Anyway, while we were watching Ikemen Desu ne at Drama Night, my mother bitched the entire time that she didn't see why they just didn't have Miko being a girl, no matter how many times i explained they work for a male-only agency omg. So eventually I came up with this idea, where Taipi's life is hard for 50k because Kitayama is stuck in his band...and is a girl.
Hope you enjoy? It's going well so far (I'm above word-count for the month right now). I'll also be tagging these "Lunatic Sunshine" if you watch tags or whatever, like i've done other nano years. Also the chapter names are episode titles from Ikemen, haha.
Chapter 1: Newest band member is a girl? Start of a four-sided relationship.
“Taisuke,” Yokoo Wataru said, using the measured, calm voice that meant he was holding tightly to the last thread of his patience, “if you don’t stop whining right now, I am going to stop this car and throw you off the bridge, and tell the president that you jumped.”
“I’m not whining,” Fujigaya protested, eyeing the dark, rushing water they were driving over. “I’m expressing my professional concerns. As manager, you should be able to tell the difference.”
Yokoo turned just long enough to give Fujigaya a bland, unimpressed look, before putting his eyes back on the road where they belonged.
Clicking his tongue, Fujigaya crossed his arms and scrunched down lower in the front seat of the van. “I just don’t see why we need a fourth member.”
“Fortunately for Sunshine’s future, it isn’t up to you.” Yokoo came to a stop at a yellow light, wrinkling his nose as the car in the lane beside him darted across the intersection just as the light turned to red. “Careless. You can feel free to take that up with the president. Didn’t get you very far last time, though.”
“And anyway,” Yokoo continued as the light turned green and he eased forward, “now that we’re on the way to meet this supposed fourth member, it seems a bit late to try and throw a temper tantrum about it.”
“It’s not a tantrum!” Fujigaya sat up straighter. “Watta, you always make me sound like a child! This is my whole career we’re talking about here, and it isn’t just mine either. Tama and Ken-chan both aren’t exactly thrilled about it either.”
“Yes, but the difference is that they’re willing to meet this person before rejecting him outright.” Yokoo slid neatly into a parking space, the lines evenly spaced on either side of him. “Speaking of Tama and Ken-chan, I think they’re right behind us.”
“What?” Fujigaya twisted around to see. “Tama’s not driving, is he? He’s a complete menace, I don’t even know how he got that certification.”
“He’s getting better,” Yokoo soothed, unbuckling himself, but he stopped trying to defend Tamamori’s driving when he tried to open his door and nearly banged it right into Tamamori’s sleek little sports car, parked way too close. He just rolled his eyes as Senga got his door open just enough to wiggle out of the car and out of the way, mouthing, “Hi, Yokoo-san!” on the way by.
Tamamori was stretching on the other side of his car when Fujigaya came around, rock-style T-shirt riding up to show a pale stripe of skin above his distressed jeans. He’d decided to dye his hair back to natural black and cut it short enough to show off his line of piercings, and Fujigaya had to admit that his position as hot frontman for Sunshine would be in some danger right now if Tamamori weren’t necessarily trapped behind his drums whenever Sunshine performed.
Senga, as if trying to balance Tamamori out, had bleached his hair even lighter than usual, perm so newly redone that Fujigaya could still smell the salon product in it when he got within a meter of the group’s baby.
“Aren’t you ever going to stop doing that to your hair?” Fujigaya asked, reaching over to tug one of Senga’s orange curls and letting it spring black. “Ken-chan, you’re twenty-two. You can have a grown-up haircut now, I promise.”
“Shush, Taipi. ” Senga shrugged him off easily, bright smile not even dimming. “You should have come with us, they could have done something with that business you have going on up there.”
“No deal.” Fujigaya put a hand up to his own hair, loose waves held back in a messy ponytail for the moment, barely long enough so that bits of it were escaping all over. “At least one of us has to look like a sexy idol.”
Senga and Tamamori exchanged knowing glances and shook their heads sadly. Fujigaya narrowed his eyes at them.
“All right, you can argue about hair care inside, ladies,” Yokoo told them, making shooing motions towards the door.
Senga chattered away happily at Tamamori as they walked into their agency’s building and across the glassed-in lobby, but Fujigaya was only half-listening. He was preoccupied with his own thoughts, shooting an occasional glance at Yokoo behind them, tapping away on his iPhone and wearing his Manager-san expression. It wasn’t until they got into the elevator that Fujigaya turned to Yokoo.
“Seriously,” he said, voice low enough not to attract the attention of the other two, “I know we’ve got some problems, but isn’t a fourth member just going to cause a bunch more that we haven’t even thought of yet?”
Yokoo heaved a quiet sigh and dragged his eyes up from his phone to look Fujigaya in the eye for a moment before answering. “Just try, Taisuke. For me. Ken-chan and Tama had to earn your trust at the beginning too, and that was for the best, wasn’t it?”
Fujigaya turned and found both Senga and Tamamori grinning at him.
“You looooove us,” Senga said slyly, elbowing Tamamori, “right?”
“Idiots,” Fujigaya grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I should have gone solo like I wanted.”
“And then you would have burned out in six months, just like I told you, instead of having a band to force you to take care of yourself,” Yokoo said, going back to the phone. “Trust me. Given my track record with your well-being, I think I’ve earned that much from you.”
“Che,” Fujigaya answered, but he gave up arguing and just watched the numbers click over for the rest of the elevator ride. He tried willing them to slow down with the power of his mind, but it had no effect other than Tamamori warning him about frown lines.
When they came into President Domoto’s office, the plush carpet muffling the clicking of their boots, he wasn’t alone. There was a woman standing next to his desk, short but cute enough, if you were into that sort of thing, Fujigaya supposed. She had a pert nose and a trendy little bob haircut, and she looked a bit older than the president usually went for, maybe even as old as Tamamori, but maybe she’d have enough sense to last longer than the president’s last assistant.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” The president beamed at them, looked pleased as they filed in and all gave him reasonably polite bows. “Sit, sit! We were just discussing your new member, and I think you’re going to be very pleased. Kitayama-san is looking forward to meeting you.”
“Kitayama-san?” Senga tilted his head as he took his seat on one side of Fujigaya. “Ah, that sounds cool!”
“You’d think it was cool if he said Ultraman was joining,” Fujigaya said, ignoring Yokoo’s warning look. Senga’s eyes actually sparkled as he thought about that. Fujigaya turned to Tamamori on his other side to see what his reaction to all of this was, only to find Tamamori’s attention absorbed by the large, leafy plant on the low table next to him.
“Kitayama-san comes very highly recommended,” the president continued. “I know integrating a new member at this point will take some time, but I’m confident that once you’ve all adjusted, you’ll get along famously.”
“Yes, well,” Fujigaya pinched Tamamori’s thigh, making him squeak. “I’m sure we’d get on much better if Kitayama-san were punctual. Any idea when he’ll be arriving?”
The president exchanged a bemused look with the woman who was leaning against the desk, and then she turned back to look Fujigaya in the eye, lifting a hand to wave a few fingers at him.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “I’m Kitayama Hiromi.”
A tense moment of silence followed where Senga’s jaw dangled and Fujigaya’s mouth worked but no actual words came out. It was only broken when Tamamori finally said, “Um...but you’re a girl?”
“Are you sure your fans will even notice?” Kitayama asked, eyeing Fujigaya’s hair, and that was the last straw.
Ignoring Kitayama completely, Fujigaya turned to President Domoto. “You cannot be serious.”
“Taisuke,” Yokoo warned, not that Fujigaya paid him any mind.
“I mean, what are we going to do, just pretend she’s a guy?” Fujigaya demanded, getting himself good and worked up, cheeks starting to flush. “Like we’re in some trashy drama remake?!”
“No way, pal,” Kitayama answered, crossing her arms. “You hired a female, and that’s what you’re getting, those were my conditions.”
“This is an all-male agency! What is she even doing here?!”
“Kitayama-san wrote the lyrics to your last three releases,” the president finally answered, looking at Fujigaya evenly. His calm smile only served to rile Fujigaya up more. “You can hardly argue that you don’t need a lyricist. And she plays the guitar, which will free you up to focus on your vocals.”
“Ooh, thank goodness,” Senga sighed with relief, eyes sparkling at the idea of never having to reteach Fujigaya chords ever again. Fujigaya glared at him, and he shut his mouth.
“You can sing, though, right?” Tamamori asked, eyeing Fujigaya nervously, no doubt remembering any number of very unpleasant practices before his own voice had come up to Fujigaya’s standards.
“Of course I can,” Kitayama shrugged Tamamori off easily. “I’ve been doing side work doubling for live performances since my agency wasn’t keeping me busy. Never worked for you guys, though.”
“Clearly,” Fujigaya snapped, irritated at even the hint that Sunshine would ever need the vocal help performing live.
“Is that why you left?” Senga asked, leaning forward and obviously getting interested.
Kitayama’s smile turned wry. “I don’t plan on spending my career hiding in tech booths and teaching trainees how to hiproll in heels. Let’s just say we had a difference of opinion about how I could best be utilized.”
“You mean you were too old to debut, so you quit,” Fujigaya said. He turned back to President Domoto, trying his best to pretend Kitayama wasn’t even there. “I mean, really, first you tell us we need a fourth member, and now you bring us some middle-aged almost-was from the girl agency across the street? What am I even supposed to do about this?”
“Is he always like this?” Kitayama leaned over to ask Tamamori. Tamamori nodded, sighing through his nose a little.
“Oh, Fujigaya-kun,” President Domoto smiled a thin, amused smile. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute when you get so serious about the welfare of your band. Otherwise I might think you were questioning my decisions as company president.”
Fujigaya shut his mouth with a snap, cheeks turning a bit pink. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Yokoo giving him the so far over the line expression, and dropped his eyes to the carpet with a scowl. “Of course not, president. But how can I not worry? the three of us have been working our asses off for three years, pouring all our energy into Sunshine, how can somebody new understand that? No matter his...her talents are.”
“Our fans are going to freak out,” Tamamori spoke up, nibbling on his lower lip. He’d been on the business end of a nasty scandal last year where a certain tabloid had published pictures of him and a drama co-star several times.
A group of Tamamori’s fans had gotten mean enough that they had to begin screening extras during filming after one girl had gone after the actress’s hair with a pair of scissors she had hidden in her purse. The actress had taken it with good graces and insisted both to Tamamori and publicly that she didn’t blame Tamamori at all, but it had still been an ugly situation, and Yokoo-san had quietly turned down several drama offers for Tamamori afterwards.
“Fans nothing,” Senga said in an undertone, “Nika-chan is going to murder me.” He grunted when Yokoo elbowed him.
“I do understand your concerns,” the president said, more to Tamamori than Fujigaya, a glimmer of sympathy coming through his expression finally. “I just have a certain feeling about Kitayama-san. It might take a little time, but I think our fans will come to see her as an asset rather than a rival much faster than you would believe right now.”
“Or they’ll come up on stage and kill us,” Tamamori muttered. “Nice knowing you, plant-san.”
“Well,” the president clapped his hand together, clearly calling the meeting to an end, “now that we’ve all been introduced, I’m sure the four of you have plenty of work to be attending to. Yokoo-san, you have the schedule?” Yokoo held up his phone, nodding. “Excellent, then I’ll send you on your way.”
Out in the hallway, they stood in an awkward three-sided knot, Senga and Tamamori edging nearer to Yokoo, away from Fujigaya’s thundercloud scowl, Kitayama standing on her own, projecting a casual air as if that didn’t bother her in the least.
“So I understand you guys all live together,” she said, a smile playing about the edge of her mouth. “Or at least, that’s what the fanfiction says.”
“Oh, they do,” Yokoo confirmed, and his quiet amusement made Fujigaya’s hackles rise even more than Kitayama’s little poke. “President didn’t think it was projecting the right image that his hot twenty-something idols were all living with their mother’s still.”
Expecting a snide comment from Kitayama, Fujigaya was caught a bit flat-footed when Kitayama only shrugged and said she didn’t see what the big deal is, she was living with her mom right now and she was twenty-six.
“Really?” Senga asked, peering at her more closely, and his expression said he was re-evaluating the gap between them.
“Sure, it’s been just her and me since my dad left.” Kitayama’s smirk turned mischievous. “You might say I’ve been the man of the house.” Senga laughed, and Tamamori smiled just a little.
“So I guess we should be calling you senpai,” Tamamori said, scratching his nose.
“I wouldn’t stop you,” Kitayama answered.
“No, you should not! She’s been here thirty seconds, both of you are her senpai thirty times over! Ugh, seriously?” Fujigaya turns to Yokoo plaintively, ignoring his idiot bandmates’ defection. “Watta--”
“That’s enough of that.” Yokoo gave Fujigaya a pointed look. “Kitayama-san will be moving into the spare room tomorrow, so if anybody is storing any of their junk in there, I suggest it be out before I bring her by tomorrow.”
All three of the current house residents shuffled their feet a little under Yokoo’s knowing gaze.
“There’ll be a live next week to introduce Kitayama-san officially,” Yokoo continued, scrolling through the calendar on his phone quickly with his thumb. “It’s been announced through the website that a fourth member will be joining Sunshine, but no other details. No messing with the fangirls on the website!” He warned.
“Aw, come on,” Senga whined. “It’s so easy!”
“He uploaded a video of me in the shower this morning,” Tamamori tattled while they were on the topic. Senga pouted at him. “I think it has more hits than Taipi’s introduction video.”
“Take it down,” Yokoo ordered, getting another little whine from Senga. “Kitayama-san, you should go home and get yourself packed up, get a good night’s rest. Be ready to work starting tomorrow; our Taisuke’s a bit of a slave-driver.”
“Damn straight,” Fujigaya chose to take that as a compliment. Kitayama only nodded.
“Good to meet you all.” She bobbed her head at them in a casual bow. “Let’s work hard together and all that.” Kitayama turned to go, and in spite of himself, Fujigaya had to admit as she walked away, that she’d been hiding her best asset behind her the whole time.
“Our fans are going to kill us,” Tamamori sighed, resigned, and as if on cue, Senga’s phone trilled in his pocket.
“Sorry,” he said, sheepish as he pulled the phone out of his pocket and started typing back a reply. Nobody even commented, knowing that if Senga didn’t answer, he’d only be on the butt end of a series of increasingly frequent mails.
“Don’t tell her about Kitayama-san in a mail,” Yokoo advised. “I’ve got enough problems without having to spin you getting a black eye to the press. The three of you are scheduled to practice this afternoon. Not that you don’t have things to get done,” Yokoo offered them a sympathetic smile, “but let’s just say I won’t be checking on you. Busy setting up the new and improved Sunshine’s debut live and all that.”
Practice that afternoon was indeed sort of a lost cause. Tamamori was too distracted to keep a steady beat, not a good thing for a drummer, and Senga had turned switched his phone to vibrate, but that just meant he jumped every time it went off in his pocket.
Not that it stopped him from growling at them, but Fujigaya was hardly much better. There were a few lines in the new song they were working on that he wasn’t entirely happy with, but he couldn’t put his finger on the problem. After several days of being unable to fix the lines to his satisfaction, it was driving him absolutely crazy.
“Look, Taipi,” Senga tried to soothe after they’d stopped in the same spot three times in a row, “why don’t we just forget about the vocals and practice the rest of it? You can focus more on the guitar that way anyway.”
Tamamori held up a drumstick like he was in class asking to be called on. “Won’t Kitayama-san be doing the guitar anyway?” Fujigaya’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“Tama!” Senga hissed, then went “Eep!” as his phone went off again.
“Give me that right now!” Fujigaya snapped, holding out his hand, and Senga sheepishly handed over his phone. “You too!” he ordered Tamamori, reaching into his own pocket for his own phone, on Manner Mode like a proper adult’s should be at work. He dropped all three phones into his guitar case and flipped the lid shut with his foot. Someone’s, probably Senga’s, made a dull buzzing noise, but it was muted by the closed case. “There! Now can we please get something done without being interrupted every two seconds?!”
“You’re the one who keeps interrupting us though,” Tamamori pointed out, before Fujigaya swung his glare back Tamamori’s way. Tamamori suddenly was very interested in the height of his crash cymbal.
Unfortunately Tamamori was actually right, and locking up their phones had nothing to do with the lines Fujigaya wasn’t satisfied with. After a few more tries, Fujigaya gave in with a sigh. “This isn’t getting any better. It’s this melody line, though, you two are fine, so if you want to--”
The door to the practice room swung open at that moment, the crash making all of them jump. In the doorway was a very angry Nikaido Takako, short haircut seeming to bristle even more than usual in the back to match her furious expression.
“Nika!” Senga hopped up, holding his bass like he wasn’t sure it was going to be enough protection from his girlfriend.
“Why aren’t you answering your mails?!” She demanded, arms crossed, hip cocked confrontationally under her teal mini-skirt.
“Because he’s at practice, obviously,” Fujigaya said icily, wondering if Nikaido tried on purpose to make her wardrobe as loud as her voice, or if it was just an unfortunate side effect of sleeping regularly with Senga.
Nikaido wasn’t fazed by Fujigaya’s glare or tone in the slightest. She held up her phone, the Sunshine charm from last tour (blue, Ken-chan version, obviously) clicking against the back of her case. “What’s this shit about you getting a girl in your band?”
“How do you know that?!” Tamamori asked in alarm, glancing side-to-side like he was expecting angry fangirls to be hiding in the corners of the practice room.
“Takki-san just mailed the costuming staff that he’s going to need someone for a special project to alter some costumes for the fourth member.” Nikaido cracked a knuckle. “Admit it, you’ve got some hot, young floozy joining you, don’t you?”
“Kitayama-san isn’t a floozy!” Senga protested, then backpedaled right away when Nikaido’s expression turned nuclear. “Its not like we picked her! The president did! Nika, don’t be mad, come on!”
“She’s not even moving in until tomorrow,” Tamamori put in, trying to be helpful. Senga hissed a panicked, “Tama!” at the same time Nikaido hollered a “WHAT?!” and then Fujigaya threw them all out of the room because he just couldn’t take any of it one second longer, slamming the door shut behind them.
There was one second of blissful peace.
“Taipi,” Senga called, barely audible through the practice room door. “Can I have my phone back? Please?”
Rubbing at his temple with one hand, Fujigaya got out his own phone and sent a mail of his own, because there was only one person to call when things couldn’t possibly get any more ridiculous.
The club was packed when Fujigaya arrived, the line stretching around the block, but Fujigaya gave the door bouncer a nod, pushing back his hat so that he could get a clear look at Fujigaya’s face. Several girls near the front of the waiting line made high-pitched noises, but Fujigaya ignored them as he pulled his hat back down and strolled inside.
Kawai was already waving from the VIP section by the time Fujigaya got close, and some of the tension in his shoulders loosened at the sight of his best friend. Kawai’s wide grin never changed no matter how old they got, and for some reason on top of his poof of bleached curls was perched a headband with two sproingy hearts.
“What is that?” Fujigaya asked, stripping off his jacket and throwing it down on the low couch next to Kawai. He reached down to flick at one of Kawai’s hearts, making it sproing back and forth.
“Fan gift,” Kawai laughed, reaching up to flick at the other one. “Hasshi-chan’s idea. She handed them out to half the audience at our last show. When they all bounce in unison, it’s hilarious.”
Kawai’s laugh was just as loud and ugly as it had been when they were thirteen, and Fujigaya couldn’t help but laugh with him, as always. He plopped himself down on the low couch and picked up the drink Kawai slide towards him, draining half of it at once. It burned on the way down, and Fujigaya sighed in relief as warmth started working on the rest of his tightly-coiled nerves. “Thanks.”
“Drink up, I already ordered a second round,” Kawai assured. “Your message definitely sounded like it was going to be a three-drink minimum night.” He clicked his own drink, lime green to Fujigaya’s hot pink, then slid closer, grin conspiratorial. “Sooo, new member, huh? Your website manager slipped up and added a link to the profile early, even though it doesn’t go anywhere yet. So when do I meet this Hiro-kun, and more importantly, how long will it take him to bump you to second hottest member?”
“Hardly,” Fujigaya snorted, downing the rest of his drink and willing the next round to hurry up. “Hiro is short for Hiromi.”
Kawai was actually struck speechless for a minute, which only confirmed Fujigaya’s sense of how screwed he was, and then Kawai laughed so hard he curled up on a little ball on the couch.
“It’s not funny,” Fujigaya said, setting his glass down hard enough that the ice clinked. “Our fans are going to kill us and we’re going to all get fired. I guess I should quit wasting my time trying to write Sunshine’s third album.”
“Aw, it’s not so bad,” Kawai said, but he was still giggling as he picked himself up. “Crazy Accel has girls sometimes, it’s no big deal.”
“Because you’re an indie group!” Fujigaya protested. “Nobody cares what you do! Your fans get excited if you play a club where their heels don’t get stuck to the floor if they stand in one place longer than a minute.”
“It’s true,” Kawai shrugged. “You can come and join us anytime, Taipi. Leave your high-pressure agency behind. Want to be in the same unit again?”
“Not on your life,” Fujigaya said, but he laughed. It was hard to imagine what Kawai would even be like as a Domoto’s talent now; he never had been good at the high-pressure aspects of it, had never had a face quite attractive enough to go with his voice as far as management had been concerned. As the frontman of Crazy Accel, Kawai still got to sing and dance all he wanted, and if they were underfunded and played clubs that Fujigaya wouldn’t set foot in, at least they got to write all their own songs and date who they pleased.
It had always been like that; Fujigaya looked best done up and photographed for a CD cover, and Kawai looked best on stage, curls soaked to his head with sweat and laughing so hard you couldn’t even see his eyes.
“Ah, what’s the president even thinking?” Fujigaya whined, scrunching down so that he could lean his head back on the back of the couch.
“Are you going to pretend she’s a boy?” Kawai asked, sounding interested enough that Fujigaya wrinkled his nose at him. “What? That’s hot. And reverse traps are trendy, you know.”
“I tried suggesting that, but Watta told me I wasn’t in some Korean drama.” Fujigaya heaved a sigh, trying to dislodge the heaviness that had settled in his chest. “They said we’re just going to go for it. It’s like being slapped in the face, you know? All this work I’ve put into Sunshine, and not only is it not good enough, we’re missing something bad enough that we need a fourth member, but this...” Fujigaya turned his head to ask Kawai the question he hadn’t trusted anyone else enough to ask. “Do you think they’re setting us up to fail on purpose?”
“Don’t be like that,” Kawai said, reaching over to squeeze Fujigaya’s shoulder. “Getting new members doesn’t mean everything you did before was useless. The three of you are kind of in a rut right now, and if you don’t make any changes, you’re just going to keep digging it deeper and deeper. She’s talented, right? Domoto may like to be shocking, but he can’t stand a useless pretty face.”
“I haven’t heard her yet, but she said she’s worked as a doubler, so her voice must be worth something, I guess. And supposedly she plays guitar and wrote the lyrics for our last three releases.” Fujigaya set his jaw. “I won’t let just anybody sing my songs! I don’t care what the president says.”
“Stubborn as always,” Kawai chuckled, crossing his arms and looking thoughtful. “A girl in Domoto’s, huh? I know girl agencies are tough, but I wonder if any girl’s tough enough for yours...you’ve met her, right? What do you think?”
“She’s just some girl,” Fujigaya shrugged, sitting up and looking idly over the divider at the edge of the VIP section, down at the crowd dancing below. It was a sea of bodies rolling in time with the techno song making the floor thump under Fujigaya’s feet, their faces blurred by motion and the pulse of the neon lights as they lit up different parts of the crowd in yellow, blue, pink, and green. “She’s...fuck,” he said as one of the bodies resolved itself into a familiar figure.
Kitayama Hiromi was right in the thick of the dance floor, arms up and rolling her hips, eyes closed and playing not the slightest attention to any of the guys, or girls, trying to ease into her personal space.
“No way,” Kawai leaned forward to see, reading Fujigaya’s face easily. “She’s here? Which one, which one? Short hair or long?”
“Short.” Fujigaya just gave in. The whole universe was clearly against him, and fighting was hard. “Red tank, gold bangles on her wrist, right from the DJ booth.”
“Right from the...ah!” Kawai whistled appreciatively. “Damn, your fangirls are going to kill you. Look at her move.”
Fujigaya stood and strode out of the section, ignoring Kawai calling his name behind him. He went down the stairs and down to the main level, moving with single-minded purpose. The crowd parted naturally for him despite the crowd, until he was right beside Kitayama. Her eyes were still closed, but they popped open when Fujigaya reached up to grab her wrist.
“Hey, fucker, why don’t you--Fujigaya-kun?” she asked when she saw who it was. “What are you--hey!”
Fujigaya didn’t answer, just turned and marched off the dance floor as easily as he’d marched onto it, dragging Kitayama behind him. There was a hallway hidden by a curtain just off the bar, he remembered from Accel playing this club last year, and he pulled Kitayama through it. When the curtain swung shut behind them, it muffled enough of the noise that they could at least hear each other without shouting.
“What’s that about?” Kitayama demanded, yanking her wrist free and crossing her arms to glare. Her short hair was spiked up with sweat, bare arms dusted with body glitter, skirt hiked high enough to make Fujigaya click his tongue. Just like the girls he went out of his way to avoid at clubs like this, the kind who didn’t care who found them and bought them drinks and took them home, and he didn’t know why he’d expected any better.
“What are you doing here?” Fujigaya demanded. “Are you trying to cause a scandal before you even perform once? Do you know what’ll happen to Sunshine if you get photographed here?”
“You’re here,” Kitayama challenged. “And you just grabbed a girl and dragged her into a back hallway.”
“I could see the whole way down your shirt from the VIP section!” Fujigaya snapped, Kitayama’s words getting right under his skin since they were entirely true. “Actually, I still can.”
“A short joke, how cute.” Kitayama rolled her eyes. “Enjoying the view?” She flicked her eyes down to Fujigaya’s tight jeans, then back up, smirking. “Seems like you are.”
“I don’t put up with image problems in my group,” Fujigaya said, ignoring the jab to put the conversation back on track. “And this--” he waved a hand from Kitayama’s glittery shoulders down to her bare thighs, “--is not Sunshine’s image!”
“Yeah? Then I guess I’ve been hired to give your image an update, don’t you think?” Kitayama shrugged, and the more unconcerned she seemed, the more Fujigaya felt his grip on his temper slip. She leaned in a little closer, and Fujigaya could smell her perfume, sweet and a little fruity, the smell of her sweat-slicked skin underneath. “What’s the matter, Fujigaya-kun? Scared of just one little girl at a club?”
“Fuck you,” Fujigaya managed, trying to back up, but the narrow hallway meant his shoulders were already against the wall. He could feel the warmth of her skin through his shirt, the swell of her breasts brushing teasingly against his chest.
Kitayama just smirked, leaning in even closer, until Fujigaya could see the red tips of her false eyelashes. “Not on the first date, sorry. I’m not that kind of girl.” And then she stretched up on her toes and kissed Fujigaya square on the mouth.
He was so shocked he didn’t even fight as she pressed him up against the wall, eyes wide open even though hers had fluttered shut. After a few seconds she broke the kiss and stepped back, eyeing Fujigaya with an amused smile. Fujigaya’s lips were still tingling from the force of it, and when he licked at his lower lip, it tasted of strawberry gloss.
“Hm. See you tomorrow, Fujigaya-kun,” she said, waving sparkly-tipped fingers at him, and then she slipped back out the curtain they had come through, hips swaying under her skirt.
Fujigaya drew in a shuddering breath, shoulders still touching the wall where Kitayama had pressed them. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, a few seconds’ work because of the tightness of his jeans, and sent a mail to Kawai that he was going home, he’d had enough.
On the way out, he kept his eyes straight ahead, not wanting to see whether Kitayama was out on the dance floor still or not.
Go to Chapter 2