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Fuma is fucked. Fuma is really fucked. A little bit in the literal sense because Yudai had taken one look at him in his hair and makeup and had dragged him out to the bathrooms to give him a solid smooch because he just looked so pretty and Yudai couldn’t resist, so Fuma had already been feeling pleased and flushed and fluttery. But now he’s fucked in the metaphorical sense, too, because he’s squeezed into a small storage space in an empty classroom clutching a very real bazooka to his chest. Oh, and did he mention he’s in his magical girl outfit? Yes, he’s in his goddamned magical girl outfit at work on the second of three very packed filming days, which would not have been as much of a problem if he actually knew how to transform back. Which, unfortunately, he doesn’t, because the first time he’d transformed back was after passing out from being beaten to a pulp in junior high school, and the second time was after passing out in bed from being very thoroughly fucked by his boyfriend. Neither of those scenarios seem plausible nor practical at the moment, so it’s only reasonable that Fuma begins to panic.
Maybe he needs to backtrack, just a little, to how it all happened. Euijoo had just gone on set to shoot his rifle scene and Fuma had been shown to the props room, where the props stylist had handed him a giant bazooka. Balancing it on his shoulder and looking in the mirror, he had experimented with a few poses, trying to get a feel for the heft of it while mourning the fact that he always ended up with the bulky, long-range weapons. Jo and Nicholas and the others have their big close-combat scene, why couldn’t he get one too?
The props stylist had been called away, leaving Fuma alone, so he had felt a bit bolder, throwing a punch at the mirror and imagining himself, lithe and powerful, in the heat of battle against some masked, anonymous enemies - that must have been what triggered it, because the next thing he knew, his magical gem had emitted a blinding flash of light and he’d transformed into his magical girl outfit.
The off-shoulder sleeves and corset and ridiculously tiny skirt were the same, just done in layers of soft black linen instead of lace, in a bizarre imitation of his MV outfit; his gold Xolotl Semper Lunaris badge was still neatly pinned on his hip. His gloves, though, extended above his elbow in form-fitting black leather, and more horrifyingly, his black combat boots were now also thigh-high, replacing his stockings with skin-tight leather that laced all the way up. No, actually, the most horrifying thing was that his prop bazooka, which up until a moment ago had been made of spray-painted 3D-printed plastic, was now a solid, shiny metal, studded tastefully with rhinestones, and could probably actually be used to decimate a small truck with the pull of a trigger.
Aware that the props stylist could return at any moment to find a stranger cosplaying in the props room, Fuma knew that he had to find a place to hide. Their set this time had been built inside the swimming pool of an old high school, and they were using the classrooms as green rooms and storage. With surprising agility and speed and very little squeaking for someone half clad in leather, he had grabbed the bazooka and leapt up the stairs, ducking into an empty classroom. Windows lined the outside wall on one side, and on the other, more windows looked out into the corridor, offering absolutely no cover, but the whiteboard was set on rails and could be pushed aside to reveal a small storage space set into the wall.
Which brings us to where Fuma is, right now, curled up behind the whiteboard, his bunny headband folding sadly where it hit the top of the storage space (he swears he can feel the ache in his own ears, which is a thought he does not want to entertain further), still as fucked as he had been before he had recounted the sequence of events that had led to this moment.
Fuma pushes his glasses up his nose (of course he has glasses again, the makeup noona is going to be so pissed about him losing his contacts) and considers his options. He has to be on set soon, so he needs to be back in costume and holding his fake, harmless bazooka before Euijoo is done with his scene. They must have spares for both his costume and his bazooka, right? Accidents or malfunctions happen all the time, he can’t imagine the crew wouldn’t be prepared. All he has to do is sneak back into the green room under the noses of every other member of &TEAM and a small army of managers and staff, locate and grab his spare costume, get changed, then apologise to the props stylist for somehow losing a giant bazooka. Sure, cool, very easy, no problem at all, he can be sneaky, totally, no one is going to notice that he’s wearing a magical girl outfit, and unlacing what must be a full 10 metres of laces to remove his boots surely can’t take that long, right?
Fuma lets his head thump back against the painted concrete. His butt is cold from where his skin is literally in contact with the floor of the storage space because whoever designed this outfit clearly did not think he would ever need enough fabric to sit down on. Being this unprepared to handle a situation is not something Fuma is used to, then again, he’d lived most of his life hiding his magical girl self away, so maybe the blame is on him for not practising his transformations more. Maybe he should have been out there fighting crime instead of prancing around on stage being an idol? What would he do, though? Comfort the bad guys into submission with the warmth of his touch, then watch them run away as he shivers on the floor? Oh, but he has a bazooka now, so maybe he could just blast them all to smithereens and let the police pick up the mangled pieces?
The hysterical spiral of Fuma’s thoughts is interrupted by the buzzing of his phone. Right, so his transformation hadn’t confiscated it, and had even included a neat little pocket sewn into the inner lining of his skirt, never mind that he has to lift his skirt up to access it. He unlocks his phone to find a message from Yudai.
Yudai
missing my cutiepie!! 😘💕💕 r u on set yet? i don’t see u? ej looks so cool!
A fierce burst of longing quells the panic in Fuma’s heart, if only for a moment. If he’s going to ignominiously expose his secret identity in front of all the staff and crew and possibly be kicked out of the group and locked up for being a freak of nature, then he might as well enjoy one last sweet text exchange with his boyfriend.
Me
I’m hiding ):
But I’ll probably have to come out soon
Then they’ll take me away and lock me up
If I never get to kiss you again remember that I love you
Yudai
????????
why would u not kiss me again im so kissable???
Me
You are…
You have such nice lips…
Such a beautiful face…
Such a pretty smile…
Yudai
ok stop if ur gonna be sappy pls be sappy to my face
wru???
Me
Classroom on the third? Floor?
I think I’m going to miss your thighs the most
They’re so tasty
Worth fasting all day if I get to chew on them for dessert
Yudai
not sure if i shd be aroused or alarmed pls hold
So Fuma holds, phone in one hand and bejewelled bazooka in the other, trying to commit Yudai’s phone number to memory so he can call him from prison. He’s got Yudai’s Japanese phone number down and is starting on his Korean one when he hears the door open and Yudai’s soft voice calling out for him.
“In here,” Fuma calls back, sliding the whiteboard open just a sliver.
“Fuma, what are you doing in there?” Yudai sweeps in, already in costume, thick down coat over flowy black fabric, a sight for Fuma’s sore, panicked eyes. He slides the whiteboard open all the way and stops short, staring at Fuma’s magical girl outfit.
“I’m evading eventual capture and imprisonment,” Fuma laments, hopping out of the storage space and shaking his legs out. Yudai seems to be transfixed by the sliver of skin between his skirt and the leather of his boots; he drags his gaze up the length of Fuma’s body before finally meeting his eyes.
Yudai asks Fuma for an explanation, which Fuma gives, starting with how he’d transformed and ending with instructions on what to tell his parents and which of his Pokémon cards to give to which cousin when the authorities finally come for him.
“Oh Fuu-chan, my poor baby, I’m not going to let them take you away!” Yudai pulls him into a hug, which was very warm and soothing and comforting, and would have been even more so if his hands had not been kneading Fuma’s butt under his skirt the whole time. Fuma clears his throat, pointedly, and Yudai steps back with some reluctance.
“Okay, but all we have to do is make you transform back, right? I mean it’s a shame you can’t keep these delectable boots but if you transform back, your MV costume should come back, and the bazooka should revert to normal too!” Yudai cocks one hip out, hand on his chin, thinking. “Oh! What if I f-”
“No, hyung, you are not fucking me on the floor of an empty classroom with two walls of windows and a whole production crew waiting outside.”
Yudai’s face flashes through a series of expressions - shock, excitement, and then disappointment.
“That was not what I was thinking but let’s definitely circle back to that at some point.” Fuma regrets putting the thought into Yudai’s head; he really loves Yudai for how committed he is to his ideas and opinions, just not when it involves Fuma’s dignity and sexual depravity. “What I was going to say is that I should fight you.”
Fuma tilts his head in confusion. “Fight me?”
“Yeah! Like, you transform to defeat a bad guy, right? And once they’re defeated, your job is done, so you should transform back.” Yudai is pacing now, arms gesticulating animatedly. “So I’ll come at you, like a bad guy would, and you can take me down! Then you’ll be back to your usual, unmagical self again!”
Fuma is not entirely comfortable with this idea. Sure, it sounds plausible, but he’s never been in an actual fight before and there’s no guarantee he’ll transform back. He chews on his bottom lip, hesitant, looking at Yudai standing before him, so beautiful and elegant and delicate. He’ll never be able to forgive himself if he hurts Yudai for real.
“You won’t hurt me, Fuu-chan.” Yudai has always been able to read him all too well. His eyes shine with sincerity and certainty. “I’m stronger than I look, remember?”
Fuma still isn’t convinced but Yudai has already shed his coat, tossing it to a corner of the classroom. When he turns back around, his prop revolver is in his hand and he’s pointing it straight at Fuma.
Before Fuma even realises what’s happening, his body has moved of its own accord. He covers the ground between them in inhumanly quick strides and knocks the gun out of Yudai’s hand. Yudai recovers swiftly, athlete’s instincts, and spins on one foot, bringing the other leg up in a kick aimed at Fuma’s head. Fuma ducks and grabs Yudai’s arm, bringing his shoulder up underneath. He sweeps him up over his back and throws him onto the floor, all in one, fluid motion. Yudai lands on his back, a horribly heavy thud on the hard concrete. Fuma lets go of Yudai’s arm and steps back, fists up and bracing for Yudai’s next move, but Yudai just lies there, limp and motionless, jaw slack and eyes closed.
For a beat, Fuma just stands there, bouncing on his toes, adrenaline pumping through his veins though both his pulse and his breathing are unbelievably steady. He’s never learnt any form of martial arts and he barely remembers how he took Yudai down; his magical girl transformation must somehow come inbuilt with combat skills and some level of enhanced strength and speed.
But Yudai doesn’t get back up, and all of Fuma’s adrenaline drains away in an instant. He drops to his knees by Yudai’s side and gathers him up in his lap, cradling him gently in his arms and stroking his cheek. His hands are trembling and he can feel his heart racing, breath coming in frantic gasps.
“Oh my god, Yudai, are you okay?” He shakes Yudai a little, willing him to wake up, but Yudai remains as still as ever, a ragdoll in Fuma’s embrace. “Sweetheart, Yudai, please, come back to me.” He pulls Yudai tight against his chest, even as he continues to run his fingers over Yudai’s forehead, under his jaw, across his lips.
If Fuma thought he had been panicking before, it’s nothing on the sheer terror that’s gripping him now. This had been a stupid idea and it’s all his fault for being a stupid magical girl and for bringing Yudai into this, he should have known that nothing good would have come out of falling in love with and cracking his heart open to someone as generous and selfless and precious as Yudai; he’s so fucked, he’s really fucked up this time and there’s no place in hell worse than where he is right now, holding in his arms the lifeless body of the person who’s given him everything even though he’s never deserved it. Guilt and fear carve deep into his ribs and he collapses, curving around Yudai with a wretched sob.
A pained groan cuts through Fuma’s thoughts.
“Oh yeah, that’s definitely gonna leave a bruise.”
Fuma whips his head up from where he’d buried his face in Yudai’s chest. Yudai is blinking up at him, amusement turning up the corners of his lips.
“Yudai? A-are you okay?” Fuma’s voice comes out in a hoarse squeak.
“What good is an actor if he doesn’t know how to play dead?” Yudai sweeps one arm out dramatically but makes no move to sit up, instead wriggling until he’s settled more comfortably, snug in Fuma’s lap. His eyes are round and sparkling as he looks up at Fuma. “I’m ready for my Academy Award now, thank you.”
Fuma really wants to fling Yudai to the ground again for his audacity but he’s too relieved to move. He settles for pinching Yudai’s cheek, just once, then soothing over the spot with gentle fingers.
Wait, those are his fingers, bare and soothing over Yudai’s cheek - his long black leather gloves are gone. He looks down at himself and realises that he’s transformed back. He’s never been so happy to see an MV costume in his life.
“You were touching my face all over and I could tell you weren’t wearing your gloves anymore, which meant you’d probably transformed back, and I was right!” Yudai lets out a triumphant cackle, nothing at all like the deceased damsel in distress act he was pulling earlier.
Fuma is shot through with relief. Yudai’s stupid plan worked, Yudai isn’t really dead, and most importantly, Fuma gets to keep all of his Pokémon cards! The world has righted itself again and Fuma can’t help the laugh that bubbles up in his chest.
“You’re the most ridiculous person on earth, you know that?” Fuma looks down at Yudai, so adorable and sweet even when he’s being bratty and annoying.
“Says the man who’s secretly a fucking magical girl!” Yudai leans up, pouting, and Fuma meets him halfway in a soft kiss. “And I’m the man who’s secretly fucking a magical girl!” Yudai crows, tongue sticking out to one side of his mouth, topped off with a salacious wink.
At the rate Yudai is going, Fuma is going to be outed to the entire building. He shushes Yudai and makes to stand up, but Yudai holds him in place, one hand pulling Fuma down by the back of his neck. He makes it a point to let his lips brush against Fuma’s ear as he whispers, more breathily than absolutely necessary.
“That was very hot, by the way, please feel free to throw me again anytime, preferably onto a soft, coiled-spring surface where you can wreck me without my back getting bruised to hell.”
Fuma’s face heats up with embarrassment (and also maybe a little bit of arousal tossed in there but this is really not the time nor the place); he plucks Yudai’s hand off his neck, rolling him off his lap in a huff and ignoring Yudai’s indignant squawk of protest. His glasses are smudged from their kiss; now he has one more pair of glasses to add to his bizarre magical girl collection, and the makeup noona is definitely going to be pissed about his contacts, but Fuma figures that you win some, you lose some.
He goes to grab Yudai’s coat and revolver off the floor and turns to see Yudai retrieving the bazooka from behind the whiteboard. Alarmed, he tries to warn Yudai about the military-grade weapon he’s got his hands on, when he realises that the bazooka is no longer blinged up with rhinestones - it must have transformed back along with his outfit, and Fuma is so relieved he could cry.
“Come on, Fuu-chan, you’re going to be late for your scene!” Yudai prances out of the classroom with the bazooka on one shoulder, nearly clipping it on the doorframe.
Fuma laughs, full-bodied and warm. Later, he’ll have to rub ointment on all of Yudai’s bruises while putting up with his melodramatic whining and pouting, but for now, he has some bad guys to bazooka into oblivion. He runs to catch up with Yudai, still holding his coat and revolver in one hand, grabbing him by the waist and tickling him until they’re both giggling, the sound of their unfettered joy echoing in the stairwell as they head downstairs.