Chapter Text
"Have you seen the newest post on Twitter?!"
The first girl's voice cracked with excitement, phone already shoved in her friend's face.
"Oh my gosh — you mean THE Sae Itoshi drinking Starbucks matcha!?"
"O-M-Gosh!" The words came out in a squeal. "He's so hot. I'm suddenly a matcha lover!"
The two girls grabbed each other's hands, fingers lacing together as they jumped in sync, their matching shrieks drawing stares from half the street. Standing just a few feet away, two boys watched the entire scene unfold. Their expressions were a perfect mixture of confusion and quiet judgment.
Eventually, one of the girls noticed.
She stopped mid-hop and turned to face them, eyebrows raised. "What?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Never met a fangirl before?"
One of the boys crossed his arms. "Who even is this Sae Itoshi?"
The two girls exchanged a look. Then another one. Then they both took a slow step back, as if the boys had just said something genuinely offensive.
"No way," the second girl whispered. "No. Way. You don't know Sae Itoshi?" She blinked at them like they'd grown second heads. "Hello? Are you living under a rock?!"
"Would you shut up and just tell me who he is?!" The boy's face had gone red — embarrassment or irritation, maybe both.
The girls sighed dramatically, like this was a tremendous burden, and stepped forward to shove a phone screen into his face.
The picture stared back at him.
A boy. Maroon hair, teal eyes. But it wasn't just the colors that made him stop and look twice — it was the eyelashes. Long, pale, impossibly delicate. They framed his eyes like something out of a painting, making him look less like a real person and more like a deity someone had accidentally captured on camera.
The photo was a full-body shot. One hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding a phone. And the hands — the boy couldn't stop staring at them. Long, lean fingers with the faintest pink flush at the knuckles. The kind of hands you'd see in a classical sculpture.
His expression was the real kicker, though. He wasn't fully looking at the camera. His head was turned slightly, like someone had called his name from across the room and he'd glanced up just in time for the shutter to click. It should have looked candid. Messy. Off-guard.
Instead, it looked effortless. The kind of 'I don't want attention but I attract it anyway' energy that made every popular boy in every high school drama look like a cheap imitation.
The photo was covered in stickers. Wiggly lines traced his entire body. Tiny emote decals floated around his head like thoughts. Speech bubbles with words like 'S.itoshi', 'Cool boy', 'Fashion Icon' hovered near his shoulders. It was chaotic. Maximalist. A mess of colors and shapes that should have clashed.
But somehow, it didn't.
Nothing stole the spotlight from the boy in the center. Sae Itoshi.
The post was from months ago. A collaboration with HEISEI_PULSE — one of Japan's biggest viral fashion stores. Apparently, the sunglasses Sae had modeled in this very shoot sold out two hours after the pictures dropped.
Two hours.
That was the kind of pull he had.
"Isn't he so pretty?!" The girl's fist balled up near her cheek, shaking with barely contained enthusiasm. "He's like — the model everyone wants!" She took a breath, then added, voice climbing higher, "And you know how versatile he is?! One second he's all casual and cute, the next he's cool and hot!"
Across town, Sae Itoshi stood under blinding studio lights, wearing approximately seven pounds of hardware on his chest.
The jacket was dark and textured, layered over a black high-collar shirt. An asymmetrical side zipper ran diagonally across his torso, and silver chains hung in parallel lines, clipped down by buckled straps that crossed his chest like a harness. His trousers were sleek and dark grey, wide-legged with a subtle pinstripe that caught the light every time he shifted.
The camera was angled down. Sae looked up into the lens.
One hand rested on the sunglasses sitting atop his head. The other stayed in his pocket.
He was the face of ECLIPSE_VON — a famous J-pop sunglasses brand that had been chasing him for months before he finally said yes.
The photographer kept clicking. Kept praising. Kept asking for "one more, Sae, just one more — that's perfect, now turn — yes, yes, now look back at me —"
Sae did every single one without complaint. But his jaw was tight.
Finally, after what felt like hours of standing under those suffocating lights, the photographer lowered the camera and gave a thumbs up.
"That's a wrap!"
Sae didn't celebrate. He just turned and walked toward the changing room, shoulders stiff.
The clothes they'd put him in were uncomfortable. Stiff. Built for looking good in photos, not for actually existing in. He peeled them off as fast as he could and reached for his own things.
His personal outfit was simpler, but no less carefully put together. A slate-blue overshirt, asymmetrical and short-sleeved, with a crossover V-neck and subtle geometric patterns stitched into the fabric. Cursive embroidery near his chest spelled out 'Moon'. A tiny silver pin shaped like a lollipop dangled from one of the buttons.
Beneath that, a voluminous white button-up with long sleeves and untucked shirttails that cut across his hips at odd, geometric angles. The cuffs were split and held together with thin black straps. A slim black tie hung loose around his neck.
On bottom: high-waisted black trousers with faint vertical graphics running down the legs. A black utility strap wrapped around his right thigh, fastened with an 'E' shaped buckle. White criss-cross lacing climbed up the outside of the same leg. He finished the look with matching slate-blue low-top sneakers.
He looked good. He always looked good.
But right now, he mostly just felt tired.
Not the kind of tired a nap could fix. The kind of tired that sat deep in his bones, weighing down his limbs and making his head feel heavy. He'd been shooting for hours. Different events. Different brands. Different photographers all wanting the same things from him.
No rest. No break. Just pose, change, pose, change, pose.
When he finally pushed through the studio doors and stepped outside, his manager was already waiting. A cup of coffee extended toward him like an offering.
Sae took it without a word.
The coffee was hot. Almost too hot. He wrapped his fingers around the cup and let the warmth seep into his knuckles as they started walking.
His manager talked. Something about the next shoot. Something about a meeting. Something about a brand deal that was "really excited to work with you, Sae, so please at least pretend to be interested."
Sae drank his coffee and didn't pretend anything.
The streets were crowded.
Tokyo at this hour was a mess of bodies and noise and neon signs flickering overhead. People pushed past each other without looking up from their phones. Businessmen in wrinkled suits hurried toward train stations. Groups of students laughed too loudly on the corner.
And then — there was Sae.
Walking through it all like he didn't notice the way heads turned when he passed. The way conversations stuttered and stopped. The way someone's phone camera tilted just slightly in his direction before they thought better of it.
He'd long since stopped reacting to the stares. The whispers. The occasional "oh my god, is that —" that never quite finished.
He just walked. Waited for the crosswalk light to turn green. Lifted his coffee to his lips.
And then —
Bump.
Someone slammed into his shoulder.
Hard.
The coffee sloshed in its cup — dangerously close to the rim — but didn't spill. Sae stumbled half a step to the side, his free hand shooting out to catch his balance.
For a second, he just stood there. Processing.
Then the irritation hit.
He was tired. He was sore. He'd been posing like a doll for hours while people told him how lucky he was to look the way he did. And now some stranger had run into him like he wasn't even there —
He looked up.
The person was already moving. A cap pulled low over their eyes. A face mask hiding everything else. A guitar bag strapped across one shoulder, bouncing against their back as they weaved through the crowd.
They didn't stop. Didn't turn around. Didn't even mutter a half-hearted "sorry."
Just kept running.
Like Sae Itoshi was nothing. Like he was invisible. Like he wasn't worth two seconds of acknowledgment.
"Bastard," Sae muttered under his breath.
His manager appeared at his side, hands hovering like he wasn't sure if he should help. "Are you okay? Did any coffee get on you?"
Sae looked down at his shirt. Clean. The coffee had stayed in the cup, somehow. He brushed a hand over his shoulder anyway, dusting off imaginary dirt.
"I'm fine," he said.
But his voice was cold.
Whoever that person was — cap, mask, guitar bag and all — Sae hoped they had a terrible day. Not just a little bad. Not just mildly inconvenient.
A truly horrible day.
And the next day, too. And the day after that.
The whole week, honestly.
They deserved it.
Whoever that bastard was.