Chapter Text
Chapter 1 - Got Demons?
The club throbbed, every beat like a pulse through the floorboards. April 6th, and the whole city seemed to be packed in here, grinding out Christmas spirit beneath neon strobes.
At the VIP table on the highest floor, Rumi tried to keep up with the surrounding vibes. Tried, and failed. It felt like her head was being thrown into a washing machine.
“Come on, lighten up,” Zoey shouted over the music, nudging Rumi with an elbow. “One drink’s not gonna kill you. Unless it’s that watery gin. Then maybe.”
From the other side, Mira rolled her eyes, half amused, half exasperated. “Zoey, not everything’s solved with tequila shots.” She leaned in closer to Rumi, her voice softening against the storm of sound. “You okay? You’ve been staring at your phone all night.”
Rumi glanced down. Dark screen. No new messages. Not from Celine. Not from anyone. She forced a smile that didn’t quite reach. “Yeah. J-Just waiting.”
“Still nothing?” Mira’s frown deepened, and Zoey’s teasing grin faltered too. For a moment, the three of them hung in silence, the music battering at the fragile bubble around their table.
Rumi shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “She’ll text…eventually.”
Zoey opened her mouth, ready with some encouraging quip, but thought better of it. Instead, she simply gave Rumi’s shoulder a squeeze, light and quick, before swivelling back toward the crowd. Mira stayed looking at her, worry etched in the soft set of her brow.
Rumi let out a breath, placed the gin and tonic down carefully, like it might shatter if she so much as blinked.
And in that moment - when her gaze lifted, desperate to look at anything but the blank screen of her phone - she saw him out on the floor.
A tall young man with unkempt brown hair, his jacket discarded somewhere, spinning and laughing with two girls; one with long black hair that caught the lights in silken strands, the other with cropped, blonde hair and sharp yet infectious energy. The three of them blazed like fireworks against the dark. His laugh carried even through the music.
He was joy and rhythm and something Rumi hadn’t realised she’d been aching for since her arrival.
Her lips curved, small and involuntary. And then - her glass tipped.
It should have fallen.
But he was there to catch it.
....
Rumi woke to pain.
Not sharp, not dramatic… just the dull, relentless ache of a hangover blooming at the base of her skull, pulsing with every heartbeat. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, her mouth dry as dust. She groaned, dragging herself upright, bracing for the sight of Mira’s half-asleep scowl or Zoey’s mess of hair on the next pillow over.
Except-
This wasn’t the hotel.
Not even close.
The bed beneath her was tidy, the sheets clean but plain. The air smelled faintly of coffee and newly painted wood, not the perfume, sweat and energized alcohol haze of the club hotel. She blinked against the sunlight, bleary eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. Posters pinned up crookedly. Tools piled on a desk in the corner. A jacket slung over a chair, one she recognised-she’d seen him wear it while dancing last night.
Oh no.
She grabbed her phone. The screen lit up with an avalanche of missed calls and messages.
Zoey: Where are you???
Mira: RUMI?? Answer or I’m calling the cops.
Bobby: IF YOU’VE BEEN ABDUCTED BY A CULT TEXT YES!!!
Her heart thundered. Her stomach flipped. What had she done?
The bathroom door creaked open.
“Morning!” The young man from last night stepped out, hair messy from just waking up from bed, wearing a loose T-shirt, steam curling out behind him. He carried two mugs like he was presenting treasure, grin warm and blinding. “You’re awake! You want coffee?”
Rumi froze, still clutching her phone like a weapon.
“Uh,” she managed, cheeks already hot. “...Um. Did-Did anything… happen?”
He tilted his head, brow furrowed, puppy-dog confusion written all over his face. “Happen? Yeah! We hung out until way past the last knock. You were dancing and drinking so much that I thought you’d combust. Then you couldn’t stand up anymore, so I carried you here. You’re surprisingly light, by the way!”
Rumi stared, mortified, every word making her blush harder.
The young man set the coffee down on the nightstand, utterly oblivious to her panic, still smiling that unguarded, sunshine smile. “Oh, and don’t worry. You didn’t miss out on anything. I just crashed on the couch.”
Rumi buried her face in her hands. Relief and embarrassment tangled into one impossible knot. “Thanks,” she mumbled through her fingers, voice muffled.
“No worries!” he said brightly, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, like this was the most normal morning in the world. “So here’s some coffee. Let me know if you want me to add anything into your cup.”
Rumi wrapped both hands around the mug he’d given her, letting the heat sting her palms. Coffee. Black. Bitter as sin. Maybe it could burn the headache out of her skull.
Maybe.
Across from her, Shoma cheerfully emptied an entire bowl of sugar into his cup, one heaping spoonful after another until the liquid was practically a dark syrup. Then he drowned it further with milk, stirring as though this were the most normal beverage in the world.
Rumi squinted at him over the rim of her own drink. “You’re… seriously going to drink that?”
“Of course!” he said brightly, taking a proud sip. “Perfect ratio. Like a dessert for breakfast.”
She shook her head, biting back a groan as the bitter coffee clawed down her throat. Her brain throbbed with every heartbeat, but at least the absurdity of his personal sugar mountain distracted her. For a moment at least.
And then the thought slammed back in.
She’d woken up in his bed. She still didn’t know exactly how. And worse, the gnawing realization, tightening like a fist around her ribs…
…Wait… did he even know who she was?
Not Rumi. Not the lead singer of HUNTR/X, the most famous K-pop band on the planet. Not the face plastered across billboards and streaming charts. Just some clumsy girl he’d scooped up off a club floor.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on his hand, studying her with open curiosity. Not recognition. Not awe. Just… curiosity.
“So, uh,” he said. “You didn’t tell me your name last night.”
Her stomach dropped.
She hadn’t. She’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s bed without even…
“Rumi,” she said quickly, almost too quickly. “I’m Rumi.”
He grinned, sunlight in human form. “Nice to meet you, Rumi. The name’s Shoma. Shoma Inoue.” He offered his hand across the table, as if they hadn’t already shared the most awkward morning of her life.
She stared at it, the absurdity hitting her all at once. He had no idea. No idea who she was. No idea about Mira or Zoey blowing up her phone. No idea about stadium tours, music videos, red carpets.
And she… she hadn’t even known his name until five seconds ago.
Rumi shook his hand anyway, fingers trembling from nerves and caffeine. “Nice to meet you,” she echoed faintly, as if the world hadn’t just tilted sideways beneath her.
Shoma beamed, entirely oblivious. “See? Now we’re officially friends!”
Rumi sipped her coffee again, bitter enough to make her eyes water. She needed it. Desperately. Because if she thought too hard about this - about how she’d slept in a stranger’s bed, about how that stranger hadn’t recognized her, about how, for the first time in years, she wasn’t Rumi the idol but just… Rumi… her head would explode faster than the hangover could finish the job.
And across from her, Shoma stirred another spoonful of sugar into his already-saccharine coffee, smiling like the whole world was as simple as that.
When the last drop of her bitter coffee was gone, Rumi set the mug down carefully, hands still trembling from caffeine and nerves. Shoma stood, stretching with all the lazy ease of someone who hadn’t spent the night wrung out by neon lights and alcohol.
“You can use the bathroom, if you want,” he offered, already gathering up his sugar-saturated mug. “Fresh towel’s on the rack. Might make you feel a little more human.”
Rumi blinked at him. A stranger. A man she’d only just learned the name of. Offering her space, kindness, and coffee.
“But why?” The word slipped out before she could stop it.
He turned back, brows knitting. “Why what?”
“Why are you…” Her throat tightened, the question more fragile than she wanted it to be. “Why are you so kind to someone you just met? You don’t even know me!”
For a heartbeat he looked surprised. Then his face softened into something gentler, something more thoughtful than the sunshine grin he’d been wearing all morning.
“I asked someone that once,” he said quietly. “A really good woman named Sachika.”
The name lodged in her memory from the dance floor last night, but the way he said it now carried weight, reverence.
“She told me her last name - Amane - has the kanji for sweet in it.” He drew the character in the air with a fingertip, as if sketching light. “And her first name, Sachika, uses the kanji for happiness.”
He smiled, softer this time, the golden retriever energy tempered with something more grounded.
“She said that meant her purpose in life was ‘for happiness.’ That she wanted to live up to it. And… I guess I want to do the same. Spread happiness, in whatever little ways I can. Even if that’s just making sure someone has coffee and a clean towel after a rough night.”
Rumi swallowed, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. She thought of her own name, shouted by millions, written in lights for Rumi, Mira, and Zoey as a response to the happiness their music brought them. And here was Shoma doing the same in his own way; no stage, no mask, simply choosing kindness because of a philosophy passed down from someone close.
“‘For happiness,’” she echoed, voice barely audible.
He grinned again, that radiant, unguarded smile returning like the sun breaking through clouds. “Exactly!”
And for the first time that morning, her hangover wasn’t the only thing making her head spin.
Rumi leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her thoughts still swirled around Shoma’s words - sweet, happiness, “for happiness” - when her phone screamed from the counter.
The ringtone shattered the quiet bubble she’d been floating in. Mira. Zoey. Bobby. All of them. Trying to reach her. She jumped, fumbling to grab the phone, guilt and panic crashing in with the hangover.
Reality hit like a freight train. She was in a stranger’s bed. She had no idea how long she’d slept. And the entire morning had been… surreal as all hell.
Shaking her head to clear it, Rumi splashed water on her face, tried to scrub some of the embarrassment and haze away. The mirror reflected the same messy hair, wide eyes, and flushed cheeks, but at least the surface looked somewhat presentable.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, Shoma was already leaning against the doorway, holding yet another fresh cup of coffee no doubt filled with an ungodly amount of sugar.
“Feeling better?” he asked, that golden-dog energy radiating off him.
Rumi’s stomach twisted. She hesitated, then forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yeah. Thank you,” she said softly. Without thinking, without reasoning it out, she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
It was warm, fleeting, and just plain innocent. But it was still enough to make her heart stutter.
Shoma blinked. Then blinked again. Then smiled, faintly pink on the side of his face where her lips had touched, entirely unbothered but quietly delighted.
“I… I should get going,” Rumi stammered, snatching her phone, fumbling with the charger cable, and bolting toward the door. Mira, Zoey, and Bobby would have a lot to say, and she had no intention of letting them catch her still half-asleep and disoriented.
She didn’t notice the faint click of a camera from the corner of the room. Or the way the lens had perfectly captured the moment: the kiss, the smile, the small burst of daylight filtering through the window behind them.
Completely oblivious, she ran toward the hotel where HUNTR/X was staying, her mind a chaotic mix of panic, exhilaration, and the lingering taste of bitter coffee.
And behind her, Shoma stayed where he was, still holding his sweet, syrupy coffee, unaware that he’d just been photographed in a way that might, eventually, follow her around forever.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
One week later, the studio was a hive of polished lights and humming equipment. HUNTR/X sat poised on the sleek white couch, microphones clipped neatly to their outfits, cameras angled for every best angle. The countdown to their Japan concert had everyone buzzing, and the atmosphere was electric but professional.
Rumi felt it, the fluttering in her chest that always came before the lights went live. Mira’s elbow nudged her under the table. Zoey gave her a thumbs-up that made her grin despite herself. Bobby, ever the pragmatic one, had a stack of notes, just in case.
The interviewer, cheerful and polished, leaned forward. “So, HUNTR/X, it’s been a little while since your last tour in Japan. How does it feel to be back performing there?”
Rumi smiled, adjusting her microphone. “It feels incredible. The fans are amazing, and the energy we get from Japan is… it’s something else. Really inspiring.”
Zoey chimed in, grinning. “And we’ve been working hard on new choreography, so we can give them a show that’s worth the wait.”
Mira added smoothly, “It’s always special to go back, to feel the connection with the audience. It reminds us why we do what we do.”
The interviewer nodded, impressed. “Sounds like you’re all very excited. Any special plans for the concert itself?”
Rumi laughed, a little shyly. “Well… let’s just say we’ve got some surprises. Fans won’t see everything coming.”
Zoey leaned over, whispering something to Mira, and they all giggled softly. Rumi felt her nerves settle slightly; the moment was light, the energy positive.
The interviewer continued on, “I bet the fans can’t wait. And speaking of excitement, we have a little surprise ourselves…”
Suddenly, the large screen behind them lit up. The image froze the room: Rumi, leaning up, lips pressed to a man’s cheek at a doorway. Shouma’s grin was bright, coffee in hand, morning light perfectly catching the moment.
Rumi’s breath caught. Her hands flew to her face instinctively, eyes wide in the atypical deer in the headlights look.
But the damage was already done. The room’s collective assumption was immediate: this man, completely unknown to the public, must be her secret lover hidden from all until now.
Gasps echoed through the studio. Whispers spread across the control room. Even Bobby looked unnerved, biting his nails.
The interviewer’s eyes sparkled. “Well, well… this is quite the scoop. Rumi, care to explain? Your secret boyfriend?”
Rumi looked to Mira and Zoey, desperate for backup. They were the only ones who knew the truth - Shoma was just… Shoma. A stranger she had met, a man she barely knew, someone who had shown her kindness without expectation.
Zoey stiffened beside her, Mira’s jaw tightened, and Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose just out of frame, knowing that this was going to be a long morning, judging by how he could feel his cellphone loudly vibrate in his pocket. Rumi blinked rapidly, heart hammering.
“N…no!” she managed, voice rising slightly. “It’s not like that!”
Interviewer, smiling knowingly: “It certainly looks like something special! Who is he, then?”
Rumi’s mind raced. How could she explain this without revealing the chaos of her morning, without admitting she barely knew his name? “It… it’s complicated,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “He’s… just someone I met…recently.”
Zoey muttered under her breath, “And here we go.”
Mira whispered sharply, “Stay calm. Just don’t make it worse.”
The interviewer leaned back, clearly delighted by the tension. “Fair enough. I’ll let that mystery hang in the air for now. But fans are going to be very curious after this one.”
Rumi felt her stomach twist. A week of careful avoidance, gone in a single image. And the worst part: Shouma didn’t even know who she was—or that this photograph existed.
She forced a smile for the cameras, hands tightening in her lap. “We’re just excited to perform and give fans a show they’ll never forget,” she said, voice a notch higher than intended.
And behind her eyes, she could feel the panic, the absurdity, and the faint, fluttering embarrassment all collide. One week later, she still didn’t know how she’d gotten here - or what kind of trouble that kiss was about to cause.
She knew this was trouble because she overheard Bobby frantically whispering for someone to scour the internet for the mysterious man and then scour the streets for anyone associated with the mysterious man. Whether for her protection or Shouma’s own, Rumi couldn’t tell.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Shoma and Sachika stepped into the Hapipare Handyman Agency, the comforting smell of sawdust and machine oil mixing with the faint sweetness of celebration pie still warm on the counter.
“Finally,” Sachika sighed, collapsing into a chair, “another job done without disaster!” She picked up a forkful of pie and took a bite, savoring the flaky crust and berry filling.
Shoma grinned, lifting his own slice. “Exactly. Well-earned. Nothing like a perfect pie to celebrate a perfectly fixed leak.”
The door burst open.
“Shoma!!!!!!!!” Ritsu stormed in, arms crossed, eyes blazing. “How long have you been keeping this from me? I thought we were friends!”
Shoma froze mid-bite, pie halfway to his mouth. “Ritsu, I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered. “Seriously, I have no idea. No clue.”
Ritsu didn’t back down. “Don’t lie to me! This is huge, and you’ve just… kept it quiet!”
“Ritsu, I swear!” Shoma said firmly, shaking his head, “I have no idea. Please—just tell me what’s going on.”
Ritsu’s eyes narrowed. “Then maybe the TV will explain it better than you can.” She grabbed the remote and switched to the news channel.
The screen exploded with the image: Rumi, leaning up, lips pressed to a man’s cheek at a doorway. Shoma’s bright grin, coffee in hand, frozen for the entire world.
Sachika’s eyes went wide. She froze mid-bite. Then the next second, pie shot from her mouth in a perfect arc. “WHAT?!!!!!!” she shrieked, pie landing with a wet splat on the counter. “How… How could you keep this from me, Umasho?!”
Shoma blinked, fork suspended in midair. “I… what? I don’t—wait—what are you two talking about?”
Ritsu groaned, throwing her hands up. “Exactly! Shoma! Do you even know what’s happening right now?!”
The TV continued, commentators chattering, voices filled with baffled excitement:
“HUNTRIX’s Rumi spotted with a mystery man—could this be her secret boyfriend? Fans are shook!”
“Who is this mystery guy?! Does anyone know him? And why is the biggest pop star on the planet kissing him on the cheek?!”
“Fans are losing it. Some are totally shipping it, some are outraged, some are just… confused! It’s a true Rumystery!”
“Seriously, no one has a clue who this man is. Secret boyfriend? Or… stranger?!”
“I mean… just look at him! And she’s the biggest idol on the planet. How did this happen?!”
“Honestly, she’s gorgeous. And he’s ridiculously cute, but seriously? Dating him? Lucky girl…”
“Wait… Rumi? Why do people like her get all the really cute ones? I’d date a hottie like him in a heartbeat!”
“Ugh. I cannot support this. Rumi is too pure for that nobody. This is catastrophic!”
“Honestly, I ship them. They look amazing together! I’m buying merch to celebrate this potential pairing!”
“We need a shipping name for them NOW!”
Shoma blinked at Sachika, then at the TV. “I…I really have no idea what to do… I’ve never even met her properly before that morning! I swear!”
Sachika grabbed the edge of the counter, breathing heavily, still stunned. “I… I can’t. I cannot believe this. You-You let this happen?!”
Ritsu groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “Friends, Shoma! Friends! And now the world thinks you’re her boyfriend, and they don’t even know who you are!”
Shouma paused mid-bite, fork suspended, and glanced between Sachika and Ritsu. “Wait… you don’t know? She’s that girl I told you about - the one from the club the other night? The one I brought home?”
Sachika froze, fork halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she gagged slightly on the last bite of pie. “That’s…wait, that was her?!”
Ritsu’s jaw dropped. “You spent the night… with her?! That girl - the one you just casually mentioned when we were talking about the club?!”
Shoma nodded, still smiling, and still completely oblivious to the hurricane of emotions around him. “Yeah! I didn’t think it mattered. We just hung out. Had coffee. Talked. You know, normal stuff.”
Sachika’s memory snapped back to that night - the way Shouma had casually carried the drunk girl out of the club, careful and kind as always. “Oh my god… that was her? That’s… she’s… she’s like the biggest K-pop star in the world!”
Ritsu’s hands shot up to her face. “And you spent the whole night hanging out with her, and we missed it?!”
Shouma tilted his head, fork poised, utterly innocent. “Biggest… K-pop star? Wait…er, what’s K-pop?”
Sachika and Ritsu froze, horrified. Their hands flew to their heads. “What do you mean ‘WHAT’S K-POP?!’”
Shouma took a casual bite of pie, crumbs falling unnoticed onto the counter and all over his face. “I mean… music, right? Bands, singers… I think?”
Sachika groaned so loudly it sounded like a foghorn. “No, no, no! This is insane! She’s the lead singer of one of the most famous groups in the world, and you have no idea what that is?!”
Ritsu threw herself onto the counter beside Sachika, staring at him in disbelief. “Do you understand what this means?! Everyone in the world knows her, Shoma! EVERYONE! And you just… had a casual night with her?!”
Shouma blinked, pie half in his mouth, utterly unconcerned. “I… guess? I mean, she seemed nice. Fun. We talked, drank coffee together, and she kissed me on the cheek. Why would that matter?”
Sachika and Ritsu exchanged a look that screamed we are not okay right now. The room felt like it had shrunk to just the three of them and Shouma’s calm, smiling obliviousness.
Ritsu groaned. “We missed history happening right in front of us! And you’re just… eating pie?!”
Shoma swallowed, smiling with crumbs clinging to his chin. “Pie’s important. I have to make sure it’s not wasted.”
Sachika and Ritsu sank back, stunned, horrified, and somehow vaguely envious all at once. The world had shifted, and Shouma had no idea.
Sachika’s eyes narrowed, the fork abandoned on the counter. “Umasho, you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”
Shouma tilted his head, crumbs still clinging to his chin, trying to look attentive but relaxed. “Uh… what do you mean?”
“Rumi,” Sachika said, voice low but urgent, “has a legion of fans. And they are… dangerously protective of her. Some of them are creative, talented… and some? Some are… very, very obsessed.” She shivered slightly. “They worship HUNTRI/X. They don’t care how sane or normal you are. If they think you’re hurting her, even by accident…”
Ritsu leaned forward, almost pounding the counter with her fists. “Exactly. You need to understand: K-pop fans are mighty, and there are so many of them. They will not tolerate a nobody - someone like you - coming between Rumi and her life. If they think you’re dating her just to get famous, or worse, to harm her in any way…” Her voice dropped to a foreboding whisper. “You’ll regret it.”
Shoma blinked, tilting his head like a curious dog listening to a lecture. “Wait… we’re not dating!” he said carefully. “We’re still basically strangers. And I’m not trying to get famous. I just… carried her home, made sure she didn’t fall over. That’s it.”
Sachika pinched the bridge of her nose. “And that’s exactly why we’re worried. You don’t understand what you’re getting into. Fans can be… relentless. Protective. Some of them? Seriously creepy. And now this - your picture is everywhere!”
Ritsu groaned. “I’m practically commanding you to be careful. No casual hanging out. No misunderstandings. Keep your distance, or—”
Shoma waved a hand dismissively, smiling with that same unbothered innocence. “You two worry too much. Really. After everything I’ve been through, what’s the worst that could come from this for me?”
Sachika and Ritsu stared at him, mouths agape, as he took another deliberate bite of his pie. The sheer audacity of his calm, the complete absence of fear, made them simultaneously exasperated and…slightly helpless.
“After everything you’ve been through…?” Sachika echoed, incredulous. “Umasho, this is the world’s biggest pop star we are talking about, and you’re just… eating pie?!”
Shouma shrugged, a smile spreading across his face.
“I mean, the pie’s still good though.”