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Mika lay tangled messily in his sheets, the silence of his dorm room buzzing in his ears. His roommates were long gone, already out enjoying their Sunday mornings. But today, Mika had woken up wrong. Off-set. Off-kilter. It felt as if the world had suddenly tilted onto its opposite axis, leaving him stranded alone in the nausea of it, with nothing but his mountain of plushies and a persistant aching emptiness for company. On mornings like these, Mika allowed himself to retreat, just a little.
He had swaddled himself in a thick, wine-red turtleneck that didn't belong to him; pinching tight across his shoulders yet sagging loosely at his waist. A gentle floral-rose perfume clung to the fabric, grounded by an assertive, musky powder; it was a scent Mika could recognise anywhere, even buried under mountains of trash. It was the unmistakable natural scent of Itsuki Shu.
Mika pulled the collar up over his nose, inhaling deeply until his nose burned. It was 10:00 AM in Japan, which meant it was 2:00 AM in Paris. Shu was likely asleep, or perhaps sequestered in his atelier, setting those agile hands and long fingers to work while the rest of Paris stood still. Far beyond the reach of the world. (Otherwise, Mika would kick his handsome workaholic butt into bed).
To stave off the loneliness, Mika had spent the last hour rewatching old Valkyrie performance footage saved to his phone for such days. He watched the high-definition recording of their last performance of Beautiful Nightingale, and found himself deeply mesmerised by the way Shu navigated the stage with endless grace; sharp and assertive, yet possessing a liquid fluidity that smoothed the edges of every bow and turn towards the audience.
"…Yer the best, Oshi-san," Mika mumbled softly into the turtleneck, awed.
He watched, as his past-self and Shu posed for the final time with the appropriate amount of dramatic flourish, their silhouettes frozen in a perfect symmetry before the screen faded to black and the next video queued up; Eternal Weaving.
However, he found his eyes drifting to the door, where a makeshift string telephone would sometimes hang from the handle. It was a silly, childish thing, but it served as a signal to his roommates that he was having a "phone day" with his Oshi-san. When that string was hung taut, it meant he was in Paris, at least in his mind.
But this morning, the door handle was empty.
The window between time zones when they could reasonably call each other was tight and always too short, yet they never failed to carve out the time.
As if telepathic, his phone suddenly screamed to life at full volume. Mika let out a startled squawk, his fingers scrambling to catch the vibrating device before it slipped from his grasp. The caller ID displayed a string of numbers he knew by heart.
"O-Oshi-san?" Mika gasped, scrambled to sit up. It wasn't even close to their phone day yet! He swiped accept with trembling fingers. "Oshi-san! Is everythin' alright? Did somethin' happen?"
The line crackled to life with a low-fidelity hum, a vibrato of static mixed with the overwhelming loud rustle of fabric. It sounded as though the phone was being smothered by heavy sheets. He couldn't help but wince slightly at the harsh noise. Had Shu accidentally butt-dialed him?
"Oshi-san?" He asked again, louder this time, his heart fluttering with anticipation as he pressed the phone tighter to his ear.
"Kagehira?" Shu’s voice eventually came through, but it was... heavy. Thick, and drawling like velvet dragged through honey. "Kagehira, why is it so … dark in here?"
"Uhm," Mika’s brow furrowed, entirely confused. "Oshi-san, where are ya?"
"Home," Shu declared, followed by a loud thud—the unmistakable sound of a bag hitting the floor. "I'm home. But... but where are you? You are late, Kagehira. Why aren't you waiting in the living room?"
Dumbfounded, Mika heard the scuff of shoes being kicked off haphazardly—an undignified act so unlike the meticulous Itsuki Shu that Mika knew—and felt a sharp pang of genuine worry stab through him. A heavy sigh followed, then the creak of a sofa being collapsed into.
"Oshi-san... I'm in Japan," Mika said softly, his voice imploring. "Remember? I had to come back fer work. Fer Valkyrie's schedule here."
"Japan?" Shu repeated the word as if it were a foreign concept he found distasteful. "Why? Why would you be there when the... the… the thing…." He trailed off, his thoughts seemingly lost as he spoke them aloud. The knot of concern in Mika's chest tightened.
“Why… Why aren't you here with me?” Shu asked again, his tone terse.
Mika opened his mouth to explain again, but Shu cut him off with a long, frustrated groan.
"It was... It was… absolutely insufferable, Kagehira! The showcase. A desert—A wasteland of uninspired 'art' by children who wouldn't know how to pick a needle from a... a toothpick," Shu rambled aimlessly.
This conversation had officially left Mika behind in the dust.
“I nearly passed where I stood... the sheer mediocrity of it was... you just wouldn’t believe it...” His voice drifted, words bleeding into one another like wet ink, as he spiralled further into his own thoughts.
"And.. And…" Shu's tone suddenly took a sharp, angry turn. "And that... that NiceP... and his Megasphere..." He enunciated each word, dripping with venom. "Wretched, useless things. I hate like..." he trailed off, mumbling incoherently.
Then, as if he'd suddenly recalled something "Kagehira, where... where are you?"
A thought entered Mika's mind. It seemed… almost impossible if not unthinkable—but he had to check.
"Oshi-san, did ya… did ya drink a lot?" Mika asked evenly, interrupting Shu's looping spiral of dialogue.
"I drank the... the required amount," Shu muttered. "The wine was as tasteless as the company. They talked, Mika. Oh, how they talked. Words like... like 'perspective' and 'juxtaposition,' and not a single soul understood what any of it meant!"
At this confirmation, Mika let out a barely audible sigh of relief. Shu was just a little tipsy, not concussed or… double concussed or something. But the relief was short-lived, replaced by a sudden, jarring jolt of panic as he realised that he didn't have the contact info for any of Shu’s classmates or friends in Paris. If Shu had actually made himself sick, Mika was powerless from across the ocean.
Shu's deep voice sounding through the receiver broke him from his thoughts; "But then... I started thinking about your… your cheeks."
Startled, Mika flushed a deep crimson.
"My... my cheeks?" He repeated, incredulous.
"Squishy," Shu replied, breathing heavily down the microphone. "And your elbows... so bony; so charming. Beautiful. You are so much more beautiful than anything they displayed tonight, Kagehira. I sat there, in the middle of that... that vacuum of joy... and all I wanted was to touch your face. I had to call you. First thing. Because you are beautiful. Did I say that before? You are... truly, so beautiful."
At this, Mika felt electric heat rush from the tips of his toes straight to his hairline. He pulled the thick wool of the turtleneck up until it covered his eyes and burning ears, trying to hide from the intensity, even though he knew Shu couldn't see him through the audio-only connection.
"Ngnaah, stop it, Oshi-san... ya shouldn't say stuff like that so easily," Mika whined into the fabric, voice muffled and high-pitched, though a wide, helpless grin was stretching across his face beneath the sweater at the praise. He felt a wave of "hot-shame" and giddy joy crawling up his back. It felt like his heart was being squeezed by a warm hand, his scatterbrained thoughts racing.
"Non," Shu’s voice rumbled, sounding even more certain. "You are… so beautiful," he repeated.
Mika giggled, a lopsided, giddy sound. "...Yer such a hassle, Oshi-san. But I love ya that way as well. Are ya even changed yet? Or are ya gonna sleep in yer outside clothes?"
"I am... contemplating the sofa," Shu declared, sagely.
"Non! No street clothes on the bed—or the sofa!" Mika countered, mimicking Shu’s own scoldings in a put-on deep voice. "You'll be so grumpy in the mornin' if ya wake up all oily and smelly. Tell ya what... if ya go change right now, I'll video call ya. How's that?"
There was a long silence, then; "I shall change. Do not move. Do not... do not…"
The line went dead.
Mika didn't wait. Worried that a dizzy Shu might trip over a rug or the shoes he had randomly discarded before, he immediately hit the video call button.
On seventh ring, Shu answered, but the screen was a blur of familiar pink hair. He was holding the phone directly against his ear.
"Oshi-san, it's a video call," Mika snorted before he could stop himself.
"Ah." The image shifted. Suddenly, Mika was staring at a very close-up, slightly out-of-focus view of Shu’s furrowed eyebrows and forehead. "There you are," he breathed. "My... my Kagehira."
Through blurry glimpses, it appeared Shu had somewhat managed to change into a red silk button-down—though it wasn't buttoned at all—and for some reason decided to pair it with his formal black slack pants. Mika resisted the intense urge to screenshot.
"You are wearing a turtleneck," Shu noted out of nowhere, his eyes narrowing as he finally pulled the phone back from his face.
"Mhm," Mika hummed, not really listening. Instead, he was busy taking in the new full picture of Shu’s face, finally revealed as the camera stabilised.
Shu’s usually porcelain-pale complexion was stained with a bright red flush that crept from his high cheekbones, across his nose, and down to the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes, usually so keen and piercing, were heavy-lidded and shimmering with a glassy unfocused warmth.
"Stand up," Shu commanded, his voice a weak flicker of its usual fiery authority. "Show me. Spin around."
Impossibly endeared, Mika obeyed. He propped the phone against his nightstand and backed into the frame, spinning in a slow, clumsy circle. He felt a little ridiculous, but seeing Oshi-san like this was so… cute! How could Mika possibly deny him? He wouldn't be Valkyrie's Kagehira Mika if he did.
"Yes... the shape is good," Shu murmured to himself. "Now...turn around and bend over. I must see the tension in the back seams."
Mika froze, ears burning. He let out a breathless laugh. "Oshi-san! What kinda request is that?"
Shu didn't blink, his expression remaining perfectly serious. "The fit of a garment is paramount, Kagehira. Do not be difficult," he scolded.
Mika huffed a shaky, incredulous laugh.
"Oshi-san," Mika started, his voice a mix of amusement and a gentle, grounding tone. "Yer fergettin' somethin' real important. Look again." He tugged at the thick wool, pulling it up so the camera caught the way it pulled taught across his shoulders but pooled at his waist.
"This ain't mine, Oshi-san," Mika teased with a wide lopsided grin. "It's yers. Ya left it here last time ya visited. 'Course it doesn't fit me right—it was made fer ya."
Shu blinked slowly, the information seemingly traveling through a thick fog before finally reaching his brain. He squinted at the screen, his head tilting so far to the side he left the frame of the camera.
"Mine?" Shu repeated, his voice dropping into a confused, low hum. He reached out as if to touch the fabric for himself, his fingers fumbling toward the screen. "I... I suppose the gauge of the knit is familiar. But then..." He paused, his loopy logic struggling to reconnect. "Then why are you wearing it if it is not a perfect fit? You know I cannot abide such... such sa-sartorial negligence, Kagehira."
"Cuz it smells like ya," Mika admitted, his voice low as he pulled the collar over his nose again. "I missed ya so much… I just needed to feel like ya were here."
It was silent for a moment, Shu's eyebrows were furrowed, seemingly deep in thought. He blinked, eyes rapidly refocusing on the screen with a sharp intensity.
Then, suddenly; "Kagehira, bend over. I want to see how the back looks."
"Oshi-san! Yer really stuck on that, aren't ya? How naughty." Mika teased, his heart fluttering in his chest. He couldn't help the way his voice pitched upward, half-playful and half-breathless from the sheer absurdity of the moment.
Mika waited for Shu to argue back, but instead Shu’s stern expression seemed to flicker and soften; the drink in his system winning the battle against his perfectionism.
Defeated, Shu sighed dramatically, long, loud and heavy, and slumped back, the phone tilting precariously in his hand so that Mika was suddenly looking at a lopsided view of the ceiling and the edge of Shu's flushed temple. "It is too quiet here," he murmured, his voice losing its sharp edge and turning into something small. "This apartment is... it is empty without your noise. Why aren't you here?"
"I know, I know," Mika soothed, sitting back down and leaning close to the camera. "I miss ya too.. so much it hurts sometimes." The distance between Tokyo and Paris felt like an ocean he couldn’t possibly swim across (not for lack of trying).
The tender atmosphere was shattered in an instant as Shu’s sorrow curdled into a sudden, hot frustration.
"Is it because of that NiceP?" Shu suddenly snapped, his face twisting with renewed anger that made him look like a ruffled, indignant bird. "Are they holding you hostage? I shall write a letter! I shall... I shall make a phone call!"
Mika watched helpless with extreme fondness as Shu went on another long-winded tangent. He didn't try to argue; he just listened to the familiar cadence of Shu’s voice, even when the words were nonsensical.
Eventually, the fire in Shu’s eyes dimmed. He went from ranting to venting to mumbling to simply quietly staring at Mika through the screen, his breathing slowing. Seeming to have tired himself out.
"What are ya thinkin' 'bout now, Oshi-san?" Mika whispered. He leaned his cheek against his palm, his eyes softening as he watched the way the screen light reflected in Shu’s eyes.
"Beautiful," Shu breathed, intense gaze fixed. "Just... beautiful."
He was back to this again.
"You're the beautiful one," Mika replied with ease. He watched Shu’s lips curl into a small, happy smile at the praise—a rare unguarded moment. Mika felt a swell of pride in his own chest at the sight.
"...Why aren't you here?" Shu asked again, his deep voice cracking slightly.
Mika didn't attempt to try to explain the logistics of international travel or contracts. The words would probably tangle in Shu's mind and vanish, forgotten the moment a new thought took hold in his brain. He also didn't want to be the one to remind Shu of the many obstacles between them when he was in such a state.
"I'll be there soon, Oshi-san," Mika said instead, "I promise. But right now, ya gotta go to sleep. Ya look exhausted. All that yellin' must've worn ya out."
"No," Shu protested, but his eyelids were drooping, fluttering like the wings of a sitting butterfly. "If I sleep... you'll vanish. You'll…"
"I won't hang up," Mika promised, voice soft. "I'll stay right here. I'll be the last and the first thing ya see, 'kay?"
Shu let out a long, contented hum. He shifted the phone so it rested on the pillow next to his head, giving Mika a wonderful view of the ceiling. Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of soft, deep breathing filled the line.
Mika stayed on the line while the Sunday morning sun climbed higher in Tokyo. He stayed until the screen finally flickered and disconnected; Shu’s phone battery finally drained.
Feeling a renewed vigour to start his day properly, Mika snapped a quick selfie. Still in the turtleneck, his hair messy, and eyes slightly bagged, but he was smiling.
Sent 11:53 AM: "Sleep well, Oshi-san~ Check yer bag when ya wake up—ya dumped it on the floor last night. Love ya! ♪"