Work Text:
The stage lights were hot on Iori's face as his body navigated precise patterns he'd practiced a thousand times over. He cast out his voice, his soul, to the ocean of penlights. In return, every smile and cheer sent all his love and more right back to him. Their energy was electricity for the stage, a constant charge for the idols upon it. No matter how long it had been since they'd started out, Iori still felt the thrill that each moment of a live show brought with it.
The final chorus of Restart Pointer came to a close, and Iori made his move towards his final position. He approached Riku's side and the corners of his lips couldn't help but pull further up. That night's show had been exceptional; everyone had been on top form, all surrounding a particularly great performance from their centre. The arena was full of sheer joy, and it was infectious. Everyone got in line and finished their steps as the music began to fade out and the applause picked up. A familiar hand came to briefly squeeze at Iori's shoulder. He turned his head, and time stood still.
Riku was grinning right at him, eyes crinkled and teeth on show. Iori had been fortunate enough to get to know Riku's many smiles well, and this one felt ever so slightly different than the ones he gave to the fans. It was only a moment, but to Iori it could have been an hour. They were easily half a metre apart, but it felt so close, like they were pressed together. Something in his chest hurt, and his stomach broke out in flutters. In that second, Iori's heart refused to beat. The second after, it picked back up in double time.
Iori could not let something like this make him falter. This… well, he didn't know what it was. The only way he could describe it was a sickness. In any case, it was nothing new to him, just another case of symptoms to log when he got back to the dorm. And he was a professional, after all. His legs felt weak, but he would just have to will them to drag him through the encore, and back to the green room.
Finally off the stage, he tried again to will his breath not to quiver around the others. Iori's will was strong, but it seemed that his legs had taken up most of what it could offer him.
"You doing okay?" Mitsuki whispered to him as the seven of them changed back into street clothes. "You look like you're about to faint."
"I'm fine." Iori replied, curtly. "I think I'm just shaking off the adrenaline after that live. We did well tonight."
"We did." Mitsuki said with a smile, though Iori could see the worry hidden behind it. "We have protein bars in the car. Make sure you have one on the way back to the dorm."
"Nii-san." Iori loved his brother - admired him to no end - it would be unfair for Iori to even consider burdening him with a load he should be able to carry himself. "You should eat too. You worked hard today."
Mitsuki reached up and ruffled Iori's hair, the action met with narrowed eyes and a slight huff.
"You'd better let me know if there's something bothering you." Mitsuki chastised him, but Iori knew it came from a place of concern.
"The same to you, Nii-san." He replied, his smile soft.
Mitsuki sighed and shook his head. He gave Iori a pat on the back, and seemed to want to say something else, only to be interrupted by something that sounded an awful lot like Nagi flirting with a member of venue staff in the corridor outside.
"That man is going to be the death of me." Mitsuki grumbled under his breath. "I'll see you at the car, Iori. Good work tonight!"
"You too." Iori responded with a low chuckle as his brother stormed out. He finished changing to the rowdy soundtrack of his fellow members, who were already ready to go and causing chaos in the corridor. Iori shook his head fondly, and did one last look around before he, too, left the room.
Iori was exhausted. He barely registered anything during the car ride back to the dorm. He was only able to tell that they'd arrived thanks to a tap on the shoulder from Mitsuki. Once back inside, Mitsuki had piped up about heating up some dinner for everyone, but Iori simply excused himself and traipsed back to his bedroom. Finally alone, he let out a frankly pathetic little moan and planted himself at his desk with very little of his usual poise. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and, with the other, grabbed a plain black notebook from the back of his desk.
He flicked through the pages, noting that the diary was almost full. He had been filling it in every day for months now. Each entry was a log of symptoms of this strange affliction he had found himself with - just in case he may need to bring it to a doctor. With a soft groan, Iori grabbed his best pen and started to write.
He wrote about the clench in his chest, and the way his heart seemed to stop. He wrote about the flutters in his stomach, the way his face grew hot and his mind went blank - even just for a moment - and how his legs became weak. He wrote about how, once again, it all came back to their centre. His superstar. Even the thought of him made something catch in his throat. He wrote about that too.
Iori took pride in his intelligence. He wasn't a fool. He knew full well the picture this was all painting - even if it wasn't one he had experienced for himself yet - but he refused to accept that. There was clearly another explanation and, if he dug hard enough, he could find something, anything, that would help him find what it was and get it under control.
Some people would refer to Iori as a control freak. They weren't entirely wrong, but there was something more to it than that. Deep down in the pit of his belly sat something dark and thick and ugly. It wasn't necessarily a love of control, rather an agonising, petrifying fear of losing it.
He stared at the page until he couldn't read the words on it anymore. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes so hard they hurt. It was getting worse, and he needed to find an answer soon. He thought, he hoped, he prayed that if he worked hard enough, he would manage.
Everyone had worked too hard for him to destroy their dreams with his childish whims.
Iori's reverie was shattered by a knock at the door.
"Iori!" Nagi called from the hallway; he was clearly making the rounds for his goodnight hugs. "Are you still awake?"
"He will be now." Iori heard his brother's exasperated voice reply. Iori shook his head and took a breath. He had to work the next day. Now really wasn't the time to be running himself ragged thinking about this. With a resigned huff, he decided it would be best to say goodnight and try and get some sleep.
It would have been best, but things didn't want to work out like that.
After saying his goodnights, Iori lay alone in his bed feeling far too hot. The scant light from the streetlamps outside barely just peeked through the top of his curtains. He screwed his eyes shut, tried every possible position to lie down in, but it was no use. His thoughts were nothing short of a whirlwind. Every time he tried to soothe himself, everything went back to a sweet voice. The way soft red hair would glimmer under the sun. He tossed and turned again, and his brain would place that familiar hand on his shoulder. Would have it creep up to his neck, his jaw, his cheek. Even when he planted his face firmly in the pillows, his mind would conjure the world's most adorable pout that just wouldn't let up until imaginary Iori caved and kissed it away.
It was humiliating. It was something he could never ever dream of entertaining. Not like this. Not with anyone, least of all him. He let out a groan into the fabric of his pillowcase, hoping it would be muffled. He really needed to just put this behind him. For his own good, for the good of IDOLiSH7 as a whole, and especially for him. There was nothing going on here. Nothing at all.
It took Iori several hours to block out the sweet whispers conjured by his imagination.
Every single part of Iori's body felt as though it were filled with lead. It was a wonder he'd managed to survive the day at school. If he was lucky, he'd be able to get home after this photoshoot and just head to bed - without Tamaki having said anything to the rest of the group. He'd liked to have thought that he had enough poise to put out an image of having things together. As he stumbled into the studio, he only hoped that he could maintain the polished professionalism he was known for. He greeted the staff and made his way to the green room. He took the opportunity to rub at his tired eyes one last time. The last thing he needed was to ruin this photoshoot with smudged makeup.
Iori was bundled into a very comfortable ensemble, with pastel blues running throughout. It was far more casual than his personal choice of clothing, and in his exhausted state he was worried that the fluffy fabrics may just put him right to sleep. He demanded his inner autopilot to carry him along the corridor to the set. It was set up to look bright and airy - almost like a cafe - with wooden floors, oak tables, and soft chairs. Iori, however, only noticed the most obvious surface details. Just off to the side of the set, with hair perfectly styled and dressed in pastel pinks, was the cause of all his sleepless nights.
Riku had arrived slightly early, it seemed, and was in deep conversation with the shoot's director. Iori walked, quiet and calm as he could, to where they stood. The moment he moved, though, Riku's head snapped to him and - oh no - he broke out into a smile so big and bright that Iori felt the need to squint.
"Iori!" Riku called him over with a wave like the frantic wag of a happy puppy's tail. It was not cute, Iori thought. Not cute at all. He wasn't staring at his bedroom ceiling in the dark; he was working. There was no conceivable way Iori could ever think of Nanase-san and cute in the same sentence.
Iori greeted him coolly, before turning to the director with a bow. Expressing all his manners, and exchanging all the pleasantries on the checklist that ran through his head with every job. Tired as he was, he enjoyed this part of the job. There was something fulfilling about going to a job and checking off each box. It calmed his raging nerves, if only a little.
"It's good to have you both here," The director, a short, well-dressed man perhaps in his forties said. "When the marketing team briefed me on this concept, not one person could think of a better duo to take it on."
"I'm very pleased to hear that." Iori really had to try to keep the business smile plastered to his face as he remembered what exactly the job was. A promotional shoot for a company producing adorable (objectively – Iori, of course, had no real opinion on that kind of thing) plushes. They had seen Riku, well, being Riku, and also had somehow been charmed by Iori's work on Next Re:vale's Rabbitube project. It had made the executives think that the two of them would be the perfect fit. Well, Iori was not going to argue; it was another great chance to promote IDOLiSH7 and Riku as well.
Iori thought that, but he felt humiliated as before too long he was guided to the set, placed among a nest of comfy chairs and fluffy cushions, and handed his "shoot partner". It was a white rabbit just a little bigger than his head. Bluebunny (Iori had to check the name, so he could get into the shoot properly, of course) had delightfully soft paws, and his tummy had the perfect amount of squishiness to it. His ears were long and floppy, which was (objectively) adorable, and they poked out of a big blueberry hat. On top of all that,, he had huge shiny eyes that looked like they were pleading. Iori supposed that if he were the type of customer for this sort of thing (which he wasn't) he would definitely give in to all of Bluebunny's demands. Perhaps, if Iori just so happened to have a Bluebunny thrust upon him, he would want to take care of it. It would only be polite.
Fortunately, Bluebunny was a natural star. It was a little embarrassing to pose with the little rabbit, but Iori like to think that he took it in his stride - fatigue and all. When his turn was up, he left the set and went to watch as Riku went to work. His assigned friend was a little golden coloured pomeranian named Puppichigo. Covered in fuzz with the same big needy eyes, wearing a strawberry hat. It had that same awful pitifulness that Riku did.
As the crew got to work, as Riku started posing, Iori felt something clench inside of him. As always with Riku, it was almost impossible for Iori to look away as his groupmate moved between poses. His hair fell perfectly over his face, catching the warmth of the lights just so. His eyes gleamed like precious stones, set into a masterfully crafted piece of jewellery, shaded by sweeping long lashes. His lips were pulled into that silly Nanase-san smile. They were tinted just a little, and they looked… soft. There was no denying it; he was beautiful. He was something to be coveted and admired. That ugly twisted thing in Iori's gut disagreed. It wanted to get close, closer than anyone. It wanted to taint him with his presence, wanted to mess up his hair and take the gaze from those eyes all for himself. It wanted to capture those lips and never let go.
The director called for Iori to come back onto set, and the spell was broken. He was relieved, frankly. This was hardly a train of thought to be going down in front of Bluebunny.
The final set of shots was simple enough - the two of them and the plushies together. It was simple enough. Only an idiot would be able to mess it up. Riku, yet again, took it in stride. He couldn't see the veritable tempest raging inside of Iori with each instruction to get closer. He couldn't feel the heat radiating from his own skin as they were asked to lean on each other. He wasn't subject to the horrible crushing pressure threatening to cave in Iori's chest as they were pressed up shoulder to shoulder, so close Iori could barely breathe.
There was something intoxicating in it though, something in their proximity that fueled a fire in him. There was something in the minuscule space between them that Iori hated. No. Not Iori. That toxic, writhing mess inside of him. Iori was a professional, after all.
Once they were done and the crew satisfied, Iori finally felt the air rush back into his lungs. As he tore himself from Riku's side, he felt somewhat cold despite the heating in the studio. He thought nothing of it - or maybe he just made a conscious effort not to think about it. Either way, it was something for the diary later on. He felt hot red eyes on his back. He chose not to think about that either.
As they had a final debrief with the crew, Iori was pleasantly surprised to find that the two of them were allowed to keep the plushies they'd been photographed with. The pleasant surprise was, of course, because Bluebunny had been good to work with. Nothing else. Iori politely took the team up on their offer - it would be a shame if Bluebunny had gotten attached and would have to say goodbye, after all.
Iori changed back into his school uniform, and pointedly kept his gaze at the wall as Riku changed as well. His phone chimed, presumably Tsumugi letting him know that she was parked outside.
"That was fun!" Riku seemingly appeared out of nowhere at Iori's side. "It's nice that we got to keep the plushies."
Iori dared to move his gaze, and definitely did not feel his heart clench at the puppy dog smile plastered on Riku's face.
"It was very generous of them, yes." Iori kept his tone calm and flat, right where it needed to be.
Riku's brow furrowed, and Iori prepared himself for the worst. Had he done something wrong? Was something the matter with the shoot? Was Riku about to announce that actually things had gone so disastrously wrong that he had decided on the spot to leave IDOLiSH7 forever? He was silent for a long while, long enough for Iori's expression to falter.
"Are you okay?" Riku asked the dreaded question. "You looked a little out of it."
"I'm perfectly fine." Iori straightened himself out again. "I apologise if I made any mistakes during the shoot at all, do point those out if I made any."
Riku sighed, lips falling into a pout. That ugly part of Iori (and not Iori himself) thought it was so damn cute.
"You didn't do anything wrong." Riku's pout deepened, "You're so uptight."
"Up–" Iori tried to protest, but Riku kept talking.
"You just seem a little tired." He said, "Not enough to show for most people, but I'm not most people!"
Iori shook his head. "I was just up late studying last night. I'm in my third year now, if you hadn't noticed. I have exams coming up." It wasn't entirely a lie but he hoped it would take Riku off his case, at least. Riku grumbled, just a little, but he finally released the tension in his shoulders and unscrunched his face.
"Well," he said, "Let me know if something's wrong, okay?"
Iori's stomach was churning and fluttering again. He supposed he could admit that the offer was sweet, at least.
"Look," Riku continued, holding Puppichigo up to Iori's face. "I have a really messy room, and I'm not always the best at looking after things."
"Where is this going?" Iori asked with narrowed eyes.
"Well, you're really neat and good at that kind of thing!" Riku declared, "And you're in your last year of school now, so maybe you could use a study buddy! I think it'd be good for you to take care of Puppichigo. If you want."
"I–" Iori wanted to decline but Riku only thrust the plush closer to him, putting those big, shiny, pleading eyes right up to Iori's own.
"It'd be really good for Bluebunny to have a friend while you're out too, don't you think?" Riku's own eyes matched those of the plush. The kind of face that Iori knew he was hopeless to resist. "And, I'm not saying that there is anything wrong, but if something was wrong, you could confide in him!"
Iori was not stupid, but he was too tired to argue.
"If you insist," Iori rubbed at his eyes. "I suppose I could take care of him."
Riku cheered, almost jumping clear off the floor.
"Thank you, Iori." His voice was gentle, and he sounded so much like he cared, deeply. It made something in Iori's chest hurt. The smile that almost immediately took over Riku's face was so bright that Iori definitely needed to squint.
Just something else to note for the diary, Iori supposed.
As the van pulled up to the dorm, it became apparent to the two of them that they were the last to arrive. They thanked Tsumugi for the lift and started moving to get out of the car but, much to Iori's annoyance, she was awfully perceptive and asked him to stay behind for a minute. He half expected Riku to complain, to make some jab at them talking alone again, but that was not the case. He simply said goodnight to their manager, gave Iori a cheery "I'll see you in there!", and hopped right out. Iori should have been relieved to not have to deal with an immature dig like that, but he wasn't. It bothered him.
"Is everything alright, Iori?" Their manager had turned round in her seat, looking at him with what he knew was wide-eyed concern. Frankly, Iori felt stupid. How bad a job had he done at hiding this? He was supposed to be good at this kind of thing. A professional, with an untouchable image. He was supposed to be mature. He was not supposed to be sitting in the back of the car cradling plushies while pondering some kind of childish secret crus– Iori cut that thought off with a cough. What he meant was some kind of affliction.
"Everything's fine, manager." He said with all the control he could muster over his tone. "I just had a lot to do at school today, what with final exams coming up. I apologise for any concern I've caused. I won't slip up like this again."
Tsumugi studied him for far too long - even if it was only a few moments - finally, she relented with a sigh.
"If you're sure. But please look after yourself. You have tomorrow off, make sure to get some rest."
Iori had almost forgotten that he had tomorrow off. It was quite rare to not have any work scheduled on a Saturday, and after all of this he supposed that a professional would make the most of that.
"I will. Thank you for your concern." He spoke curtly, before excusing himself from the van and carrying his two new companions into the dorm.
Iori could hear the bubble of conversation even through the door. As he stepped inside, though, his groupmates fell silent. It sent Iori's shoulders hiking to his ears. Just what had they been talking about?
"Welcome home, Iori!" Mitsuki finally piped up from by the stove. From the way the kitchen smelled, he was making curry. Normally, that would calm Iori right down, but in the moment it just didn't quite do the trick.
"I'm home. Good work today, everyone." Iori bowed his head for just a second before straightening out. "I'll just be in my room. Excuse me." He tried to give off an air of confidence, but something blocked his throat on the last few syllables and this was bad. With no further pleasantries, and before anyone could say a word, he marched off to his bedroom.
He was quick to lay his two new companions at the foot of his bed. They looked happy together. At least they didn't have to contend with a whirlwind of unwanted feelings. Iori ran a hand down his face and resigned to change his clothes, before dutifully sitting at his desk and writing everything down in his diary - now kept on the desk from how much he'd been using it.
Iori wasn't stupid. He really wasn't. He'd never experienced… this… before, but he'd seen enough dramas and heard enough from his colleagues and peers at school to recognise his symptoms. He was stubborn, however. Saying it out loud would make it real. It would confirm the very worst. It would confirm that this affliction wasn't just a passing thing, and that his petulant heart was something that could tear IDOLiSH7 apart. Iori, yet again, stared down at the page. Perhaps he could treat this like a problem for maths class. Something definite that he could figure out a solution for. Unfortunately, by all his working, the numbers all seemed irrational.
"Iori?" There was a quiet knock at the door, and Iori jumped clear out of his seat before slamming the book shut. As much as Iori wanted nothing more than to lock himself away and try to figure this out, he would have recognised his nii-san's voice anywhere, and he really didn't need to worry him with all of this. He slowly pushed himself up and answered his brother's call, opening the door just enough to poke his head through.
"Is everything alright, Nii-san?" Iori shoved each of his features into neutral.
"There's curry in the kitchen, if you want some." Mitsuki said, eyes soft. "We can eat together, if you'd like?"
"Ah. Thank you." Iori's tone was stiff, and he knew it. "I'm going to study a bit more now, but I'll be sure to get some later."
Mitsuki studied him for a moment. "You can tell me if something's bothering you, you know."
"The same goes for you, Nii-san." Iori tried to brush his brother's concern away.
Mitsuki rolled his eyes at that, before he reached up to ruffle Iori's hair, earning a yelp in response. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"
"Nii-san." Iori groaned, heat growing under the skin on his cheeks. "I always go to bed on time, there's no need to fuss."
"I'm just making sure." Mitsuki laughed, but it was forced. Iori didn't want to bring it up. He knew what would happen if he did. Instead, he excused himself and shut the door once again. He apologised to his brother in his head, but the last thing he needed was to show any cracks in front of him.
Iori was restless. He had only managed to stare between his textbooks and the diary for what could have been either hours or moments. It wasn't working. Nothing was working. Perhaps if he just went to sleep, that would do something, anything, to get rid of the terrible whirring between his ears. He climbed the ladder to his bunk bed, only to be faced with the plushies again, soft and pitiful and pleading. Like glimmering red irises. Like plush, rosy lips inches from his own, perpetually out of reach.
Maybe he could rid himself of this excess energy. He climbed down the ladder and began pacing laps of his room. He paced and he paced until the only light in his room came from the dim glow of streetlamps outside. Until the noise in the dorm petered out into the gentle sounds of the night.
He wondered what Riku might be thinking. He mused, just for a minute, on the possibility of Riku going through the same cycle about him. Did he picture sharp grey eyes when he closed his own? Iori doubted it.
Iori tried, once again, to just head to bed and get some sleep. It was a hopeless task. Every line of thought he carefully crafted to distract himself ended up veering down the same path. It was foolish. It was pathetic. Iori berated himself again and again for letting this happen, for spinning so catastrophically out of control. Tears threatened to prick at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He would cry for a disaster, and this was, as of that moment, only a disaster waiting to happen.
He shoved his head into the pillow. He tried to smother his thoughts, or maybe himself. It brought him back to a set covered in plush cushions. It brought him back to being just inches away from the cutest thing he had ever seen in his life.
He supposed he could admit it to himself, even if it caused all the admiration he kept shoved down to bubble right up to the surface. It was his damned appeal, Iori was sure. It wormed its way into him and, through closeness, twisted Iori's heart into madness. Sure, he had thought Riku was cute from the moment he first saw him. He had also thought he was bratty, and childish, and hopelessly naive. Riku was cute. He was so unbearably cute. He was strong. He was determined. He was beautiful. Iori was but a satellite, orbiting the galaxy's brightest star.
A star for everyone, the rational part of his brain tried to scream, he was meant to be adored by the masses.
It was muffled by that toxic mass within him once again clenching at his chest. The part of him that burned with anguish that they were only close, not pressed together. The part that saw velvet soft skin and craved to touch it. The part that saw pouting, rosy lips and would die to kiss them, to kiss every single part of him, to cherish him. That selfish, cruel part of him that yearned to claim Riku for himself, in every conceivable way.
Iori could have screamed, could have cried with the ache in his gut. He sat up straight, almost hitting his head on the ceiling. Perhaps, if he indulged, just this once, he could get it all out of his system. Guilt crept in like tendrils under his burning hot cheeks, and he reached to the end of his bed to turn the plushies around. This was not something they should witness.
With shameful thoughts and guilty touches - one arm cast over his eyes - Iori bit his lip and sank into a world where his superstar really was his.
Iori slept through his alarm the next morning, only waking up to the sun streaming through his window. He was groggy as he pushed himself upright. At least he had the day off. He rubbed at his eyes hard, the reality of what he'd done still sinking in. He really had lost control. This was bad. Really bad. He let out something between a sigh and a whine as he grabbed at his hair. This wasn't going to help anything. He needed to reassess, to think things through, and somehow come up with a solution to his illness (definitely an illness, nothing else at all) before it tore him and IDOLiSH7 apart.
Taking a deep breath, Iori opened his eyes. He saw the plushies sat with their backs turned, casting their own silent judgment. That was not what he needed at that moment. What he needed was to wash his hands.
Iori got lucky - nobody disturbed him on his way to the bathroom. He saw himself in the mirror and felt nothing but disgust rise up like bile in his throat. He chastised himself as he turned on the tap and began running soap over his palms. He lost control. How stupid. He lost control. He was just lucky that Riku was yet to notice the cause of his internal conflict. If he knew…
He must have spent at least five minutes stood over the sink, running his fingers under scalding hot water. He needed to evaluate. Firstly, did he feel any better after caving in like that? Well, there was relief of a… certain nature.
Iori lathered soap onto his hands again, scrubbing under his nails and over each of his fingers as they grew raw and red. Maybe he just needed a shower. And a bath.
Iori didn't know how long he spent soaking, scrubbing fruitlessly at his shame. He spent a while pondering how he could possibly get out of this situation. He was in deep, that much was true. Perhaps he could fake his death and move far, far away - IDOLiSH7 might still be able to carry on without too much of a scandal. He hated to think it may come to it, but he was sure that one Kujo Tenn would be more than willing to help him "disappear".
No. The situation was dire, but there was no way he would ever stoop that low.
Long after the skin on Iori's hands turned wrinkly, he finally hauled himself out of the bath. He decided that he would get himself some tea and something to eat, and then he could consider a course of action. It sounded like a solid plan, but it was stoppered when Iori opened the bathroom door to find Mitsuki stood there, waiting for him with furrowed brows.
"Good morning, Nii-san." Iori greeted him like nothing was wrong. If he was lucky, perhaps he'd be allowed to slip away again to spend some time sulking before he came up with a plan of how to spend his day off.
Mitsuki stared him down. "You. Me. Your room. Now."
Maybe calling on Kujo Tenn wasn't such a bad idea after all…
"Nii-san…" Iori groaned as Mitsuki hauled Iori's desk chair in front of his bedroom door. "Isn't this a bit much?"
"Serves you right for not saying anything earlier." Mitsuki huffed, planting himself firmly in the seat and folding his arms. There was no way for Iori to escape, save for the window. Even then, he didn't fancy his chances. "You are going to sit down, and you are going to tell me what's going on."
Iori winced, but when it came to his brother he could never say no. He got down on his knees in front of the chair, head bowed like a child waiting to be scolded.
"There's nothing wrong," Iori tried one last time to divert the conversation. "I apologise for any concern I may have caused."
"Iori." Mitsuki leaned forward, face just inches from his own, burning a hole with his glare. "I'm no good at the touchy-feely talk, but I know you better than anyone."
Iori said nothing, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. It stung, as did the corners of his eyes.
"I won't tell a soul if you don't want me to," Mitsuki continued in a wounded tone Iori never wanted to hear again. "But, even just this once, I need you to trust me."
Iori did trust him. He trusted him more than anyone in the world. But he also admired him. He was scared, so scared, to risk letting him down.
"No matter what it is," Mitsuki grabbed Iori's shoulder, squeezing just a little short of too tight, "You'll always be my little brother. So rely on me."
Iori let a shaky sigh slip through his teeth, felt it grate on his lips, and caved.
"I've spent so much time planning, preparing for every possibility, working so hard to make sure everyone's dreams can come true…" His face was unbearably hot, and he could feel tears threatening to fall down his face. "I hadn't accounted for this." He was rambling, but he just couldn't help himself. "And now it feels like I'm going to ruin everything we've all worked so hard for."
Mitsuki stayed quiet for a few moments. Iori didn't dare to look at his face, afraid to see his expression. He was somewhat relieved, at least, to have that hand on his shoulder, strong and steady.
"You're really smart, Iori," Mitsuki finally broke the silence. "But you have a real knack for overthinking."
"I'm not–"
"You are." Mitsuki cut him off, something high pitched sneaking into his voice. Something begging Iori to look. He listened, and he hated what he saw.
"I don't want you to be hurt because of this." He said, only just above a murmur.
"I could say the same for you." Mitsuki said, and Iori flinched at the unabashed care he was receiving.
"It's…" Iori started, but trailed off, eyes drifting away. "It's really embarrassing to say out loud."
"I don't think this can get more embarrassing as it already is." Mitsuki said with a low chuckle. "Try me."
Iori spent about three more seconds debating whether or not to just make a break for it and dive out of the window. He decided it wasn't worth it just yet. With great effort, he pushed himself up and walked over to his desk, pulling his diary from its hiding place, and took what must have been the slowest three steps of his life.
"It's in here." Iori screwed his eyes shut, forcing the words out. "I've been keeping track of it for the last six months, though it's recently gotten… difficult to handle…" He trailed off as his brother took the diary from him. He sank back onto his knees, once again feeling like a child caught playing in the mud. At first, he watched as Mitsuki read. He felt cold dread curl through his spine as his mouth formed the words. He felt it build and build into something crushing with each turn of a page. It was too much to bear. It forced his head back down, leaving him to stare at the floor once again.
"Is it somewhere in here?" Mitsuki said, laced with something Iori couldn't quite identify.
"It's…" Iori felt any pride he still had drain out of him. "It's the whole thing."
He heard the book snap shut, and Mitsuki let out possibly the largest sigh Iori had ever heard. Tentatively, he raised his head to see his brother massaging his temples, exasperation written all over his features.
"So let me get this straight." Mitsuki's eyes narrowed, and Iori waited for the blow. "You've been locking yourself in your room, not eating, losing sleep, and worrying both yourself and us… over a crush?"
That… was not the reaction Iori had been expecting.
"I'm sure it's not that." Iori almost jumped. "There's probably some other explanation. I'm probably just sick. I apologise for my lack of professionalism."
"Stop that." Mitsuki raised his hand, Iori prepared for the worst, and was surprised yet again when he felt it gently ruffle his hair. "Denial isn't just a river in Egypt. I know what I'm seeing. Sure, romantic relationships aren't exactly approved of in this industry, but you're human before you're anything else."
"What if this ruins us?" Iori's bottom lip began to quiver. "What if this ruins everything?"
"It might." Mitsuki's head tilted just a little, "But right now? It's clearly hurting you. If you keep this bottled up, it'll just wear you down, and that'll destroy us for sure." He gave Iori a wry smile, messing up his hair just a little more. "It's a risk either way, but if my opinion has any weight to it, I think you should take a chance on being happy."
That wasn't an option Iori had considered.
"Talk to him." Mitsuki finally removed his hand from Iori's head and leaned back in the chair. "And be honest. Not just with him, but with me, and with yourself."
"I'll try." Once again, Iori was put into a situation where he was forced to do as his brother asked him.
"And don't you dare try to pull something like this again." Mitsuki's hand was back, now pulling at Iori's cheek.
"Ah!" Iori almost squawked. "Nii-san! I get it! I won't!"
"You'd better not!" Mitsuki continued for just a second more before he stopped. He got to his feet and gestured for Iori to do the same. Finally, he put the chair back in its place (even if it was roughly three centimetres too far to the right. Iori would fix that later.).
"I'm proud of you, Iori." Mitsuki came back to ruffle his hair one more time. "But seriously. Tell me before things get this bad. This was humiliating for both of us."
"It was." Iori grimaced, and Mitsuki burst out laughing.
"I'm going to make breakfast." He said, hand on the doorknob. "Make sure you eat something."
With just a few more words and silent reassurances, Mitsuki left the room. Iori let out a shuddering breath and had to lean on the wall to stay upright, his legs suddenly feeling weak. It was a relief to have it out in the open, but now his secret was out. Now there was no denying what his feelings were, and what they had the potential to do.
Iori pressed his head to the cold, white wall and let it soothe the burning in his cheeks. He thought back to what Mitsuki had said. To take a chance on being happy. Would a romantic relationship with Riku make him happy? Iori had thought himself very easy to please. Give him some cool, sharp stationery, give him a plan followed through to perfection, and that was that. Iori liked control and knowing what was going on. Riku was the opposite of all of that.
He couldn't help but feel something bubble up in his chest at the thought of it, though.
Iori's reverie was cut short by a knock at the door. Iori sighed, thinking perhaps it was his brother again. Taking just a moment to compose himself, he went to open it. In a scenario that was far too soon for Iori's liking, there stood Riku. He had a warm smile on his face, and mugs of warm tea in each hand.
"Mitsuki said you were feeling a bit off this morning. I thought you could use some tea?"
Iori, once again, considered diving out of the window.
Iori could count the times he had been terrified for his life on two fingers. There was Music Festa, and then there was this. Riku sat cross-legged on the floor, tea in his hand. Iori sat directly in front of him. A foolish error, really.
"Oh!" He said, delighted, not noticing Iori's trembling hands. "Puppichigo and Bluebunny look so comfy on your bed!"
Iori was incredibly relieved that he'd had the good sense to turn the plushies back around that morning.
"It was the most sensible place for them." Iori said over the brim of his teacup, before taking a sip that burned his tongue. If he had even an ounce of luck, he could keep the conversation away from anything to do with feelings.
"What's wrong, Iori?" Riku stared right at him, lips curling into a pout. It was so cute. Too cute. This was it. This was how Izumi Iori was going to die.
"It's noth–"
"Don't say it's nothing." Riku, clearly, was not going to entertain any diversions. "Everyone's worried about you, you know? I'm worried about you."
Iori flinched. "It's none of your concern."
"We're a group!" Riku came about half a centimetre from spilling his tea, but carried on uncaring. "You're supposed to trust me with things like this!"
Iori took another sip that he couldn't taste. He didn't say a word.
"You promised…" Riku's eyes grew big and glassy. "You promised you wouldn't leave me behind."
"It would hurt you to know." Iori tried to look anywhere but the man he was talking to. A fool's errand. "It could hurt everyone."
"Surely that's more reason for us to know?" Riku looked like a kicked puppy, eyes not unlike those on that damned plush, and Iori could feel his resolve crumbling as though it were made of sand. "Tell me, Iori. We can talk to the rest of the group. We'll figure it out!"
"Nanase-san…" Iori's voice was barely above a whisper. It scraped along his throat. His eyes became blurry as he stared and stared at the textures on the floor. There was no way he could say this. It was all well and good when Mitsuki was by his side but, facing this alone, he was reduced to little more than a shaking leaf. He took a breath and shook his head.
"It's fine." He said. Cold. Still unable to move his eyes.
Riku sighed, though it wasn't the petulant kind of sigh he was used to. "It's not fine at all. I just want you to trust me." His tone was soft; it was melancholy, and it was gentle. It cut Iori like a knife.
"If I say it now, I can't go back." The words tumbled out before Iori could think about them. As though Riku had sliced an opening for it all to spill out. "If I make a mistake here, it could be the end of us."
"And if you say nothing, it could be the end of you! Which is damn near the same thing!" Riku's voice rose. It seemed that the only way out of this was through.
Iori was flustered. His hair was a mess and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes once again. He refused to cry. He refused to cry. He almost did anyway.
"I have… feelings." Iori's voice cut out before he could say any more. His own body objected to the sheer idiocy of what he was doing.
"I mean, I know you act like you don't, but we all know that…" Riku backed up a little, though his lips kept their pout.
"Romantic feelings, Nanase-san." It came out like he was scolding him during practice. "I have romantic feelings for you." He saw Riku's face go from grumpy to shocked to something else entirely. The words kept coming. "I don't know how, and I don't know why, but I do. And I know it's unprofessional and unseemly." There was a lump in Iori's throat and his vision went blurry. He carried on talking as the first of his tears fell fat and wet down his red hot cheeks. "I'm sorry. If you want me to stay away, that's fine. Just… forgive me, Nanase-san."
Iori felt his chest heave like he'd run a marathon. He'd said it. He'd finally said it. He waited for the rejection to come. He waited, potentially, for a slap to the face. He put his teacup down so that, at least when he was slapped, the tea wouldn't go all over the floor. The pain never came, though. He only saw Riku looking… mildly confused?
"That's it?" He asked, as though Iori's big problem had been just a few clouds in the sky on a planned beach day.
"What do you mean, that's it??" Iori snapped. "This is a serious issue!"
Riku blinked once, twice, three times, and then broke into raucous laughter. He set down his tea to clutch at his stomach. Iori couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He didn't know what he had expected, but laughter was not it.
"I understand if you don't return my feelings, Nanase-san, but this is cruel." He practically whined, shoulders creeping up to his ears. He felt more pathetic than he ever had in his life.
Thankfully, that stopped Riku's laughter.
"I'm sorry," Riku took big breaths with the last dregs of his fit of giggles before taking Iori's hand in his own. It was so warm, his skin so soft, Iori felt as though he could melt into a puddle there and then. "I just… well…"
"Well what?" It came out as a hiss through Iori's teeth.
"I thought we'd been dating since Friends Day."
"You what?"
"I mean, that conversation we had backstage…" Riku's cheeks darkened and he stared down at their joined hands. "It all seemed a bit like a confession, didn't it? Oh man, I even told Tenn-nii we were dating. I thought you were just really shy about it…"
Iori's mouth opened and closed as though he were a fish. Thinking back on it, Iori's request for control, promising to accompany each other to heaven or hell… there had been no explicit communication to that effect, and Iori didn't know much about romance, but now he looked back on it, it did fit, didn't it?
Oh no. Riku must have thought he'd been a terrible boyfriend…
"You thought we'd been…" The rest of it finally hit him as well. "You told Kujo-san?" So much began making sense. "Is that why he hates me?"
"He doesn't hate you!" Riku interjected, threatening to pout again. Iori wanted to kiss it off his face so badly. It hadn't fully registered yet that he might be able to. "He just thinks you're not good enough for me and I could do better… and said that if you hurt me then there's no hope for you."
"So he hates me." Iori said, deadpan.
"It kind of sounds like it, doesn't it?" Riku giggled nervously. "But I'm trying to change his mind!"
"Good luck with that." Iori could not possibly imagine a world where Kujo Tenn approved of him, in this life or the next.
"I guess we should just say we started dating today then, huh." Riku's audible train of thought carried on regardless of whether or not Iori was on board.
"Dating?"
"Well yeah." Riku's face broke out into the kind of sunshine smile Iori knew he had no chance of resisting. "We both like each other, right?"
"We do?" It was a silly question, really. Iori should have known the answer, but it made it no less hard to believe it.
"Of course we do!" Riku squeezed his hand gently, so gently, and Iori felt it squeeze on his heart. Finally, he let it wash over him. His horrid affliction was mutual, and that toxic twisting part of him turned into something gentler, more beautiful.
"So does that mean I can…" Iori's eyes drifted to Riku's lips. Riku leaned in close.
"Of course you can." He stuck out his tongue. "I've been waiting for a while, you know?"
"I'm surprised you were able to be that patient." Iori huffed. He leaned in just a little, leaving them centimetres apart, charging that tiny space between them with electricity.
"I'm plenty patient." Riku touched his forehead to Iori's, and Iori almost gasped at the touch. "Now kiss me already."
Finally, finally, Iori was able to close the gap all the way. Riku's lips were just as soft as he'd dreamed. He felt a kind of warmth he'd never experienced before, and yet, he found himself wanting to feel it over and over and over again. Tentatively, as though it might burn him, he raised his free hand to cup Riku's jaw and Riku sighed at the touch. The hum of it tasted so sweet on his lips. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to leave them both breathless, to make Iori's head spin. They pulled barely an inch apart, but it could have been miles.
"You look cute when you're blushing." Riku, his boyfriend, said, quiet and coy.
"I am not cute." Iori furrowed his brow.
"I beg to differ." Riku teased, wringing a slight grumble from Iori.
"Just kiss me already." He said. And Riku did, just as sweet as the first.
The tea lay forgotten, the diary was open on the desk, and the plushies sat paw in paw on the top bunk. From outside the door, there was a pattering of footsteps and the odd hushed I told you so. The sun streamed in through the window, hot on Iori's face. His heart felt lighter, and he would sleep well that night.