Work Text:
Ibara rather despised this time of year.
It wasn't because it was particularly busy (he was always busy), or that his larger tasks were overloaded by more menial ones as the end of the year approached (he'd already delegated those to some trusted associates months ago), or that it was cold and dark (he'd seen colder and darker)—no, it was because, whenever he'd call a meeting with Eden, Nagisa and Hiyori would have these foolish little smiles on their faces, all ruddy and rosy from the cold, all glowing and sparkling with that so-called “Christmas cheer” that gave him a feeling akin to eating a soggy sock, and he'd just know they were eating chocolate truffles behind his back.
They should focus on getting fans to buy CosPro-sponsored chocolates instead of throwing money at holiday competitors, he reasoned. Christmas wasn't even a Japanese holiday to begin with, yet his hapless unitmates just had to let themselves fall victim to the market selling them a contrived image of holiday joy.
Something about their soppy, saccharine smiles put him in a bad mood, too, but he wasn't about to dwell on it.
As was his habit, Ibara glanced at the calendar on his way back to his work desk. Christmas would be over in about a week, he observed. He would just bury his head in tweaking the final details for Eden's New Year's performance and drafting up another Valentine's Day plan until then and pretend everything around him wasn't so cloyingly happy.
Yet, just as he was about to drop the binders in his hands onto the desk and lock in, a glint of something green and shiny stopped him.
Ah, wonderful, he thought sarcastically. The office has fallen victim too.
The gift on his desk was small and square, wrapped in richly dark green paper and fixed with a plain silver ribbon curled in beautifully professional-looking spirals. In terms of presentation, Ibara would've given it 4.5 stars—clean folds, thick and expensive paper, modern charm. Minus 0.5 because it had shown up unannounced. It sat atop an unaddressed envelope.
Ibara sucked air between his teeth for a half a second, summoning up his brightest voice.
“Oh my, a present for me? Who could be the kind soul who left it here?” he proclaimed, just loud enough for the surrounding desks to hear.
The employee a couple desks down his row—a smallish thing, but terribly efficient—responded without wasting a beat. “Substitute Director Aoba-sama from New Dimension left it on your desk this afternoon, Saegusa-san.”
“Substitute Director Aoba?” he echoed, molding his expression into one of measured surprise. “How thoughtful of him. I shall have to think of a way to thank him back!”
Moving the gift aside carefully, Ibara placed his materials on his desk and sat down to work. He'd open it when he had a moment to himself, and he wasn't about to commit the faux pas of opening a clearly personal gift in the office. Still, as he filled in numbers and schedules, the sleek green paper asserted itself in the corner of his vision every so often.
Hours passed, darkness setting in outside. Zippers on bags and the thunk of binders being placed on shelves told Ibara his coworkers were packing up to leave. He would soon, too—once the quiet murmur of exchanging plans died down to a deadly quiet and the oases of light between the dark CosPro walls were whittled down to a handful of monitor screens.
The little gift by his side glinted with a muted glow next to his pen holder, reticent and unmoving. Watching and waiting, like a glittery butler at the ready.
Fine, Ibara relented, may as well take a break to see what His Majesty's tastes are like.
Tastes were a useful thing. Tastes were someone's peculiarities, the set of themes and ideas that would send dopamine signals pulsing through their brain. Tastes were the key to making someone agreeable. More easily moldable.
Tsumugi Aoba's tastes were, apparently, clean and smart. Subdued colors and simple, modern designs—similar to how Ibara liked things. How Tsumugi ended up sporting a poor excuse for a haircut and flapping his arms about in a unit with gaudy lime green outfits... well, Ibara knew the facts, but did not care to imagine.
He picked up the envelope and studied it. Though it was all black on one side, the other side sported a couple tasteful red and blue stripes, sealed with a sticker depicting New Dimension's logo. The paper was as thick as the wrapping on the gift, the surface dusted with a subtle sparkle—Tsumugi had spared no expense on quality, noted Ibara with a hum of appreciation.
He brandished a letter opener and pried the envelope open. A bit of red and gold peeked from inside. A Christmas card, he presumed, as he released the card from its dark sheath.
A heartbeat later, his raised eyebrows flattened into a deep frown. The front of the card was adorned with a delicate poinsettia pattern and a single English sentence, written in stylized golden script:
All I Want for Christmas is You
Inside was blank, save for a small handwritten note that wasn't much better:
From your biggest fan.
Ibara blinked once, twice. Force of habit had his fingers to his brow as if stemming a headache before it formed.
Now, he was no expert in Christmas cards, but this did not sound like something appropriate to write to one's colleague.
In fact, it sounded... amorous. Not that he was an expert in amorous activities, either.
With another quick glance around to make absolutely certain no one was here to peek at his desk, Ibara reached for the gift. He unwrapped the expensive paper with care. But once he saw what was inside, his heart sank.
Chocolates. Nice ones, too, from Glitter Sweets Company. The perfect pair to a Christmas love letter.
“Damn it.” He allowed himself an audible groan. “What is the meaning of this?”
His mind reeled, spun, and sped ahead with the gusto of a bullet train.
One, it could be a mistake of some sort. Perhaps something had gotten mixed up in transit, and the envelope did not match the gift—the only flaw in this logic being that the black, red, and blue envelope was clearly specially made for New Dimension's business correspondences, and brought by Tsumugi Aoba himself.
Two, perhaps someone thought it would be funny to prank him; he couldn't imagine, though, that anyone could approach his desk without his surrounding coworkers noticing... unless the coworkers themselves were behind it? He grit his teeth. No, he had had a hand in their employment process himself, and he was certain they were all the serious, work-oriented types who would rather use their time more productively than tease their superior.
Three—and Ibara was loath to entertain this idea—it could be a genuine Christmas gift, sent with romantic intentions. If so, how was he to respond? He'd never been one for sappy holiday presents, but feelings are a fragile thing; telling Tsumugi of his distaste up front may end up damaging their work relationship. On the other hand, playing into Tsumugi's feelings came with a different set of risks that would require extremely careful spinning of a web of half-truths and half-lies.
Ibara grimaced. Adept as he was at giving compliments, playing the role of a love interest might be more stress than was worth. What sort of... boyfriend did Tsumugi imagine Ibara to be, anyway? A gift giver? A good cook? Someone to enjoy walks on the beach with?
He shelved that thought immediately. Surely there was another explanation.
He studied the offending gift and its accomplice, the romantic Christmas card. Their murder weapon—the packaging—lay folded neatly next to them. Ibara was rather annoyed to think he was the victim of their exquisite quality in this scenario.
Wait. Quality. The gears in his brain turned, creaked. Then, they locked into place, and Ibara breathed a sigh of naked relief at his new conclusion.
A sample! It must be a sample of a New Dimension product that Tsumugi sent to him for a second opinion!
He allowed a devious chuckle to escape from his mouth. Ah, yes, the facts all slotted together perfectly—why, Tsumugi had no romantic intentions at all! That foolish substitute director had come into CosPro earlier, dropped off this sample, and then promptly forgot to send a follow-up email explaining it. He quietly checked off a box in his mental file on Tsumugi—the one that read “prone to some level of disorganization”.
A victorious smirk on his face, Ibara began to clean up his desk and pack up. An eye for an eye, and a shame for a shame. Soon, the holly, jolly culprit behind all this ruckus would pay.
---
Three meetings, two practices, one client visit, and a few good sleeps later, Ibara's little side plan was set.
The location: Cafe Cinnamon. The time: that Friday evening. He and an administrative representative for Switch—Tsumugi, of course—were set to discuss a spring pop-up shop selling merch featuring Eden and Switch's popular Fusion collaboration. There would be clear files, keychains, stickers, and a few other things Ibara had up his sleeve.
“What sort of things?” Tsumugi asked, taking a sip of his hot coffee. 7 PM, and he did not order decaf. Ibara vaguely wondered how many coffees Tsumugi drank in a day.
“I'm glad you asked,” Ibara replied with a calm smile. “Fans always appreciate keepsakes. Acrylic standees, can badges, things you can decorate with. But they also have...a taste for novelty.”
He reached past his notebook and sketchbook, which were splayed over the table, to procure a small, dark brown cardstock box etched with a simple gold foil design. Anyone could tell at a glance that the color was meant to evoke its contents: chocolate truffles.
Ibara watched Tsumugi's face closely as he continued. “Just as absence makes the heart grow fonder, so does the finite make one long for more. Once a buyer finishes their chocolates, they long for that feeling once again.”
“That's a wonderful sentiment, Saegusa-kun,” replied Tsumugi. He didn't seem perturbed—in fact, his eyes seemed to glitter through their exhaustion.
Another sap. Ibara sighed inwardly. “Precisely. We need to make that sentiment as strong as possible, and for that we need an excellent brand and a product that is both beautiful and delicious.”
Tsumugi adjusted his glasses and sipped his coffee again. “I can't say I'm an expert, exactly, but I can think of a few high-quality brands. Weighing in possible production costs and reasonable turnaround time, we can try maybe... Brilliant Chocolates? Or Glitter Sweets Company?”
Ibara had to resist a smirk. Tsumugi made this all too easy for him.
“His Excellency, an unfortunate lover of all chocolate, is rather fond of Brilliant, too. A sound choice,” said Ibara. “I'd caution against Glitter, though—five or six years ago, they had a scandal about the sourcing of their cacao. Some more environmentally-conscious customers may take issue with it.”
“Oh, did they?” Tsumugi responded faintly. Perhaps the blood rising to his ears and cheeks was distracting him.
Ibara watched with inward pleasure as the man reached for his cup to take a third, more nervous sip from his cup. “Indeed. We wouldn't want to risk our reputation, now would we?”
“Right.”
Though momentarily shaken, Tsumugi proved resilient. He dived back into work with Ibara, drawing up a chart of pros and cons, bringing up possible investors, discussing design inspirations and feasibility. He was attentive, detail-oriented, and most of all, efficient—all things Ibara appreciated. He would even say he enjoyed working with Tsumugi and mean it, if not for the fact that the other man genuinely seemed excited about the holidays.
As they worked, the soft jazz playing over the Cafe Cinnamon speakers faded into a spirited pop song. Ibara froze for a millisecond.
It wasn't just any pop song, but the pop song that made Ibara most want to gag. The pop song whose lyrics had been written in curling script across a certain Christmas card. Ibara turned his ocean-blue eyes to meet Tsumugi's, his meaningful glare piercing through both their glasses.
“Cafe Cinnamon certainly never fails in its musical repertoire, doesn't it?” he said, working his lips into a smile.
Tsumugi blinked at him. “I suppose that's a good thing for a cafe associated with idols.”
“True,” Ibara replied. “This song is twenty years old, yet it seems to have timeless appeal. What do you make of it, Your Majesty?”
“It's...good,” Tsumugi answered, baffled but genuine. “The, um, festive energy of it easily brings smiles to people's faces. You could say the singer herself is a long-loved idol, of sorts.”
Ibara nodded. “An apt comparison. I respect her for her untiring work in influencing worldwide culture...” he trailed off, savoring his second jab of the evening, “...but I simply cannot bring myself to appreciate the song. Why, when the singer can have anything she wants for Christmas, would she ask for someone she clearly already has? I'm afraid the point is lost in sentimentality.”
He studied Tsumugi's face for a reaction, another flush of pink or nervous sip.
“I agree...”
It was Ibara's turn to blink. “You...agree?”
Tsumugi smiled a little shyly, as if sharing a secret. “Yeah, I always thought it was kind of sappy. All that romantic stuff for Christmas always seemed weird to me.”
“Well...” Ibara cleared his throat. “You're the first to say that to me.”
To think such an honest, undoctored thought would slip through his mouth—and in front of a business partner. He'd taken Tsumugi for the same sentimental sort as the other ex- fine people he knew, but his pointed jab ended up whiffing. He'd lost ground.
Tsumugi was still smiling, his pallid face looking a shade livelier. “I'm glad to know someone else feels this way.”
“I'm surprised you do, Your Majesty,” Ibara replied quietly, layering on a half-curious tone he reserved for buttering up investors. “That makes me question all the more the card in that gift you placed on my desk.”
To his (continued) surprise, Tsumugi's brows knit in what he recognized as polite confusion. “Huh? I...didn't think it was quite this romantic. Or was it?” He seemed to be genuinely in deep thought.
Ibara's eyebrows rose sky high.
The information simply didn't fit together. Maybe he was missing pieces? Maybe Tsumugi was much less of a romantic than he'd imagined? He thought he'd done his research on Tsumugi well enough before they began to make plans together back in Wonder Game, but some personal aspects may have slipped his grasp. Ah, but no, he'd heard tell of some of terribly fond, terribly emotional things Tsumugi had said about both former and current unitmates—
“Um... Saegusa-kun, did you...not like the gift I gave you?”
Tsumugi's voice snapped Ibara back to his body.
“Because...” the man continued, voice compressed into a tight knot, “I think I didn't look into the chocolate brand well enough, and the card seems to have disturbed you, so...I'm sorry.”
Tsumugi looked so crestfallen that Ibara immediately jumped into placating mode. “Oh, certainly not. I greatly appreciated the...”
The next word caught in his throat. Gift, he realized with horrified shock. Not a sample, not a joke, but a gift. For him.
“...the item you gave me,” he managed at last, hoping that Tsumugi was, indeed, placated.
Now, Ibara could have coped if that present was a terrible prank. In his line of work, there were plenty of unsavory characters both professional and not that would seek to prey on his affections. The way to thwart them was simply not to let one's affections show in the first place, to deny them the satisfaction.
But there was no thwarting honest feelings; no game to be played. Love and appreciation were a currency, as evidenced by ES's $L system, and what could one do when earnestly handed money on a silver platter than to smile and say "thank you"?
Thankfully, Ibara had trained himself long enough to keep his heartbeat steady and his complexion clear in public, and Tsumugi should have detected nothing of his momentary internal panic. If Tsumugi was genuinely saying that he wanted Ibara, and Ibara only, as a Christmas present, then Ibara would file that idea away for later until he knew what to do with this newfound emotional capital.
Yes, focus, he thought to himself with a nod.
The meeting progressed rather smoothly past that point; with names and numbers in front of their eyes, the two businessmen settled into what they did best. Cafe Cinnamon did not play the offending song again, and after a fruitful forty or so minutes, they had drawn up a solid draft for their crossover merchandise shop, chocolate and all. Soon enough, they were getting ready to pack their things up and say goodbye.
"Oh, right," Tsumugi began, shoving his notes into a plastic file folder. "About that gift I left for you the other day..."
Ibara glanced up from his notebook and pocketed his pen. "Your Majesty, I assure you, it was well-appreciated—"
Tsumugi put up a hand, looking bashful. "No, I understand and I'm glad. I just... I think I figured out what happened with that." He cleared his throat and chuckled lightly. "I think I might've given you the wrong card. I got an anonymous card from a fan that said 'All I Want for Christmas is You', and I must've slipped that into your envelope by mistake. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep these days... My mistake."
Ibara's throat went dry. "Is that so? And what, might I ask, reminded you of this so suddenly?"
"Oh, it wasn't so sudden," Tsumugi responded casually. "I realized it back when you mentioned the song. I just didn't mention it until now, because... I might've... selfishly wanted you to think about me a little longer."
Tsumugi's cheeks went pink for the second time.
The color drained from Ibara's face as he watched his remaining chance of victory slip away.
---
The first thing Tsumugi felt upon waking up was the horrible crick in his neck. He'd fallen asleep again on his desk—a frequent occurrence during one of the busiest seasons of the year. No matter how angry Natsume's scolding or how large and watery Sora's worried eyes or how judgmental "Suou-kun's" stare, he couldn't shake the habit. Someone had to keep this small agency running, and that someone, right now, was him.
It was the day before Christmas Eve, and he'd almost finished prepping everything for the next Switch performance before he felt his eyes grow heavy and his body grow warm with the comfort of New Dimension's well-heated office, and he'd tipped forward and fallen fast asleep atop his papers.
He stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders, and readjusted his glasses. "Let's see where I was..." he murmured, glancing over the mess of documents on his desk.
Something was out of place here, he noted as his eyes focused. There were documents, pens, some folders, and something wrapped in simple brown paper with an earthen string.
He tilted his head and reached for the mystery wrapped object. There was a small tag on it, which read, simply:
To: Substitute Director Tsumugi Aoba
For your cleverness.
Tsumugi flipped over the tag and the package itself, but had no idea who the sender was.
"Strange... I wonder what this is even about," he said to himself as he gently untied the string. When he pulled off the paper, however, he gasped in wonder.
The unassuming brown paper hid a box of chocolates more luxurious than he could've imagined: four perfectly round truffles, each topped with an intricate snowflake made of delicate sugar. Each snowflake had a different pattern and gleamed with a dainty shine. They were clearly handmade and very expensive.
Tsumugi stared at the gift, his tired brain trying to swim through sludge to puzzle out who could have possibly sent him something so fancy. And for his "cleverness"?
Letting such an extravagant gift go unthanked would be terrible form. Tsumugi resolved to find out who had sent this—as soon as he wrapped up New Dimension's plans for the end of the year, of course.
Elsewhere on this festive day, a small receipt reading "Glimmer Sweets Company" was unfolded and placed into a shredder underneath a certain desk as Cosmic Production, the culprit wearing what could only be described as a joyous smile.
"Think all you like about my gift, Your Majesty. I hope it plagues your thoughts."