The interviewer motions for them to pass the microphone along, and Makoto launches into his practiced intro with a sheepish smile. Rin takes it from him when he finishes, flashing sharp, white teeth at the camera while he talks.
Rei fumbles with both his glasses and the mic in a move sure to get fangirls squealing, barely handing it over to Nagisa. He chatters, flashing peace signs at both the interviewer and the camera, almost like a pro.
And when it comes to Haru’s turn, he doesn’t even take the mic. He stares coolly at the camera instead, until the interviewer nervously asks him to introduce himself, please. Nagisa keeps the microphone fast in his hands.
“Ah, Haru-chan is our visual,” he winks. “He’s our secret weapon! Too cool for words.” Rin keeps his teeth-gritting to a minimum, and Makoto laughs nervously when the interviewer jibes about their feminine names.
Rin laughs, too. He’ll hear that one again.
Their music video concept is so stupid.
“Rin, just a little more intensity in the eyes!” the director calls. His costume is stupid--all of their costumes are stupid--itchy and uncomfortable, and his jewelry is so heavy he’d probably weigh an extra ten pounds with it. Haru walks around the set with the plastic sword at his hip banging into things, toned abdomen touched up with makeup.
Ridiculous.
And he’s going to get pruny fingers, at this rate. Rin doesn’t even know if their company will spare the money to CGI that out. So he grins his brightest, fierce eyes locked at the camera, and hopes that this is it, this is the take. People are dying of thirst somewhere in the world.
“Good, Rin!”
Makoto hands him a towel, and Rin drapes it over his head after drying himself off. He’ll have to go to makeup again. “Good job,” he smiles, and Rin’s eyes settle across the room, where Haru’s spaced out in a chair, waiting to film his take.
“Yeah,” he scowls, before coming up to meet his eyes. “You too.”
They’ve worked hard to be here.
They’ve worked so hard to be here, and Haru isn’t trying. “Haru, you’re not even dancing,” Rin frowns, pointing at the footage of their music video. “That’s barely our actual choreography.”
“He looks okay,” Makoto frowns, but it’s kind of true. “He’s hitting his marks when it counts.” Besides, Rin knows, it’s too late--their music video dropped already and Nagisa’s spent a sleepless, excited night following their skyrocketing view count.
“Wow, we’re at fifty thousand already,” he breathes, and Rei pushes up his glasses to check. Onscreen, Rin’s face winks at them among little waterfalls from painted vases, while Haru’s dead fish eyes flash at the sight.
“We are indeed,” Rei agrees, and Nagisa tickles his side until he gets a laugh out of him.
“Get a room, you two,” Rin grumbles, but watches the counter tick upward with the rest of them.
It’s their debut showcase that does it.
After hours of practice and hardly any rest, Rin’s temper is at its snapping point. He’s shouted at Rei, yelled over Nagisa, and argued so frequently with Makoto that the taller boy looks ready to cry.
Haru bumps into him while they’re crossing the floor, tape marking out center stage while Rin is trying to go from left to right. Haru, traveling from right to left, merely looks as dead-eyed as he always does, but with a tinge of annoyance to his blue eyes that Rin can’t stand.
“Get out of my way,” he snaps, and Rei freezes. Makoto pauses their music mid-chorus, kick, kick, kick, and Rin’s so mad about everything he’s ready to set something on fire. He’s tired, he’s exhausted, everyone is working so hard, and Haru is still staring at him.
“I could use a drink,” Nagisa says, false cheer coloring his voice while he pulls Makoto and Rei out of the practice hall after him. “Rin-chan, Haru-chan, I’ll see what the vending machine has, bye!”
Without their song and the squeaking noises of five pairs of shoes against the floor, it’s deafeningly silent.
“Why are you even here,” Rin starts, and his hair is sweaty and gross when he rakes a frustrated hand through it. “You don’t even do what we do! You don’t dance like I do--you can’t even sing like I do.” But it’s untrue, and Rin is being unfair: Nanase Haruka lights up when he’s performing for an audience, coming to life with a ferocity that he doesn’t have anywhere else. He can carry a tune and keep the beat, but when he’s onstage something in him switches on that Rin can’t replicate.
It’s just sheer star power, is what is. He’s in his natural element, and so beautiful that Rin wants to close his mouth and never smile again, unless Haru’s smiling back. Rin had replayed the sight of Haru’s stupid half-step, half-hearted headbanging dance move during his solo closeup and nearly broken something.
“You’re wrong,” Haru replies bluntly. “I want to debut as much as you do. And you know it.”
“You have a funny way of showing it!” And Rin’s stare is met with an equally fierce one, Haru coming alive like he’s onstage. But there’s nobody there: just Matsuoka Rin, kind of jealous but mostly tired and cranky; Rin who’s half-interested in the sight of Haru so ablaze he wants to push at him just a little further. “Do you just want to be famous?”
“Please, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be an idol singer.” Haru’s in his face now, even features and pointed chin so close to him that Rin can feel him breathing, chest still heaving from dance practice. “I’m free to share the love I receive onstage with STYLE FIVE. Isn’t that what you want, too?”
“God,” Rin manages, frustrated beyond belief. “Shut up.” And he fists his hands in Haru’s sweaty shirt and yanks him close, presses his mouth against Haru’s and feels the slight ghost of a smile. Kissing him is like drowning, like swallowing lungfuls of water and then remembering how to swim. “What’s so funny,” he mumbles, face flushed red when he remembers where and who he is.
“You’re the one telling me to shut up.” And Haru kisses him again before he can protest, hands locked at the small of Rin’s back.
“Um.”
Makoto’s voice breaks them apart, Haru’s hands unwilling to separate while Rin pushes himself away. “Oh my god--”
Rei blinks, and hands Rin’s favorite brand of juice to Nagisa. He cheers at the sudden gift, but Makoto still gives a cold can of juice to Haru.
“What,” Rin says flatly, like he’s done nothing wrong. He hasn’t. He so totally hasn’t.
“Well--” Makoto begins, when Nagisa winks at Rin before smiling at Makoto.
“Haru-chan, Rin-chan, your fanservice will be so easy now!”
FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, G
1149 words
Their debut interview is actually pre-recorded.
The interviewer motions for them to pass the microphone along, and Makoto launches into his practiced intro with a sheepish smile. Rin takes it from him when he finishes, flashing sharp, white teeth at the camera while he talks.
Rei fumbles with both his glasses and the mic in a move sure to get fangirls squealing, barely handing it over to Nagisa. He chatters, flashing peace signs at both the interviewer and the camera, almost like a pro.
And when it comes to Haru’s turn, he doesn’t even take the mic. He stares coolly at the camera instead, until the interviewer nervously asks him to introduce himself, please. Nagisa keeps the microphone fast in his hands.
“Ah, Haru-chan is our visual,” he winks. “He’s our secret weapon! Too cool for words.” Rin keeps his teeth-gritting to a minimum, and Makoto laughs nervously when the interviewer jibes about their feminine names.
Rin laughs, too. He’ll hear that one again.
Their music video concept is so stupid.
“Rin, just a little more intensity in the eyes!” the director calls. His costume is stupid--all of their costumes are stupid--itchy and uncomfortable, and his jewelry is so heavy he’d probably weigh an extra ten pounds with it. Haru walks around the set with the plastic sword at his hip banging into things, toned abdomen touched up with makeup.
Ridiculous.
And he’s going to get pruny fingers, at this rate. Rin doesn’t even know if their company will spare the money to CGI that out. So he grins his brightest, fierce eyes locked at the camera, and hopes that this is it, this is the take. People are dying of thirst somewhere in the world.
“Good, Rin!”
Makoto hands him a towel, and Rin drapes it over his head after drying himself off. He’ll have to go to makeup again. “Good job,” he smiles, and Rin’s eyes settle across the room, where Haru’s spaced out in a chair, waiting to film his take.
“Yeah,” he scowls, before coming up to meet his eyes. “You too.”
They’ve worked hard to be here.
They’ve worked so hard to be here, and Haru isn’t trying. “Haru, you’re not even dancing,” Rin frowns, pointing at the footage of their music video. “That’s barely our actual choreography.”
“He looks okay,” Makoto frowns, but it’s kind of true. “He’s hitting his marks when it counts.” Besides, Rin knows, it’s too late--their music video dropped already and Nagisa’s spent a sleepless, excited night following their skyrocketing view count.
“Wow, we’re at fifty thousand already,” he breathes, and Rei pushes up his glasses to check. Onscreen, Rin’s face winks at them among little waterfalls from painted vases, while Haru’s dead fish eyes flash at the sight.
“We are indeed,” Rei agrees, and Nagisa tickles his side until he gets a laugh out of him.
“Get a room, you two,” Rin grumbles, but watches the counter tick upward with the rest of them.
It’s their debut showcase that does it.
After hours of practice and hardly any rest, Rin’s temper is at its snapping point. He’s shouted at Rei, yelled over Nagisa, and argued so frequently with Makoto that the taller boy looks ready to cry.
Haru bumps into him while they’re crossing the floor, tape marking out center stage while Rin is trying to go from left to right. Haru, traveling from right to left, merely looks as dead-eyed as he always does, but with a tinge of annoyance to his blue eyes that Rin can’t stand.
“Get out of my way,” he snaps, and Rei freezes. Makoto pauses their music mid-chorus, kick, kick, kick, and Rin’s so mad about everything he’s ready to set something on fire. He’s tired, he’s exhausted, everyone is working so hard, and Haru is still staring at him.
“I could use a drink,” Nagisa says, false cheer coloring his voice while he pulls Makoto and Rei out of the practice hall after him. “Rin-chan, Haru-chan, I’ll see what the vending machine has, bye!”
Without their song and the squeaking noises of five pairs of shoes against the floor, it’s deafeningly silent.
“Why are you even here,” Rin starts, and his hair is sweaty and gross when he rakes a frustrated hand through it. “You don’t even do what we do! You don’t dance like I do--you can’t even sing like I do.” But it’s untrue, and Rin is being unfair: Nanase Haruka lights up when he’s performing for an audience, coming to life with a ferocity that he doesn’t have anywhere else. He can carry a tune and keep the beat, but when he’s onstage something in him switches on that Rin can’t replicate.
It’s just sheer star power, is what is. He’s in his natural element, and so beautiful that Rin wants to close his mouth and never smile again, unless Haru’s smiling back. Rin had replayed the sight of Haru’s stupid half-step, half-hearted headbanging dance move during his solo closeup and nearly broken something.
“You’re wrong,” Haru replies bluntly. “I want to debut as much as you do. And you know it.”
“You have a funny way of showing it!” And Rin’s stare is met with an equally fierce one, Haru coming alive like he’s onstage. But there’s nobody there: just Matsuoka Rin, kind of jealous but mostly tired and cranky; Rin who’s half-interested in the sight of Haru so ablaze he wants to push at him just a little further. “Do you just want to be famous?”
“Please, if that were the case, I wouldn’t be an idol singer.” Haru’s in his face now, even features and pointed chin so close to him that Rin can feel him breathing, chest still heaving from dance practice. “I’m free to share the love I receive onstage with STYLE FIVE. Isn’t that what you want, too?”
“God,” Rin manages, frustrated beyond belief. “Shut up.” And he fists his hands in Haru’s sweaty shirt and yanks him close, presses his mouth against Haru’s and feels the slight ghost of a smile. Kissing him is like drowning, like swallowing lungfuls of water and then remembering how to swim. “What’s so funny,” he mumbles, face flushed red when he remembers where and who he is.
“You’re the one telling me to shut up.” And Haru kisses him again before he can protest, hands locked at the small of Rin’s back.
“Um.”
Makoto’s voice breaks them apart, Haru’s hands unwilling to separate while Rin pushes himself away. “Oh my god--”
Rei blinks, and hands Rin’s favorite brand of juice to Nagisa. He cheers at the sudden gift, but Makoto still gives a cold can of juice to Haru.
“What,” Rin says flatly, like he’s done nothing wrong. He hasn’t. He so totally hasn’t.
“Well--” Makoto begins, when Nagisa winks at Rin before smiling at Makoto.
“Haru-chan, Rin-chan, your fanservice will be so easy now!”