Work Text:
It was supposed to be an ordinary evening.
The studio lights had long dimmed, the hallway quiet except for the distant hum of cleaning staff finishing their rounds. Pierre’s laughter had faded with the sunset, leaving only the lingering warmth of another successful day.
Minori adjusted the strap of his bag, turning toward the exit.
“Kyoji-kun? You’re not coming?”
Kyoji stood a few steps behind him, unusually still. His expression—normally composed, gently confident—was unreadable tonight. There was no teasing curve to his lips, no relaxed ease in his shoulders.
“I’ll walk you to the station, Minori-san.”
Minori smiled brightly, almost too brightly.
“Eh? How gentlemanly of you.”
They walked side by side under the soft glow of streetlights. Their shoulders brushed once. Twice. Neither commented.
Minori had noticed it months ago.
The way Kyoji’s gaze lingered half a second too long.
The way his hand would hover near Minori’s back in crowded places.
The subtle softness in the way he said, Minori-san.
He wasn’t oblivious.
He just pretended to be.
Because acknowledging it would mean acknowledging the quiet flutter in his own chest.
They reached the small park near the station—the one with the old vending machines and the bench S.E.M had once occupied after a late rehearsal.
Kyoji stopped walking.
“Minori-san.”
That tone.
Lower. Steadier. Dangerous.
Minori turned, tilting his head with practiced innocence.
“Yes?”
For a moment, Kyoji said nothing. His jaw tightened slightly, like he was reorganizing years of restraint into something speakable.
“I don’t want to keep pretending.”
Minori’s smile did not falter.
“Pretending?”
“That I’m satisfied being just your unit mate.”
The air shifted.
Not dramatic. Not explosive.
But fragile.
Kyoji stepped closer—not enough to corner him, but enough that Minori could feel the warmth radiating from him.
“I respect you,” Kyoji said. “As a professional. As a senior. As someone I admire.”
His voice softened.
“But that’s not all.”
Minori’s fingers curled slightly against the strap of his bag.
“I’ve liked you for a long time, Minori-san.”
No grand gestures.
No kneeling.
No dramatic music.
Just steady eye contact.
Just truth.
The world did not stop spinning.
Cars still passed. A train roared faintly in the distance.
And yet, something between them had irreversibly shifted.
Minori blinked once.
Twice.
Then he laughed softly—light, airy, almost playful.
“Kyoji-kun… you’re saying something quite bold, aren’t you?”
But his voice was not teasing enough.
Not quite steady enough.
Kyoji did not retreat.
“I am.”
Silence lingered between them. Not uncomfortable—but heavy with possibility.
Minori looked away first, eyes drifting toward the vending machine lights.
“You’ve always been straightforward,” he murmured. “That’s one of your charms.”
He did not say yes.
He did not say no.
Instead, he took a small step closer—close enough that their sleeves brushed.
“Are you sure you won’t regret this?” Minori asked softly. “Liking someone like me?”
The question sounded light.
But it wasn’t.
Kyoji answered without hesitation.
“There’s nothing to regret.”
Minori inhaled slowly.
The night air felt warmer.
His heart felt louder.
And yet—
He only smiled.
A gentle, unreadable smile.
“…I see.”
The train announcement echoed from the station.
Minori turned slightly, but didn’t move away.
“Walk me the rest of the way, Kyoji-kun?”
It wasn’t an answer.
But it wasn’t rejection either.
Kyoji stepped beside him again, closer this time.
And as they resumed walking, the space between their hands felt impossibly small.
_____
The morning sun spilled lazily through the windows of 315 Production, warming the polished floors in streaks of gold.
Pierre was in excellent spirits.
Which meant he was singing.
“♪ Bonjour~ bonjour~ today is shiny and sweet~! ♪”
His cheerful voice echoed down the hallway as he skipped toward the office, a small paper bag of pastries swinging from his hand. His steps were light, almost bouncing.
Then he spotted a familiar figure ahead.
“Minori!”
Minori was walking a little slower than usual, one hand resting casually at his side, the other holding his phone. His posture was upright as always—elegant, composed.
Pierre’s eyes sparkled.
Without hesitation, he ran forward.
“Minori~!”
And before Minori could turn—
Pierre wrapped his arms around him from behind in a bright, affectionate hug.
“Good morni—”
Minori’s body jolted.
“Ah—!”
The world tilted.
There was a brief, disastrous shuffle of shoes against polished floor—
—and then Minori collapsed forward onto one knee.
Pierre froze.
Silence.
“…Minori?”
Minori inhaled sharply, his breath catching in his throat.
His hand immediately went to his lower back.
“I—I’m fine,” he said quickly.
But his voice was not convincing.
Pierre dropped to his knees beside him, wide-eyed. “Did I squeeze too hard?! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to attack you like a bear!”
Minori forced a laugh, though it came out thinner than usual.
“No, no… Pierre, you’re as light as a kitten.”
He tried to stand.
He did not succeed.
His face twitched.
Pierre gasped.
“You’re hurt!”
“N-No, it’s just…” Minori’s words faltered as he carefully shifted his weight. “…my back. A little.”
Pierre blinked. “Your back?”
Minori avoided eye contact.
“Just… a slight ache. Probably slept wrong.”
Probably.
Pierre tilted his head innocently.
“But you’re walking funny.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am simply… conserving energy.”
Pierre leaned closer, inspecting him like a curious puppy. “Did you fall somewhere? Did you fight a villain? Did you lift something heavy?”
Minori’s smile became dangerously strained.
“Nothing dramatic.”
A faint pink crept up his ears.
If Pierre noticed the color climbing all the way to Minori’s hairline, he was merciful enough not to comment.
Still—
Minori was not imagining things.
The difference between them was real.
Kyoji Takajo was still young. Twenty. Energetic. Built with the kind of stamina that seemed endless, whether for rehearsals, part-time shifts at the convenience store, or… other forms of enthusiasm.
Minori had already stepped into his thirties.
Ten years.
It had never felt significant before.
Not when they stood on stage together.
Not when they laughed during interviews.
Not even when Kyoji confessed.
But now—
His lower back throbbed in quiet protest.
And suddenly, ten years felt enormous.
Minori pressed his lips together.
This is bad.
The central room of 315 Production felt warm and lived-in as usual.
Scripts were spread across the low table. Someone had left an unfinished bottle of tea near the sofa. The faint hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet pauses between conversation.
Minori sat on the edge of the couch.
Very carefully.
He maintained his usual radiant smile, legs crossed elegantly, posture straight—
—but every time he shifted even slightly, a flicker of discomfort crossed his face.
Hazama Michio noticed immediately.
“Minori,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Your spinal alignment appears abnormal.”
Jiro Yamashita, lounging lazily in a chair nearby, glanced over.
“Yeah. You’ve been moving like an old man since this morning.”
“I have not,” Minori protested lightly.
He attempted to stand.
Halfway up, his expression twitched.
He slowly sat back down.
Jiro raised an eyebrow.
“…That bad?”
“It is not bad,” Minori insisted. “Merely… a slight stiffness.”
Michio nodded with academic seriousness.
“Lower back strain is common in individuals over thirty.”
Minori’s eye twitched.
“Must you specify the age?”
“It is relevant data.”
Jiro snorted into his drink.
Michio stood and began rummaging through his bag. “I have medicinal patches. Several teachers at my previous school frequently required them due to prolonged standing and overwork.”
Minori hesitated.
His pride trembled.
His back throbbed.
“…If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
Jiro leaned forward slightly, interested now.
Michio approached with clinical precision.
“Please remove your shirt. Direct application to the lumbar region is most effective.”
Minori froze.
Jiro blinked.
“…Right here?”
Michio looked confused. “We are colleagues.”
Minori let out a strained laugh.
“Of course. Professionalism above all.”
He stood carefully and turned his back to them.
Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt.
The fabric slipped down his shoulders.
Jiro wasn’t looking for anything.
But he saw it immediately.
A faint reddish mark near Minori’s shoulder blade.
Then another, slightly lower.
His eyebrow lifted.
…Oh.
Michio leaned closer, inspecting Minori’s back with complete innocence.
“Hm.”
Minori stiffened.
“Is something wrong?”
“There are circular discolorations present,” Michio observed calmly.
Minori’s brain short-circuited.
“Dis— what?”
“Several small marks. Likely insect bites.”
“In winter?” Jiro muttered under his breath.
Michio continued, unfazed. “The distribution is unusual, however. They appear… patterned.”
Minori’s face turned bright red.
“M-Mosquitoes are persistent,” he said quickly. “Very ambitious this season.”
Jiro coughed to hide a laugh.
“Yeah. Real ambitious.”
Michio nodded thoughtfully. “You must ensure proper ventilation at home.”
Minori made a noise that was half agreement, half silent scream.
Michio carefully applied the cooling patch to Minori’s lower back.
The contact made Minori flinch slightly.
“Pain level?” Michio asked.
“Manageable,” Minori replied through a thin smile.
Jiro leaned back again, arms crossed.
He decided not to say anything.
No teasing.
No commentary.
He wasn’t cruel.
But the mental image of certain implications was extremely vivid.
Minori quickly pulled his shirt back on, fingers fumbling slightly at the buttons.
“Thank you, Michio-sensei. I feel much better already.”
“That is psychosomatic. The patch has not activated yet.”
“…I see.”
Silence settled briefly.
Then Jiro stood.
“Take it easy, yeah?”
Minori straightened.
“I am perfectly capable.”
He took one step forward—
—and immediately winced.
Jiro sighed.
“Sure you are.”
Michio nodded seriously. “Adequate rest is crucial for recovery. Overexertion should be avoided.”
Minori’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
Overexertion.
The word echoed louder than it should have.
Ten years.
Different stamina.
Different recovery speed.
He laughed lightly to mask it.
“I’ll be more careful.”
Jiro studied him quietly now.
Not teasing.
Just observing.
Minori looked normal.
Cheerful.
Radiant.
But there was a faint tightness behind his eyes.
And for the first time that day—
The joke didn’t feel entirely like a joke.
_____
The office had fallen into evening quiet.
The overhead lights were dimmed, leaving only the warm lamps near the lounge casting soft gold across the room. Outside the tall windows, the city shimmered gently — distant, unaware.
Minori remained seated on the sofa.
Alone.
The ache in his lower back pulsed dully beneath his shirt, but he had grown used to pretending. His smile was gone now. No audience, no performance. Just him and the low hum of the air conditioner.
The door clicked open.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Footsteps. Calm. Steady. Unhurried.
“Minori-san.”
That voice.
Minori looked up — and there he was.
Kyoji had just returned from his show, still wearing the faint scent of stage makeup and city night air. His hair was slightly out of place, jacket draped over one arm. He looked tired.
But the moment he saw Minori—
His entire expression softened.
“You’re still here,” Kyoji said quietly.
Minori smiled.
“I could say the same to you.”
Kyoji stepped closer. Not across the room.
Closer.
Close enough that Minori could feel the warmth of him before he even touched him.
“You’re in pain.”
Again, not a question.
Minori’s smile faltered — just slightly.
“It’s nothing.”
Kyoji didn’t argue.
He set his bag down gently and moved in front of Minori.
Then — without hesitation — he crouched.
Slowly.
Bringing himself eye level.
The intimacy of it stole the air from the room.
“Kyoji—” Minori began softly.
“Did I hurt you?” Kyoji asked.
There was no defensiveness in his voice.
No embarrassment.
Just quiet, sincere concern.
Minori’s breath caught.
Kyoji reached out, but this time he didn’t stop halfway.
His hand came to rest lightly at Minori’s waist.
Warm.
Steady.
Careful.
Not possessive.
Not demanding.
Just… there.
“You’ve been moving differently all day,” Kyoji murmured. “You flinch when you sit. You lean to the right when you stand.”
He notices everything.
Minori felt exposed.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
“You don’t have to analyze me like I’m a research subject,” Minori tried to joke.
Kyoji’s thumb shifted slightly against the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m not analyzing you.”
His voice dropped.
“I’m worried.”
That word.
Minori’s fingers trembled slightly against his own knees.
Kyoji’s other hand came up — slowly — brushing lightly against Minori’s collarbone before resting there.
A grounding touch.
He wasn’t grabbing.
He wasn’t pressing.
He was asking without words.
“Minori-san,” Kyoji said gently, “if I went too far…”
Minori shook his head quickly.
“You didn’t.”
“You’re hurting.”
“That doesn’t mean you did something wrong.”
Kyoji searched his face.
He leaned closer without realizing it.
Their foreheads nearly brushed.
The air between them felt warmer.
“I don’t want you enduring something just because of me,” Kyoji said, softer now. “If I’m being selfish, tell me.”
Minori swallowed.
Selfish?
If only Kyoji knew.
It wasn’t selfishness that frightened Minori.
It was the gap.
The ten years.
The way Kyoji’s energy seemed endless.
The way Minori’s body reminded him, quietly, that it wasn’t.
But how could he say that?
How could he admit that sometimes he felt like he was trying to keep up — not because Kyoji demanded it, but because Minori wanted to be enough?
Kyoji’s hand slid gently to the small of his back.
Careful.
So careful.
His touch this time was lighter than air.
“Does it hurt here?” he asked.
Minori inhaled sharply.
It did.
But not because of pressure.
Because of how gentle he was being.
“It’s fine,” Minori whispered.
Kyoji’s brows drew together slightly.
“You always say that.”
“And you always look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m something fragile.”
Kyoji shook his head almost immediately.
“You’re not fragile.”
His hand moved — slow, deliberate — drawing Minori a little closer instead.
“You’re important.”
The word settled heavily between them.
Important.
Not delicate.
Not breakable.
Important.
Kyoji rested his forehead against Minori’s.
This time fully.
The contact was soft.
Intimate.
Unrushed.
“If you’re tired,” Kyoji whispered, “I’ll slow down.”
Minori’s chest tightened painfully.
“You don’t have to,” he breathed.
“I want to.”
There was no hesitation.
No reluctance.
Just certainty.
Kyoji’s fingers curled slightly at Minori’s waist — not restraining, just holding.
“I don’t need more,” he continued quietly. “I need you comfortable.”
Minori felt warmth sting behind his eyes.
This—
This is why it’s hard.
Because Kyoji isn’t demanding.
He isn’t careless.
He isn’t oblivious.
He loves fully.
And Minori doesn’t want to be the reason that love turns into guilt.
So instead, he leaned forward.
Wrapped his arms around Kyoji’s shoulders.
Held him.
Tightly.
“I’m okay,” Minori murmured against his neck.
Kyoji’s arms circled him immediately — secure, protective, but still careful of his back.
“I’ll be gentler,” Kyoji whispered.
Minori closed his eyes.
He didn’t want gentler.
He didn’t want less.
He wanted to keep up.
And that quiet fear — that maybe one day he wouldn’t —
Stayed unspoken between their heartbeats.
Outside, the city lights shimmered.
Inside, they stayed wrapped together —
Close.
Too close to lie.
But not close enough to confess.
_____
The sky was still pale when Minori arrived at the riverside path near 315 Production.
Cool morning air brushed against his skin. The city wasn’t fully awake yet — only joggers, cyclists, and a handful of overly motivated idols gathering in clusters.
Shinsoku Ikkon were already stretching loudly.
“Keh! You’re late!” one of them barked, though there was no real irritation behind it.
Kogado stood nearby, half energetic, half chaotic as usual, debating which one of them would collapse first.
And slightly apart from them—
Amehiko Kuzunoha stood with his usual composed elegance, adjusting his sleeves as though even jogging required refinement.
Minori approached with a bright smile.
“Good morning, everyone~!”
Several heads turned.
Shinsoku blinked.
“Keh? You’re joining?” Say Ren.
Kogado exchanged looks.
“Didn’t think you had the stamina show slot.”
Amehiko tilted his head slightly.
“That was my understanding as well.”
Minori laughed lightly, waving a hand.
“Oh, I thought I’d participate. It’s good to build endurance, right?”
They began jogging together once the informal countdown started.
The rhythm of footsteps filled the path.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Minori kept pace.
He could keep pace.
At least for now.
After a minute or two, Amehiko slowed slightly to match him.
“You are not scheduled for the stamina-focused program,” Amehiko said conversationally, voice steady even while jogging. “What prompted this sudden enthusiasm?”
Minori kept his eyes forward.
“Well… I thought it wouldn’t hurt to improve.”
Amehiko studied him from the corner of his eye.
“You already possess adequate endurance.”
Minori laughed.
“Do I?”
“You do.”
Minori didn’t answer immediately.
The sound of Shinsoku arguing ahead carried faintly on the wind. Kogado’s laughter rang out brightly behind them.
Minori inhaled deeply.
“I just thought,” he said lightly, “that I should keep up.”
“With whom?”
“With Kyoji-kun. And Pierre.”
There it was.
Amehiko’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“I see.”
They jogged in silence for a few seconds.
Minori continued, as if the words had been waiting.
“They’re both younger. Energetic. Tireless. I don’t want to be the one slowing things down.”
The morning air felt colder suddenly.
Amehiko hummed thoughtfully.
“You are thirty, not sixty.”
Minori laughed, though it came out softer this time.
“Tell that to my back yesterday.”
Amehiko’s lips curved slightly.
“Physical fatigue is natural. It does not indicate inadequacy.”
Minori didn’t look convinced.
Amehiko continued smoothly, “If we are discussing age differences, then yes — sometimes it can be… disorienting.”
Minori glanced at him.
Amehiko’s gaze remained forward.
“Chris is simple,” Amehiko said calmly. “He speaks of the sea. Of waves. Of wind. His metaphors are consistent.”
Minori smiled faintly.
“But Sora,” Amehiko continued, “possesses a sharpness. His phrasing is modern, layered with irony. Occasionally I am uncertain whether he is sincere or mocking.”
Minori let out a soft laugh.
“Sora-kun does have that sparkle in his words.”
“It is difficult to determine his intent at times,” Amehiko admitted. “One wonders if the generational gap is wider than anticipated.”
Minori’s steps slowed slightly.
“So even you feel that?”
“Of course,” Amehiko replied evenly. “There are moments when I suspect I am missing an entire context.”
Minori smiled.
“At least Pierre is straightforward,” he said warmly. “If he says something strange, it’s always from pure curiosity. There’s no hidden meaning.”
“That is true,” Amehiko nodded. “His innocence simplifies interpretation.”
Minori chuckled.
“With Pierre, I know exactly what he means. No sarcasm. No hidden agenda. Just… genuine questions.”
Amehiko glanced at him again.
“And with Kyoji?”
Minori’s breath hitched for half a second — barely noticeable beneath the rhythm of their run.
“With Kyoji-kun,” Minori said carefully, “I just don’t want to fall behind.”
They turned a corner along the riverbank.
The sun was rising higher now, light catching in the water.
Amehiko’s voice softened slightly.
“Falling behind implies he is moving away.”
Minori didn’t respond immediately.
He focused on his breathing.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Amehiko continued, “Is he?”
Minori’s smile returned.
Bright.
Polished.
“No.”
But the answer felt thinner than usual.
Amehiko did not press further.
Instead, he adjusted his pace to stay beside him.
“If you wish to improve stamina,” he said calmly, “do so for yourself.”
Minori’s steps faltered just slightly.
“Not out of fear.”
The words settled quietly between them.
Ahead, Shinsoku shouted something about increasing speed.
Kogado immediately agreed far too enthusiastically.
Minori forced a cheerful tone.
“Looks like we’re speeding up!”
Amehiko nodded.
“Yes.”
They accelerated.
Minori pushed.
Harder.
Longer.
His lungs burned slightly now.
His legs protested.
But he kept going.
Because if effort could close distance—
He would run until it did.
_____
The studio lights were dazzling.
Soft pastel panels decorated the set, with a large title banner overhead:
“The Worries of Youth and Adulthood!”
Beit sat together on the guest couch, framed perfectly for the camera.
Three generations.
Three different energies.
Pierre sat at the far left, legs swinging slightly off the edge of the couch, eyes sparkling beneath the studio lights. Even in the structured setting, he radiated cheerful chaos.
In the center sat Kyoji Takajo — posture straight, composed, effortlessly handsome under high-definition cameras. His suit was crisp, hair styled just enough to highlight sharp features that had already drawn quiet admiration from the audience.
On the right sat Minori Watanabe — radiant smile, gentle elegance, perfectly balanced warmth. Thirty-one years old, and yet still luminous in a way that made the audience murmur softly when the camera zoomed in.
The MC beamed.
“We’re so happy to have Beit with us today! A unit representing three generations — fifteen, twenty, and thirty-one! That’s incredible!”
Pierre lifted his hand enthusiastically.
“Yes! I am the youngest!” he declared proudly, slightly tripping over his grammar. “I am very fresh!”
The audience laughed warmly.
The MC nodded. “Pierre-kun, do you have worries about being so young in the industry?”
Pierre tilted his head dramatically.
“Hmm… Sometimes I don’t understand hard kanji,” he admitted honestly. “But Minori helps me. And Kyoji explains very calm.”
The crowd cooed.
Minori laughed lightly, patting Pierre’s shoulder.
“He works very hard,” Minori said. “His Japanese improves every day.”
Pierre grinned. “Minori is very kind teacher!”
The MC turned to Kyoji next.
“And Kyoji-kun, at twenty — the prime of youth! Handsome, talented, admired… any worries?”
The audience applauded lightly at the word handsome.
Kyoji’s expression remained composed.
“I don’t think age defines whether someone is at their prime,” he replied evenly. “I’m still learning.”
The MC fanned herself playfully.
“Such a mature answer from someone so young!”
Camera zoom.
Close-up of Kyoji’s calm smile.
Then—
The MC shifted slightly in her seat.
“And Minori-san,” she said brightly, “you’re in your thirties now. A lot of viewers say that’s when new kinds of worries begin. What concerns do you have now that you’ve entered your thirties?”
The audience leaned in.
Minori’s smile did not falter.
Not immediately.
He laughed softly — elegant, practiced.
“Ah, straight to the sensitive topic, I see.”
Laughter from the studio.
He crossed one leg over the other gracefully.
“Well… when you’re in your twenties, you feel invincible. In your teens, everything is new and exciting. But in your thirties…”
His tone remained light.
Playful.
“You start noticing small things.”
The camera caught it — just for a second.
The pause.
Kyoji noticed too.
Minori continued smoothly.
“You wake up slightly more tired than before. You recover a little slower. You begin wondering if you can still keep up with everyone.”
The words sounded like a joke.
The audience laughed sympathetically.
“Ahhh, I feel that!” someone shouted from the crowd.
Minori smiled.
Bright.
But Kyoji’s gaze sharpened slightly.
Because that line—
Recover a little slower.
It wasn’t part of rehearsal.
The MC nodded enthusiastically. “So you feel pressure being the oldest in the group?”
Minori waved a hand casually.
“Oh no, no. I’m surrounded by such energetic members! Pierre keeps me young.”
Pierre beamed. “Minori is not old! He is shiny!”
More laughter.
Minori reached over and squeezed Pierre’s hand fondly.
“But,” the MC pressed gently, “do you ever worry about falling behind?”
The studio lights felt warmer.
Minori’s smile held.
For a fraction of a second too long.
“I think,” he said carefully, “that everyone worries about that sometimes. Whether it’s age, experience, or expectations.”
He glanced sideways—
Not at the audience.
At Kyoji.
Just briefly.
“And when you’re with people who have so much ahead of them,” Minori continued lightly, “you start asking yourself if you’re keeping pace.”
The audience murmured softly.
It sounded relatable.
Inspirational.
Mature.
But Kyoji didn’t smile.
His fingers tightened slightly where they rested on his knee.
He wasn’t looking at the MC.
He wasn’t looking at the audience.
He was watching Minori.
Studying him.
Because Minori’s voice had dipped half a note lower than usual.
And that brightness—
Was just a little too polished.
The MC clapped her hands cheerfully.
“But you don’t look like you’re struggling at all! You’re just as handsome as Kyoji-kun!”
The audience cheered again.
Minori laughed, slightly embarrassed.
“Oh, I’ll take that compliment.”
Kyoji finally spoke.
Calm.
Clear.
“Minori-san works harder than anyone I know.”
The MC blinked.
“Oh?”
Kyoji didn’t look away from Minori as he continued.
“If anything, I worry about him pushing himself too much.”
The audience reacted with soft “aww” sounds.
Minori turned toward him, surprised.
“Kyoji-kun—”
But Kyoji’s gaze held steady.
Gentle.
But searching.
The kind of look that says:
I heard you.
And I’m not laughing.
The MC grinned mischievously.
“Oho~ such protective words!”
Pierre leaned forward excitedly.
“Yes! Kyoji always looks at Minori like that!”
The audience burst into laughter.
Minori nearly choked.
“Like what?!”
Pierre demonstrated by widening his eyes intensely and leaning forward.
The crowd roared.
Kyoji sighed softly, though there was the faintest pink at the tips of his ears.
Minori laughed along with everyone.
But beneath the studio lights—
Under the applause—
There was a quiet tension.
Because the topic had been playful.
Harmless.
Entertaining.
Yet Kyoji could still hear it.
That thin thread of doubt beneath Minori’s words.
And for the first time—
He wondered how long Minori had been carrying it alone.
_______
After the talk show wrapped, after Pierre excitedly reenacted his own punchlines three times in the hallway, after the bodyguards guided him toward his car—
The night finally quieted.
Pierre waved enthusiastically.
“Rest well! Tomorrow I will sparkle again!”
“You already sparkle enough,” Minori laughed.
Kyoji stood beside him, hands tucked neatly into his coat pockets.
When Pierre’s car disappeared down the street, Kyoji spoke.
“…Minori-san.”
“Yes?”
“Can I come over?”
It wasn’t unusual.
Pierre had visited many times. Kyoji too. Minori’s house was warm, welcoming — almost a second gathering place for them.
Minori smiled softly.
“Of course.”
***
Minori’s house felt peaceful at night.
Soft yellow lighting. The faint scent of fabric softener. Curtains drawn gently over wide windows. A small potted plant near the living room corner.
Minori slipped off his shoes and stretched lightly.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, heading toward the living room.
He loosened his collar and collapsed onto the long sofa with a quiet sigh.
“Ahh… I didn’t realize how tired I was.”
He lay on his back, one arm draped over his eyes dramatically.
Kyoji stood at the edge of the room for a moment.
Watching.
The talk show replayed quietly in his mind.
Minori’s smile under studio lights.
That pause.
That line about keeping up.
Without saying anything, Kyoji walked over.
And climbed onto the sofa.
Minori barely had time to react before Kyoji lowered himself over him — half laying, half draping — arms wrapping securely around Minori’s waist.
His cheek pressed against Minori’s chest.
Silent.
Minori blinked.
“…Kyoji-kun?”
No answer.
“Kyoji-kun?”
Nothing.
Only the faint warmth of his breath through the fabric of Minori’s shirt.
Minori shifted slightly.
“You’re heavy, you know.”
Still no reply.
Minori tilted his head to look down at him.
“…Are you sulking?”
Silence.
Ah.
So that’s it.
Minori’s expression softened.
He lifted his hand and began gently stroking Kyoji’s hair.
Slow.
Rhythmic.
Affectionate.
“Kyoji-kun,” he murmured warmly.
Kyoji tightened his arms slightly but refused to look up.
Minori chuckled.
“You’re not even responding when I call you. That’s serious.”
He continued brushing his fingers through Kyoji’s hair, thumb grazing lightly over his temple.
Finally—
Kyoji lifted his head.
His expression was unmistakable.
Brows faintly furrowed.
Lips subtly pressed together.
Sulking.
Adorably.
Minori had to bite back a laugh.
“What is this face?” he asked softly.
Kyoji held his gaze.
“You were serious earlier.”
“On stage?”
“Yes.”
Minori’s fingers slowed.
“It was a talk show.”
“You meant it.”
There was no accusation in Kyoji’s tone.
Just concern.
“…Are you burdened?” he asked quietly. “By dating me.”
Minori stared at him.
Then, gently — warmly — he laughed.
“Oh, Kyoji-kun.”
He cupped Kyoji’s cheek with one hand.
“Is that what’s been bothering you?”
“You’ve been pushing yourself,” Kyoji continued. “Jogging. Staying late. You’re sore.”
His voice dropped lower.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to match my age.”
Minori’s heart squeezed.
He slid his hand from Kyoji’s cheek down to his jaw, guiding him gently closer again until their foreheads almost touched.
“You’re not a benchmark,” Minori said softly. “You’re my boyfriend.”
Kyoji’s grip tightened slightly.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me.”
“You looked tired.”
Minori smiled — softer now, no cameras, no audience.
“I am thirty-one,” he said lightly. “Being tired is legal.”
Kyoji didn’t laugh.
Instead, he rested his forehead fully against Minori’s.
“I chose you,” he murmured. “Not someone my age. Not someone younger.”
His fingers curled into the fabric at Minori’s waist.
“You.”
The simplicity of it made Minori’s chest ache more than any sore muscle.
Minori leaned up slightly and pressed a gentle kiss into Kyoji’s hair.
Tender.
Lingering.
“You’re not something I have to endure,” Minori whispered. “You’re something I treasure.”
Kyoji finally relaxed a little.
His sulking expression softened into something quieter.
“You don’t have to outrun me,” Kyoji said.
Minori smiled.
“And you don’t have to slow down.”
They stayed like that.
Kyoji draped over him.
Minori stroking his hair.
The house quiet around them.
No stage lights.
No teasing MC.
No audience laughter.
Just the steady sound of two heartbeats gradually settling into the same rhythm.
And beneath it all—
A fear neither of them wanted to voice too loudly.
The fear of being the one left behind.
Even though—
Neither of them were moving away.
They stayed quiet for a while.
Kyoji’s weight rested comfortably over Minori’s middle, careful of his back, careful of everything. Minori’s fingers continued combing through his hair in slow, absent-minded strokes.
The house felt impossibly still.
Even the ticking clock on the wall seemed distant.
Kyoji shifted slightly, lifting himself just enough so that their faces were closer.
Close enough that Minori could feel his breath.
“Minori-san,” Kyoji said softly.
“Yes?”
There was a small pause.
“…May I kiss you?”
The question was so gentle it almost didn’t sound real.
Minori blinked.
Even after all this time, Kyoji still asked.
Still careful.
Still respectful.
Minori felt warmth rush to his cheeks.
“You’re asking now?” he murmured shyly.
“Yes.”
Minori’s lips curved into a small, flustered smile.
“…You’re unfair.”
Kyoji waited.
Didn’t move closer.
Didn’t assume.
Just waited.
Minori’s heart fluttered — embarrassingly fast for someone who had been through far more dramatic things in life.
He nodded.
Small.
Barely noticeable.
But certain.
“Yes.”
Kyoji exhaled slowly — as if he had been holding that breath longer than he realized.
Then he leaned in.
Not rushed.
Not demanding.
Their lips met softly at first.
Just a brush.
A question.
Minori’s fingers tightened slightly in Kyoji’s hair, and that was all the permission Kyoji needed to deepen it — still slow, still gentle.
The kiss lingered.
Unhurried.
Warm.
Kyoji’s hand slid from Minori’s waist to cradle his side more securely, careful of the tender spots from earlier. His thumb moved faintly against the fabric of Minori’s shirt, grounding.
Minori tilted his head just slightly, allowing the kiss to settle deeper.
Time stretched.
Breathing grew softer.
The world outside the house ceased to matter.
There was only the quiet rustle of fabric, the warmth between them, the steady rhythm of two people choosing each other in silence.
When they finally parted, it wasn’t abrupt.
Their lips lingered close.
Foreheads resting together.
Minori’s cheeks were flushed.
Kyoji’s expression had lost its earlier sulking edge entirely.
“You’re warm,” Kyoji murmured.
Kyoji leaned in once more, pressing a smaller, tender kiss to the corner of Minori’s mouth this time — a promise rather than a question.
And Minori realized—
His worry about age.
About stamina.
About distance.
Felt smaller in moments like this.
Kyoji didn’t pull away.
Not fully.
His hand remained warm at Minori’s side, thumb tracing absent patterns through the fabric as though memorizing the shape of him. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths mingling in the quiet room.
“Minori-san,” Kyoji said softly.
It wasn’t a question.
It was an invitation.
Minori felt it — the shift. The subtle change in the air. Not urgency. Not impatience. Just that quiet, focused intensity that always made his heart stumble.
He could step back.
He could laugh and lighten it.
He didn’t.
Instead, his fingers curled more firmly into Kyoji’s shirt.
“Kyoji-kun…” he murmured, and this time his voice wasn’t teasing.
The lamps in the living room cast long, gentle shadows along the walls. Outside, the city continued on, unaware.
Inside, the distance between them dissolved.
Kyoji kissed him again — slower now, deeper not in force but in intention. Minori responded without hesitation, letting himself lean fully into the warmth of it, into the steady way Kyoji held him as though anchoring himself there.
They moved without rush.
Without counting.
Without comparing pace.
Hands learned familiar paths. Laughter softened into quiet breaths. The sofa became too small for how close they wanted to be, and somewhere between whispered names and the slow unbuttoning of restraint, the rest of the world faded entirely.
No competition.
No proving.
Just closeness chosen again and again.
Later, when the lights were finally turned off and the room settled into darkness, Minori found himself pressed against Kyoji’s warmth, limbs tangled, heartbeat gradually slowing from something breathless into something peaceful.
Kyoji’s arm tightened instinctively around him even in the quiet.
And Minori didn’t pull away.
***
The house was quiet, washed in pale gold morning light that slipped through the curtains and stretched lazily across the wooden floor. It climbed the edge of the bed, warming the sheets where two bodies still lingered in sleep.
Minori stirred first.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. He hadn’t slept that deeply in a long time. His body felt warm and heavy in the most indulgent way — the kind of exhaustion that came wrapped in comfort rather than strain.
Then he tried to turn.
“…Ah.”
A slow ache pulled through his lower back and hips. Not sharp. Not unbearable. Just present — a quiet reminder of the night before.
Memories surfaced in fragments: warmth against his skin, Kyoji’s breath near his ear, the firm steadiness of his hands at Minori’s waist. The way Kyoji had whispered his name like it was something precious. The way Minori had answered, every time, softer and softer.
They had gone on longer than intended. Longer than sensible.
And Kyoji—
Kyoji hadn’t seemed to tire at all.
Minori turned his head carefully. Beside him, Kyoji slept soundly, hair slightly disheveled against the pillow, one arm draped loosely over Minori’s waist even in unconsciousness — as though instinct alone refused to let go.
He looked younger like this. Twenty. Unburdened.
“You really don’t get tired, do you?” Minori murmured under his breath.
Carefully, he began easing himself upright, attempting to slip out from under that arm without waking him. The moment he lifted his hips, the dull ache flared again. He froze, inhaled slowly, and waited for it to settle.
It wasn’t just stamina. It wasn’t just age.
It was him.
The problem wasn’t that Kyoji pushed.
It was that Minori never stopped him.
That look Kyoji had worn last night — focused, wanting, unmistakably devoted — had made something in Minori tremble. It wasn’t reckless hunger. It was intention. It was heat directed only at him.
And Minori had melted.
He hadn’t said slow down. He hadn’t said enough.
Because stopping meant breaking that moment. And he never wanted to be the one who pulled away first.
He finally managed to sit at the edge of the bed, one hand pressing lightly to his lower back. “…So that’s the real issue.”
Not stamina. Not ten years.
His courage.
Behind him, the mattress dipped.
A quiet inhale.
“…Minori-san?”
The voice was low and drowsy.
Minori glanced back. Kyoji was half-awake, eyes still heavy with sleep — yet focused immediately on him.
“You’re up early,” Minori said lightly.
Kyoji pushed himself upright, gaze traveling over him once before settling. “You’re moving carefully.”
Of course he noticed.
“It’s fine,” Minori replied with a small smile. “I don’t have any schedule today.”
“…You don’t?”
“Nope. Completely free.”
He stretched slightly — and instantly regretted it when the ache tugged again. He masked it as best he could, but Kyoji’s eyes sharpened.
“Does it hurt badly?”
“No,” Minori admitted. “Just… pleasantly sore.”
A faint pink rose to Kyoji’s ears.
Minori caught it.
Oh?
He turned more fully toward him, bracing one hand behind him for balance. “Honestly, I’m more surprised.”
“About what?”
“You’re usually the clumsy one.”
Kyoji frowned faintly. “I’m not that clumsy.”
“You trip over air.”
“That was once.”
“Twice.”
A quiet beat passed before Minori leaned closer, voice dipping playfully. “And yet… who would’ve thought you had that much stamina?”
Kyoji froze.
Minori smiled sweetly. “You don’t even look athletic.”
“…Minori-san.”
“You’re surprisingly reliable,” Minori continued innocently. “For someone who walks into tables.”
Color spread across Kyoji’s face. “You’re the one who—”
He stopped.
Minori raised a brow. “The one who what?”
Kyoji looked away briefly, then back, composure settling in — dangerously calm. “You were the one who wouldn’t let go.”
Minori blinked. “I—”
“You kept looking at me like that.”
“Like what?!” Minori squeaked.
“Like you wanted me to continue.”
Heat rushed straight to Minori’s face. “I did not.”
“You did.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Kyoji tilted his head slightly. “You’re very expressive.”
Minori covered his mouth in horror. “I am not.”
“You are.”
“And you’re the one who didn’t get tired!”
“That’s because,” Kyoji replied evenly, leaning closer, “Minori-san becomes very persuasive.”
Minori made a strangled sound. “That’s not fair.”
“You started it.”
They held each other’s gaze for a second — then Minori laughed softly, breath catching.
“…You’re impossible.”
Kyoji shifted closer, hands settling gently at Minori’s waist to steady him when he instinctively tried to sit straighter. The touch was careful. Grounding. Warm.
“I’m not upset,” Kyoji said quietly. “And I’m not feeling guilty.”
Minori studied him, then nodded. “Good.”
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” Minori replied, softer now. “I’m sore because I wanted to be there. Not because you forced anything.”
Kyoji’s shoulders eased.
“And next time?” he asked.
“Next time,” Minori said with a teasing smile, “we negotiate.”
“Negotiate?”
“Terms and conditions.”
“You’re the one who forgets them halfway.”
Minori gasped. “You’re very bold this morning.”
“You started it.”
The warmth between them shifted again — teasing, comfortable, steady. Not competition. Not pressure.
Just awareness.
Minori adjusted his posture slowly. “…Still, I might start jogging more.”
“If you do,” Kyoji said gently, “do it for yourself.”
“I will.”
Then, after a small pause, Minori’s eyes gleamed mischievously.
“…But maybe you could try getting tired once in a while?”
“I do get tired.”
Minori gave him a look.
“…Prove it next time.”
Kyoji choked slightly — and just like that, the fluster reversed again.
And in the quiet warmth of the morning, with sunlight spreading across the sheets and laughter still lingering between them, Minori felt it clearly:
His worry hadn’t disappeared.
But it didn’t feel heavy anymore.
Because whatever pace they walked at—
They were choosing it together.
***
The riverside path had become familiar.
Morning light spilled over the water, glinting against the surface in scattered gold. The air was crisp, cool enough to sting the lungs just slightly with every inhale.
Jogging had become routine now.
Not because Minori was trying to outrun something.
Not because he was afraid of falling behind.
Just because he liked it.
Liked the quiet.
Liked the rhythm.
Liked the company.
“Minori! Faster~!”
Pierre’s bright voice rang out from ahead.
As expected, Pierre was already several meters in front of them, practically bouncing as he ran. At fifteen, he was all limbs and limitless energy — light on his feet, waving one arm dramatically as if conducting an orchestra of invisible supporters.
“I am the wind!” Pierre declared proudly.
“You’re going to trip,” Minori called back between breaths.
Pierre laughed. “Impossible!”
Minori smiled, sweat already beginning to gather at his temples. His breathing was heavier than Pierre’s — but steady.
He wasn’t racing anyone.
Just moving forward.
Behind him—
“…Minori-san.”
Minori glanced back.
Kyoji was several steps behind.
Noticeably several steps behind.
Hair slightly damp, breath uneven, glasses slipping faintly down his nose.
He looked—
Tired.
Genuinely tired.
Minori slowed instinctively.
“Are you okay?” he asked, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.
Kyoji inhaled sharply. “I’m fine.”
“You’re pale.”
“I’m pacing myself.”
Pierre suddenly skidded to a stop ahead of them and turned around dramatically.
“Kyoji! You must be more energetic!” Pierre shouted. “You are twenty! Prime of youth!”
Kyoji, currently bent slightly forward with hands on his hips, looked deeply betrayed by the concept of youth.
“I had a schedule yesterday,” he muttered between breaths.
Pierre puffed out his cheeks. “Excuses!”
Minori couldn’t hold it anymore.
He laughed.
Openly.
Freely.
The sound carried lightly over the river.
Kyoji straightened slowly, glaring mildly at both of them. “I am not built for endurance running.”
“Unexpectedly reliable stamina elsewhere,” Minori said sweetly.
Kyoji choked.
Pierre blinked, confused. “Elsewhere?”
“Nowhere,” Kyoji and Minori said at the same time.
Pierre nodded as if that made sense. “Okay!”
They resumed jogging.
This time, Minori kept his pace steady.
Pierre dashed ahead again.
And Kyoji—
Stayed beside him.
Not ahead.
Not behind.
Beside.
Breathing heavier than Minori now.
Minori glanced sideways at him.
“You can slow down,” he said gently.
“I’m fine,” Kyoji replied stubbornly.
Minori’s smile softened.
No competition.
No pressure.
Just two different rhythms finding a middle ground.
______
That evening, the sky was tinted violet when they finally parted ways.
Pierre’s bodyguards arrived as usual.
“Tomorrow we run again!” Pierre declared enthusiastically.
“Let’s survive today first,” Kyoji muttered.
Pierre waved dramatically before being ushered away.
And just like that—
It was quiet.
Only Minori and Kyoji remained.
They began walking slowly down the dimly lit street.
Streetlights flickered on one by one.
Minori’s steps slowed unconsciously.
He recognized this path.
The small park bench.
The vending machines humming softly.
The stretch of sidewalk under the old gingko tree.
This was where—
“Minori-san.”
The memory surfaced clearly now.
The night Kyoji had stopped walking.
The night he had said he didn’t want to pretend anymore.
Minori’s chest tightened softly.
He stopped walking.
Kyoji turned slightly. “What is it?”
Minori looked around once more.
Then back at him.
“…Do you remember?”
Kyoji’s gaze followed his.
Understanding dawned almost immediately.
“Yes.”
A quiet breeze rustled the leaves above them.
Minori smiled faintly.
“That night… when you confessed.”
He had laughed then.
Played it off.
Asked if Kyoji would regret liking someone like him.
But what he hadn’t said—
What he hadn’t shown—
Was this:
From the very beginning, Minori had known.
Known about the lingering looks.
The careful touches.
The way Kyoji said his name softer than necessary.
He had pretended not to notice.
Because acknowledging it meant admitting his own heart was already leaning in.
“I was happy,” Minori said quietly.
Kyoji blinked.
“I was very, very happy.”
The words came easier now.
“I just didn’t know how to say it properly back then.”
The night of the confession—
Minori’s heart had been racing so loudly he’d been sure Kyoji could hear it.
He had felt chosen.
Not as the oldest.
Not as a mentor.
Not as someone dependable.
But as someone desired.
That night, when Kyoji said he had liked him for a long time—
Minori’s chest had bloomed warm and weightless all at once.
He had only smiled.
Because if he spoke too honestly—
He was afraid it would show just how much he had wanted the same thing.
“I thought,” Minori continued softly, “that maybe I should be the mature one.”
Kyoji’s expression softened.
“But I was just as flustered as you.”
Kyoji let out a quiet breath — almost a laugh.
“You were not.”
“I was,” Minori insisted gently. “I just hide it better.”
They stood there under the streetlight, the same place where everything had begun.
Minori stepped closer.
Not dramatic.
Not urgent.
Just close enough that their shoulders brushed.
“I don’t want to outrun you,” he said softly. “And I don’t want to be outrun either.”
Kyoji’s hand moved instinctively, fingers brushing lightly against Minori’s.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Kyoji replied.
Minori smiled.
“I know.”
And that was the difference now.
Back then, his heart had fluttered with uncertainty.
Now, it fluttered with certainty.
They didn’t need to match pace perfectly.
They didn’t need equal stamina.
They didn’t need to compete with years.
They only needed—
To keep walking.
Beside each other.
The streetlight hummed quietly above them.
Minori reached for Kyoji’s hand fully this time.
And together, they continued down the path—
Not faster.
Not slower.
Just side by side.
That night had begun like any other, under ordinary lights and ordinary skies. And yet, in the quiet space between two hands finally intertwined, Minori realized it had never been ordinary at all.
[ END ]