Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A week before school, the Tomioka living room smelled faintly of laundry soap. Not the sharp, artificial kind, but the quiet scent that clung to clean sheets and sun-dried clothes. Giyu sat cross-legged on the floor, folding academy uniforms into perfect rectangles. Beside him, Sabito sprawled across the tatami with one leg crooked up, flipping lazily through one of Tsutako’s fashion magazines.

“You’d look good in this,” Sabito said suddenly, jabbing a finger at some glitzy spread of an idol posing under neon lights.

Giyu didn’t even look up from his folding. “No.”

“C’mon. You’ve got the face for it.”

Tsutako breezed past them with a hairbrush in her teeth, muttering something about being late. “Sabito’s right,” she said around the brush. “The camera would eat him alive. Giyu, imagine you as an idol. You’d just stare at the audience in silence until they fainted.” she said, running to the bathroom.

Sabito laughed so hard he rolled halfway onto his side. “Exactly! He wouldn’t even need to dance. Just stand there, arms crossed, looking miserable. Instant fanbase.”

Giyu set another neatly folded shirt on the stack and muttered, “You’re both idiots.”

Tsutako finally emerged from the bathroom, tugging her jacket on, perfume trailing behind her. “I’ll be back late. Don’t burn the house down.”

“We won’t,” Sabito said cheerfully, as though he lived there too.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the house quieter. Sabito leaned back, staring at the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh. “Man, she’s so.. so ridiculously cool.”

Giyu glanced at him sidelong. “Thought you liked me.”

Sabito barked a laugh, sitting up to shove his shoulder lightly against Giyu’s. “Idiot.” But he didn’t pull back.

The folded shirts sat forgotten between them when Giyu tilted closer, just enough for their foreheads to brush. Sabito grinned against the pause, and then their lips met in a quick, unhurried kiss. Ordinary, almost, except for the warmth that lingered after.

When they drew apart, Sabito smirked again. “Still not as cool as your sister.”

“Oh, come on,” Giyu muttered, though his ears burned.

The week went by in a hurried haze, and before they knew it, a new school year had started at Kimetsu Highschool. The two were now second years at the ripe age of thirteen.

By the time lunch break of the first day rolled around, the rooftop had already claimed them again. It was their usual place since last year, even if the climb up left them sweaty and the cicadas made it sound like the whole city was rattling. Sabito always said the air tasted fresher up here, and Giyu never argued. He didn’t mind the view either: wide skies, the hum of the campus below, and the chain-link fence keeping it all at a distance.

They sat shoulder to shoulder with their bentos open between them. Sabito tore into his karaage with the same energy he did everything else, while Giyu ate slowly, one piece of rice at a time, like he was determined to make lunch last.

“Did you see Kanae this morning?” Sabito asked suddenly, pointing his chopsticks like they were a stage prop. “She cut her hair. My whole world collapsed in an instant.”

Giyu lifted his eyes briefly. “It’s not even that short.”

“For her it is. I’m grieving.” Sabito leaned his head back until it bumped the fence, as though overcome with tragedy. “Long-haired Kanae was a national treasure. What am I supposed to do now? Who’s going to heal my soul?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Giyu muttered. His face didn’t change much, but Sabito noticed the tiny pull at the corner of his mouth. Victory.

Sabito grinned and went back to eating. They let the breeze and cicadas fill the silence for a while, until Giyu spoke again.

“How’s Urokodaki?”

Sabito blinked, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. “Old man’s fine. Still wakes me up at five for training, like he’s trying to scare me into becoming a monk or something.” He rolled his eyes, though his voice softened in a way that always happened when he talked about the man. “Made me rebuild the garden fence last week. Nearly lost a finger to a hammer.”

Giyu lowered his gaze back to his food. “Sounds the same.”

“Yeah.” Sabito nudged his shoulder lightly against Giyu’s. “You should come visit. He asks about you.”

Something eased in Giyu’s chest at that. He didn’t say anything, but Sabito caught the flicker in his expression, the way his shoulders lost just a little of their weight.

For a while, they kept to ordinary topics. Complaining about homework on the very first day. Wondering whether the cafeteria menu would ever change. Sabito imitating the new math teacher’s stiff walk until Giyu finally gave him the tiniest huff of laughter. It felt like slipping back into a rhythm they’d never lost, even after the summer.

But eventually, Sabito grew quieter. His chopsticks slowed. His gaze drifted out past the fence to the schoolyard below, where students were spilling across the courts and grass.

“I thought he’d be here today,” he said.

Giyu’s hand stilled halfway to his mouth. “…Me too.”

“They said he was coming back.” Sabito’s tone was hard to read. Half annoyed, half disappointed. “Figured he’d leave us waiting.”

“Figures,” Giyu echoed softly.

The breeze pushed at their sleeves, carrying up laughter and shouts from below. Between them, the silence stretched. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not really, but it was heavy, filled with the ghost of someone who should have been sitting between them.

Sabito broke it first. "That bastard better show up before I graduate. I’m not carrying all the good looks of our little crew by myself.”

Giyu didn’t laugh, but he didn’t disagree either.

For a moment, the cicadas seemed louder. The empty space between them carried a weight neither of them could quite shake, like someone should’ve been sitting in it.

Sabito shoved another bite into his mouth, forcing his grin back. “Well, his loss. He’s missing out on the premium rooftop experience.”

Giyu gave a quiet hum, then let his shoulder lean against Sabito’s. The movement was small, almost casual, but he didn’t pull away.

Sabito glanced at him, caught off guard for only a second before smirking. “Comfortable, huh?”

“You’re warm,” Giyu muttered.

“That’s because I’m full of life and charm,” Sabito shot back, but his voice carried something gentler underneath. He didn’t move either, just let the silence sit easy between them, sunlight pooling around their bentos.

Giyu had already taken in half of his food, while Sabito gobbled down his twice (he had two boxes). It was good that they had two hours for lunch. It gave them enough time to eat and chat.

"You think he'll tremble at the sight of how cute we are?" Sabito asked, grinning. Giyu rolled his eyes at him.

"I think he'll want to censor us immediately," Giyu said.

Sabito nodded, chuckling in agreement. "Totally! Wouldn't want little Genya to see two people in love." 

"It's super inappropriate," Giyu mocked.

They both laughed, the sound slipping away into the steady noise of cicadas. For a moment it felt like no time had passed at all, like Sanemi could still come walking up the stairs to join them.

Sabito leaned his head back against the fence. “He’d probably scold us first. ‘Don’t waste your lunch break, idiots. Did you finish your homework?’” He slipped into his own smile at the thought. “He was always like that. Acting like the responsible old man.”

Giyu’s chopsticks paused. He remembered it too, the way Sanemi always stepped between them and trouble, or stayed behind to explain something when they didn’t understand. His voice came out quieter. “He was steady.”

“Yeah,” Sabito said, softer now. “Like the ground didn’t shake when he was around.”

Silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavier than before. Then Sabito huffed, chasing it off with another grin. “If he does come back, he’ll still be the same softie. Probably try to act cool, but he’ll crack in a week.”

Giyu let his shoulder rest against Sabito’s once more, a wordless agreement. Sabito didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned back, letting their weight settle into each other.

“Guess until then,” Sabito said, his voice dropping a little, “I’ll put up with you instead.”

Giyu glanced at him, almost startled, then shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Sabito teased, and pressed a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth before digging back into his food as if nothing had happened.

Giyu stayed still, chopsticks loose in his hand, the warmth of it lingering long after.

The last of the cicadas faded as they packed up their bentos. Sabito snapped his chopsticks apart dramatically before tossing them into the trash bag he carried. He stretched his arms overhead until his shoulders cracked, sighing like a man twice his age.

“Still an hour left,” he said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “Wanna walk around? I heard they fixed up the east wing. Maybe they finally got rid of that mold smell.”

Giyu stood, brushing crumbs off his lap. “Fine.”

They wound their way down the stairwell and through the corridors, stepping out into the courtyard. The air shimmered faintly with late-summer heat, and the school hummed with the easy noise of the lunch break. First-years clustered in wide-eyed packs near the cafeteria, while older students lounged against railings, trading jokes and complaints about their new teachers.

Sabito scanned the grounds like a hunter on the prowl. “Man, nothing ever changes around here,” he said. “Even the vending machines look the same.”

“They replaced the lemonade one,” Giyu pointed out.

Sabito stopped, squinting at it. “That’s… tragic.”

Giyu almost smiled. Almost. Then, he bumped into Sabito's back, who stopped walking.

Sabito was frozen, eyes narrowing on a figure leaning casually against the walkway railing across the courtyard. For a moment, his breath caught, and Giyu followed his gaze.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Sunlight flashing off messy dark hair. A scarred face. An older boy stood there with his hands in his pockets, watching the flow of students with a faint grin like he already knew everyone’s business.

“Wait. No way,” Sabito muttered. His voice was caught somewhere between disbelief and excitement.

“Who is—” Giyu began, but Sabito was already cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Masachika! Yo, you’re alive?”

Heads turned at the shout, but the boy himself just blinked, startled, before breaking into a wide grin. “Sabito? Tomioka?” His voice carried across the courtyard, warm and familiar. “What the hell—when did you two get taller?”

Without another word, Sabito bolted down the steps two at a time, Giyu trailing after him at a steadier pace. When they reached him, Masachika caught Sabito in a crushing hug that nearly knocked the air out of him.

“Still reckless as ever,” he laughed, ruffling Sabito’s hair with rough affection before reaching out to clap Giyu on the shoulder. “And you.. look at you. Thought you’d still be knee-high.”

Giyu gave a small nod, but his lips pressed together in the faintest curve. “You disappeared.”

“Life happens,” Masachika said with a shrug, as though two years had been nothing more than a summer holiday. “Needed a change of pace. Figured this place would do.”

Sabito grinned, though his eyes searched Masachika’s face as if to make sure he was really there. “What, you just woke up one day and thought, ‘Hey, I should drop back in like nothing happened’?”

“Something like that.” Masachika’s grin widened, but there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “Besides, I won’t be the only familiar face around here for long.”

Sabito tilted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Masachika only shrugged again, deliberately casual. “You’ll see. Just keep your eyes open. Some people take their time, but they show up eventually.”

The words hung there, vague but heavy. Giyu felt them settle in his chest, stirring the thought he’d been avoiding since morning.

Sabito barked a laugh to shake it off. “That cryptic crap never suited you, Masachika. Just spit it out next time.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Masachika shot back, ruffling his hair again until Sabito shoved him off with a curse.

For a moment, the three of them stood in easy silence, the sounds of the courtyard wrapping around them. Students drifted by, a whistle blew faintly from the sports field, cicadas buzzed somewhere overhead. And in the middle of it, Sabito and Giyu felt something shift, like a piece they hadn’t realized was missing had suddenly clicked back into place.

“C’mon,” Masachika said finally, straightening from the railing. “I’ll walk with you. You can fill me in on what I missed.”

Sabito shot Giyu a look that practically vibrated with unspoken excitement, but Giyu only gave the smallest nod. Still, he walked a little closer than usual, the weight in his chest both heavier and strangely lighter.

Chapter Text

The school day had ended just as fast as it began. Masachika ended up taking Sabito and Giyu out to a store for some snacks, and then walked them both home individually. Giyu, not wanting to ruin his peaceful routine of walking down his street alone, told the older boy that it was fine if he left him at that point, to which Masachika thankfully complied. He set off with a small wave and started walking towards his house.

The teen got there, and had just stepped inside when something soft smacked him square in the face. A bra slid down his cheek and landed at his feet.

He stood there, deadpan, as Tsutako winced from across the hall.

“Sorry! I was looking for my arm warmers,” she said, offering a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Dropping his bag by the door, Giyu kicked off his shoes and glanced at her properly. She was decked out in her usual chaos: jewelry catching the light, her old high school uniform layered and accessorized until it looked like cosplay.        

“Are you performing tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah. Got invited to a gig out of nowhere. I’ll be gone overnight,” Tsutako replied, adjusting her bracelets in the mirror. “You’ll be at the Kochos’ until I’m back.”

Giyu frowned, the worry line between his brows deepening. “Where are you staying?”

“Where do you think?” Tsutako’s grin was wicked, teasing. She fastened the last earring like a magician pulling off the final flourish of a trick.

It clicked then, the way her tone softened just slightly. Giyu slipped his shoes back on, voice flat but polite. “Tell Isamu I said hi.” he said, jogging up to his room to go grab some extra things. 

When he came back downstairs, jackets, books, and audio player in hand, his sister was already standing in the doorway. She looked up at him and cocked her head to the side with a smile. Giyu hauled his backpack into his arms and stepped out after her.

“I would give you a ride to their house, but I wouldn't wanna rob a pretty girl of her walk with you,” Tsutako said cheekily, gesturing behind him. 

He turned around and Kocho Kanae stood there on the sidewalk, wrapped in a fluffy jacket. The hairs on her neck must have been standing in goosebumps with how short her hair actually was. She waved at him, shifting her weight from one gemmed boot to the other.

Giyu could only huff and wave back politely, walking towards her and turning his head to give one last unpleasant look to Tsutako, who was looking at her phone as she got in her car.

It wasn’t the first time their aunt and uncle’s colleagues, the Kocho family, had stepped in. The two households were bound together by more than shared work at the hospital; they’d carried each other through long hours, late nights, and too many dinners eaten cold. Giyu often found himself placed in their household when Tsutako went out, and sometimes, he'd even go there of his own volition. Their parents weren't home often at night, and they had no rowdy siblings or pets.

By the time Tsutako drove off, Kanae was already telling him about her day as they walked. “I got elected as class president, isn't that ridiculous? I really think I've been overused for far too long,” she said. There was always something so sweet and humble about her that everyone, including Giyu, couldn't help but be drawn to.

“It's because you say modest things like that they elect you,” Giyu said matter-of-factly.

She rubbed the back of her head, her shortened bob staying unruffled, a sheepish smile on her face. “Eh? You think so?” she said. He didn't respond, and she just smiled. 

“You've always been kinder than they say, Tomioka-kun,” she said.

He didn't respond.

Finally, they arrived at the Kochos’. The house was the largest in the area. Not grand, but spacious and very comfortable. The two took their shoes and coats off before stepping inside the living room, TV running but no one watching or waiting. Instead, they were greeted by the amusing sight of Shinobu crossing her arms and refusing to give a spatula to her older brother, who was crouched down and chuckling.

There stood in the kitchen, a tall and muscular seventeen year old boy, holding a heavy ceramic bowl in one hand and nudging Shinobu with the other. The Kocho family's eldest child and only son, Himejima Gyomei. Giyu had already met him a couple of times. The guy was adopted by Shinobu and Kanae's parents way before they were born, and grew up to be the personification of peace. 

Giyu could hear the voice of Maleficent cursing the princess in his head: “..adored by many. Loved by all who meet her,” he thought. Only that Gyomei was sort of feared at the academy now, given his large stature and deep, baritone voice that seemed to develop too early, evident in the way he chuckled lowly at Shinobu's stubbornness.

“I'm not giving this to you until you give me the keys to the lab!” she exclaimed, hugging the spatula tight.

Giyu diverted his attention from them and made his way upstairs, navigating the familiar house and heading to the guest room. He could hear Kanae's voice downstairs getting Shinobu to calm down while he walked down the hallway to the last room, the one with the empty hanging sign, signalling that it was for guests.

It was both a blessing and a curse that the rooms were soundproofed. Because for one, no one outside could hear your business, but in another unfortunate situation, one, like Giyu, could open the doors to the seemingly silent room and be graced with—

“—I'M NOT LIVING—”

Crap.

“—WITHOUT—”

Should I run?

“—Y—”

Giyu's body moved on its own, diving forward to unplug the bass boosted speaker from the wall outlet. 

Uzui Tengen's voice cracked and faded as the song abruptly ended, and he turned around to give Giyu the most terrifying incredulous look. The younger boy couldn't even question why or what Uzui was doing in here before getting chased down the hallway.

“Get back here, you tone-deaf coward!” Tengen boomed, stomping after him with heavy steps that rattled the floorboards.

“I'm not tone deaf!” Giyu shot back, bolting down the stairs, nearly slipping on the last step as he heard Tengen laugh behind him, a laugh far too loud for the modest Kochō household. He skidded into the kitchen, heart racing, and ducked behind the counter where Kanae, Shinobu, and Gyomei all stood mid-preparation for dinner.

Kanae blinked at him, half-startled by his sudden entrance. “Tomioka-kun? What—”

“I need protection,” Giyu said quickly, peering over the counter with a rare, meek look.

Tengen thundered into the room a moment later, hair tied back, grin too wide, presence far too much. “Don’t you run from my godly voice, brat! You unplugged me mid-chorus—mid-chorus!” He jabbed a finger at Giyu, sparkling bracelets clinking with the motion.

“Uzui-san,” Kanae started carefully, her voice patient as always.

“Don’t ‘san’ me, Kanae-chan. It was a masterpiece! I was giving this kid a once-in-a-lifetime performance, and he ruined it!”

“You call that a performance?” Giyu muttered from his crouch.

“Oh-ho, the shrimp talks back,” Tengen barked, taking a dramatic step forward until Kanae held her arms out.

“Uzui-san. Please. Let’s not make a scene.”

“Not making a scene would be an insult to my very existence!”

Gyomei cleared his throat, the low sound carrying the weight of authority. “Tengen.”

That earned the first pause. Tengen huffed, tossing his hair back with a roll of his shoulders, but at least he stayed where he was. 

Kanae exhaled slowly, smiling with practiced warmth. “Why don’t we all sit? Shinobu worked hard on dinner.”

“All without a spatula,” Shinobu muttered.

“Shinobu,” Kanae warned gently. Gyomei only laughed, the said spatula in his hands as he stirred the stew he made in the pot. With a little bit more nudging from the eldest Kocho sister, everyone began moving toward the table. Giyu shakily sat down across from Tengen, a repulsed look on his face.

While plates were passed and dishes served, the atmosphere was still buzzing faintly with Tengen’s leftover theatrics. 

“You really should’ve just sat and appreciated my heavenly vocals,” Tengen said suddenly, shooting a look at Giyu over the table.

“Why are you even here?” Giyu asked flatly, reaching for rice.

Tengen gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “The nerve! The audacity!” He glanced toward Gyomei. “You hear this? He talks like I’m some intruder.”

“Because you are,” Giyu replied.

Kanae stepped in smoothly. “Uzui-san and Gyomei are friends. He’s staying over tonight.”

“Exactly,” Tengen declared, gesturing grandly with his chopsticks. “The heavens aligned, and now you’re blessed with my company.”

Giyu grimaced. “Cursed, more like.”

Shinobu snorted into her miso, hiding the smile with her hand.

Dinner carried on with Tengen filling the air in his usual insufferable, overconfident way, balanced out only by Gyomei’s grounding presence and Kanae’s gentle insistence on order. By the end, when everyone rose from the table, the arrangement was made clear:

Giyu would be rooming with Tengen in the guest room.

As they headed upstairs together, Giyu’s shoulders were already tense with dread. Tengen, meanwhile, was grinning ear to ear like this was the best news he’d heard all week. It took a bit of convincing for the older boy to push some of his stuff aside so Giyu could have half the room.

The guest room was small but warm, one futon already laid out, the other still folded in the corner. The walls were plain and undecorated, but Tengen seemed to dislike the blandness of the room and had claimed one entire desk for his jewelry boxes and hair products.

Giyu said nothing. He unpacked with methodical quiet, pulling out his audio player, setting his jacket on the chair, and laying his notebooks flat on the desk’s remaining space. When he finally laid back against the futon, the headphones slipped over his ears with practiced ease.

The music was barely two songs in before Tengen’s voice cut through. “What are you listening to?”

Giyu cracked an eye open. “…Music.”

“Obviously.” Tengen grinned, sprawling across his futon without a shred of shame. “But what kind? Ballads? Rock? Don’t tell me it’s that brooding, rain-on-a-window nonsense.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Giyu muttered, closing his eyes again.

Tengen didn’t take the hint. He leaned over, bracing his chin in his palm, peering with far too much curiosity. “You know, art’s not just about what you hear. It’s about what you project. Expression, presence, all of it.”

Giyu opened both eyes this time, suspicion flickering. “…What are you even talking about?”

“I'm thinking of starting a modelling project on campus,” Tengen said smoothly, like he’d been waiting for the question.

Giyu frowned, pulling the headphones down to rest around his neck. “...Why are you telling me? Seriously, don’t you have any other friends?” he asked flatly.

Tengen only leaned closer, grin widening. “Not the right kind. I need you.”

“Huh?”

“You know, kid, I never really got to know you. You were always just that nerd clinging to Sabito's coattails—love that guy, by the way,” Tengen said.

Giyu cringed momentarily, huffing and reaching to put his headphones back on.

“But!” Tengen exclaimed, causing the younger boy to jump. “I do know that you're quite popular. Yeah, don't kid me, I remember seeing you on Valentine's Day last year,” he grinned.

“Don't remind me,” Giyu groaned.

“The look on Sabito's face when he saw the horde of girls, ha! Also, are you dating him?”

A vein was starting to form on Giyu's temple, but thank goodness Tengen changed the topic. He walked over and sat cross-legged at the foot of Giyu's futon. He took a breath.

“Anyways, the point is. You've got potential. You're the ikemen of your year level, you've got good rhythm, and you're somewhat a decent guy! Why not help me out?” he said.

“...You're ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Tengen admitted, throwing himself back dramatically onto the futon. “But I’m a visionary kind of ridiculous. And you, Tomioka, are the perfect muse.”

Giyu stared, unimpressed. “…How about your girlfriend? She’s awfully pretty. She looks exactly like me. Heck, she looks exactly like my sister. You’ll get way more popular if you use someone who looks like my sister.”

The white-haired boy groaned and rolled onto his side, flinging an arm across his face. “I already told you, you’re the most suited for this. Suma can’t handle hours of dance routines.”

That made Giyu’s head tilt, his stare sharpening. “…Dance routines? I thought you said—”

Tengen lowered his arm, grinning like he’d been caught in a prank.

“—modeling project,” Giyu finished flatly.

“Did I say modeling?” Tengen’s grin only grew, entirely unashamed. “I meant movement study. For art.”

“You’re terrible at lying,” Giyu muttered, sitting up a little straighter now. “What are you actually trying to drag me into?”

Tengen leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially, as though the soundproofed walls had ears. “An idol group.”

Giyu blinked. “…A what.”

“An idol group,” Tengen repeated, practically vibrating with excitement. “A team of the flashiest, most talented students our Academy has to offer. We’ll dominate every stage, every camera, every pair of unworthy eyes in this country.”

Giyu stared for a long, quiet moment. Then, dry as ever: “You want me to dance on a stage.”

“Not just dance,” Tengen corrected, smacking his palm against the tatami for emphasis. “Shine. Perform. Explode with radiance!”

Giyu’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. “…You picked the wrong person.”

“No,” Tengen said, suddenly serious. He sat up, studying him closely. “I picked exactly right. You don’t even know how much presence you carry until you walk into a room. People look at you. They can’t help it. And once we polish that, Tomioka, you’ll be unstoppable.”

The words hung heavy. Giyu wanted to scoff, to dismiss it outright. But something in Tengen’s certainty made it harder to brush off than he’d like.

Finally, Giyu muttered, “I don’t want to be unstoppable. I just want to be left alone.”

Tengen smirked knowingly, flopping back with a laugh that shook the walls. “That’s the best part, kid. You’ll never have to be alone again.”

The room settled into silence, broken only by the faint hiss of Giyu’s paused music player. He tugged the headphones back over his ears, expression unreadable. But Tengen was still grinning, eyes on the ceiling like he could already see the stage lights.

“Hey,” Tengen said suddenly, gesturing to Giyu to take off his headphones, which he begrudgingly did. “I'm not sleepy yet.”

Giyu blinked at him. “So?”

“So,” Tengen drawled, scooting even closer into his personal space, “you’re going to sit here and keep me company. What kind of muse leaves their artist lonely?”

“I never agreed to be your muse.”

“Semantics.”

Against his better judgment, Giyu sat back down. He didn’t feel like arguing tonight, and besides, it was easier to let Tengen talk himself into exhaustion than to fight him. The older boy pulled out a bag of chips out of nowhere and dove in with enthusiasm that bordered on obnoxious. Chomps and the occasional overdramatic commentary about the chips’ lack of flavor—it filled the space between them. Giyu watched the clock on the wall opposite him tick forward. Ten minutes. Twenty. Forty.

And all the while, Tengen talked.

Not about modeling anymore, but about the group. His group.

About how idols weren’t just pretty faces. They were voices, stories, legends in the making. About how every great stage needed balance: the loud ones and the quiet ones, the fire and the water. About how he’d already spotted a few people who had the spark, but none of them had the same stillness that Giyu carried.

“You don’t even have to try,” Tengen said around a mouthful of chips, doing animated hand gestures. “People look at you and wonder what you’re thinking. It's powerful to be mysterious.” he said.

Giyu said nothing, eyes on his knees. He wanted to deny it, to tell Tengen he was wrong, but something about the certainty in his voice made it hard to dismiss.

An hour slipped by before Giyu realized it. Tengen finally leaned back, bag empty, satisfied grin plastered across his face. “It's not so bad. You’ll thank me later.”

Giyu tugged at his futon again, ready to haul the guy off if need be. “…You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferably brilliant,” Tengen corrected. He got up and winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school so we can discuss our plans.”

“I never agreed—”

The older boy stretched loudly. “Oh, shush, you, you're just the same as the other guy! So begrudging, so.. lacking initiative.” he groaned.

Giyu flicked the empty bag of chips away and dusted his futon, muttering in disdain as he picked up crumbs that were this close to ruining his night. Then it clicked. He looked up at Tengen who was bent over the desk, rubbing his tattooed eye in the mirror. “Other guy? You asked someone else?”

“Oh yeah, this whole shtick wouldn't work without him. He's a great dancer,” Tengen said without looking back.

“You want me to work with someone else?” Giyu asked in disbelief. “You're really pushing it now, Uzui.”

Tengen raised an eyebrow, pulling away from the mirror and arranging his futon in record time. “What? Don't you guys know each other? It's not a big deal,” he said.

He laid down and settled in before Giyu could ask more questions. “Night.”

Giyu laid back on his futon, staring at the ceiling. He told himself he didn’t care, that Tengen’s nonsense wasn’t worth the energy, but the words “other guy” and “don't you guys know each other?” kept repeating in his head, pricking like thorns. By the time sleep claimed him, it was with a knot of unease in his chest.

The next morning, the guest room was empty. Tengen’s futon was already folded neatly, the boy himself nowhere to be found. Giyu gathered his things in silence, his stomach tight.

Downstairs, the Kochos were already bustling. He suspected that their parents would be home from their shift in the morning. Mrs. Kocho handed him a warm breakfast wrap for the road, while Mr. Kocho checked over Kanae’s packed bag. Shinobu waved lazily from the couch, still in her pajamas.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” Giyu said with a small bow.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Kocho replied kindly. “Kanae and Gyomei are also heading to the Academy, so we’ll give you a lift.”

Her husband chuckled. “Better than letting Gyomei drive.”

“Dad!” Kanae groaned, though she laughed despite herself. Shinobu burst out laughing too, covering her mouth. 

“I'm blind, not deaf, father,” Gyomei called. He was fixing the loose leather cover for their car's steering wheel outside. At that, even Giyu cracked a faint smile. The drive to the Academy was peaceful.

By the time they pulled up at the Academy gates, Sabito was already waiting, bouncing on his heels. He spotted Giyu instantly, barreled forward, and wrapped him in a hug like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

“You have no idea how boring it was without you,” Sabito said, voice muffled against his shoulder.

“It’s only been a night,” Giyu murmured, though his arms tightened around him anyway. When he saw that Kanae and Gyomei had gone ahead, Sabito tilted his chin up and stole a quick kiss, and Giyu let him, soft and unguarded in a way he never was with anyone else.

A sharp whistle cut through the moment.

“Well, well, well.” Tengen, the devil, stood a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets, grin wide as the morning sun. “I knew you two were dating.”

Sabito flushed, Giyu glared.

“Anyway, Tomioka,” Tengen continued breezily, ignoring the tension, “meet me at the old rehearsal hall after classes. We’ve got things to discuss.” He waved, already walking off without waiting for an answer.

Sabito blinked after him. “…What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Giyu said, tugging him toward the doors. “Just a stupid project.”

“Project? He’s not even in our year.”

“Don’t ask,” Giyu muttered, cringing as if the memory physically hurt. “He’s been stressing me out since yesterday.”

Sabito snorted but let it drop, linking their fingers as they walked to class together.

And yet, all through the morning, Giyu couldn’t shake it. Tengen’s words, his certainty, the mention of “the other guy.” By the time he sat down at his desk, the thought was digging into his skull like a splinter: he was being dragged into a project he didn’t even want. And worse, he wouldn’t be alone in it.