Chapter Text
“And… cut.”
The director’s voice cut cleanly through the air, followed by a final clap that echoed across the set.
A satisfied applause echoed from few of the staff right after, “good work everybody!” One of them shouted.
Yuma exhaled, the tension draining from his shoulders instantly as he felt himself logging off actor mode, he smiled to himself proudly before offering his female colleague a professional hug and an assuring nod, giving her polite praises and cheers before they parted to different directions of the set. Around him the crew began to move again, and the quiet chaos of the afternoon was winding down.
Yuma wore a confident smile, sincere but a little tired, thanking the staff as he passed them. All of them returned it warmly, unable to resist his charm.
Rei appeared beside him suddenly in quick, purposeful strides. It was quite startling but he didn’t flinch, already used to his assistant moving quietly around him like a shadow. An already opened water bottle with a straw shoved in it in her hand, and her tablet was tucked against her chest. She pushed her specs back into her nose bridge before pressing the bottle to Yuma’s palm.
“Drink,” she said automatically. Then, just as casually, she added, “someone’s waiting for you in the fitting room.”
Yuma frowned, slipping the straw between his lips. “Waiting?” He scanned Rei’s face, her tone was casual but her expression unreadable, so he didn’t know who to expect. “Who is?” He asked.
Rei’s mouth curved, though still mysterious. “You’ll have to go and see,” she declared, leaving no room for hints. No hints means no escape.
Yuma followed her down the corridor, the noise of the set dulled with every step as he started to have second thoughts, the familiar yet unwelcome anxiety occupied the space in his head, crawling at his spine. He never had visitors during work before so he couldn’t help but expect the worse, but Rei is his friend before she’s his assistant, he trusts her, she wouldn’t guide him to a room to get ambushed or something, right?
The fitting room door felt heavier than it should when he reached it, a square metal sign pinned to it— Nakakita Yuma— it’s his own fitting room, it’s safe. But he still hesitates, his palm lingered on the doorknob long enough for Rei to notice, then finally, he pushed it open.
The room looked unfamiliar in a way familiar places sometimes do when something has shifted, he scanned it like it was new nature, as if he weren’t there just an hour and a half ago. The chairs were where he’d left them. His coat hung over the mirror, everything seemed normal until his eyes landed on a corner.
A figure stood there, their back turned to him, shoulders stiff, stance rigid. But something in Yuma’s chest loosened, and his vision refocused, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Harua?” He called in a question form even though he was sure of the identity of the person standing in front of him. He could always recognize that person even by their silhouette.
Harua turned at the sound of his voice, hesitation flickering across his face before settling into a faint, careful smile.
Yuma crossed the room quickly and wrapped his arms around him in a light, almost cautious hug. It was fragile, restrained, nothing like the way he’s dragged his feet hurriedly to reach him, as though he was afraid that pressing any closer might snap whatever thread had drawn him here in the first place. Now up close, he could smell the faint vanilla scent coating his younger cousin, and even though he was on scent blockers,Yuma still hoped he wouldn’t notice the sour smell of his own starting to build up.
Harua’s hands hovered hesitantly for a moment before settling on Yuma’s back, he could feel his slim fingers flat on his trapezius, then he heard him sigh, long and quiet.
“We need to talk, Yuma.”
The words landed exactly where he’d excepted them to, of course he knew that something was up, Harua never shows up unannounced, not like this, not even at his own house, let alone his workplace.
Yuma pulled back slowly, nodding once, his expression composed. “Okay.”
He withdrew his hands from Harua’s shoulders, a pout replaced the neutral expression he had on his face earlier as his eyes dropped to his feet, busying himself with nothing at all. “Since my team’s packing up,” he began, already thinking ahead, already buying time.
“We could…” he paused, recalculating, “…maybe get thirty minutes. There’s a café nearby, we could talk there. Let me just put my coat and cap back on,” he let the hesitant words out, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides to try and ground himself.
Yuma didn’t look at him when he spoke. And immediately after he scurried around the room to gather his belongings, anything to distract himself from Harua’s lingering gaze. Whether he was afraid of what the younger would see, or what he might see in him, was something he tried to bury deep inside the depths of his mind.
…
The artificial orange lights of the café swallowed them whole as they stepped inside and cautiously took their seats at a table closest to the exit, in case Rei shows up to rightfully swipe Yuma out to his agency van. Both Yuma and Harua sat in silence for a while after they’ve ordered, it wasn’t awkward, though, wasn’t heavy, at least not yet. Yuma had always enjoyed Harua’s quiet company ever since they were kids. Silence with him felt inhabited rather than empty, shared rather than endured, and Yuma assumed that the feeling is mutual.
Although, today was entirely different, the quiet carried edges, and Yuma was aware of that.
Harua wasn’t here for company or small talks or a quiet catch up at a café, and Yuma’s heartbeat quickened at the reminder, a restless pulse that made his knee bounce uncontrollably under the table. He pressed his heel to the floor to try and steady it, but the movement returned in small, betraying tremors, and his face was as just a mix of lost and composed as the person across from him.
A part of him wanted to dissect him with a single—careful look. To study the slope of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, and extract the reason behind him coming here without forcing him to say it. Yuma knew better than to corner him and push questions though to not overwhelm the boy, Harua usually retreated when pressed.
Another part of him, though it is quieter and more selfish, wanted to postpone this moment and avoid the conversation until his cousin decides to speak. So he just watched instead, not obviously, just directly enough for his thoughts to drift back.
A small—almost invisible smile touched his lips before he could stop it, it felt like recognition mixed with sadness.
Yuma knew his younger cousin’s habits by heart. Even when he perfected that calm, unreadable resting face, his tells always gave him away, at least Yuma always noticed. The way his eyes fixed on something just past his shoulder. Harua couldn’t hold eye contact when something weighed on him.
Yuma let himself really look at the other omega, he noted that he looked older now but he grew to become more beautiful and handsome at the same time, his hair was freshly bleached, the pale strands catching the café lights, new piercings traced his ears, fingers decorated with rings and beautiful nail art, and it seemed like those choices spoke of someone carving himself into who he wanted to be.
Harua was growing to be more confident, more into himself, and Yuma felt a flicker of pride in his chest. Yet right now his visible habits mirrored something achingly familiar.
Yuma couldn’t help but take it back to the same tight nervousness the boy in front of him had carried when he was just a confused teenager who showed up at his doorstep late at night after presenting— presenting as an omega.
The same lost boy who had no one else to go to except the only other male omega he knew, hands shoved in his pockets, head held low and his lips trembled, words tangled somewhere behind his teeth.
Back then, even when Yuma himself was on his own journey of trying to escape the dark places he’d drowned in, he still opened the door without hesitation. Back then, he knew exactly what to do to comfort the boy, because he had been in his shoes once.
Now he sat across from him, trying to bury whatever storm he’d brought with him, and Yuma could still see it, though he wasn’t sure whether that was comforting or devastating.
Their drinks arrived, breaking the fragile silence, Yuma wrapped his fingers around the mug, letting the heat press into his skin before lifting it to his lips. And as today couldn’t get anymore odd for Yuma, his regular order of black americano tasted unsettlingly bitter, he usually welcomed this kind of aftertaste, but at that moment the anxiety coiling in his stomach made everything feel unbearable.
Across from him, Harua is practically still zoned out. They must have looked absurd, two adults sitting rigidly at a café table looking like a lost cat and bunny too scared to start a conversation.
Harua finally cleared his throat nervously, and Yuma seized the opening before it could close, before the little time they have to talk might end without any of them saying a word.
Yuma really wanted to start the conversation by asking the regular ‘How are you?’ Or ‘How have you been?’. Normal words, safe words. But again, the unspoken tension that built up unintentionally between them made small talk feel almost insulting.
Still, he tried to sound as casual as possible. “So… what’s up, Ruru? You never show up without telling me first,” he remarked, trying to hide the uncertainty in his voice.
The nickname softened the edges of the question, or at least he hoped it did.
“Oh, I actually asked Rei for your schedule,” he admitted. “I told her not to mention it to you, though. I didn’t want you worrying,” Harua spoke guardedly, and Yuma couldn’t conceal the frown that surfaced on his face.
He doesn’t remember when Harua and Rei grew close enough to exchange schedules behind his back, but he tried to shrug it off, as the word worry lodged somewhere uncomfortably between his ribs.
Worry about what?
He forced his expression to smooth. “Then it must be important,” he said flatly, taking in a deep breath, preparing for whatever was about to come at him. “What is it?”
Harua shifted in his seat, shoulders tightening as though the words physically resisted leaving him.
“It’s about—“ he faltered, then he sighed before speaking again, “it’s about you parents… your father. Specifically.”
Yuma’s breath caught despite the quiet preparation he’d done in the back of his mind, he’d deep down expected it, but hearing it is what made him pause. He had promised himself—and his friends who knew about his situation—that this topic would remain buried. But again, Harua looked like he had no choice, so he hummed at him to continue, even if it felt like swallowing a bitter bile down his throat.
“My aunt— I mean, your mother,” he corrected himself quickly, “She asked me to deliver it since she couldn’t reach out to you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t deny her.”
Of course he couldn’t.
Then, another stumble, “your father… he’s been ill these past few weeks, his heart is acting up again, and he’s requested to see you many times now,” he affirmed, his restrained expression was replaced by concern, he looked genuinely sorry, and a faint citrusy scent tried to overpower his regular vanilla one.
And Yuma, the mess that Yuma was inside his own head, wrestling his own thoughts, curled his hands into fists against the tabletop before he realized he was doing it. He felt the tremor in his knuckles, the heat climbing up his spine and behind his eyes, he wanted to scream in denial and walk out the moment he’d processed everything Harua had said. How could his father even ask for him after everything he’d done?
He let out a breathless laugh instead. “He can summon the best cardiologists in the country with a lift of a finger! Why the fuck would he need me?” He blurted sharply, unable to contain the rage inside him.
“Yuma.” Harua’s voice was softer now, almost pleading. “It’s serious. I wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t.” He looked down at his fingers, and guilt washed over Yuma. He’s still angry, but Harua’s look sliced through it, he isn’t angry at him, he just hated that he had been dragged into this, hated that he’s the one delivering the blow.
Yuma exhaled warily. “I know.” His voice quieted, “I’m sorry, Harua. I know it isn’t your fault. I just don’t want you to be dragged into my family business.”
“It’s okay,” Harua said quickly as if afraid Yuma might apologize again. Then, silence resettled between them, it wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was still one question hovering.
“Are you going?” Harua asked at last, though he seemed to regret it the moment it left his mouth.
Yuma didn’t mind the question, he was just too busy with his own brain, he stared at his mug. “I… really don’t know,” he admitted. It was the most honest thing he could offer.
Go back to the house he had left four years ago. Stand in front of the man he had sworn to never face again. Pretend nothing had fractured. Yeah, he isn’t sure if he can do that.
He looked back up at Harua. His shoulders were still tight, eyes rimmed with worry he poorly tried to disguise, he didn’t want him to feel like this, he didn’t want him to carry his own worries and issues.
“I’ll be fine, Rua,” he tried gently. “Don’t worry about me.” That seemed to ease something in Harua’s posture even though the words that came out his mouth tasted sour with dishonesty on his tongue.
“What about you? How’s work?” Yuma quickly tried to change the subject, redirecting the mood before the silence could deepen again.
Harua pursed his lips and gave him a look, one that said he knew exactly what Yuma was doing, but he didn’t argue.
“It’s been going pretty good,” he said, and something lighter entered his voice. “All thanks to you, obviously. And Sana’s been an amazing boss ever since you introduced us,” he mused, and it untied a knot in Yuma’s chest.
Yuma listened to Harua ramble about his job as a hairdresser with stars in his eyes, he reached a flow state he hadn’t witnessed from him before while talking about it. At that moment, he’d forgotten everything from earlier and focused on Harua’s voice with a sincere smile on his face.
“I’m so glad you’re doing well, Ruru,” he said wholeheartedly. Hand reaching across the table to clasp his. Yuma tightened his fingers slightly, disguising the faint tremor that hadn’t quite left him.
Harua smiled shyly at him, and his sweet vanilla scent bloomed back out, clearing whatever tension that clung to him earlier.
Then, without any of them noticing, Rei appeared beside their table. “Alright you two, bonding time is over,” she teased, earning a quiet laugh from both of them.
“We can drop you off somewhere on the way, Harua,” she offered. “Save you the trip.”
“It’s fine, I’ve got some work to do nearby. Thanks, Rei.” Harua waved her off, a smile still tugged to his face.
…
In the van, Yuma sat stiffly in the leather seat, spine straight, shoulders locked as if some invisible hands held him upright. He crossed one leg over the other to try and appear casual to Rei who’s sitting next to him, but the angle was too sharp to be comfortable. Although he still carried the faint warmth from the last few minutes he spent with Harua, his smile, the softness of his voice when he spoke about his work—but it was fading quickly, overtaken by the echo of his earlier words.
Your father has requested to see you many times now…
His phone was trapped in his hand, gripping it tightly as if it might anchor him to something solid. His other hand rested on his lap, clenched so firmly his knuckles turned white. He stared out the window at the blurry passing streets of Tokyo, rewinding each word in his head until his stomach churned with mingling fear, anger and uncertainty.
Then Rei’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Hey. You okay?” She asked with a flat tone, a professional one, but there was something like concern hidden underneath it. Rei never pried during their work hours, but she couldn’t hold the worry about her friend for some other time.
“I’m fine,” Yuma replied dryly, unconvincingly.
Yuma could feel Rei’s eyes on him, he could see her staring in the corner of his eye before she turned her head forward again, sighing softly.
“If you really need to rest, we can adjust tonight,” she said, eyes fixed on her tablet, already scrolling through her notes. “We’ll shorten the prep time for the event. That gives you two hours to yourself, we can move the salon appointment closer. If we rush, we can even arrive thirty minutes early!” She delivered everything in one breath, proud of her own calculations.
Yuma winced at the idea. Most people require rest to clear their minds, they would welcome the silence and the space to process, but not him, he knows himself too well. He knows that if he just stayed home, lying lazily in his bed, he’d be eaten alive by his own thoughts as there won’t be any distractions to prevent them.
Rest isn’t restorative, it’s dangerous. Work felt safer, structured and predictable, and it’s moments like these that motivate him and push him to work harder anyway. Acting had not just been an ambition, it had been an escape, and somewhere along the way it had hardened into obsession for whatever that came with it. It isn’t healthy, but it works, and that’s what matters right now.
He gladly lets his work consume most of his time, it distracts him, it grounds him, it keeps him on edge like if he allows negligence in he would be dragged back to his parent’s house. He’d return to being that weak— dependent, obedient teenager he was. The boy that stood in the hallway leading to his father’s study, listening to him list his shortcomings. The boy who learned quite early that love could be conditional, that approval was something to be earned and just as easily withdrawn.
That’s what caused him to turn into a workaholic, that’s why perfecting his job matters, it keeps him emotionally and mentally afloat, it’s safe, and he didn’t flee from all of this just to rest.
“You don’t have to do any of that,” he finally said. “A few hours alone won’t help.”
He paused. “Besides, I need time to get ready. I don’t wanna show up to the event looking like a pressed butt cheek.” Yuma tried to joke, forcing a lightness to his voice, aiming to ease the mood so Rei wouldn’t drag her concerns any further.
But Rei didn’t laugh, she doesn’t sugarcoat, she never does, in fact she hates when Yuma uses humor as armor. So she just gave him a long, unimpressed look.
“Fine,” she said simply. Yuma was okay with the answer, as long as she doesn’t push it further.
“What about your scent blockers?” She asked. And Yuma’s fingers tightened around his phone. Not again.
“You know these pills aren’t less bad than heat suppressants. You can’t just use two doses daily, I’ll get you blocking pads instead,” she voiced firmly, leaving no room for protests. But Yuma’s stubborn.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.” He finally turned to look at her, dragging the last words so he could have the last say in the conversation.
Rei stared at him intensely, and after taking in Yuma’s tries to steady his gaze she finally looked away, shaking her head. “Whatever. Suit yourself.”
Yuma didn’t like the silence that followed after. He hates a lot of things: he hates depending on people, he hates that he still seeks approval sometimes. And most of all, he hates showing anyone his vulnerable side, but right now it just felt right to use it.
“You’re… staying with me for the whole event, right?” His voice shuddered, he also hates that he still has attachment issues. He stared down at his fingers, looking like a child who just got scolded by his parent.
Rei looked back at him, seeing Yuma’s pout made her features soften instantly. “Of course,” she assured. “I’ll be in the staff room whenever you need me.”
Yuma’s smile returned to his face. Knowing that someone’s waiting for you to go out there and do your best makes his heart warm, even if he tries to shove the thought away to not depend on it too much.
…
Yuma arrived at the event looking nowhere near the ghost gripping his phone for dear life in the van. His fingers are steady now, spine aligned, emotions set back into place. He knew his duties as an actor is as sufficient as a drug to distract him from his problems.
Cameras flashed in quick bursts of white as he walked the red carpet with his addictive flamboyance, his milky velvet suit catching the light, with hair strands falling down his forehead and light makeup softening his features, reverberating the boldness of the outfit. He slipped into his practiced smile and confident gaze, the expression settling over his features like a second skin, he’s used to this, he craves this, performance is anesthesia.
Tonight’s event carried weight. A charity gala hosted by some rich executives in the Japanese entertainment industry, dedicated to raising awareness for suicidal youth. The topic was sensitive, raw in ways that couldn’t be glossed over with glamour, and Yuma felt the responsibility of it. He had a short speech to deliver, cautious with words but also sincerely written, revised and rehearsed backstage.
While waiting for his turn behind the curtains, he thought about how far he’s come. Earlier he ran into popular actors and influencers who have unbreakable connections with the event arrangers, many of them are here because they belong to the inner circle of the industry. Yuma does not.
His invitation had arrived because of his work and his organic, rising popularity. That alone is something to be acknowledged as an achievement and something to be proud of. After all the fighting and endurance, the years of proving and proving, he could finally reap his rewards.
Yuma now stood in the center of a wide stage with glimmering lights and flashy cameras ahead of him, he had everyones’ eyes fixed on him and it made his stomach turn but he quickly composed himself, he’d been preparing for his moment, for this different kind of exposure. He walked forward to the lectern with deliberate calm as he reminded himself that somebody’s out there wishing him to give his best, while there’s some other people waiting for him to fail, specifically his father who he needed to prove wrong again.
He delivered the speech smoothly, clear and composed, though he didn’t hide the emotions blooming in as he talked about the topic. When he spoke of young people feeling unseen, unheard, unloved, something unguarded slipped into his tone. Confused teenagers struggling with themselves and their identity, Yuma would be selfish if he thought he understands them, but the way his heart ached with every word was something sincere only he knows.
And when he finished, offering his final thanks, applause echoed through the hall. He inhaled once, grounding himself. His eyes sought Rei instinctively, at the edge of the room, giving him an unmistakable smile of pride and approval, he returned it faintly. Then, unintentionally, his gaze drifted past her, eyes landing on a seat close to the far corner where Rei stood, there was someone he hadn’t seen before, definitely not among the other Japanese celebrities he recognizes neither one of the event’s higher ups.
Yuma caught something in his eyes, something he couldn’t name but they just looked warm somehow, he didn’t know why, he doesn’t know the man, but the way he stared at him from afar was something too close to silent adoration, Yuma was always told that he attracts everyone with his elegant presence, his flamboyance irresistible, but how that said man looked at him seemed too real he couldn’t believe it. And for a second he wondered what he thought he saw in him. Something he related to? A spark, maybe? Yuma needed to shut his thoughts but at the same time, he didn’t think he’d be able to leave the event without knowing who that guy was.
At the event’s after-party, Yuma stood between two actors he’d once worked with, chatting about past works and future projects. Yuma sipped on his champagne to let loose, the sprinkling buzz sliding warmly into his bloodstream and softening the edges of his composure.
Alcohol makes him giddy, well, it does to most people as far as he knows, but that tingle whenever it enters his system always made him brighter, bolder, maybe a little reckless. He could almost feel his own scent sharpening if he wasn’t already on his second dose of scent suppressants.
They left Yuma alone after a while to drift off to another circle, standing by himself near the refreshment table, he didn’t mind though, he liked observing people.
He absentmindedly scanned the wide room, eyes wandering through the clusters of influencers partying with their champagne glasses and phones in hand, through executives filling the air uncaringly with their strong scents, practiced praises and laughs. Then finally, his eyes found him again, and an unexpected rush of excitement ran down his spine, he blamed it on the alcohol.
Yuma’s eyes never left the man’s gaze as he approached closer, not too close to be noticed by him, just close enough so he could observe more vividly, enough to feed his curiosity. The man was standing next to another guy similar in height, yet he radiated a completely different vibe, with fluffy auburn hair and a boyish fit, though his steadiness kind of reminded him of Rei, unlike the man who caught his attention from the start, who was in a black suit jacket with visibly nothing underneath, with his black hair slicked back and a few shiny strands falling at his forehead.
It amused Yuma at how different they looked in aesthetics yet they still looked seemingly inseparable, they weren’t even facing each other when they talked, but the easiness between them was obvious to any observer, and Yuma couldn’t take his eyes off the man as he smiled and leaned closer to the other, whispering something the other also found funny.
Yuma took a few more steps, averting his body towards the room to not attract suspicion, he’s aware that he’s being nosy and unwarrantedly sneaky, but he couldn’t help the itch of curiosity tingling under his skin.
Once he got closer, he could’ve sworn he got lightheaded for a split second as a musky scent of cedar teased his nostrils. It was radiating off the man he now recognizes as an alpha, a rather confident one, Yuma thinks. Almost every famous individual in the Japanese media hides their identity if they weren’t a beta, to avoid talks and unnecessary scandals. The only few who tend to show it off are obnoxious alpha executives, and Yuma abhors the unfairness of it all. Yet you could call him biased now, because somehow this alpha’s scent doesn’t bother him at all like how it usually does when he senses another alpha around him, this scent feels unusually catchy to him rather than undesirable, but Yuma’s a self-controlled omega, he has overcome his scent-driven desires long ago, and the man’s scent isn’t the thing that charmed Yuma in the first place.
Apparently, Yuma’s hearing ability magically ameliorates when he wants it to. He sharpened his focus so he could hear the two guys’ low murmurs through the music, turns out they weren’t whispering like Yuma had thought, they were actually talking loud enough that even people a few feet away would catch on, and the reason behind it clicked for Yuma immediately.
They were speaking a completely different language with confidence that nobody would understand them. Too bad Yuma already figured it was Korean just from a brief listen. And well, his Korean-speaking skills were indomitable. He grinned to himself cheekily, he’d found another way to enjoy the night.
He basically eavesdropped on the rest of their conversation. The more he heard from the alpha, the more he thought his aura and persona are mismatched. He caught the scent again, and Yuma now wonders if the foreign man was completely ignorant about their rules or Yuma just couldn’t read through him and that he actually liked to show off, it’s just that he was sure it didn’t suit him.
He almost cracked an audible laugh at one of the other man’s jokes, he’s already admiring their camaraderie, they seemed nice and approachable and completely in their own world, yet Yuma couldn’t bring himself to do it.
After a few minutes, the auburn haired man excused himself and left the other’s side, he walked past Yuma, and he turned his gaze to look back at the now alone suited man, his heart thumping unusually fast as he dragged his feet towards him commanded by a voice in the back of his mind, or maybe it was his scent that’s so irresistible and somehow endearing—Yuma shoved that thought away. Before freezing as two new people were quicker to approach him.
Yuma stood just three feet away with his phone now in hand, acting oblivious so he could eavesdrop peacefully. The two newcomers spoke in rapid Japanese, he looked up quick enough to witness the man’s startled reaction that he tried to hide but failed miserably. He stood there, helpless, nodding at everything they were saying and Yuma pressed his lips as he struggled to stifle a laugh.
Yuma wanted to enjoy the moment for a little longer. But at one point, the two guests repeated a question they’ve asked, slower this time, and Yuma’s chest ached with something like pity when he saw his smile grow thinner.
And before he could reconsider, Yuma stepped forward, closing the space between them.
“They’re asking if you’re enjoying yourself here,” he said in perfect Korean, sliding into the conversation smoothly like he was active in it this entire time.
The man let out an ‘O’ sound with wide eyes and parted lips, a totally unsuitable expression for a man who carried himself like he did. An alpha with a musky scent and poised aura acting ignorantly dumbfounded, and Yuma noted that it quite made him more attractive.
“Oh, I totally am. The party is amazing!” He smiled shyly. Turning to Yuma who tried to appear casual even though he had a stupid smug smile on his face.
Yuma translated it into Japanese proudly, and the two people before them nodded in anticipation. The conversation followed with the man talking and Yuma translating effortlessly back and forth until they finally left their side.
The man turned to Yuma after they’d left, his mouth opening hesitantly to say something before another person approached them.
Yuma recognized him immediately, an old film director, both in age and profession, quinquagenarian though Yuma thinks he should just retire already, known for his blunt commentary and shameless self-display. Yuma held back the urge to roll his eyes, he braced himself for a rough translation, except he wasn’t needed this time.
The director spoke with broken Korean that would make any native speaker snort if they’d heard him, but of course, that old man would like to show off.
The director continued talking and the soft-spoken alpha kept nodding with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, clearly just humoring him, clearly waiting for the time he’d finally leave.
“I’d like you to join me. there’re some people I want you to meet,” the director requested. With his mannerless attitude it sounded like a command. Yuma could feel the man’s gaze stiffening in discomfort, so he reached out before he could rethink anything.
“Sorry. He’s with me, Mr. Kagami.” Yuma grabbed the alpha’s arm, placing his hand softly at the pit of his elbow. His voice was firm, looking at the director right in the eyes with a forced smile after he’d ignored his presence the whole time.
The director raised his eyebrows in surprise, then a slow chuckle escaped him. “Oh— of course. I didn’t know you had it in you, Yuma.” He switched back to Japanese.
Yuma knew exactly what he meant, people used Yuma in the past for his ignorance and timidity as a rookie actor, that old man was one of them, he remembers barely surviving his soul-crushing comments. Yet Yuma’s gaze didn’t even waver.
“Yeah… well, we’ll get moving now, a long night of catching up is ahead of us,” Yuma said dismissively. Dragging the man with him by his arm as they disappeared from the director’s sight.
Yuma glanced back one more time to make sure they’re clear now, he didn’t realize that his hand was still clinging to the man’s arm though. He cleared his throat and withdrew his hand carefully, avoiding the man’s eyes, a faint blush crept up his face as he finally processed how bold he’d been a few moments ago, he reminded himself that he doesn’t know the man.
He stared at Yuma, a genuine smile painted his face. “Thank you,” he breathed.
Yuma finally looked at him again, his breath caught as his stare lingered at the man’s smile. “No problem.” He managed to voice, all the previous confidence disappearing from his tone.
For a second, they simply stood there in the corner, the party’s noise swelling around them. The quiet between them felt almost fragile, until he spoke again.
“May I ask how you learned Korean?” He rubbed the back of his neck, again, a boyish gesture that didn’t match him. “You sounded… really good.”
Yuma brightened at the compliment like he feeds on it, slowly regaining his confidence.
“Oh,” he laughed lightly, the pink bloom across his cheeks deepening. “I spent my high school days in Korea.”
The man gave him a thoughtful hum, nodding slowly. Yuma leaned forward just slightly before the silence could return.
“So we’re even… I wanna know what brought you here. You’re not an actor, I know since I binge watch Korean dramas. Are you perhaps a model?” Yuma asked, curiosity coated his tone, anticipation visible on his face.
He laughed quietly, a sound Yuma could listen to forever, he thought before he could stop himself.
“Do I look like one?” He asked, teasing.
“Yes. I mean— kind of, I don’t know…” Yuma drifted off. “You’re really tall and handsome..” he mumbled quietly, then he jumped quickly to correct himself, hoping he didn’t catch the last part.
“I mean your suit looks nice and they way you carry yourself, It’s really model-like,” he blurted.
A quiet, sincere laugh escaped his throat again. “Thank you. You look great too. And no, I’m not a model, I’m in neither industry actually, I was invited by a friend,” the man explained.
Yuma hummed absentmindedly at first to try and calm his thoughts, but then his brows furrowed in confusion. “So you traveled all they way to Japan for a few hours here?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, almost sheepish. “I booked a few days though. I’ll count it as vacation.”
Yuma huffed a small laugh. After that, the conversation flowed with surprising ease. Yuma let harmless gossip slip out here and there in the midst of it, and the latter would respond with genuine chuckles and light laughters that surged Yuma to continue. He doesn’t usually do that unless he’s with someone he trusts or he’s slightly tipsy. Right now he could say he’s both. He seems to trust the man blindly, like he’s been starving for a real conversation and he’s finally found the right person to start it with.
They drifted to a companionable silence, both facing the dance floor, shoulders nearly aligned, the music pulsed softly under their quiet. Then he leaned closer abruptly, breath brushing Yuma’s ear.
“You looked incredible on stage, by the way.”
Yuma’s head snapped up at him immediately, he backed away a little when he realized how close their faces were.
Yuma’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor, not because of the compliment, not because the alpha was at a distance too close to not be intimate. It was because he had just talked in perfect Japanese.
“Oh my god,” Yuma exhaled, his face turning crimson. He gripped the stem of his champagne glass tightly with whatever willpower he had left to make sure that he’s still conscious and he didn’t mishear it.
He just spoke to him in flawless Japanese, with an accent too, after he’d confidently— and now considered foolishly— jumped into a conversation he had no business in just to act noble in front of a man he admittedly found attractive.
“Wha- why didn’t you stop me earlier?” Yuma was utterly embarrassed but he tried to mask it by narrowing his eyes as if interrogating him.
He looked down at the floor with a shy smile. “I’m not really good at talking to strangers…” he admitted, “Also I was relieved to find another person who speaks Korean here other than me and Euijoo.”
That alone seemed to soften Yuma, the sincerity dissolving his embarrassment instantly. Yuma’s eyes dropped as he smiled at the thought that he needed someone at that moment to rescue him from the awkward situation and he was there for it.
“I am ethnically Japanese, but I lived in Korea my whole life. Didn’t have the time to practice my mother tongue,” he added before Yuma could even ask.
And Yuma, amused at the new information, let out a sound stuck between a sigh and a laugh, he was preparing to respond sarcastically until a voice interrupted.
“Gosh— there you are, Jojo. I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Why’s your phone on silent?” The auburn haired man reappeared between them, breathless. He had a bag slung over one shoulder now, he definitely resembled Rei too much. “Come on. There’s something you need to check outside.” The unmistakable urgency his tone had carried made the suited man’s expression shift.
The Rei doppelgänger glanced at Yuma with a neutral face and gave him a nod of acknowledgement before taking the other man’s arm to drag him. But he paused slightly.
“It was nice meeting you, Yuma.” And Yuma could see the clear fondness behind his smile, he smiled back and replied quickly before he could disappear. “You too.”
He watched them walk together to the nearer exit, now the emptiness was unsettling rather than enjoyable. The warmth in Yuma’s chest dissipating in a way even champagne couldn’t remedy. As if his mind had sensed the early signs of longing, it already started replaying the sweet moments from the earlier encounter.
“Jojo.” Yuma huffed a laugh at the remembrance of the nickname. He repeated it again, savoring the way it tasted on his tongue. And that’s when it him.
He didn’t get to know the man’s name! His eyes widened in realization. He’d stayed glued to him like a magnet for almost an hour, drifting from one topic to the other, yet he didn’t even bother to ask, Yuma knows that said mysterious alpha remembered his name though, either from when his name was called on stage or the director calling him informally.
Yuma pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to physically smack himself across the forehead. Careless.
For once, he had been so absorbed in being seen that he forgot to ask for a simple introductory.
He composed himself quickly after a quiet self-scolding session. He’s surely a celebrity, easy to find. He’d assured himself. And even if he himself somehow missed an opportunity for a second meeting, he hoped that he was just as eager to meet again, that it wouldn’t take long for them to find each other once more.