Archive of Our Own

Fuma lives a perfectly ordinary life. 

No, scratch that.

Fuma lives a perfectly boring life. 

Everything came to him so easily. He grew up in a perfectly comfortable and ordinary household, where his parents were perfectly happy to let him live however he liked as long as he didn’t die before they did, which, to be fair, was setting the bar pretty low. He didn’t cause trouble and did well at school, without even having to really try. The other kids were always expending so much effort on everything - studying, making friends, after school clubs, but what was the point? Fuma had tried to imitate them, tried copying the way they crammed for exams or ran themselves ragged playing baseball by the river, but he got good grades and outran all of them without breaking a sweat. Plus, being around people meant he’d have to talk to them, which always seemed more trouble than it was worth. They were always saying things they didn’t mean or fighting or talking behind each others’ backs and getting frustrated about it, which seemed like a big waste of energy. He’d rather just play Pokémon on his Switch.

So Yudai had come up as a weird blip in his life. One moment he was hiding out in the stairwell at school playing on his Switch as usual, and the next moment, the richest and most popular kid at school was yelling at him about joining the dance club. Fuma didn’t even know the first thing about dance - his classmates were always ogling at some idol or other, and he could never bring himself to care. And he didn’t see why Yudai should care either - Yudai had his entire future handed to him on a silver platter: the third and youngest child of the Koga family that basically owned most of Shizuoka’s industrial power, set to inherit one of their subsidiary companies when he grew up, he was loved and fawned over by everyone at school, and shouldn’t even have had the time to pay attention to someone as insignificant as Fuma. But he’d made someone switch seats with him so he could sit next to Fuma in class, then stuck to him like a barnacle ever since, vowing to make Fuma join the dance club with him and eventually debut as world-class idols together.

Having Yudai hovering around him 24/7 wasn’t all bad. Yudai didn’t seem to care that Fuma was awkward and said the weirdest things at the wrong times; he always laughed like Fuma was the funniest person in the room. He was genuinely impressed when Fuma got good grades, and his housekeeper even made Fuma’s lunch bentos for him every day, each item cut into little pieces so he didn’t have to waste energy on chewing. The kids at school who used to whisper wicked rumours about Fuma didn’t dare to say anything about the Koga Yudai’s new best friend, which did make going to school feel a little less like a hassle. (It also helped that Yudai made his chauffeur, a large and imposing woman with a fairytale witch’s nose, take a detour to pick Fuma up every morning and drop him off at home at the end of the day.)

With how much Yudai had been hounding him about joining the dance club, putting up a fight about it soon became more of a hassle than just giving in, so Fuma let him fill out all the relevant paperwork on his behalf, and just like that, Fuma and a bunch of Yudai’s friends end up following Yudai to dance practice almost every day after school in a high-end dance studio near the train station that Yudai rents out with his unsurprisingly substantial pocket money. Their dance teacher, boasting a resume of having worked with some of the best idol agencies, had also been sourced by Yudai - they’d met when Yudai had spent half a year learning dance in Los Angeles, and Yudai had insisted on bringing him to Japan. Fuma never really needed to rely on their teacher, though, because he could learn just as easily from dance videos, imitating the moves perfectly after just one watch. Sometimes, remembering the moves was a bit of a pain, but he never really needed to make an effort in that regard, because Yudai was always one step ahead of him, executing the dance with the elegant air that he’d picked up through classical ballet classes, and all Fuma had to do was follow.

“After we debut, we’ll get to hang out with celebrities and models right?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna bag myself a cute AKB chick!”

“It’s a numbers game for me, man, imma bang all of my fans and set a Guinness World Record for largest orgy ever!”

“Bro, that’s insane! Fuma, what about you? Who’re you gonna hook up with?”

Fuma’s mouth twists with distaste at the question. He’d never really been interested in girls, and girls had never been interested in him either, as far as he could tell. Yudai’s friends can be really crass sometimes, and all Fuma wants is for them to shut up so he can complete at least one Pokémon battle before their break is over and they rehearse their dance again. Yudai uncaps a bottle of water and sticks a straw in it so Fuma can sip without looking up from his game. 

“Don’t worry about them, Fuma, you and I are going to top the music industry, just you wait,” he says, with a determination in his voice that makes Fuma’s skin prickle, just enough to make him want to see what Yudai would do next. 

Fuma shrugs and saves his game. “Sure, hyung, whatever you say.”

They join every local dance competition imaginable, and it’s just after they win the prefectural championship that they both get letters in the mail. They’re sitting on Fuma’s bed; Fuma is focused on his game while Yudai is wrapped around him like a koala, reading both their letters aloud over Fuma’s shoulder. 

“This is it, Fuma! They’re inviting us to a special audition camp for idols!”

Fuma frowns at his game. “That sounds like a drag. They probably won’t let me play games or take afternoon naps, right?”

Yudai flings himself up and off the bed in his excitement. “What are you talking about? This is our big chance! It may still be a new Japan branch office, but it’s the same idol agency as BTS, you know! The BTS!” He grabs his phone and fires off a few quick messages. “There, my chauffeur will be here in a minute, let’s head to the studio for more practice!”

Fuma studies Yudai for a second, taking in the spark in his eyes as he picks out a fresh sweatshirt for Fuma and packs it into his bag, singing you can’t stop me loving myself low under his breath. Fuma can’t understand why Yudai is so determined to drag him into this, but he also can’t quite explain why his body suffuses with a strange warmth at the way Yudai’s features have lit up, at the little smile that pulls at his lips. 

He’s probably just tired from expending too much energy. “I can’t go for practice. My legs are broken,” he says, flopping onto his back. “My cells are dead. My heart has stopped.”

Yudai has finished packing their bags and is now manhandling Fuma so he can piggy-back him. Fuma lets him, dead weight on his back as they make their way to the lift. 

“What are you, a zombie?”

Fuma nods, head resting on Yudai’s shoulder. “Fuma Of The Dead.”

Yudai laughs, loud and bright and Fuma is sure that the whole building can hear him. “Oh Fuma,” he says, voice so fond it makes Fuma squirm. “What am I ever going to do with you?” 

It’s such a redundant, rhetorical question, because Yudai is already bundling Fuma into the car and buckling him in, talking his ear off about the idol agency’s achievements the whole way to the dance studio; Fuma feels like an immoveable rock most of the time but Yudai has always known what to do, wearing away at him bit by bit, indefatigable and patient and accepting and omnipresent. Fuma isn’t used to this - the most attention he usually gets is from his Eevee plushie, their one-sided conversations becoming the upper limit of how much interaction Fuma can handle with the world outside his head, yet Yudai has him in a vice grip, dragging him along in his pursuit of worldwide fame.

They’re waiting for Yudai's chauffeur to come pick them up again from the dance studio. Yudai had made them learn BTS’ DNA, practically lifting Fuma off the floor in his delight when he learnt the outro dance in ten minutes flat, and now Fuma is too tired to stand, so Yudai has him piggy-backed again to save him from slumping onto the floor of the driveway.

“I still can’t believe you learnt that so fast, you’re at least on par with j-hope now, Fuma! You’re amazing!”

Fuma squirms uncomfortably. He never knows what to do with Yudai’s effervescent praise. 

“You’re weird, Yudai,” he mumbles, for lack of anything better to say.

Yudai twists his head around, nose almost poking into Fuma’s face. “Oh, that’s rich coming from the likes of you!”

Fuma chews on the inside of his cheek. “I mean, don’t you find it a hassle, hanging out with me?”

Yudai chuckles, the sound vibrating pleasantly against Fuma’s ribs. “A hassle? Never! Hanging out with you is fun!” He bounces Fuma a couple of times, as if to prove his point. “What about you? Having fun yet?”

That strange warmth is back again, spreading out from the middle of his chest, and Fuma isn’t sure if he likes it. The distance between their faces suddenly feels too close, so Fuma pulls his head back as much as he can before replying. 

“I’m… I don’t care much for dance, but…” Yudai’s palms burn hot against his thighs, even through the fabric of his sweatpants. “You’re not a hassle to hang out with, so.”

“Just say you’re having fun too, asshole!” Yudai pouts theatrically, and makes like he’s going to throw Fuma off his back, but his hold on Fuma’s thighs doesn’t loosen up in the slightest. 

They’ve taken the Shinkansen into Tokyo, the concentration of high-rise buildings in the Shiodome area already making Fuma feel claustrophobic. Yudai seems to feel no such apprehension; his excitement had already been palpable on the train ride and now that they’re just outside the hall that the letter summoned them to, he’s almost vibrating, even as he adjusts his tie and flicks at his bangs. 

“We’re going to knock the socks off of everyone in there, Fuma!”

Fuma’s grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. The sound of the crowd inside the hall can be heard from where they’re standing, and Fuma doesn’t really want to join them. 

“What if you meet someone in there that’s better than me, Yudai? Wouldn’t you have a better chance of debuting if you teamed up with them instead?”

The look that Yudai turns on him is full of determination, yes, but also something deeper, something too sincere and too bright. “I won’t leave you, Fuma. I wouldn’t do something as cold-hearted as that.”

Yudai’s gaze is too much, and Fuma can’t help but look away. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did, just so you know,” he says, under his breath, but Yudai is already pushing the door open and Fuma’s voice is lost under the swelling buzz of the crowd. 

Once they’re inside, Yudai excitedly points out some of the dancers he recognises - it seems like they’ve gathered the best middle and high schoolers from all over the country, and everyone is already sizing each other up. A hush falls as two people step onto the stage to give a speech: they introduce themselves as the two main judges, and explain that the entire audition camp will span just over two months, with the debut group announced at the end, whittled down from the 300 hopefuls in the hall to just 9 members. The audition will be televised, and the judges’ scores will be combined with audience voting to determine the final result. They will be the first idol group to debut from Hybe Japan, and Hybe’s first global group, an entirely new concept in the idol world, set to fast-track them down the same path as BTS. 

Fuma has already checked out. The thought of spending two months living with 300 other boys, away from the comfort of his room and his Pokémon plushies sounds daunting and horrifying in equal measure, and way too much effort for him. He’s pulled out his Switch and is almost out the door when he’s stopped by Yudai’s hand around his bicep.

“Fuma, where are you going? This is groundbreaking stuff! We could debut as the first ever global idol group!”

Fuma has already started up his game and doesn’t want to be distracted. “‘We’? Didn’t you hear what they said? They’re going to be judging us and there’s a voting process and everything. I don’t think we get to choose to debut together.”

Yudai’s face falls, and it’s not an expression that Fuma has ever seen on him before. Yudai has never been denied anything in his life - his cushy upbringing gave him everything he’s ever wanted, and even when his parents didn’t want him to pursue an idol career, he schemed and plotted and used every resource at hand to get his way. Now, it looks like Yudai is finally being confronted with the suggestion of failure, and he looks absolutely despondent. 

Fuma doesn’t get it. Being an idol is Yudai’s dream, not his, and he’s so talented that he’d be able to debut anyway, regardless of whether Fuma was there or not. Why should it matter if he went home now? 

But there’s something in the way Yudai’s lips are pulled tight, in the undeniable pressure of his fingers around Fuma’s arm, that makes Fuma feel fidgety; this is exactly why he’s never bothered with human interaction, because now he’s forced to explain himself.

“Look, this audition camp stuff really isn’t my thing, I’ll probably get bored halfway through and want to go home anyway.”

The lady on stage - Sakura, she said her name was? - spots Fuma trying to leave. 

“If you think you’re too good for us, feel free to drop out now! We’ve got plenty of talent in this room already,” she calls out, eyes cold as she ushers the other boys into the next room to formally register for the camp. 

Yudai whips his head around to face her. “Fuma is way better than any of those other quacks you’ve got in there!” He actually sounds angry - Fuma is witnessing so many new emotions on Yudai in the last few minutes than he’s ever seen in the six months they’ve known each other.

The other judge is looking at them now, too. “It doesn’t matter how good he is, if he’s not motivated, he’s not going to make it,” he states, matter-of-fact, but not unkind.

Fuma unpauses his game. “You heard them, Yudai. I’m going home.” He nearly drops his Switch when Yudai swings around to grab him by the collar.

“We’re going to make it. If it’s the two of us, we’ll make it!” Yudai’s anger seems directed mostly at the judges, but he’s pulling so hard at the front of Fuma’s hoodie that Fuma can’t help but feel like Yudai must be angry at him too. 

“Yudai, I already told you, I don’t want to do this.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fuma.” Yudai’s face is so close to Fuma’s that he can smell the sauce from the unagi bento they had on the train on Yudai’s breath. “I’m going to show you a life that’s way more interesting than your games or your afternoon naps.” There’s a gleam to Yudai’s eyes that burns so bright it hurts, pulling Fuma inexorably into Yudai’s orbit. “With me, you’ll never be bored again.”

Fuma lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Prying Yudai’s fingers off his hoodie, he steps back so he can slip his Switch into his backpack. He thinks back to his life before Yudai had tripped over him in that stairwell, before he’d been dragged along to dance practice and the occasional vocal lesson. He thinks of his quiet, mundane existence, of the sweet, non-judgemental eyes of his Eevee plushie, waiting for him on his bed at home. Then he thinks about Yudai, and how he’d seen every part of Fuma and still kept coming back to him every day, a crashing wave against his immutable cliff face, of how he’d said we and us and the strange warmth that still sits in Fuma’s chest. 

“Promise me one thing, Yudai,” he says, stepping towards the door that leads to the next room. “We’re going to be in this together, till the end.”

Yudai laughs, relief bleeding into his words. “Of course, Fuma. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He scrambles to catch up with Fuma and they walk into the next room together.

After filling out consent forms and NDAs, they’re released, with instructions on what to pack and where to meet for the actual camp itself, which will take place in a couple of weeks. Yudai, bubbling over with excitement, declares that they should spend the rest of the day in Tokyo before their Shinkansen back. He immediately pulls Fuma into the train station, then it’s a short train ride to Shibuya.

Where the buildings of Shiodome had made Fuma claustrophobic, the heaving throngs of people in Shibuya make him nauseous and light-headed; Yudai expertly navigates them through the underground passageways until they pop up in an alleyway off Centre-Gai, sidestepping rats and litter until they get to a large blue building nearly at the end of the main street, taking the escalator up to the second floor. 

They’re immediately greeted by loud rock music and rows upon rows of electric guitars. 

“What are we doing here, Yudai?”

Yudai only stops when they get to the AV section, arms akimbo and chin held high. “We are here to get us good luck charms! For the audition camp!” He gestures widely at the selection of microphones on display. 

If Yudai is so confident that they’ll be selected to debut, why would they need good luck charms? But Fuma can tell that Yudai is not going to back down, so he acquiesces, picking up a couple of microphones to see how they feel in his hand. The product specifications are all Greek to him, so he ends up choosing by appearance: there’s a small, locked display case to one side, housing the more expensive, limited edition models. 

A silver one catches his eye, polished to a mirror finish so clear that he can see his reflection in it. “This one,” he says, jabbing a finger at the glass, and Yudai immediately summons a salesperson to remove it from the case. It’s cool to the touch; the salesperson flinches when he tosses and flips it in one hand, giving Yudai a thumbs up with the other. Yudai grins and selects the microphone next to it for himself, a bright yellow-gold model, a matched set with Fuma’s. 

Yudai tries the same flip that Fuma did; he fumbles and has to drop to one knee to save the microphone from hitting the floor. He looks up from where he’s still kneeling, and holds his microphone out to Fuma’s so they form a cross, silver and gold catching the garish lighting of the store and nearly blinding them.

“This seals it! Effective immediately, Murata Fuma hereupon vows to debut in the world’s first global idol group with Koga Yudai!” Yudai’s voice is loud enough that Fuma starts worrying about their NDAs, but Yudai doesn’t seem bothered in the least, cheerily handing their microphones over so the anxious salesperson can securely box them up.

Yudai pays for the microphones, and for crepes from the shop on the first floor - a melon one for Fuma, and a decadent chocolate banana one for himself. 

The crepe is stuffed overfull with rich vanilla cream and generous chunks of melon; Fuma looks between the crepe and Yudai’s smiling face as he proffers it out, a little unsure of how to accept it. Funny that he should hesitate now, when all he’s been doing these last few months is accepting Yudai’s unending generosity. He takes the crepe out of Yudai’s hand anyway, nibbling at a corner of the crepe only to find that it’s soft and sweet, and barely needs any troublesome chewing at all. He devours the rest of it, much to Yudai’s delight, and accepts a wet wipe from Yudai to clean the excess cream off his mouth and fingers with.

Yudai polishes off his crepe, too, a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “If only my parents could see me now!” he laughs, crumpling the paper wrapping in his hand. “They’re always saying that they’re doing things for my sake, but now I get to do things for my sake, and they don’t get a say in it.” His eyes are twinkling as he turns to Fuma. “And I get to do things for you, too!”

Fuma’s chest feels strangely warm again. Maybe it’s heartburn from eating too fast? Do high schoolers get heartburn? He tries to distract from the feeling by responding to Yudai. 

“My parents are always saying… that I shouldn’t die before they do, so.” The smear of chocolate on Yudai’s mouth is distracting, so Fuma wipes it off with his thumb then licks his thumb clean. “Don’t die before I do, Yudai.”

Yudai’s eyes widen, hand raised to his lips, then he lets out a hearty guffaw, too loud for the space they’re in. “You’re absolutely irreplaceable, Fuma,” he says, a pink tinge to his cheeks. He lets Fuma drop his rubbish into his hand, and stands up to discard it into the nearby dustbin. “Now, the Pokémon Centre is a five-minute walk away, and we still have time before our Shinkansen! Let’s go!”

Thoughts of heartburn happily thrown out the window, Fuma spends a delightful couple of hours picking out merchandise and making custom T-shirts at the Pokémon Centre, and naps peacefully on Yudai’s shoulder all the way home.

On the first day of the camp, Yudai’s chauffeur drops them off at the train station, where they have to take a Shinkansen into Tokyo again. Fuma hands his favourite Eevee plushie over to her, reluctant to leave Eevee alone at home but even more reluctant to expose Eevee to a camp full of teenaged boys.

“Put him somewhere cool and soft, and give him a pet every once in a while? That should be enough.”

“Very well, young sir. Can’t give him too much love, much like Master Fuma himself, yes?” she responds cryptically. Fuma doesn’t have time to think too much of it before Yudai is yanking him towards the ticket gantry, eager to buy snacks before they have to board.

At the meeting point, they’re stripped of their phones and Fuma’s Switch gets confiscated before they’re loaded onto buses and taken somewhere out in the countryside. Small, winding roads take them deep into the mountains, trees cutting off suddenly to reveal a huge, imposing, windowless building, newly built on what must have been an old farm or other; Fuma spots a tiny shrine nestled right next to the building, as if the architect had wanted to maximise the building space but hadn’t wanted to anger the old gods. 

They’ve already been split into groups - Fuma trails behind Yudai as he leads them into a small practice studio, where the rest of their group has already gathered, sitting in chairs placed in rows along one wall. A small boy with chubby cheeks immediately tries to chat them up.

“I guess we’re all here now! Did you guys get lost? I nearly got lost, this place is like a labrador!”

Fuma tilts his head. He hadn’t seen anything dog-like on his way here; if anything, this boy gives off the energy of a puppy, wide eyes and eager smile plastered on his face.

“You mean labyrinth, right?” Yudai seems to take to this puppy boy immediately, bemusement in his eyes as he replies. 

The boy looks sheepish, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Oh! Yeah, that! English is so confusing sometimes. No, I mean, Japanese! I can’t even speak English, what am I saying?” He talks a mile a minute, his words coming out in a confusing mix of Japanese and what sounds like some Korean sprinkled in, and Fuma already feels tired just listening to him. “My name is Taki! Nice to seat you!”

Yudai doesn’t even bother to correct him anymore. He introduces himself - he’s prepared a stage name, Kei - and Fuma in turn, to which Fuma just gives a polite nod. His thumbs twitch in his lap; the next 87,595 minutes are going to be hell without his Switch. 

A TV monitor placed in front of them flickers to life. Accompanied by some simple text and graphics, a faceless narrator explains their first mission: they have to learn and perform the audition programme’s signal song, and the groups with the lowest scores will be eliminated. They’re given two weeks to rehearse.

Yudai is in his element. He commands the group the same way he had corralled their dance club back in school, assigning everyone parts and directing them through the steps. Taki proves to be unexpectedly talented - his energy translates well into the dance moves and his voice has a clear, bell-like quality to it that has Yudai enthusiastically handing him some of the higher riffs. 

Fuma spends their vocal practices lying on the floor, imagining shapes out of the different shades of grey in the ceiling. He can sing just as well from here, why make the effort to stand up? 

They’ve stopped for a break and Yudai’s face slides into his field of vision, interrupting the elaborate story he’d been making up about a Mosslax-shaped grey splotch demanding that a Ditto-shaped lighter grey splotch make him some soup. Yudai’s face is about as far from a grey splotch as one could get, boyish features and large dark irises so different from Fuma’s own; he can only look at Yudai straight on for so long before he gets squeamish, so he closes his eyes and pretends to fall asleep.

“Fuma, you know our group score is just an aggregation of our individual points, right?” His voice is low and so gently cajoling that Fuma feels an odd shiver down his spine. “If you get at least thirty points, you get your phone and your Switch back.”

This gets Fuma’s attention. His eyes shoot wide open again, met by Yudai’s warm smile. “Seriously? They’ll let me have my Switch?”

“Yep!” Yudai says, popping the P, his fringe tickling at Fuma’s cheek. He rolls out of the way just in time to avoid the way Fuma suddenly sits up, ready to commit fully to practice. If this is what it takes to get to play Pokémon again, maybe it’s at least worth a little effort. 

Their first test comes in the form of an interim check. The other four groups in their block are gathered too, so each group will get critiques both from the judges and from the other groups. It’s a complicated mind game, where the groups don’t dare to give overly harsh critiques in case they contradict the judges, or in case they themselves get criticised for their own lacklustre performance; Yudai represents their group and walks this tightrope with ease, like he’s been media-trained, which is not entirely out of the realm of possibility. 

When it comes to their turn, Fuma lets Yudai take him through his parts again - he picks up choreography and lyrics quickly, but forgets them just as easily - before taking his place just behind Yudai on stage, picking up on his cues and delivering what Fuma himself considers a fairly solid performance. 

One person, however, doesn’t seem to agree. A boy with a heart-shaped face and a feline turn to his lips takes the microphone for his group and begins to speak. 

“I think the performance was great overall, but that guy there, uh, Fuma? Is that your name?”

Fuma steps forward, straightening out the bib he’s been forced to wear so everyone can see the name that’s written on it. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

“Yeah, are you like, Kei’s slave or something? I could totally see him feeding you cues, and I’ve seen the way you follow him around like a mindless zombie.” The boy’s own bib reads YUMA, and he clearly does not care about the shroud of political correctness that has been hanging over this entire session. The rest of his group has their eyes down, horrified by the words coming out of his mouth but too afraid to stop him. 

Slave? That would mean that he was being forced into Yudai’s servitude, right? Unwillingly, and without commensurate compensation. What a stupid comment for that boy to make. 

“I’m not a slave, I’m Kei-hyung’s partner!” he refutes, finding that he hates what the boy is implying about Yudai more than what he’s implying about himself. 

Yudai, as diplomatic as ever, chimes in. “Yes, thank you for your comments, I’m glad you’ve noticed how our strong partnership has contributed to our overall great performance.”

Yuma refuses to back down. “If you need someone else to fight your battles for you, then you’re better off being dead.” A murmur spreads through the crowd at Yuma’s harsh words and the judges finally step in to reprimand him. He sits down, sullenly crossing his arms and handing the microphone over to the next group.

Once they’ve received comments from the other groups and from the judges as well, they finally step backstage, handing their microphone packs back to the crew. Yudai places a hand on Fuma’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

“Don’t let him get to you, Fuma, he’s only a middle schooler, and I’ll bet he’s just scared and jealous of how good we are.”

Yudai always manages to break down these awkward social interactions into something that’s easy for Fuma to understand, calming the frantic noise that usually fills Fuma’s head in the aftermath. He nods his assent and clambers onto Yudai’s back so he can carry him back to their room.

Despite Yuma’s negative comments, Fuma earns enough points at their interim check to have his Switch returned to him. Yudai immediately puts their group to work, trying to iron out their weak spots as per the judges’ critiques, and Fuma finds he’s able to put up with it since he has his Pokémon to look forward to at the end of the day.

After practice, he purposely picks an odd time to bathe - it’s unfortunate that the building only has large communal baths, because exposing his body to strangers like this makes him extremely uncomfortable - but someone else joins him in the bath soon after he’d submerged himself into the water.

Fuma’s eyesight is bad enough that it takes him a while to recognise Taki, who immediately wades over to sit next to Fuma, seemingly lacking a basic understanding of personal space. Fuma purposefully slides further away, placing himself closer to the gushing hot water spout, because he’d rather scald himself than stay too close to another human being. Taki seems to take the hint and doesn’t move any closer, but that doesn’t stop him from chatting again. 

“I’m so glad I get to dance here, you know? The last audition programme I was on was super stressful and scary! But Kei-hyung is so nice and such a great leader, I really hope we get to debut together!”

Fuma attributes the sudden thudding of his heart to his increased body temperature from the hot water; it doesn’t matter if Taki debuts with them or not, there are 9 slots, so even if Taki joins them, Fuma and Yudai could still be together, right? They have to be, Yudai promised.

“Anyway, why did you decide to become an idol? Is there someone you look up to, like, a role model or something?” Taki’s cheeks are already red from the hot water, eyes shining with innocent curiosity.

Fuma stares at the giant painting of Mt. Fuji on the bathroom wall. “I don’t care about becoming an idol, I just followed Kei-hyung here.”

“What? Why?”

The painting of Mt. Fuji has been done up in clean, basic pastels, the simplistic blue of the sky and the rounded fluffy clouds almost straight out of a children’s colouring book. He can’t make out much of the detail without his contacts, but he pretends he can see tiny figures drawn on the side of the mountain, struggling to climb to the top. 

“I think… I think it’s because it’s the first time anyone has ever been interested in someone like me. Yudai… Kei-hyung doesn’t care that I find most things a hassle.”

Taki shrieks in delight, though at what, Fuma couldn’t say. “You’re so weird, Fuma-kun!” he exclaims, clapping his hands and splashing water everywhere. 

Fuma’s cheeks feel hot, now - again, probably just simple thermodynamics. “You could follow Kei-hyung too, you know? He’s really smart, we’ll be okay as long as we do what he says.”

Taki gives a salute and Fuma quickly escapes the bath, ready to burrow into his futon and lose himself in his Switch.

It’s the evening before their final evaluation, and they’re having dinner in the dining hall. Well, Fuma is trying to have dinner, because the steak tastes good and all, but meat is always so tiring to chew. He’s managed one measly piece of steak before he gives up, resting his chin on the table in defeat. Next to him, Taki gleefully pounces on Fuma’s abandoned dinner - that boy is truly a bottomless pit when it comes to food, but Yudai seems to like seeing him well-fed. 

A boy from another team approaches their table, anxious and eager, pleading with Fuma to teach him how to do a 540 roundhouse kick. Fuma doesn’t get it - why can’t the boy just watch some Youtube videos? It’s not that hard. The prospect of having to speak to a stranger grates on Fuma’s nerves, but Fuma doesn’t even have to reply, because Yudai shuts the boy down immediately, waving one hand to dismiss him while the other hand strokes through Fuma’s hair, the light, soothing pressure on his scalp sending a shiver down his spine, and Fuma is immediately placated.

Taki polishes off the last of Fuma’s dinner and Fuma hops onto Yudai’s back, ready to head back to their room. 

“Yudai,” Fuma asks, as they’re waiting for Taki to clear their trays. “Why was that boy so desperate?”

Yudai shrugs. “Because he wants to get good at dance, probably.”

“He wants to get good? If he isn’t already good, why bother? I’d quit, if I was him.” Fuma genuinely doesn’t understand why someone would try so hard, or be so desperate for something that’s clearly out of their reach. “Is dance really all that fun?”

“Don’t look down on dance! And don’t make fun of other people’s dreams!”

They’re almost at the dining hall exit when a boy with orange hair steps in front of them. He’s about as tall as Yudai but his build is more delicate, and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. Fuma recognises him - he’s from one of the other groups in their block, and there’s another boy standing at his shoulder, green highlights in his dark hair and a scowl on his face. 

Yudai, despite the weight of Fuma on his back, smoothly draws himself to his full height. “And who might you be?”

Orange-haired boy trembles slightly, looking as if it’s taking all his strength just to stand his ground, but his voice is steady when he replies. 

“We’re the ones who are going to beat you in the final evaluation!” he declares, and scowl-faced boy nods fervently in agreement. 

The atmosphere is tense, making Fuma increasingly uncomfortable. This is why he never liked hanging out with the other kids at school. Why did they always have to get so heated up over the most trivial matters? At least when they were at school, Fuma was able to fly under the radar, but here, people keep noticing him, and just the thought of having to deal with them drains whatever little energy Fuma had out of him. 

He nudges Yudai’s thigh with his foot, and Yudai bumps his head gently into Fuma’s in reply; Yudai makes everything so easy, and already Fuma feels calmer, warmed by the heat of Yudai’s back. Yudai neatly sidesteps the pair and walks off, though it seems Taki can’t bear to be as rude.

“Cool! Uh, see you guys tomorrow!” He gives them an awkward wave then skips to catch up with Yudai and Fuma.

They get to see the stage for the first time on the morning of their final evaluation. All the groups from their block are there at the same time, awkwardly trying to get a feel for the space. Yudai immediately pulls their group aside and begins briefing them.

“We don’t have to go all out right now or we’ll hurt ourselves, and we don’t have to sing at 100% either, just check the lighting and our positions, all right? Let’s move into warmups.”

Fuma finds warmups a chore; his attention starts drifting and he notices that the orange-haired boy’s group is huddled nearby. They’ve all got their bibs on again: orange-haired boy’s bib reads EUIJOO, and scowl-faced boy is named NICHOLAS. Foreigners? Why bother coming all the way to Japan to debut? It took so much effort for Yudai just to drag Fuma out of Shizuoka, he can’t imagine purposely getting on a plane and struggling to survive in a foreign country, let alone joining this bizarre spartan boot camp.

Curiosity gets the better of him, so Fuma does a lazy cartwheel and sprawls out behind the group; they’re all anxiously staring at the stage so no one notices him. A tiny boy with dark red hair and dainty features speaks up first, eyes darting nervously and a tremor in his voice. 

“The stage is a lot bigger than our practice room, how are we going to know where to stand?”

“We’ll be okay, Harua, that’s what rehearsals are for!” A round-faced boy places a disproportionately large hand around the redhead’s shoulders, but the redhead just squirms out of his grasp - Fuma feels for him; unsolicited touch makes his skin crawl, but the round-faced boy seems undeterred, grabbing onto Harua’s hand instead. “I used to perform on stages bigger than this, back when I did musical theatre! It’s gonna be fine!”

Nicholas chews on the corner of his lip, tongue darting out, like a nervous tic. “Yeah, we just gotta go with the flow, you know?” His Japanese comes out in fragments, reminding Fuma of Taki when he gets loopy from too much time soaking in the bath. He places a hand on Euijoo’s shoulder, digging his fingers in until his knuckles turn white. “Right, Juju?”

Euijoo so different from Yudai; Yudai radiates confidence and charisma and leadership, he knows exactly what to do in any circumstance without hesitation, but Euijoo looks one step away from buckling under Nicholas’ grip, eyes round and distant, still water on the surface with a panic attack lurking somewhere deep underneath. 

Then, Euijoo takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, gaze resolute as he looks at each group member in turn. 

“Maki, why don’t you take us through some of the vocal warmups you used to do? I think your experience could help us with projecting well in this space.” Maki, the round-faced boy, beams, his eyes sparkling with newfound determination. “And let Harua’s hand go? So that we can all shake our nerves out.” The relief and gratitude that shudders through Harua is almost palpable. 

Euijoo suddenly switches to Korean; a few months back, Yudai had held Fuma’s Switch hostage until he learned enough Korean to pass the TOPIK II exam, claiming the importance of the Korean market in idol world domination. It had been boring as hell but not having his Switch was worse, so Fuma had studied until Yudai was satisfied, which is the only reason he can understand what Euijoo and Nicholas are talking about now.

Where Nicholas’ Japanese had been broken, his Korean is fluent, syllables tumbling out smoothly as he and Euijoo quickly work out how to use their rehearsal time. Euijoo then turns a warm smile on the gangly boy who’d been doing his best to hide at the back of the group, despite his impressive height. His shoulders, stiff with apprehension, have ridden so high they nearly cover his rather large ears. 

“Come on, Jo, your knees will pop if we don’t start moving, why don’t you come stand with me?” Jo immediately leaps up and goes to Euijoo, who thumps hard at Jo’s shoulders until they crank down, laughing good-naturedly as the group moves to the centre of the stage to get their bearings. 

Fuma is intrigued. Yudai leads with conviction and an iron fist, making it so easy for Fuma to switch his brain off and follow him, knowing that whatever decision Yudai makes would be the best for Fuma, too. But Euijoo seems to guide his group with a much gentler hand, coaxing the strengths out of each member and paying close attention to their needs. None of them seem remotely as talented as Fuma or Yudai, yet there is a dogged tenacity to their group that’s hard to ignore.  

Drawn in by Euijoo’s mysterious magnetism, Fuma nearly ends up trailing after their group when he hears Yudai calling for him. He slinks over to Yudai, hooking a chin over his shoulder and letting himself be dragged around as Yudai points out their starting positions; the smell of Yudai’s shampoo is comforting and helps to dispel the weird mood that watching Euijoo had put him in. 

They’re ushered into hair and makeup backstage; Yudai produces a cushion out of nowhere so Fuma can rest his Switch on it, playing while the makeup artist applies product to his face. Somewhere behind him, Taki is loudly practising his part - he sometimes mixes up the lyrics for the first and the second verse, and as far as Fuma can tell, he’s getting it wrong again. Fuma just assumes that Yudai will jump in and correct him like he always does, but it’s an unfamiliar voice that speaks up; Fuma spies a shock of dark red hair in the mirror. 

“That’s not how it goes!”

Taki yelps in fright. “Oh! Um! Hi! Wow, you’re so pretty, are you a princess?”

“I-I’m not a princess! Anyway, I use a mnemonic to memorise the lyrics, like this.” There’s the sound of shuffling paper and murmurs of amazement from Taki, who bounds over to Fuma the moment his makeup and hair are done.

“Fuma-kun! This princess from the other team helped me with my lyrics! He had such detailed notes, he must be so smart!” 

Fuma can’t believe that there are people here who need to take notes just to memorise their lyrics. If they’re not good enough to learn them right off the bat, why bother putting in so much effort? Is debuting really that important to them? The princess Taki is talking about is probably Harua, the redhead from Euijoo’s group - there must be something in the way Euijoo leads them with such kindness and generosity that makes them want to share it even with rival groups. 

“Did you need help with your lyrics too? I can ask the princess to show you his notes!”

Fuma scoffs and Taki shrugs, taking Fuma’s place in the makeup chair. Fuma tries to go back to playing his game but finds that he’s not in the mood for it anymore; instead, he digs around inside Yudai’s bag for the printouts he knows Yudai carries around, and decides to go through his lyrics one more time on his own. Not that he needs to, obviously, but something about Harua and his notes lights an alien feeling in his spine - is it nerves? Competitiveness? Fuma is having a hard time grappling with this new emotion, so he tries to focus on the song lyrics instead.

They’re the last to perform, with Euijoo’s group going just before theirs. All the groups are seated together in a monitoring room, where they can see and hear everything that goes on onstage through a couple of TV screens that have been set up in front of them. Fuma naps on Yudai’s shoulder throughout the other groups’ performances, but when Euijoo’s group is up, he finds himself wide awake and leaning attentively towards the screen.

He expects Euijoo to lead his group through a pep talk, like Yudai does with theirs, but instead, the group forms a tight circle, each putting one hand out into the centre stacked on top of each other, and they do a quiet little cheer. In fact, Euijoo doesn’t even lead the cheer - it’s that shy gangly boy, ears flaming red and brows tight with determination. Once the cheer is done, it’s like a frisson ripples through the group; their energy levels are high and they step onto the stage with a confidence that makes all of Fuma’s hairs stand on end. 

When the music begins, Fuma’s eyes are glued to the screen. They’re all doing the same song and the same choreography, though there are solo parts here and there for some improvisation, for those who dare to risk it. Yudai had already talked Fuma through the tricks that he’d wanted Fuma to pull off during that segment - acrobatic stunts that had taken him just one practice to master - positive that the other groups didn’t have the skill to do the same. Yudai himself would be taking the lead parts, to charm the pants off of the judges, and Fuma watched for Euijoo, expecting him to take a similar role, or maybe do the solo.

Euijoo doesn’t. Maki opens the song powerfully, with a voice like that Justin Bieber dude the girls in school talk about, then harmonises perfectly with Harua, who blesses the stage like a little angel sent straight from heaven. Even shy Jo, who moves like a puppet whose strings have just been cut and doesn’t know what to do with full bodily autonomy yet, manages a daring wink at the judges during his part. 

Then comes the solo dance segment, and it’s Nicholas. He must have a background in breakdancing, because he’s immediately on the floor, spinning and tricking like there’s a barely-contained monster inside him, pushing his body to its limits. Fuma has never seen anything like it, and even Yudai next to him lets out an impressed whistle. And Euijoo, throughout the performance, is just there. He dutifully performs his parts and hits every note, stepping smoothly aside when Jo nearly bumps into him from behind, as if he has an eagle eye view of the stage and knows exactly where each group member is at any moment.

Before he knows it, their performance is over, and Fuma realises his eyes are horribly dry from how he hasn’t blinked once the entire time.

“Fuma, ow, stop, what’s gotten into you?” Yudai is slapping at Fuma’s vice grip on his thigh. When did Fuma put his hand on Yudai’s thigh? He had been so absorbed in watching the performance that he hadn’t even noticed.

Fuma lets up, soothing absentmindedly at the muscles near Yudai’s knee as he tries to put his thoughts together. “They looked really cool, Yudai. Why did they look so cool?”

Yudai is taken aback. He places a hand over Fuma’s, studying his expression.

“Fuma, you… I’ve never heard you say that about anyone before, what’s going on?”

Fuma doesn’t really know how to answer, but he’s saved by the crew calling for their group to stand by. He feels like there’s a fire burning under his skin, an unfamiliar energy that makes him bounce on his toes as Yudai gives the group their final reminders and tips, and then they’re on the stage, lights coming up as the song intro plays.

They perform as rehearsed, everything done to Yudai’s exacting standards, but Fuma moves through it like he’s in a haze, still preoccupied by Euijoo and his group. Yudai gives him his usual cues but he hardly notices, body moving of its own accord, and when he gets to his solo part, he perfectly replicates one of the spins he’d seen Nicholas do and freestyles the rest, forgoing anything they’d practised before. When their performance ends and they line up, waiting to hear the judges critiques, Fuma is actually breathless, panting from the effort he can’t believe he’s put in. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, and from the brief eye contact he makes with Yudai, neither does he, but Yudai is nothing if not a professional, and quickly schools his expression from shock to a mild smile, ready to respond to the judges as needed. 

“Glad to see you’ve improved on all the points that were brought up at the interim check, though I’m surprised to note that there was significantly more… individuality, today.” It’s Sakura, the lady who had told him to drop out when they first arrived in Tokyo, though she’s become much friendlier since then. Soma praises Taki’s improved mastery of the lyrics, and the Korean judges seem pleased with their performance quality, though Fuma doesn’t have the wherewithal to parse what they’re saying; his fingers are trembling with residual energy and he’s utterly baffled as to why. 

He doesn’t have time to talk to Yudai about it, though, because the other groups are all called back up on stage for the judges to announce the results. Soma takes the microphone to deliver some final comments. 

“What we want to see from you isn’t stability. We don’t care if you do well enough. What we want to see from you, and feel from you, is that desperation, that persistence in chasing your dreams. Understand that this was one of the key factors in determining our decision today.”

Yudai has reached out to take Fuma’s hand; he seems worried, when has Yudai ever been worried? There’s a brief sequence of TV show theatrics before Soma makes the announcement: Euijoo’s group has won, which means that the other groups have been eliminated and will be going home. 

Fuma doesn’t understand. Together, he and Yudai have won every competition they’ve ever entered, so he doesn’t understand why they’ve lost. He doesn’t understand why there’s anguish tearing at the back of his throat, when he didn’t even care about being an idol in the first place. He needs Yudai to help him, to give him answers, to explain the world to him like he always has, but Yudai, too, is rooted to the spot, eyes darting like he’s trying to make a dozen calculations with all of them ending up at zero. Yudai’s hand feels clammy in his grip, and for the first time in his life, Fuma is lost.

In the midst of the cheers from Euijoo’s group and the overwhelmed sobs from the others, Soma takes up his microphone again.

“Now, the judges and I have discussed this, and we would like to make a special exception for those who had outstanding individual scores.” He looks down his nose at them, and begins to read names off a sheet in front of him. “Kei, Fuma, Taki, and Yuma, congratulations. The judges recognise your efforts, and continue to expect more of you in the upcoming rounds. The rest of you, please head back to your rooms and pack up your things.”

In the white noise of the moment, Fuma’s attention is first drawn by Yuma, the boy who had insulted him and Yudai during the interim check - he’s crumpled to the ground, bawling his eyes out, looking every bit like the vulnerable child that Yudai had said he was. Then, Taki crashes into his side, pulling both him and Yudai into a crushing hug. 

“Kei-hyung, Fuma-kun, we did it! I can’t believe we did it, oh my god, I’m going to pee all over myself, this is insane!” he babbles, then runs off, presumably to go to the bathroom. The other groups start leaving the stage too, and Fuma can see Euijoo giving each of his group members a hug, rubbing consoling circles on Harua’s back, because the boy seems to be crying out of relief. 

“Come on, Fuma, let’s head back, it’s been a long day,” Yudai says, lowering himself so Fuma can climb onto his back like usual, which he does, trying to let the smell of Yudai’s skin soothe him like always, but there’s a thought niggling at the back of Fuma’s mind that just won’t go away. Their group hadn’t taken first place in the final evaluation like Yudai had expected; sure, Yudai, Fuma, and Taki had been saved by the judges, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’d been defeated and had needed saving to begin with.

“Yudai, is this what it feels like?” Fuma asks, just before they reach their room. “Is this what it feels like to fail after you’ve actually put effort into something?”

Yudai stiffens under him, and for a moment, they stand outside the door, silently watching their other group members file out despondently with their belongings. 

“What does it feel like, Fuma?” Fuma can’t see Yudai’s face from this angle, but Yudai’s voice seems to hold a tone of melancholy in it. 

Fuma scrunches his nose up. He’s been subjected to so many weird new feelings today, and his brain feels overloaded. “Frustration, I think. Yudai, I put in effort today, and now I’m frustrated. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?”

Yudai drops Fuma onto his futon. “Welcome to the world of the living, Mr. Zombie,” he quips, and Fuma expects the usual, hearty laugh that accompanies Yudai’s own jokes, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he’s quietly flitting around the room, collecting the things they’d need for a bath - their towels, a change of clothes, the shampoo that Yudai insists makes Fuma’s hair silkier, all get slotted neatly into Yudai’s bag. 

“Why don’t you go on ahead, Fuma? I just need a little air, I’ll catch up with you later.” 

Fuma would rather bathe later when the communal bath is emptier, but Yudai must want to bathe together today, so he gives in, taking the bag from Yudai’s hands and heading to the baths. The changing area shelves are basically numbered boxes, and he places his things in box number 7, like he always does, leaving Yudai’s things in number 14, just below his, so Yudai will know where to find them. He soaks until his fingers start to prune, and thinks that maybe he’d missed Yudai somehow, in the commotion of everyone else coming in and out, but when he dries off and makes his way back to the changing area, he finds that Yudai’s things are untouched, sitting exactly where he left them. 

The next morning, Yudai is already folding up his futon when Fuma wakes up. The remaining boys, including those from the other blocks, have been told to gather in a large hall, where the faceless narrator on the TV monitor announces their next mission. They have to break into teams of three, and will be assigned one of four songs, each with its own distinct style. Once again, they have two weeks to prepare for the final evaluation, with an interim check at the halfway mark. 

“Come on, Fuma, the sooner we register our group, the sooner we can start rehearsing. Where did Taki go?”

Fuma, however, doesn’t bother looking for Taki. He’d spent the entire time in the bath last night mulling over Euijoo’s group: their performance, their teamwork, Euijoo’s fascinating leadership style, and the way all of it had triggered an unexpected change in him. He doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject with Yudai, so once he spots Euijoo in the crowd, he takes a direct approach, grabbing Yudai’s arm and walking over to Euijoo. 

“Hey, um, you’re Euijoo, right?” Fuma very nearly runs out of steam from the get-go; he hasn’t had much practice speaking to strangers, and Yudai won’t be able to rescue him this time, so he grits his teeth and pushes on. “Come join our group.”

Euijoo’s already round eyes grow even rounder, and Yudai is making a similar expression, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Wait, Fuma, what are you doing? Aren’t we waiting for Taki?”

Fuma ignores him in favour of staring at Euijoo, who starts stammering and gesticulating awkwardly until Nicholas materialises right next to him, wrapping a proprietary arm around his surprisingly tiny waist.

“Sorry, dude, Juju and I are sticking together, so he won’t be able to join your group.”

Yudai pops a hip out and crosses his arms. “See? He doesn’t want to join us anyway, so let’s go look for Taki.”

Fuma looks between the two of them, then down at his shoes, trying to figure out what to do.

Everything had been so easy with Yudai. Fuma didn’t have to think, he didn’t have to put in any effort, yet they cruised through everything they’ve attempted, and Fuma might even admit he’s had fun in the process. 

But they were defeated in yesterday’s final evaluation, in what was only the first step on their road to debuting. They weren’t the best or the strongest anymore, and becoming world-class idols suddenly seemed like a tenuous pipe dream. Fuma had felt anguish and frustration for the first time in his life, and, for the first time in his life, actually felt the urge to try again, to try harder; he actually felt motivated. There’s no denying that it was Euijoo who had given him that motivation; now he wants to chase that feeling and see where it takes him, see the kind of person he could become. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could finally want to become an idol. Then he’d no longer be trailing in Yudai’s shadow; he’d finally be worthy of standing beside him.

When he looks up again, his mind is made up, and he turns to Euijoo.

“Then let me join your group.”

Yudai sputters. “What are you talking about, Fuma? Aren’t we supposed to be a team? What’s the meaning of this, what- what am I supposed to do, then?”

Euijoo and Nicholas seem equally taken aback; they’ve all seen how Yudai and Fuma are joined at the hip, so Fuma’s request is a bolt from the blue, but, for the first time in his life, Fuma doesn’t think he’s ever felt more sure.

“Yudai, I think this will be worth the effort.”

Fuma watches Yudai carefully for his reaction: his entire body goes rigid, and then, devastatingly, he almost seems to deflate, shoulders on the verge of folding in on himself, with only his pride to hold him upright. The light that had always burned in his eyes, that was always too bright for Fuma to look at for too long, flickers out. 

“Sure. Do whatever the fuck you want, Fuma.” Whatever he might be feeling is now hidden behind the tight line of his mouth.

For a brief moment, Fuma allows himself to doubt his decision. The strange warmth that he feels when he’s around Yudai now sits heavy in his chest, a leaden pit that’s started to cool and fester, but overshadowing that is the promise of something new and exciting with Euijoo, and Fuma wants to lean in.

Euijoo and Nicholas exchange a look, and Euijoo finally breaks the tension. “You’re welcome to join our group, Fuma-kun.”

That settles it. No turning back now. Euijoo and Nicholas head towards the staff standing at the front of the hall to register their names. Fuma fidgets on the spot, because Yudai is uncharacteristically silent and it’s throwing him off. 

“See you later, Yudai. I’ll be waiting for you,” he says, olive branch extended, but he doesn’t get to hear Yudai’s response because he’s swept up by Nicholas into the next room for their song assignments, the door to the hall closing behind them with an eerie finality.

They have to room in their new groups. Fuma moves his stuff out from the large room he’d initially stayed in with Yudai and Taki and the others, and into a smaller, three-person room, with a single bed and a bunk bed instead of the futons they’d been sleeping on the floor with. Nicholas and Euijoo bicker amiably about who should get the single, but in the end it’s Fuma who wins their best-of-three rock-paper-scissors match. Nicholas complains loudly enough that Euijoo compromises, agreeing to help trim his choppy bangs that evening, which has Nicholas purring in delight like an overgrown kitten. 

The first night, Fuma has a hard time falling asleep. He misses the sound of Yudai breathing next to him, a thought that causes his chest to ache weirdly, so he’s twisting restlessly in bed when Nicholas speaks up from the top bunk. He reverts to Korean when the cameras are off, or when he’s with Euijoo, which ends up being most of the time. This puts Fuma’s language skills to the test.  

“Hey, Fuma-kun, you awake?”

Fuma nods, then realises that Nicholas probably can’t see him in the dark. “Mhm,” he grunts.

There’s the sound of rustling sheets and the creaking of springs as Nicholas presumably sits up. 

“That Kei dude who was with you, he looked pretty bummed out when you joined our group.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Euijoo is chiming in from the bottom bunk, round eyes catching the light that seeps in under their door. 

“I mean, is it really okay for you to join us? I honestly didn’t expect you to do something as cold-hearted as that.”

Fuma blinks up at the ceiling, training his gaze on the pinpoint of red light from the fire alarm, hand pressed against the ache in his chest. He rolls the Korean syllables around in his head for a second before letting them spill out, finding it easier than he expected.

“I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss him, but I’m pretty sure I’ll get to be with him again. For now,” he says, turning back onto his side, his eyes meeting Euijoo’s. “I’m more excited to see what we can do.”

Euijoo chuckles, more of a short, sharp exhalation than anything, though it still manages to sound warm and pleased.

“I’m excited too, Fuma-kun. Let’s do our best, yeah?”

They jump straight into rehearsals the next morning. Rehearsing with Euijoo and Nicholas is… different. For one, Euijoo lets Fuma pick his own part, and for the first time, Fuma is confronted with the burden of choice. What does he like? What kind of dance is he good at? It’s hard to pick when he knows he could perform any of the parts effortlessly, but Euijoo’s eyes sparkle with such kindness that he quickly selects a part at random, acting like he’d chosen it on purpose, and the tiny boxy smile on Euijoo’s face is so sweet that Fuma can almost feel his blood sugar spike. 

Though Euijoo and Nicholas are good - well, reasonably good, at least - it does take them longer than Fuma to pick up the choreography. Fuma flops onto the floor and fully intends to nap while they finish learning it, but there’s something in the way Euijoo extends a hand to him to pull him up, gentle, an invitation instead of a command, that makes him naturally reach out to grasp it, fingers so slender compared to Yudai’s, holding a different kind of strength. They rehearse way past mealtimes, Nicholas constantly adding superfluous flairs and tricks like he can’t contain himself, with Euijoo incorporating bits of Nicholas’ style where he can, and pushing back where it doesn’t fit, weaving a performance that will be uniquely theirs.

Vocally, he has the most control of the three of them, but it comes from a place of instinct rather than knowledge, so when Euijoo implores for him to teach us, Fuma actually begins to analyse his vocal performance properly. Euijoo listens, he tries it out, and then he pushes again, if that’s how it works then we should be able to do it like this, too, right? And Fuma finds himself thinking, and re-thinking, and testing his own creativity and skills to respond to and even surpass what Euijoo is looking for. 

So maybe this is how it works, with Euijoo. He asks, he cajoles, and in return he gives; he moves with them instead of watching over them; he meets people in the middle and is honest about his own inadequacy, his sweet innocence enticing them to grow and change and help to fill in the gaps. 

Fuma likes the person that he is with Euijoo. He’s gone from someone who knows they’re talented, to someone who knows why they’re talented, and it’s opening up possibilities for him that he’d never even bothered to dream about. Being an idol is a world that Yudai had introduced him to, and Fuma finally feels like he’s actually stepping into it. He can’t wait to see Yudai again and tell him all about it. 

They see each other at the interim check; or rather, Fuma spots Yudai on the other side of the room, but the performances begin immediately and they don’t get the chance to talk. The critiques they get aren’t great, and Fuma’s disappointment must show on his face, because Euijoo immediately wraps him in a tight hug, pushing aside his own worries to whisper reassuringly into Fuma’s ear. Fuma doesn’t think he’s been hugged before, not properly, and it feels different from the way Yudai manhandles him - different, but unexpectedly pleasant. He relaxes into Euijoo's touch and returns the hug just as tightly, Euijoo’s palm stroking between his shoulder blades giving him the confidence that they’ll be ready for the final evaluation no matter what. 

They pull apart to walk back to their seats, and Euijoo somehow manages to collide with Yudai, even though there should have been plenty of space for Yudai to avoid him. Euijoo apologises profusely, but Yudai’s only response is a scowl as his group takes their place on stage. 

Yudai's group consists of Jo and a boy that Fuma doesn’t recognise, who probably wasn’t in their original block. The song they’ve been assigned is sultry and jazzy and Yudai shines in it, moves slick and legs so long in the suit he’s wearing. Fuma can’t take his eyes off him: it’s refreshing to be able to watch Yudai from the audience and fully appreciate his skills. 

They’ve been dismissed from the interim check and everyone slowly files out of the room. Yudai is standing up to leave when Fuma approaches him, hand outstretched. 

“Yudai! You looked really good up there! I-” he starts, but he’s shocked into silence by Yudai slapping his hand away. 

“We’re rivals now, remember?” His eyes are cold, gaze flicking between him and Euijoo, who’s still chatting with his old group mates. “You didn’t choose me, so now I’m left with no choice but to crush you.”

He doesn’t wait for Fuma to respond - not like he would have known how to respond to something like that anyway - and stalks out of the room, spine rigid and jaw tight. 

After the interim check, the producers arrange for the groups to have a day outside; it’s been so long since any of them have glimpsed the sky that the energy levels are through the roof. They’ve had cameras on them mostly only for the interim checks and the final evaluations, but this day out is for the audience to get to know them better, so they have hand-held cameras and cameramen following them around. Fuma’s group, along with a couple of the others, including Yudai’s, gets sent to Ameyokocho in Ueno. 

Half-prompted by the production staff, they try a variety of food from the stalls nearby, including juicy minced meat croquettes and savoury braised duck neck, the latter of which has Nicholas lapsing into speaking Mandarin for a full ten minutes just out of the sheer joy of getting to eat something from home, Euijoo awkwardly but fondly interpreting for him based on vibes more than on any actual grasp of the language. 

Yudai, ever the media darling, flourishes in front of the camera, immediately ordering the most ridiculously extravagant crepe from the next stall, stuffed with strawberries and cream and chocolate and even a thin slice of rich cheesecake shoved into it. He's always biting off more than his small mouth can handle, cream and chocolate smearing across his lips, a little chocolate smudge left in the corner that he doesn’t quite manage to lick off. He offers the crepe to Fuma for him to take a bite, accompanied by a curated laugh that contrasts with the sharp look in his eye - the duality in Yudai’s expression, coupled with the cameras all swinging towards him as one, throws Fuma off, and he declines, taking a polite step back. He doesn’t miss the way Yudai’s smile hardens, just for a split second, before it transforms into indignant delight as Harua swoops in and takes the crepe for himself. The chocolate smudge remains on the corner of Yudai’s mouth until Jo quietly points it out, and Yudai wipes at his mouth a little more aggressively than necessary. 

Despite gorging themselves on street food, the boys are more than happy to settle in for the Hunan-style meal that the production staff has booked for them at a restaurant just around the corner from the train station. Even Nicholas struggles with the unfamiliar names on the menu, but the restaurant choice seems to mainly be a strategic move by the staff to create comedy around watching them cry from how spicy most of the dishes are. 

Yudai picks a seat as far from Fuma as he can manage, all the way at the other side of the table, where he plies poor Jo with white rice to help him deal with the spice. Fuma is sitting next to Euijoo, who is entirely preoccupied with how Nicholas, sitting across from them, is comparing the dishes to what he’d normally eat back home. 

Fuma feels oddly left out. He’d never needed or wanted attention until Yudai came along and gave him too much of it; the ache in his chest must be some strange kind of withdrawal. He nibbles lightly at whatever food is in front of him, entirely lost in his own thoughts when Euijoo suddenly turns to him.

“Fuma-kun, you have some sauce on your chin,” he says, tissue in hand. Fuma tries to take the tissue but Euijoo holds firm, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Fuma tilts his chin out so Euijoo has easy access, and Euijoo coos. “You’re so cute like this!”

Maybe he is a glutton for praise and attention after all. Fuma doesn’t know what comes over him, but he grabs his chopsticks and immediately goes to smear more sauce on himself. “Then I guess I should add some more!” he says, and Euijoo laughs, smacking Fuma on the arm even as he wipes the additional sauce off for him.

The entire table has noticed their exchange by now; they mostly react with jovial laughter - Harua’s eyes are wide and his hands are flailing, while one of the other boys lets out a sleazy whoop. The mood is suddenly broken by the screech of Yudai’s chair as he stands up, muttering something about an upset stomach before quickly walking away, and everyone returns to their meal and their conversations. 

Fuma has seen Yudai eat all manner of cuisines that his housekeeper can cook up, and he’s never had an upset stomach, even from the spiciest of food. When Yudai doesn’t return from the bathroom, Fuma goes to check on him - the bathroom is empty, and he finds Yudai standing on the staircase landing, half a flight above the restaurant door. He’s leaning on the railing and looking out at the bustle of people on the street below, but he turns when he hears the restaurant door open, huffing out a breath when he looks down and recognises Fuma. 

“Yudai, are you okay?” Something in Yudai’s stance makes Fuma wary of approaching him. 

“Like I’ve already said, Fuma, we’re rivals now.” There’s a note of resignation in Yudai’s voice that hadn’t been there the last time he said it. “Leave me alone and go back to Euijoo.”

Being with Yudai had once been the easiest thing in the world; now it feels like Fuma is crunching on glass, the shards cutting into his gums. He’s at a loss for what to say but he opens his mouth anyway, racking his brain for the right words when the restaurant door opens behind him and nearly knocks him down the stairs. The exiting customers apologise and they have an awkward standoff where Fuma needs to move aside so they can take the stairs down. Fuma relents and wiggles around them to retreat into the restaurant, where he lets Euijoo’s little boxy smile pull him back into its comforting warmth.

The final evaluation goes well for Fuma’s group. Where they had been unbalanced going into the interim check - Nicholas too wild and Euijoo too restrained and Fuma overshadowing the both of them - they had spent the last week learning to play off each other better, learning each other better, and their performance had benefited from it, earning nothing but praise from the judges. 

Euijoo pulls the both of them into a fierce hug just before they walk back to their seats. It’s too early to celebrate, because the other groups haven’t performed yet so they don’t know how they’ll rank, but Fuma feels what can only be described as genuine elation that their hard work has paid off. The heartfelt relief and happiness radiating from Euijoo is so different from the smug way he and Yudai used to take every win for granted, and he lets Euijoo hold on to his hand all the way until they’re seated.

Yudai’s group, however, doesn’t fare as well. Yudai himself had performed exceptionally - he’s the perfect all-rounder and the judges acknowledge that, but as the group’s leader, he had failed to pull his group members up to his standard. Jo looks visibly crushed, while Yudai just accepts the judges’ critiques with a stony face, deliberately avoiding making eye contact with the other groups as they leave the stage.

At the end of the following day, when all the evaluations have been completed, the group rankings are posted on a giant screen in the main hall. The groups that rank in the bottom third will be eliminated, so everyone is understandably nervous as they gather and wait for the rankings to be announced. Nicholas has chewed on his lip so hard it’s red and raw, leg bouncing uncontrollably, and Euijoo is clutching at his stomach like the nerves are physically hurting him. Fuma, uncharacteristically, feels his heart rate rabbiting up; he had asked Euijoo about this before, at one of their practices, because he was worried he might have contracted some horrible myocardial affliction, but Euijoo had just laughed and petted his head. 

“It means you’re nervous, Fuma-kun! You really want to do well and you’re worried you won’t, and your heart is just reacting to that anxiety.”

“Yeah dude, it’s like fight-or-flight or something, you know? Haven’t you felt it before?” Nicholas had scowled until Euijoo had gone over to pet his head, too, cooing at the pleased sound Nicholas made. 

“He’s finally graduated from being cold and aloof to growing a heart that beats! He’s one of us now, Nichol!”

Yudai’s words had echoed in his head. Welcome to the world of the living, Mr. Zombie. That festering ache in his chest had acted up again at the memory, an uncomfortable combination with his racing heart.

They needn’t have worried, though, because their group ranks first. Euijoo and Nicholas leap from their seats, clutching at each other, then Euijoo pulls Fuma in for a group hug. The rest of the rankings flash up on the screen, with upset groans and wails from the groups that don’t make the list. 

Fuma scans the list, his worry now focused on Yudai - his group ranks near the bottom; they’ve made it, but barely. Fuma is just relieved that Yudai will still be with him, that they can still hold true to the promise they made to each other. 

The hall is chaotic, with the boys either congratulating or consoling one another, and Fuma weaves through the crowd until he reaches Yudai, who is half-slumped in his seat. 

“We made it, Yudai! I knew they wouldn’t eliminate you! Maybe in the next round we can-”

Yudai doesn’t let him finish his sentence. “I don’t need your fucking pity, Fuma.” His eyes burn with rage and his fists are clenched in his lap. “We made it? Do you really think so? Truth is, you’re too busy cavorting with Euijoo to care about me anymore, right? You’ve changed, Fuma. You’ve forgotten our dream of debuting together. So don’t come at me with your empty platitudes. If you’re going to abandon me, do it properly.”

Yudai’s voice is tremulous and quiet but each word strikes Fuma hard. It’s almost as if Fuma’s ribs crack with the force of them, a gaping wound gouged into his chest. His heart thuds in his ears, the fight part of his fight-or-flight response overtaking any logic he might have still had. 

“So, what, would it have been better if I had chosen you? If I had just chosen to keep following you blindly like a mindless zombie? Are you really so naïve as to think that being world-class idols would be that simple? Seems like you’re the one who’s forgotten our promise, Yudai.” 

Fuma thinks back to that day in the music store, to how their matching microphones had glinted so brilliantly in the light. Now, that light is gone, swallowed up by the fog of gloom and hatred that Fuma had never known Yudai was capable of. 

With a pang of gut-wrenching misery, Fuma thinks that maybe he hadn’t really known Yudai at all.

His head starts to throb with how wretched he feels. This is exactly why he’d never liked talking to people; things always end up being too unnecessarily complicated. He needs to move, to get away, but he’s left on his own two feet this time, without Yudai to shield him and carry him home. 

“You know what? Screw this. You’re a hassle, Yudai.” He hardly registers the way Yudai flinches at his words, visibly shaken. “I’m done with you.”

Fuma pushes his way blindly out of the hall; Euijoo spots him halfway, catching his arm and leading him back to their room, where he curls up in the darkness under his blanket, desperately praying for the pain in his chest to go away.

They’re in groups of four for the third mission, covering songs by SEVENTEEN. The judges have assigned their groups to them this time, based on their individual scores from the previous mission, so that the highest and lowest scoring boys are spread evenly across the groups. Fuma is grouped with Yuma, and a couple of younger boys he hasn’t met before. With how mean Yuma had been to him before, Fuma is initially worried about how they’ll get along, but Yuma seems to be prickly just on the outside; once they move into their new room, Yuma becomes almost like a maternal figure to them, fussing over the cleanliness of their room and the way they fold their laundry. The younger boys like to tease him about it and he hisses at them in response, not as threatening once they learn that his canines are just for show.

They spend their first practice familiarising themselves with the song, and Fuma gets elected as leader, a position he isn’t sure quite fits him, but he’s managed to surprise himself time and time again throughout this audition camp, so, just like he did when he joined Euijoo’s group, Fuma leans in. His natural affinity for dance and the calm analytical skills he learned with Euijoo prove to be an excellent fit for this creative choreography mission, and the other boys look up to him and follow his every move. He finds himself wondering if this is how Yudai feels when he leads them, and quickly quashes the thought. It still hurts to think of Yudai, like pressing on a fresh bruise, so he does his best to avoid thinking about him as much as he can. 

They’re heading down to the dining hall after practice when Yuma stops him with a hand on his arm. He looks nervous, twisting the toe of his sneaker into the floor.

“I want to apologise for what I said to you, during the first mission.” He clears his throat and makes sure to look Fuma square in the face, even as a blush spreads from the tips of his ears. “You don’t need Kei to tell you what to do, and you’re definitely not his slave, nor anyone else’s for that matter. You’re our king!”

From what Fuma had overheard from the other boys, Yuma had channeled his initial loneliness and insecurities into an arrogant, imperious persona during the first mission; to have him place that title on Fuma now is only slightly overwhelming. He thinks about Euijoo’s warmth and dedication, about how the three of them with such disparate styles had managed to balance each other out, and resolves to bring those traits to this mission, too; to be more of a benevolent leader than a domineering monarch. 

He still doesn’t quite know how to dole out physical affection the way Euijoo does, so he just awkwardly pats Yuma on the head. It seems to work, though, because Yuma beams up at him, snaggletooth on full display.

Where Fuma had always looked up to Yudai, where he and Euijoo had been equals, now he finds himself being looked up to instead by his three group members. I have to consider everyone’s skill levels, he thinks. I have to make sure the choreography is creative enough for the judges yet simple enough for all of us to perform, he ruminates, in the quiet spaces of their breaks or when he’s washing up alone in the mornings. I’m evolving into someone Yudai won’t recognise anymore, he broods, inexorably, hiding under his blanket in the small hours of the night, Yudai’s presence still taking up too much space in his brain for someone he’s supposedly abandoned for good. His heart is at its weakest when he’s exhausted, and he’s exhausted more now than ever before, penetrating bone deep now that the thick protective layer of apathy he used to wear has been sloughed off. He finds himself missing the way Yudai would just sweep him up into his madness, how the warmth of Yudai’s back under him would be a soothing balm against the hollowness that’s settled in his chest. 

This time, after the interim check, they’re sent to a chalet to film some variety show-type contents, to increase their likeability with the audience. Here, without a set choreography or lyrics to follow, Fuma allows himself to relax, to revert to his most comfortable state, happy to put in the bare minimum effort required. He watches the others and learns that Maki is unsettlingly good at eating lemons, that Harua is unusually dextrous with his toes, and that Yudai’s overcompetitive spirit and commitment to the bit make him popular not just with the cameras, but with the other boys as well. He isn’t the leader of his group this time, but he falls easily into place as everyone’s charming, boisterous, supportive older brother, looking out for everyone and eventually leading his team to victory in the games. 

It’s not something that Fuma is used to seeing. At school, Yudai had been popular mainly because of his family’s money, a superficial popularity underscored by the malicious whispers of envy that would sometimes reach even Fuma’s ears; here, however, he seems to be genuinely liked because of who he is, even if most of his geniality might be a performance for the cameras. 

(What isn’t a performance, though, is how Yudai slips him his jacket when no one is looking; sitting outdoors in the cool autumn air had Fuma shivering from the cold, and Yudai, wordlessly, without making eye contact, hands him his jacket, still holding his residual warmth and the scent of his skin. Fuma allows himself to burrow into its familiarity for as long as he can, ignoring the regret and grief churning in his gut, and wonders if he really is done with Yudai after all.)

The remaining week of practice passes in a blur, Fuma too busy to dwell on thoughts of Yudai, and the day of the final evaluation arrives without fanfare. Fuma is glad for all the Korean practice he had with Euijoo and Nicholas, and is surprised at how easily he takes responsibility for their choreography and for the team, answering judge Sung-deuk’s questions with a composure he didn’t know he had in him. 

“My eyes were immediately drawn to you, Fuma. You’re so confident and so motivated now, really different from the Fuma we’ve been seeing before, which is great.” Fuma preens under Soma’s praise, and the group steps off the stage to applause from the judges. 

Out of the 12 remaining groups, only the top 7 will proceed to the next round. The groups have been kept in separate green rooms this time, not allowed to monitor the other groups’ performances or hear the comments they get from the judges. Then, more for dramatic effect than anything else, they’re told to enter one of two rooms, group by group; Fuma is only sure that they’re in the winning room when the sixth group enters. The entire room heaves a sigh of relief, but Fuma can’t relax yet, because the seventh group enters and Yudai isn’t here. 

Could Yudai’s group have been eliminated? Without Yudai, what would even be the point of Fuma trying to debut anymore? Fuma knows that individually, Yudai is incredibly skilled, equally proficient at both singing and dancing, a consummate performer commanding the stage. Was he dragged down because of his group members? Were they not able to take his cues well enough? If only Fuma had been there- 

Fuma catches himself short. What right did he have to think that way, when he was the one who hadn’t chosen Yudai in the first place? When he was the one who had abandoned Yudai so cruelly? What right does he have to act like he still cares?

Just then, a TV monitor on the far wall flickers to life, Soma’s face filling most of the screen. 

“Congratulations on ranking in the top 7. As we will be forming groups of five in the next round, the judges have selected a few boys with the highest individual scores from the eliminated groups to join you. They should be entering the room shortly. Please take the rest of the day to rest, and the next mission will be announced tomorrow.” As abruptly as the broadcast starts, it ends, screen going dark again and all heads swivelling to face the door to the room.

The door opens and several boys file in solemnly, having just been through the emotional roller coaster of believing they’d be eliminated, then having to tamp down on their own elation while watching their group mates come to terms with the fact that it really was the end of the road. Nicholas is among them; he pushes past the other boys and straight into Euijoo’s arms, clinging onto him in a tight embrace. 

Yudai steps in last and Fuma’s breath escapes him in a rush. He wants to pull Yudai into a hug, too, maybe, like Euijoo and Nicholas, but something in him balks at the thought of that degree of physical affection. Why should it, though? Yudai is… was quite often touching Fuma in one way or the other, whether it be petting his hair or carrying him on his back. Come to think of it, Fuma never reciprocated; it doesn’t come naturally to him to initiate, and on some level, he still doesn’t do well with interpersonal touch. 

So he doesn’t know what comes over him when he moves towards Yudai, arms open like he’d seen Euijoo do with Nicholas. The thought flashes through his mind, clear as day: I want that too, with Yudai; he doesn’t know what it is or why he wants it, and perhaps it’s just as well, because the thought is extinguished just as quickly, buried in the confusion of watching Yudai pointedly brush past him in favour of comforting a crying Taki, who had also been salvaged from the elimination room. Fuma lets his arms drop back down to his sides awkwardly, then grips his elbows, for lack of anything better to do. 

“Fuma-kun! Dude, it’s so good to see you again!” Nicholas pops up out of nowhere, one hand up in what Fuma correctly interprets to be the handshake that Nicholas had taught him. Nicholas clasps his hand hard and bumps their chests together, giving his back a solid thump with his other hand, and Fuma reciprocates in kind, relaxing at the familiarity of it.

Euijoo approaches the two of them much more sedately; he rubs a hand gently up and down Nicholas’ bicep, then leans his head on Fuma’s shoulder as they listen to Nicholas prattle on about the near shave he’d had with his group. Fuma hadn’t realised how much he’d missed them, their easy camaraderie calming the roiling in his gut. He even manages a real, full laugh when Nicholas describes how he was so nervous he accidentally blurted out his reply to the judges in Mandarin.

Euijoo insists that Nicholas tell them the rest of it over dinner, and is steering them towards the door when Fuma hears Taki’s voice.

“Come on, Kei-hyung, we should go, too,” he says, sounding like he’s bounced back from his crying fit and is ready to replenish the energy he’s expended.

Fuma pauses at the door, curious despite himself to see what Yudai will do. 

There’s an unreadable expression on Yudai’s face; he locks eyes with Fuma for a moment before quickly turning away. “It’s going to be super crowded now, Taki, let’s give it a minute, yeah?” he says, face melting into a smile as he squishes Taki’s cheeks between his palms. 

By the time Fuma gets to the dining hall with Euijoo and Nicholas, whatever little appetite he had is completely lost.

Their penultimate mission is pitched like a final boss battle, covering songs by the group that started it all, the one and only BTS. The rooms they’re gathered in keep getting smaller and smaller - only 35 boys remain, now, tension thrumming in the room as their groups are announced. As with the previous round, their groups are once more assigned to them: along with someone Fuma doesn’t recognise, he is grouped with Taki, Maki, and Yudai.

In front of the cameras as they are now, Yudai reacts immediately and enthusiastically, drawing both Maki and Fuma to himself and exclaiming about how insane this mission is going to be. During their first rehearsal, he’s loud and jovial and encouraging, heaping a shy Maki with praise while hyping the rest of the group up. It’s only in the quiet of the night, just as Fuma is returning from his bath, that he spies a sombre Yudai slipping out from their shared room. In a spur of the moment decision, Fuma follows behind him, careful not to let Yudai notice. 

The disused emergency staircase that Yudai takes leads them outside, to a small, grassy patch that houses the old shrine Fuma had spotted on their first day here, what feels like a lifetime ago. He finds Yudai seated under the small tree that shades the shrine; a maple that would have been brilliantly red in the autumn, but is now a lush, verdant green, leaves barely rustling in the muggy summer air. 

Yudai startles when Fuma approaches.

“Oh! Fuma, can’t believe we’re finally in the same group again, huh?” 

It’s too dark under the tree for Fuma to see his expression, but he can hear the slippery veneer to Yudai’s words. He waits, shifting awkwardly from one leg to the other, for Yudai to try again.

“Didn’t expect you to be the leader in the previous mission, the Fuma I knew would have found that a hassle. I… I’m happy for you.”

Still slippery, but cracking oddly towards the end. Fuma waits some more. 

Yudai lifts his head up to look at Fuma directly. Whatever faint light that makes it through the foliage makes Yudai look translucent, eerily immaterial. 

“I hope we both get to debut, Fuma.” His lips are pulled in a practiced simulacrum of a smile while his eyes are entirely devoid of life. 

The hairs on the back of Fuma’s neck stand. Yudai’s other statements had been half-truths, curated carefully like how he conducts most of his life, an obedient conduit for his parents’ desires. When it comes to debuting though, when it comes to Fuma, Yudai has never been like that. He’s always been the realest, truest, most fascinating thing in Fuma’s life; to experience a poor facsimile of that now is painfully jarring, jabbing at the hollow ache of Fuma’s chest. 

“I think you mean, ‘I hope we get to debut together’, right? What happened to our promise, Yudai?”

That’s all it takes for the veneer to shatter, mask falling to pieces as Yudai leaps up to his feet. A sneer mars his face as he shoves hard at Fuma’s shoulder.

“You’re the one who ended things between us before they even began. I don’t think you get to talk about promises.”

A pang of regret hits Fuma in the gut. Somehow, it feels like Yudai isn’t talking just about debuting anymore. The messy tangle of Yudai-related thoughts in Fuma’s brain rears its ugly head, a dark cloud that swells and leaves his ears buzzing. He can’t untangle it enough to figure out what to say, and even if he could, his tongue is numb in his mouth. He’s not even sure why he followed Yudai out here tonight, what still draws him to Yudai despite the sharp, destructive jolts of electricity that tinge their every interaction with a rotten, burnt aftertaste. 

Yudai sighs, deep and heavy. The mask falls over his face again, but Fuma can see the jagged edges where he hasn’t quite managed to piece it perfectly back together. “Look, let’s just focus on this mission, alright? It’ll all come to nothing if we get eliminated.” He pushes past Fuma and disappears back into the building. 

Fuma only follows once the buzzing in his ears subsides, though the spot on his shoulder that Yudai had touched still tingles even as he lies in bed and tries to fall asleep.

For all that Yudai has been talking about how Fuma has changed, he himself has changed, too. Where he had previously placed himself in the centre of their performances and assigned everyone else in support of him, now he assesses the strengths and weaknesses of each individual group member and transforms himself like a chameleon to fill in the gaps. He’s still their best strategist, and Fuma is surprised to find himself being consulted on how to optimise their performance; he’d grown accustomed to and even adopted elements of Euijoo’s mild, coaxing style, but Yudai maintains an incisive authority, making Fuma feel like he now truly is Yudai’s equal partner. 

It’s nowhere near as comfortable as their relationship used to be. Being in close proximity with Yudai again makes Fuma want to fall into old habits, craving the way that Yudai would cushion him from the outside world, but Yudai maintains a crafted professionalism - not too distant as to appear unfriendly, treating Fuma just as he would any one of their group members. 

It somehow hurts more than when they weren’t in the same group at all. At least when he wasn’t around Yudai 24/7, he could push the raw ache aside and bury it under their intense schedules, but now he isn’t even given the chance to heal before Yudai’s presence swoops in once more, pecking relentlessly at his insides with every rehearsal, every meal shared, his breathing that once used to lull Fuma to sleep instead sounding oppressively loud every night as Fuma pulls his blankets up to envelop his entire body, in a futile attempt to keep all thoughts of Yudai out. 

Thankfully, the songs they’ve been assigned are BTS’ slower, more heartfelt songs, and Fuma finds himself able to portray the tender yearning tone of Lights rather naturally, the twinge he feels in his heart when Yudai harmonises with him channeling easily into the emotionality of his singing. With Black Swan, he tells himself that he and Yudai take the physically-demanding parts out of necessity; an inevitable conclusion to their clinical appraisal of the group’s skills, completely unrelated to any personal vendettas.

Predictably, their group ranks first - the judges were full of praise for their balanced performance and teamwork, and after the results are announced, Taki and Maki cling to each other and jump around in delight, having become fast friends over the course of the mission. Yudai just looks over at Fuma and gives him a sharp nod before he finds himself with a lapful of an excited Taki; he gives Taki a pat on the head and kneads at his cheeks. If only it were so easy for Fuma to claim affection from Yudai, too, but he knows that those days are behind him. He focuses instead on the other groups: other than the top 2 groups and a few boys selected based on their individual scores, the rest have been eliminated, reducing their number to less than half in one fell swoop. 

Almost equally predictably, by this point, is how the screen in the room switches to show one of the judges again. This time it’s Sakura, who immediately launches into an explanation of the final round. The judges have selected four boys to confirm for debut, while the rest will be split into two groups. Each group will perform a song in the final round together with the debut members to test their compatibility, and the last five debut members will be determined by a combination of the judges’ scores and audience votes. 

“Without further ado, I’d like to announce the four confirmed debut members.” The screen splits, showing Sakura on one half and a frame with four slots on the other. “In no particular order, congratulations to Euijoo, Nicholas, Taki, and Fuma.” The slots fill one by one with their names and profile shots before Sakura dismisses them and her half of the screen disappears.

Fuma is staring so hard at his profile shot and name that he doesn’t realise he’s crying until his photo gets weirdly blurry before his eyes. Euijoo bounds up to him and wraps him up in a hug so tight it feels like he’s physically squeezing more tears out of him. Leaning back, Euijoo wipes his thumbs over the wetness on Fuma’s face, even as his own eyes are wide and watery. 

“We did it, Fuma-kun! We’re going to debut!” he says, coughing out a deep, warm laugh.

Fuma rubs at his own cheeks, shell-shocked and disoriented. “That’s a good thing, right? Why am I crying if it’s a good thing?”

By this time, Nicholas has joined them, too. He smacks Fuma lightly on the head. “You’ve achieved your dream after all that hard work, so those are happy tears, idiot! Guess you never felt like this before either, huh?” He’s laughing, elbowing Fuma in the side before Taki barrels into him and lifts him bodily off the floor in his elation. Euijoo swats at Taki to get him to put Nicholas down, giving Fuma the chance to disentangle himself from them.

His dream - since when did debuting become his dream and not just Yudai’s? Somewhere in the span of the last few weeks, Fuma has undergone more changes than in all his years of life before this audition; catalysed by Yudai, surely, and influenced by Euijoo along the way, coalescing into the potential worldwide superstar, decidedly non-zombie Fuma that stands here, now, fingertips tinglingly numb and a faraway ringing in his ears. 

He spots Yudai over Euijoo’s shoulder, and makes his way over. Yudai only raises a questioning eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I guess I’ll be going on ahead first, but,” Fuma hesitates, half expecting Yudai to cut him off again, but Yudai just listens silently. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Yudai.” There’s a lifetime of sentiment pressed into those words, and he doesn’t know if Yudai can tell.

“Don’t bother with me, Fuma,” he says, blank professionalism giving nothing away, though his knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping his own arms. “I’ll see you at the finish line.”

Rooming with Euijoo and Nicholas again is nice. Taki fits into their group as well as he fits in anywhere, which is to say not at all, because someone that quirky was never meant to fit in as much as bowl everyone over then immediately endear himself to them with that very same quirkiness. Euijoo adores him, and he and Nicholas get along like a house on fire. They’ve somehow managed to winsomely acquire extra portions of dinner at the dining hall and are having a competition to see who can eat the most, so Euijoo and Fuma leave them to it, retreating to their room first. 

Euijoo settles in with his Japanese textbooks and Fuma tries to do the same with his Switch, but he doesn’t quite have the heart for it. Now that the euphoria of debuting has run its course, Fuma is left with that ache in his chest again - it’s duller, less potent purely from lack of physical proximity with Yudai, but he can’t get Yudai’s blank expression out of his head. 

He never imagined he’d be in a situation like this: one step ahead of Yudai, instead of the other way around. It was always Yudai taking the initiative, Yudai setting their goals, Yudai blazing the trail and carrying Fuma along with him. There was a very real chance now that Fuma might end up debuting without him; a slim chance, given Yudai’s skill level and overall popularity, but non-zero nonetheless. What would Fuma do if that came to pass? If he lost the person who had instated himself as Fuma’s guiding star? Sure, Fuma is physically and mentally capable of holding his own, now, thanks to how he’d grown throughout this audition, but the ache in his chest whispers, all the more cruel for its truthfulness, that he wouldn’t last two seconds without Yudai by his side. It’s utterly illogical and Fuma hates it.

Dropping his Switch, he flops onto his mattress, face down and starfished, heaving a great sigh. There’s a beat of silence before Euijoo speaks up.

“Fuma-kun, is everything okay?”

His debut has been decided, so everything should be okay, which is precisely why Fuma doesn’t know how to explain why it’s not. He shakes his head, movement almost imperceptible from how he’s still suffocating himself in his pillow. 

“Is this about Kei?”

Fuma sits up so quickly he almost pulls a muscle in his neck. 

“How did you know?” His voice sounds so meek and vulnerable even to himself. Embarrassed, he leans his back against the wall and pulls his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his chin on his knees.

Euijoo sets his textbooks aside and gets up, switching the lights off so the room is enveloped in a comforting darkness, with only the warm glow of a small bedside lamp illuminating his features as he sits cross-legged on his own bed, pulling a pillow into his lap.

“We thought you guys were together, you know? From how close you were at the beginning.”

Fuma doesn’t know which part of Euijoo’s statement to respond to first. He chooses the easier one.

“‘We’?”

“Me and Nichol.” Euijoo looks away for a moment, as if debating if he should continue, but he turns back again with that resolve that had so bewitched Fuma at their first mission, as if he’s making the conscious decision to be brave despite the logical doubts that must be telling him otherwise. “We thought you were a couple, like we are.”

The image that Fuma has in his mind of Euijoo and Nicholas splinters apart, then joins back up again like a jigsaw with the last piece finally falling into place. 

“We were in the same dance academy in Korea, though we hadn’t met back then, and when we happened to both enroll in the same language class when we came to Japan, it seemed like fate, you know? Then when the letters for this audition came, we promised each other we’d be in this together, till the end, no matter what.” A wry smile accompanies the faint blush on Euijoo’s cheeks. 

Fuma can hardly believe it: Euijoo and Nicholas had made the same promise that he and Yudai had made to each other, they’d come into this audition together, they’d promised to stay together, they’re actually together, in more than one sense of the word.

“We kinda got the vibe that you and Kei were the same way. Are- Were…” Euijoo falters. “Are you not?”

The tangle of thoughts in Fuma’s head unravels, Euijoo somehow managing to find the loose end of it and working it apart so smoothly. The realisation that he’s been- that he feels- he doesn’t dare to name it, not yet, but a hot flush spreads through his body and settles in a lump at the back of his throat. 

“I ended things before they even began,” Fuma croaks out, Yudai’s words to him spilling out unbidden. “It’s impossible to come back from that.”

Euijoo tilts his head, examining Fuma for a second before chuckling softly. “We each had only a 3% chance of debuting and yet here we are, just two weeks away from our debut group being confirmed and our dreams finally becoming a reality. We beat the odds, Fuma-kun. Doesn’t it feel like anything is possible, now?”

Fuma’s heart thuds so painfully in his chest that it feels as though it might beat its way out of his ribcage. He squeezes his arms tighter around his legs, trying to hold the enormity of it all in. The bed dips on one side of him, Euijoo coming over to put his arm around Fuma’s shoulders and pet his head softly until the tension in his body finally bleeds out. 

Rehearsals for the final mission pass in a blur. Having to learn both songs means Fuma is twice as busy, and he doesn’t have the time to wallow in his thoughts or figure out what he wants to do about his feelings for Yudai, but he finds that being in the same room as him no longer leaves a sour taste in his mouth - instead, his heart would traitorously do a somersault in his chest and Nicholas insists that the pink on his cheeks isn’t purely from exertion, teasing him mercilessly about it when they get back to their room. 

Like with the previous rounds, they’ve been sent for a day of filming outside, this time to the beach. It’s a little windy and misty but that doesn’t deter the boys, happy to see anything other than the four walls of their practice rooms day in and day out. Maki, Harua, and Taki look inseparable, while Yudai easily takes his place at the centre of attention again, egging the boys on in their games and making sure everyone is fed at dinner. The high energy levels wear Fuma out so easily; he sticks with Euijoo where he can, seeking out the reassuring serenity that he exudes. 

As it goes, he doesn’t get any time alone with Yudai until the weekend before the final evaluation, and even this is entirely by chance - Yudai says he’s going to stay back and work on his vocals a little more, so while the rest of them head to the dining hall for dinner, Fuma gets two portions of the yakiniku bento to go, taking them back with him to the practice room before he can second guess himself. 

Yudai startles when he enters the room, but doesn’t chase him out, so Fuma just sits in a corner and waits for him to finish. Before this audition, he’d always taken Yudai’s vocals for granted; now that he gets to listen to him sing, stripped of the stage lights and the dancing, bare and raw in the dryness of the soundproofed room, Yudai’s voice sounds so clear and light, hitting each note with a beautifully soft precision that sends a shiver down Fuma’s spine. 

Yudai stops the music track and accepts a bento from Fuma, murmuring his thanks, then sitting next to him as they dig in. Neither of them says a word, but the entire time the skin all down Fuma’s right arm prickles, like it’s responding to the static electricity Yudai is giving off. They’re almost done with their bentos when Fuma finally dares to speak up.

“I want to debut together with you, Yudai.”

“So you’ve said.” Yudai’s voice is low and tired, reminding Fuma of that night by the old shrine.

Fuma sets his unfinished bento box down and tries again. “No, Yudai, you don’t get it, I want to be together with you, until the end.”

“And so we will be, if I get to debut too, which I will, because I’ve come too far to get eliminated now. What’s your point, Fuma?” Yudai is obviously frustrated now, shovelling the remainder of his bento into his mouth and quickly packing the empty box and chopsticks back into the plastic bag they had come in. He’s tied the bag up and is about to get to his feet when Fuma grabs his wrist, forcefully pulling him back down again.

“Wait, listen to me, I want to be together with you.” Fuma fumbles for an explanation, to put his new - no, not new, he just never recognised them for what they were - and immense feelings into the right words. “Like… like how Euijoo and Nicholas are together.” 

Yudai, who’d been trying to yank his arm away, freezes. Then he shakes his head, disbelieving, and laughs. It’s a hollow, bitter laugh, sounding so wrong coming from someone so handsome.

“Look, Fuma, I’ve already made my peace with it, okay? I’m happy for you and Euijoo, you don’t have to make shit up for me to feel better. I’m glad you’ve found someone who actually motivates you, given that all I managed to do was become a hassle to you.”

Fuma’s hold on Yudai’s wrist hasn’t let up, but he can feel Yudai slipping through his fingers, and somehow he knows that if he lets Yudai go now, he won’t be able to get him back. He needs to make him stay, he needs to convince Yudai that he means it, he needs to be truthful, both to Yudai and to himself, and he needs to do it now.

“I love you, Yudai,” he blurts out, the syllables feeling so foreign coming out of his mouth, yet honest nonetheless. “I’m in love with you.”

Yudai’s jaw goes slack, and the rest of him is absolutely still. His eyes bore into Fuma’s, scanning, analysing, trying to verify the credibility of Fuma’s words. Fuma struggles to hold firm under his gaze.

“My life was so dull before I met you, Yudai. You… you made it fun, we had fun, and you made everything feel so easy. But coming here made me realise that maybe it had been too easy, that maybe I could… maybe I should become someone you wouldn’t have to drag around anymore.” 

This is hard, when have words ever been so hard? Would Yudai even understand what he’s trying to say? Is he even making sense? Fuma can’t keep the pathetic desperation out of his tone anymore but he needs to push on, he needs to get through somehow.

“You were never the hassle, Yudai, it was always me, I’m sorry for ever making you feel otherwise, and I don’t know how I can make it up to-”

Yudai interrupts him with a hand cupped to the back of Fuma’s head, pulling him close, so close that Fuma’s eyes are nearly crossed from trying to maintain eye contact with him. 

“Fuma, can I, is it okay if I-” 

Fuma doesn’t fully know what he’s saying yes to - he’s never done anything like this before, he’s never wanted anything like this before, but there isn’t a shadow of a doubt in his mind that he wants, he wants it so very much.

He nods, just a tiny dip of his head given the hold that Yudai has in his hair, and then Yudai is kissing him, a simple, rough press of lips that’s simultaneously a totally alien sensation yet something that Fuma thinks he won’t be able to quit anytime soon. 

It’s over almost as soon as it began, though Fuma can feel the restraint in the way Yudai’s fingers twitch against his scalp, in how his breath comes short and fast against Fuma’s cheek. He pulls back, letting his hand slide down to Fuma’s jaw, his thumb tracing softly across his lips. His eyes, too empty and cold in recent weeks, have regained the spark that Fuma knows so well, though there’s a wet sheen to them that Yudai blinks roughly away, finally breaking his gaze to swipe the back of his hand roughly across his nose. He pulls his wrist out of Fuma’s slack grip and stands up, keeping a purposeful distance between them.

“I’m not the same person I was, Fuma. Not since we split up for the second mission. And I don’t think you are, either,” Yudai says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “That’s why I’m going to prove to you that I’m the only person who deserves to be by your side. I’m going to prove to everyone that you’re mine.”

Yudai’s hand is already on the doorknob when Fuma regains enough composure to speak. 

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he calls out, still rooted to the floor, hands clenched on his thighs.

Yudai tilts his head back just enough for Fuma to see the self-confident smirk on his face; he hadn’t realised how much he’d missed seeing it, a shock of excitement pumping through his veins in response.

“No, Fuma. I’ll be coming to you.” The door shuts behind him, leaving Fuma alone to devour the rest of his bento. He’s suddenly ravenous, restless and hungering for more.

The last few days before the final evaluation pass by in a blur. Fuma attacks their rehearsals with renewed vigour; the ache in his chest that had been weighing him down has lifted, reverting back to that warmth that he now gloriously, wondrously has a name for, glowing and expanding and suffusing his entire body with heat. Euijoo looks at him with such fondness, like he knows, and of course if Euijoo knows then Nicholas does too, judging by the salacious eyebrow wiggles he sends Fuma’s way whenever Fuma tries to excuse himself for some alone time to decompress. 

Contrary to what lewd fantasies Nicholas might be conjuring up, Fuma doesn’t go looking for Yudai. He doesn’t need to, because he knows Yudai will find him when he’s ready, when he feels worthy to be Fuma’s partner again; funny how they’ve both been chasing each other this entire time, paths arcing away from each other only to inevitably intersect once more in a stellar collision, forming something bright and blinding and brimming with promise. 

Of the two final mission original songs, Yudai has been assigned Melody, the perfect song for showcasing his vocals, so bright and innocent, though Fuma can just as easily imagine him performing Running with the pack, too, the shift to sleek, darker tones an easy transformation for someone with Yudai’s chameleonic abilities. The final evaluation is broadcast live, performed in front of a live audience, with even Bang Si-hyuk and BTS’ RM in attendance; Fuma can almost hear Yudai’s voice in his head, gushing over getting to see such icons in person. 

When it comes to announcing the results, Yudai is a shoe-in, easily taking first place. He thanks his parents, graciously, though Fuma can clearly hear the fuck you hidden behind his words; he’s sure Yudai’s father must be fuming, and he knows Yudai himself wouldn’t have it any other way. The others aren’t as composed - Yuma cries out for Fuma and crushes him in a tight hug, and it’s a while before Jo stops crying, even with Euijoo doing his best to soothe him.

They stay on at the camp until the first few days of interviews and TV appearances are done, then they’re finally allowed to go home - they have to pack their things and move into a communal dormitory somewhere in Tokyo, but they’re allowed to spend a couple of days with their families until then.

It is only when they’re waiting outside the train station for Yudai's chauffeur to pick them up that Yudai and Fuma are truly alone at last. Despite his nap on the Shinkansen, Fuma is exhausted, so Yudai has him piggy-backed to prevent him from flopping onto the floor. 

“I can’t wait to see Eevee again. Do you think she took good care of him?”

Yudai hums. “Oh, I’m sure she’s knitted him a whole haute couture selection of tiny sweaters by now.”

Fuma scrunches his nose up. “I hope they’re not argyle. Eevee prefers tartan.”

Yudai tosses his head back and laughs, the sound loosening something in Fuma’s chest, relaxing and soothing, akin to the feeling of coming home. He wriggles a little in Yudai’s grip, and Yudai hoists him up a little higher until he’s absolutely comfortable, the heat from Yudai’s palms so perfect on Fuma’s thighs.

“We did it, Yudai. We're idols now,” he murmurs, chin digging sleepily into Yudai’s shoulder.

Yudai bounces Fuma gently, almost like a parent rocking their child to sleep. “Of course,” he says. “I always get what I want.” He sounds smug, but Fuma thinks it’s well-deserved.

“And you kept your promise. We're really in this, together.” 

“Of course,” Yudai says again, but this time his voice is so achingly tender. “Like I said, I always get what I want.”

Fuma shifts so he can bury his nose in the side of Yudai’s neck, but Yudai twists his head at the last minute, lips meeting Fuma’s cheek in a clumsy kiss. It’s… they haven’t… there’s still a lot that Fuma has to learn, about this. About them. About how to receive affection, and how to reciprocate, all while acutely aware of what they both mean by it. The physical movement of it is easy, and he knows he’ll pick it up just as quickly as he does with any choreography, Yudai leading the way, giving him cues, encouraging him to respond to what feels good. But Fuma also knows that he’ll probably never fully learn the way his heart rate kicks up when Yudai is near, that he will never be fully used to the flood of endorphins Yudai’s touch induces; naturally-gifted, genius-level talented idol Murata Fuma is more than happy to remain blissfully incompetent in this regard.

Fuma can’t remember the last time he’s felt this content, the warmth of Yudai’s back so solid and comforting against his chest, his heart so, so full. He probably still can’t begin to fathom the full extent of what lies ahead of them, but he knows that no matter what it is, as long as he’s with Yudai, as long as they're together, he will never be bored again.