couch, dusting the TV stand, and sweeping the kitchenette's tile. The living area and kitchen was practically sparkling by the time she finished. Nodding proudly at her handiwork, she threw the discarded clothes into a basket and started for the bedroom, preparing to put them away. She eventually registered that the door was closed and noticed that since she had arrived, Tamon has not yet blessed her with his radiant presence.
"Gloomyhara?" she called, gently rapping her knuckles on the door. "Are you in there? I need to put away your laundry."
No response.
Which, in Tamons defense, was not entirely unusual. His Gloomyhara side was prone to silence, introverted to a 'T'. What Utage did find a bit strange was that he had not yet come out to see her, a small action that had become routine when Utage arrived in his apartment for housekeeping. She knocked once again before brushing her concern away when the only response was the quiet thrum of the air conditioner. She tried to imagined many scenarios in which Tamon wouldn't answer to sooth her worry, (most of which ended with her beloved idol dead) and she ultimately landed on that he was taking a fat shit.
She began to pray again, internally apologizing to her fellow fans she would even think of Tamon to do such a mortal thing.
She sighed and set the basket of clothes beside the door, deciding to deal with them when Tamon emerged. She turned to find another chore to busy herself with, but was unfortunately met with a spotless house. There was literally nothing else to clean.
Utage sighed again, heavier. She picked up the basket, knocked for a third time, and inhaled a breath of preparation. She twisted the doorknob, pushing the door open and stepping inside the bedroom.
The room was quiet, dark, and hot. Utage squinted, her eyes not yet adjusting, and peered around the room.
Tamon's bedroom, a holy shrine to some, was simple. It consisted of a bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. Nothing else. Utage noticed a large lump on the bed, and she carefully padded over to investigate. She leaned over the figure, setting the basket on the floor beside her. It was still too dark to see, and the light from the living room was not helping in the slightest. She assumed it was Tamon, but one could never be too sure. There's a possibility it could be a stalker-murderer who is acting like Tamon to kill off any witnesses like herself.
Utage shook her head, willing the wild intrusive thought away, and pulled at the lamp next to the bed. Light flooded through the plain room and Utage was pleased to conclude that the figure was in fact Tamon Fukuhara. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she softly pulled the blanket away from his face. Tamon laid peacefully against the pillows, his pink hair messily draped across his eyes and forehead. His hood was pulled off his head, fully blessing Utage with the holy sight of her idol. She examined the serene look on his face, a rare sight to behold when he wasn't switched. Her eyes fluttered across his features, noticing he was still wearing his stage makeup. A pang of sympathy ran through her. He must have been exhausted after his day. She recalls him telling her about the upcoming music video and how much choreography and cardio it demanded.
She reached her hand out, slowly, hesitating just before his face. As he slept, he looked more like Hottiehara than Gloomyhara. His eyebrows were not scrunched together anxiously, but calm and tranquil, like he had no concerns at all. His mouth was slightly open with a bit of drool at the corner, and Utage couldn't help but giggle that this boy that was viewed to many as a holy figure drooled when he slept. He was perfect, in every way. From his hair to his mole, she admired and adored every part of him. How lucky of a girl she was to be able to witness this magnificent boy with her own eyes. She longed to touch his cheek, to caress his soft hair and envelop herself completely to his presence. But another side of her lulled her mind to a state of reluctance.
You mean nothing to him. You are only a fan.
She retreated her hand back and sighed, reprimanding herself. No common fan should touch an idol. She was nothing more than a speck of dust from his perspective, she was sure of it. Like, come on, he was an idol. He had millions of fans throughout the world, and she was only one of them. Utage was just extremely lucky to be his housekeeper, nothing more. She pulled herself away from the peaceful boy and made her way to the door.
"Kinoshita?"
Utage's head whipped back to the bed. Tamon was peering at her through sleep-ridden eyes, a small look of confusion on his face that transitioned to an emotion she couldn't quite place. His hair was crimped in shape of his pillow, and the sliver of drool was still on his cheek. Utage could just die and go to heaven right then. He was too cute to even look at with normal eyes.
"Ah, you're awake!" she grinned. "I was just putting away your clothes."
Smooth, Utage, very smooth.
Tamon sat up, rubbing his eyes like a child. He examined the basket she was holding and nodding slowly, his brows knitting together in a troubled manner. "Sorry I made such a mess," he mumbled. "I tried to keep clean, but trash like me isn't gifted with such abilities."
"Tamon is a God."
"I am a God.."
"I was actually really impressed with the lack of mess!" she responded. "I barely had anything to do! You're going to put me out of a job if you keep this up." she joked.
Tamon remained silent for a long moment. Utage hesitated in the door frame, the painful silence making her shuffle awkwardly. She turned to distract herself, hoping to find at least one mess for her to engage with.
She was stopped short when she felt a tug on her apron. She faced the bedroom again, this time met with the handsome face of a boy with pink hair. He gently, yet firmly, tugged her closer, not making eye contact. Utage felt her cheeks lightly go red upon the sudden closure. How did he even get out of bed so fast and quietly, anyways?
"Gloomyhara?"
Closer, closer. He reeled her in, pulling at the edge of the apron. His hair was in his face, and from here Utage could notice he was sweating slightly. Soon enough, Tamon had one arm snaking around her waist, locking her against himself. He bent down to rest his forehead against her shoulder, sighing heavily. Utage felt a faint wave of nostalgia wash over her, underneath the flustered turmoil that conquered her head.
"Should I..." Tamon began, his voice muffled from her shirt. "Should I not clean anymore?"
"What?" Utage breathed, unable to say anything else.
"If I clean too much, you'll leave."
All Utage could focus on was the weight of his head on her shoulder and the light touch of his arms draped across her waist. She inhaled deeply to slow the rapidness of her breathing but was dreadfully met with the glorious Tamon-smell of linen, coffee, and salt.
"I don't want you to leave," he continued, quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself. "You can't leave. Don't leave me."
Utages head was buzzing. She didn't even hear what he had just said. She had to say something. "I- I'm your housekeeper," she started. "My job also includes shopping and cooking." What the hell was she saying?! She was just reciting her companies slogan!
Tamon grunted, rotating his head until it was coddled in the crook of her neck. He sighed, the air tickling her collarbone. She attempted to pull away, for her own sake of not passing away from the overwhelmingness of him, but he held her tighter, closer, squeezing her body until it was flush against his own. After a few agonizing moments, Tamons grip loosened and he released Utage from his clasp. She exhaled, suddenly noticing how hot she was, and couldn't even imagine how flushed her face would be if she looked in a mirror.
Tamon's face watched her own. He seemed nervous, but almost a bit... curious, at the same time.
"Sorry," he finally said. "I went too far. You can kill me now if you want to. I wouldn't stop you."
"No, no," she spoke haggardly, still recovering. "It's okay."
He glanced down at his feet. "Hey, can you, uh, make some of chicken? Like the one you gave me before? If not, it's okay, garbage like me doesn't deserve it."
Ugate gaped at the pink-haired idol. Does he not realize what he had just done? she thought, astounded.
She turned, still stunned, but began to retrieve the chicken from the fridge.