Chapter Text
Eight-count step. One, two, three, four.
"Sorry, Isagi!"
Five, six, seven, eight.
"You little fuck, I'm going to - "
"Sorry, sorry, I know - "
"Then don't fuck it up next time."
Again.
One, two, three, four.
It's been four years since Isagi became an idol, and his life is going swimmingly. Really.
Rookie of the Year, Album of the Year for the past three years, and Artist of the Year for this year and the last. There's so many trophies in his house that sometimes he dreams of the metal surrounding him; suffocating him; crashing into his skull with a resounding crunch.
It's amazing, though. He is amazing.
No one had expected Ego's plan to work. Investing in the project in the first place was all on a lark, although it did help that the poster boys for the proposal were Rin and Chigiri. Visuals don't say anything about the person, but they're key to drawing people in.
Like flies to honey, Hiori had described it, but if Rin and Chigiri had actually spoken in the video, the investors would realize that they're closer to vinegar, acidic and sharp.
And more than that - no one had expected Isagi, the two-hundredth and ninety-ninth out of three hundred candidates to win. Hell, the only subjects less interesting than him were Igaguri and the abject nobodies that made up the rest of sections V through Y.
Section Z was for the failures, the long shots, the losing dogs. There was a sense of unity in that desperation that can come only when you have no lower to fall.
Then there were the second and third selections - the training and competing, Bachira walking away to join Rin's team. Nagi, dragging him by the hair to continue. Rin. Rin.
Rin I-don't-give-a-fuck Itoshi, Rin with a sweatband that isn't a headband, Isagi, you dumb fuck.
Isagi had politely suggested that Rin use more creative insults, and Rin thought it prudent to pull Isagi close to show him his headband, and -
And -
And those were the happy days, he could say. Before Sae came, and before it all went to hell.
"I hate you sometimes," Isagi says thoughtfully, and Ness only drops a water bottle on his head.
"Hey - !"
"Should've caught it," Ness quips, taking a sip of his own drink. It's a flask of something-or-other, and given that Ness is wearing his sunglasses today to hide his eyes, the something-or-other is probably alcohol. Port wine, he'd guess, from the slick of red on Ness's mouth.
"Is Kaiser so fucking annoying that he makes you day-drink?"
Ness doesn't respond for a second, but he puts the flask down. Progress.
"How'd you know?"
Instead of saying anything, Isagi taps his lips with a finger. Ness licks away the remnants, and Isagi watches in fascination.
"You could get a better guy than that."
Ness leans back against the wall, sliding down until he's eye-level to Isagi and close enough to reach the flask once more. He does, taking a long swig. "You think too highly of me."
"Kaiser thinks too highly of himself."
Ness snorts. "You're only saying that because you fucking hate him."
And that is, Isagi has to concede, not untrue. He likes Ness much better than Kaiser, but he likes most anyone better than Kaiser. No, what's really impressive is that he likes Ness enough to put up with the constant whinging over Kaiser.
"I could introduce you to a friend of mine." Yukimiya would love Ness. "You two could - I don't know, talk about different interpretations of God and tarot."
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Surprisingly, no." Ness could easily bag a guy. Choreographer of the Year - Isagi's choreographer - and handsome in his own right. They'd never fucked, although they'd come close a few times; usually whenever Kaiser kicked Ness out. Again.
After the fourth time, Isagi finally had to accept that he didn't have any feelings for Ness. Of course it would've been an inconvenience to be fucking his choreographer while doing a collab with his choreographer's ex-boyfriend (he's still convinced that Kaiser had proposed the idea of a joint album just to fuck with him), but it would be nice to feel. Something. Anything.
"There is no better than Kaiser," Ness reiterates, and he sounds like he's reciting the scripture. "He's the only one I've ever wanted - "
"So you're telling me you've only slept with one guy, seriously, Alexis - "
"Can you really be talking, Isagi?" Ness tilts his head to the side, staring straight into Isagi's eyes. "When you have..."
Rin, they don't say. And Isagi doesn't correct have to has. The nice part about being friends with someone who's equally as depressed as him is that he doesn't have to explain himself. The bad part is that when he sees Ness, he sees a mirror image of himself from three years ago - yearning, searching, seeking someone to show him the way.
The silence stretches, long and expectant.
"We should get back to practicing," Isagi says. There's still five minutes left on their break and his knees are shaky, but that can't be attributed entirely to the choreo. "If I don't have this memorized by tomorrow, I know that Kaiser's going to mock me about it for the next week."
"The next month, more likely."
"Treason."
"Get back up, Yoichi." Ness reaches his arms up, and Isagi is reminded of how limber the man is. It's like he's made of rubber, all loose limbs and flexible muscle. He stretches like Rin used to. "We have work to do."
They do have work to do. Choreo and composing and working with the producers to perfect his tone, which still rings of inadequacy. Your voice isn't the problem, they tell him. You're hesitant, Isagi-san.
So he has agreed to keep throwing himself into the work; to scrape away his impurities until he is perfect, perfect. This is the only part he likes about being an idol: the focus it takes to be one. When he's in the studio, he sees only in monotone.
Teal does not exist. Not in any shade he knows of, anyways.
"Let's get back to work."