Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mitsuki hates the way he looks. He's too small, he's too cute, he doesn’t look like the man he's supposed to be. It's been a point of contention between him and Iori for a while—his brother insists that he's fine the way he is, but Mitsuki just can’t bring himself to agree. He's accepted that this is his image, that his career now capitalizes on his boyish looks, but his body has brought him more than a couple of problems: he's been mistaken for Nagi's girlfriend; he's constantly teased for his height; everyone always thinks Iori's the older one based on looks alone.

And then there's this.

"You're beautiful, just like a doll," the man above him says, as he's said in various ways over the past few months. At this point, being called beautiful makes Mitsuki more than a little ill, but he can't protest when the man is working him open, fingers twisting inside him, holding him captive.

The story goes like this: he catches the eye of the president of NHJ Productions during one of his solo MC jobs. The man asks for a private meeting after a recording, and Mitsuki, without a manager of his own as an intermediary, stupidly agrees. Turns out the man has a predisposition towards young boys, and Mitsuki has all the looks without being a minor. A number of his groupmates work both directly and indirectly with NHJ, and, as the president reminds Mitsuki, it would only take a word from him to end their contracts. With Sougo's family situation already limiting their work opportunities, to turn him down would cause more than a little trouble for IDOLiSH7; even if he filed for harassment, any proceedings wouldn’t do any good until well after the group would be out of work and money. Mitsuki has zero options.

He'd always been too focused on becoming an idol to date, let alone have sex; it’s ironic that it's his career as an idol that led to him losing his virginity in the worst way possible.

Months later, this is still how it is. Mitsuki loses a bit of himself every few nights in the sheets of that man's bed, but at least IDOLiSH7 is still strong. He isn’t the lead in anything but variety, and a lot of that is just a form of acting he's perfected. He can pretend everything is normal when he's on stage. He can pretend he's okay when he's with his friends. He can pretend he doesn’t hate every inch of his body, that he doesn’t cry himself to sleep most nights, that he doesn’t feel trapped and disgusting and alone.

He's brought back to reality when another finger is pushed inside of him, the man pressing on a familiar bundle of nerves. He can't help the moan that bubbles out of his throat, earning a laugh. "Does that feel good, baby?" the man asks, not expecting an answer. "You're still so sensitive and responsive—" he trails his free hand down Mitsuki's chest and strokes him a few times, delighting in how the boy jumps beneath his touch. "—It's like you were made for this. And you're all mine."

Some days, the man seems content to just make Mitsuki fall to pieces all on his own (as if he isn’t already completely shattered), and it'll be hours before Mitsuki is able to leave on shaky, exhausted legs, trying not to think about how many times he'd come. But today is a good day; the man wants to be inside him, and he has no stamina. Mitsuki will be out of there soon (though it's never soon enough).

Sure enough, he feels warmth spill inside him a few short thrusts later, and Mitsuki chooses to focus on how he'll get to go home soon rather than the unsettling feeling of fluids seeping out of him as the man pulls out. Then he's distracted by a hand stroking him again, bringing him to climax.

God, he feels sick.

Chapter Text

"...Mikki, you’re off time again," Tamaki complains, bringing their practice to a halt.

"I know, I know," Mitsuki huffs, wiping sweat off his brow. He consoles himself with the fact that this is new choreography; he's easily the weakest dancer of the group, so it's not unusual for it to take him a while to get used to the movements and timing. But also, it's another one of those days—a day where he has to act like everything is fine because he's supposed to be fine. Except his body aches from another...meeting at NHJ, and while he's being careful so he's at least not crying in pain or visibly limping, his adjustments are throwing him a half beat behind everyone else. And that is frustrating as hell because there's nothing he can do that won't either hurt him further or have him sitting out of dance practice all together.

"Let's take a break," Yamato says, clapping a hand on Mitsuki's shoulder. It's supposed to be an encouraging gesture, but Mitsuki has to fight a flare of frustrated irritation; the break is obviously for him. He's the only one having trouble.

"I'll get us some drinks," Sougo offers, Riku trailing behind him to help.

Mitsuki leans on the wall, going through the steps in his head with his eyes trained on the ground. He really isn’t sure if he can fix his timing, not in the hour they have left of dance practice. At this point, he's resigned to being a burden today. He's holding them back from having a more productive session, all because of another rough night he can’t talk about.

"Hey, Mitsu." A water bottle enters his field of vision, snapping him out of his thoughts. Yamato smiles at him, waiting expectantly until Mitsuki takes the bottle from him. Their leader takes a seat next to him, and when Mitsuki doesn’t sit down with him—he can't—Yamato shrugs and opens his water bottle. Only after Mitsuki takes a drink as well does he say, "Don't beat yourself up too much about it. It's a tough step sequence."

"No one else is having trouble," Mitsuki grumbles.

"Nah, we're all having trouble. I think it's just more noticeable when it's you because you already have to work harder since your strides are naturally smaller."

Mitsuki knows it isn’t because of that this time, but he lets Yamato try to comfort him. "That makes me feel a bit better," he lies, giving the other a small smile.

When they get in their starting positions again, Tamaki glances back at him out of the corner of his eye. "Mikki, loosen up some," he says, shaking out his limbs for emphasis. "The moves are hard, and if you're stiff they’ll be harder."

As innocent as Tamaki's voice is, Mitsuki feels the irritation again. He forces it back down, but regardless, he can't take his advice, as much as he wants to. Even so, he replies, "Okay, I'll try that."

In the end, when they separate to go to different schedules or practice more, Mitsuki still hadn’t been able to match the others' timing.

Sougo brings his hand up to Mitsuki's door for the third time, hovering inches from the wood as he contemplates whether he should disturb his group mate or not. Mitsuki has his regular recording later that night and Sougo had an early morning photo shoot, but for the most part the two of them have the day off together and they'd been talking about doing some cleaning and maybe watching a movie. But Sougo's been home for almost two hours and Mitsuki still hasn’t come out of his room.

It's possible Mitsuki is sleeping; it's what most of them do on their days off. Sougo doesn’t want to force Mitsuki to clean, especially when he could be resting, so he's already dusted and vacuumed the common area and kitchen himself, but in order to do laundry for everyone he needs Mitsuki's clothes, and for that he needs Mitsuki to give them to him.

Finally, he knocks on the door before letting himself in with a timid "I hope I'm not intruding..."

The room is dark, the curtains drawn and blocking out the midday sun, so it's only by the light from the hallway that he can see the rumpled bundle of blankets on the bed. "Mitsuki-san?" Sougo approaches the bed, brow furrowed and lips frowning. He shakes the bundle before tentatively pulling back the covers. As expected, Mitsuki is beneath them, but, unexpectedly, he's awake, staring off into space. His gaze flicks up to Sougo briefly in acknowledgement, before he returns to looking blankly ahead of him, his fingers tightening on the sheets.

Sougo finds himself frozen in place, unsure of what to do. While they get along well, Mitsuki's personality has always been a stark contrast to his own. Mitsuki is the mood maker, the one that cheers the rest of them up, and he never lets himself dwell on anything for too long. Of course, that isn’t all that Mitsuki is; even with his sunny disposition, he has his darker days. Sougo knows that, but he's never been the one Mitsuki turns to during the bad times, if Mitsuki lets anyone in at all.

Mitsuki sighs then, seeming to take pity on Sougo's deer-in-the-headlights expression as he slowly, carefully, sits up. "What is it, Sougo?"

Sougo wants to ask several things: if Mitsuki is okay, if he wants someone to talk to, what movie does he want to watch, and, if Sougo pretends there's not something obviously wrong, does he have any dirty laundry he needs done? What ends up coming out is, "It's almost noon," which is the least helpful comment possible.

Mitsuki nods absently, combing his fingers through his hair sluggishly and rubbing his eyes. "Ahh, I should make lunch since a lot of the kids are going to be home..." Then he starts, realization dawning on his face. "Wait, we were supposed to...I'm so sorry, Sougo—were you waiting for me all day?"

Sougo shakes his head fervently. "I cleaned the main room myself," he says. When Mitsuki opens his mouth, likely to apologize again, Sougo quickly continues, "I figured since you hadn't come out by the time I started, you probably weren’t feeling well. I don't mind doing the chores, but I wanted to check on you to make sure you're okay." He gives him a once over. " Are you okay?"

Sougo expects Mitsuki to lie; all of them are prone to bottling up their feelings and keeping secrets until they blow up in their faces. Internally he debates the pros and cons of pushing Mitsuki for the truth, but then Mitsuki's expression somehow becomes more tired than before and he finally answers honestly: "No."

Mitsuki rubs his eyes again, and now Sougo notices how red they are even in the low lighting. "I didn’t sleep very well last night," Mitsuki admits. "I haven’t been sleeping well in general. I've...been working a lot. Which means I have less time to rest, but I can't seem to sleep properly, and I'm just...I woke up this morning feeling worse than last night, and I haven’t been able to go back to sleep, so I didn’t want to get out of bed."

After that admission, it's a natural instinct for Sougo to check for a temperature, so he raises his hand to Mitsuki's forehead without thinking about it. Mitsuki flinches, jerking away from him much too quickly.

Sougo blinks, glancing dumbly at his hand, not quite sure whether to address his abnormal reaction or the obvious, if brief, heat he'd felt coming off of Mitsuki's skin. Perhaps he had just been surprised by the sudden movement, or maybe the fever is affecting his sensitivity. There are a million explanations, and while something in the back of Sougo's mind wants to comment on it, he decides the fever is more pressing.

"I'll tell Manager to cancel your appearance tonight. You shouldn’t be working today."

A hand clamps around Sougo's wrist, startlingly fast and strong given Mitsuki's behavior up to that moment. "Please don't," Mitsuki implores. "I don’t want—I can't miss a recording."

"Mitsuki-san, you have a fever. It isn’t good for you to be working so late when you aren't feeling well."

"I can manage. I'm a professional."

"It isn’t about being a professional; you have to take care of yourself—"

"Sougo, you are the last person who should be saying that to me."

Sougo goes silent, feeling a bit like he's been slapped. Mitsuki seems to realize what he's just said and looks away, though his grip on Sougo's arm doesn’t waver.

Sougo has never been one for confrontation. At the first instance of conflict, he is usually the first to bend, especially to his elders, and this is no exception. As it is, Mitsuki is right; he has no right to lecture anyone about taking care of himself, not when Mitsuki is one of the people who always reminds him not to skip meals and to go to bed on time.

"...I'm doing laundry. Do you have anything you want me to wash?"

There's something unappetizing about, well, everything while the taste of that man is on his tongue. He brushed his teeth this morning for ten minutes and also seriously considered swallowing a whole bottle of mouthwash (it might put him out of his misery at least, but he's not at that point yet) but even after throwing a mint in his mouth, Mitsuki still tastes him.

He skips breakfast, which isn’t too uncommon for any of them. Even though he doesn’t have anything scheduled and even though he's always been the greatest advocate for starting the day with a good meal, they’re all busy enough that no one will think twice about him being absent from the table.

It's when lunch comes around and he still doesn’t want to eat anything that things get tricky. It'd be fine if he was by himself, but this afternoon they have a group filming for a short drama, and it's just Mitsuki's luck that they all decide to eat at the same time.

He stares at his bento, wracking his brain for what he can say so he doesn’t have to eat anything. Claiming illness isn’t entirely that far off, since he's fighting the urge to throw up at the mere sight of food as it is, but then they’d worry about him taking care of himself and he definitely doesn’t want to go down that road; he knows he hasn’t been sleeping properly and he's losing weight, but he can't help either of those things. He hasn’t been alone for several hours, so he can't say he already ate, and he doesn’t think he has the sleight of hand to throw away the food right now without anyone noticing, especially since he isn’t a picky eater like Tamaki.

"Is something wrong, Nii-san? You haven’t touched your lunch."

Mitsuki jolts as Iori puts a hand on his shoulder. ( You’re still so sensitive , says a voice in his head—he shoves it away.)

"I'm...just thinking about work I guess," Mitsuki answers, allowing a little of his apprehension to show. It works to his advantage as long as no one knows exactly what he's apprehensive about.

Iori's grip tightens ever so slightly. "Is your workload okay? We're not giving you too much, are we?"

"Work is fine!" he responds cheerfully. "I mean, it's a lot, I can't sugarcoat that, but it's nothing I can't handle. I like being busy, anyway."

"Then are you worried about something else? Oh, you were struggling with your lines earlier, weren't you?"

Iori doesn’t mean anything by it, but being told he’s having a hard time with anything rubs him the wrong way. "Yeah," he bites out. "I just can’t seem to remember them, or if I do they come out in a weird way."

That isn’t exactly true—the problem is that, for whatever reason, he’s in another feminine role. He isn’t the only one at least (Sougo's his unlucky comrade), and they don’t have to wear skirts so he can't quite protest, but there's still this one line that Yamato says right before Mitsuki speaks.

You're beautiful, just like a doll.

It isn’t a particularly original line, Mitsuki supposes, so even though this isn’t for any NHJ affiliates, he shouldn’t be surprised to see it. He has to wonder, though, just how bad his karma is that one of his group mates is saying that exact line to him, for a job no less. And since it's Yamato, the delivery is exactly what the director wants, which is sultry and flirtatious. And every time, Mitsuki has to remember to breathe and say his own lines, a feat he hasn't been entirely successful with yet.

"Yamato-san's just so distracting!" he complains, his voice going comically loud to cover up just how bothered he actually is that this is an issue. "I totally believe he thinks I'm beautiful, and it throws me for a loop!"

"But you are beautiful, Mitsuki," Riku says plainly. "All of us think so."

" Yes! " Nagi agrees enthusiastically. "You are not as beautiful as me, but you are still very lovely ."

Mitsuki’s stomach churns at the compliment, the word “beautiful” tainted from all the nights where he’s only heard it while being made to please that man. "You know," he drawls, tamping down his bitterness as much as he can, "it doesn’t really make me feel any better to hear that from a bunch of guys."

"Why don’t you practice with Nikaidou-san for a while?" Iori suggests. "Perhaps you just need to get used to hearing the line."

Mitsuki is too used to hearing the line, but Iori does have a point. "If the old man's okay with it."

Yamato raises an eyebrow, looking at Mitsuki's bento compared to his own practically empty one. "I'm fine with it, but don’t you want to eat first?"

Mitsuki waves off the question as casually as he can. "Nah, I'll eat later. Now I'm kind of hyped up about this and I want to get some practice in before we have to try that scene again." He purposefully puts the lid on the lunch box and gets up, ignoring the black spots that pepper over his vision. He knows it's because he hasn’t eaten, but he'll be okay for the rest of the filming. He can fix it tomorrow. Probably.

To Mitsuki's relief, Yamato doesn’t protest any further or even look concerned. He finishes the last bite of his lunch and the two of them go off to a corner of the studio to practice.

The practice helps Mitsuki differentiate Yamato from the voice in his nightmares. He manages to do the scene without major incident and they can finally move onto a different one. Somewhere in the interim, when he's sure that no one is looking, Mitsuki scoops up his abandoned lunch and tosses it in the trash, covering it with napkins so no one can see it's still full.

Nagi has a policy of not bothering other members about their troubles as long as it doesn’t get in the way of their idol life. He has no desire for his own secrets to come out, so it'd be hypocritical of him to ask the same of anyone else. They all have secrets, and Nagi isn’t interested in dragging anyone's demons into the light just to prove that they trust him.

Still, he wonders if he shouldn’t pry into whatever secrets Mitsuki is keeping. There’s been something odd about him for a few months, and Nagi can't put a finger on just what it is. Unlike when Mitsuki was struggling with fan opinions of him, nothing has changed in how he MCs. In fact, the edge he has on camera seems to have bled into his normal interactions, like his whole life has become a production. Nagi doesn’t see that as a problem really, since Mitsuki isn’t too different on and off camera to begin with. What he does see as a problem, though, is the apparent exhaustion Mitsuki has in between schedules.

It seems like it should be normal for their lifestyles, and Mitsuki is one of the busiest of them all with how often he's asked to be on shows. But instinctually, Nagi feels something wrong, like there’s a strange melancholy in the fatigue that wasn’t there a few months prior.

Even when watching Kokona in Mitsuki's room, Nagi finds himself looking not at the screen but at Mitsuki lying on his stomach with his head pillowed in his arms, fast asleep before they reach the halfway point of the episode. It's a little surreal because the character Mitsuki voices is featured prominently in this episode, so Mitsuki's voice rings out over the speakers while the real Mitsuki stays silent.

Mitsuki only stirs after the episode ends and Nagi turns off the television. "Oh...sorry Nagi, I fell asleep," he mumbles, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes.

"It is OK ," Nagi assures him. "I still got to hear your voice during the episode."

Mitsuki turns a light shade of pink, almost unnoticeable in the dim lighting. "I guess my character was on tonight," he says, a hand over his face.

"You were very good," Nagi tells him honestly. "You are always very good."

"Aw, you're just saying that..."

" No, " Nagi protests softly. "You are quite talented. Everything that you do is good, both on stage and off stage."

"...Oh. Thanks..."

A dark, pained look passes over Mitsuki's face then; it's gone as soon as Nagi blinks, so perhaps it was a trick of the light, but it still prompts him to ask, "Mitsuki, are you happy? "

Mitsuki laughs lightly. " Yes! " he responds easily. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"A feeling," Nagi answers openly. "I do not want you to keep bad things to yourself. I do not want you to be sad."

"Nagi..." For a moment, Mitsuki's expression falls and Nagi thinks he might have touched upon something, but then Mitsuki grins enough to light up the darkened room. "Geez, what's with this atmosphere! Everything is fine on my end, and I know who to find if I need someone to talk to. Don't worry about me!"

Mitsuki's cheer is infectious, and Nagi smiles along with him.

"Mitsuki, I love you."

Once again, Mitsuki's expression falls, but in obvious embarrassment this time, a dark blush creeping up his cheeks. "I-Idiot! You don’t just say that to other people so casually!"

Nagi frowns. "But it’s true!"

Mitsuki puts his head in his hands. "We're not going over this again," he groans, albeit in fond exasperation. "I'm going back to bed."

Nagi leaves him to sleep, happy he got to spend some time with Mitsuki even though he's been working so hard. Something nags at the back of his mind, like he’s missing something, but if Mitsuki says he’s okay, then Nagi will believe him. In any case, he’ll ask for help if he needs it, right?

Being on tour is the best, Mitsuki concludes, as they arrive in sunny Okinawa to start a national tour for their new album. It's just so easy to channel the freedom and excitement of being away from Tokyo, away from their usual schedules, away from him . He's had a week off from all his shows in order to do staging and rehearsals and other preparations, so he doesn’t even have any marks on him right now. It's a heady feeling, being normal, and it adds a spring to his step and enthusiasm to his words.

Of course, "normal" is relative; he still gets nightmares even on tour, as if his mind is making up for the lack of abuse in reality. He still keeps some distance from everyone because contact makes his skin crawl. Even so, he can smile easily in all the pictures they take around town, and he barely thinks about it at all when he takes his shirt off to play with everyone at the beach.

His main obstacle is that he can't go drinking with Yamato and Sougo, not really. He accompanies them of course, since they’d be suspicious otherwise, but he knows he can't have more than one beer. He's a talkative drunk, and he runs the risk of saying something he shouldn’t. Granted, most of the time he doubts Yamato or Sougo are ever lucid enough to remember anything important, but he can't help wanting to be cautious. It isn’t a big deal, anyway. He doesn’t need to be drunk to enjoy himself when he's on tour.

Besides, the other two can let loose if they know Mitsuki doesn’t want to drink, and they deserve that more than anything. Yamato's in more acting roles than ever, and Sougo is also in a drama in addition to MEZZO"'s other work. Mitsuki's fairly certain Sougo's lost weight again, too, though he hasn’t said anything about it in case it might bring attention to his own weight loss. Anyway, with their tour on top of all that, the two of them need a break.

They only go out a few times the whole tour, and Yamato only brings up Mitsuki’s abstinence once the first night that they’re in Okinawa. Mitsuki brushes it off with a smile, saying he just isn’t feeling it that day, that one beer is fine. He lets himself be talked into buying another to avoid more questions, but he only has to take a few sips before Yamato’s attention moves on. They’re all excited and Yamato keeps encouraging Sougo while Mitsuki does the same to Yamato, and by the end of the night, Yamato can't walk in a straight line and Sougo needs to be carried back to his room.

Thankfully, they don’t have to go far from the hotel bar to their rooms, but in the elevator, Sougo's hands drift, settling on Mitsuki's chest and waist. It isn’t enough to be inappropriate, but it is enough for Mitsuki to be uncomfortable, not to mention Sougo decides this is a good time to shower praise into Mitsuki's ear.

"Mitsuki-san, you're so cute," the younger man slurs. He adjusts his limbs again, and Mitsuki purses his lips, holding his breath as fingers brush a little too close to his waistband.

Yamato laughs, mistaking Mitsuki's discomfort for exasperation with their drunken friend. "You're right, Sou, Mitsu's the cutest," he teases, slinging an arm over Mitsuki's shoulders.

Mitsuki lets out a cry of protest, hoping it sounds more irritated than desperate, but either way Yamato doesn’t listen. Mitsuki stiffens as their leader's voice drops lower, and he struggles to focus on the words over the tone.

"Seriously, Mitsu, thanks for taking care of us tonight. I know we've been a handful, but it's a rare chance when Sou lets himself go, you know?"

"Y-Yeah," Mitsuki says, wincing internally at how his voice stutters. "You've both been working hard, so I figured you deserved some fun."

"You deserve it, too."

Mitsuki forces out a laugh, even as Sougo shifts again and his hands catch in the spaces between the buttons on Mitsuki's shirt. "I have plenty of fun being the sober one while you two are being idiots. I don’t mind dragging you guys back to your rooms either."

Yamato hums disapprovingly, but he can tell Mitsuki's viewpoint isn’t going to change. He settles for ruffling Mitsuki's hair, messing it up. "Still, thanks. I owe you one."

The elevator dings open, and Yamato wobbles over to his room. Mitsuki, meanwhile, has just about reached his limit. He almost wants to drop Sougo's giggling frame in front of his room and call it a night, but it isn’t Sougo's fault that Mitsuki can't deal with wayward hands. He manages to wrestle the keycard out of the other's pocket and get them into the room.

As if sensing the night is ending, Sougo's clinginess suddenly gets worse as Mitsuki tries to dump him on the bed and leave. "Mitsuki-saaaaan," he wails, looping his arms around Mitsuki's neck and pulling him down onto the bed with him. "You’re so comfy; stay and be my pillow~"

Mitsuki grunts at his friend's sudden strength, and this—being forced into bed, regardless of intention—is definitely more than he can handle. He grabs the closest thing within reach, hitting Sougo on the head with it a few times (belatedly, he's glad it’s a pillow and not something harder), and as soon as the other's arms loosen, he rips out of his grip and takes off, hoping Sougo won’t remember any of this in the morning.

It takes him much too long to calm down to get some sleep, and he’s thankful then that they all have separate rooms for once because the subsequent nightmare is enough to wake him in the middle of the night screaming, gasping for air as he tries not to think of wandering hands and how warm his traitorous body is. He takes a cold shower and decides coffee is a better alternative to sleep.

It's a bit of a rocky start, but Mitsuki quickly, pointedly, puts the incident behind him, not interested in dwelling on bad things during his (limited) time on tour. They head to Nagoya, Fukushima, Hiroshima, and Mitsuki is happier than he's been in months. Their concerts are spectacular, he doesn’t mess up even once, and everyone is having a good time, especially him.

"You seem happy, Nii-san," Iori tells him. They’re in Osaka now, more than halfway through the tour, and the brothers decided to go out to eat, just the two of them. Their okonomiyaki sizzles on the griddle between them, filling the silence as Mitsuki processes the odd comment.

"Of course I'm happy!" he responds after a beat. "We're on tour, our performances have been great, the fans are happy, and I'm having lunch with my favorite brother! Why wouldn’t I be happy?"

Iori hums in agreement, a soft smile on his lips. "Right; we're doing so well, and I'm happy, too. But..." He clears his throat, a tinge of embarrassment at being honest coloring his cheeks. "I thought you seemed...different somehow, ever since we left Tokyo. Maybe it's just my imagination, but you've been shining more than usual during this tour. I don’t know how to explain it. Nothing has changed for you, right?"

It's here that Mitsuki realizes the fundamental problem: being happy is no longer normal for him. This was always just a brief respite; no matter how much he ignores the fact that his days are numbered, his normal will always be trapped back in that bedroom.

He forces his grin to look natural. "Nope! Nothing has changed." It isn’t a lie.

Unfortunately, he's finally forced to confront the negative thoughts about his return to his normal, off-tour routine. He manages to put it off until the very end, when he's on stage at their final performance in Tokyo. They’re getting ready to end the live, and Mitsuki typically gets them talking for some final words before their last song, but his head is vacillating between the high of their last performance and the dread of knowing they’re almost done. His heart is pounding, his ears filling with static—he doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want this to be the end.

Before he can even start talking, he feels wetness on his cheeks. He blinks, sending more tears down his face, and for a moment the only sound in the stadium is his sniffling as he realizes he's crying. The other members are stunned, and a murmur goes through the audience, a few fans calling out, "Don't cry, Mitsuki-kun!" and "Mitsuki-kun, fight!"

He remembers some advice Momo had given him a while ago when they first met, so he pastes a smile on his face as he laughs into the mic. "I guess I'm not ready to say goodbye to everyone just yet," he says, wiping his eyes as best he can. There's a bittersweet taste on his tongue as he continues with half-truths, feelings he’s always had but that aren’t the real reason for his tears.

"Every time I'm here on stage, it’s like a dream." Compared to the nightmares off stage.

"I wonder sometimes if it’s okay for me to be this happy, to get to see all these lights and hear all these cheers." If they only knew what he did at night...

"I think a lot about how hard it was for all seven of us to get here—" Harder than anyone else in the group even knows "—so I'm eternally grateful for every day I can stand with these guys and sing for you."

He takes a steadying breath; the tears are still falling, loosening his lips a bit more. "I wish today would last forever..."

Everyone else is quiet, and his professionalism as an MC finally kicks back in. "Ahh, what am I doing being all sentimental? I'm gonna take up the whole talking section and then we really will have to say goodbye!" He turns to their leader. "Yamato-san, do you want to say anything to the fans?"

Yamato gives him a wry smile. "You said pretty much everything that the rest of us were thinking." The others nod encouragingly.

"Everyone, we love you!" Riku calls, and the crowd cheers in response. They introduce their final song and the lights dim, the first notes of the intro playing over the speakers. Mitsuki uses the darkness to try and pull himself together, but eventually he gives up and decides it doesn’t matter. This final number signals the end of their tour, the end of his short-lived freedom. He'll let himself cry today; no one will question it if they think they're tears of joy.

Chapter Text

The ride in the elevator up to the president's apartment is always painfully quiet. No one ever comes with him because it's always late at night, and there isn’t any ambient music to fill the silence. Granted, if Mitsuki had had to listen to some cheery instrumental every time he came up, he wouldn’t have lasted this long.

The president greets Mitsuki by scooping him up into his arms with an unsettling ease.

"I missed you, love," the man says softly, his breath hot against Mitsuki's ear.

Mitsuki squirms, leaning away from him as much as he can without falling. "Don't call me that."

The man chuckles, a hand tangling in Mitsuki's hair as he brings him close once more. "I'll call you whatever I want to, love."

Just like that, the last bit of freedom Mitsuki had felt from the tour disappears into nothing. He doesn’t protest again.

The man knows he's won, pulling him even closer and capturing Mitsuki's lips, gently coaxing them open with his tongue. Mitsuki lets himself be swept up into the kiss; resistance will only draw out the process. The man is still holding him in midair like a child—he could do anything to him and Mitsuki would be powerless to stop him. He’s powerless anyway, but here he's forced to cling to the man for stability, reminded as always that he is small and weak and nothing more than this man’s plaything.

He's lightheaded by the time he's released from the kiss, a trail of saliva linking them.

“I like how you look in my arms,” the president comments, bouncing him a few times as if being carried like this isn't demeaning enough. “I want to just keep you like this all night long—but I have other things planned.”

He walks over to his bedroom and sits on the bed, forcing Mitsuki to sit in his lap.

“I didn't get to see you on tour,” he continues, leaning over and grabbing some things off the bedside table, the pop of a cap resounding much too loudly in the room. “I love the new album by the way; I listened to it a lot while you were gone.” He pulls Mitsuki’s waistband down just enough to press a lubricated finger inside him, pushing something into him before the man fixes his pants again and stands him back up. “I was thinking you could give me a private show of your live concert.”

With the push of a button, IDOLiSH7’s new title song blasts out of the speakers up in the corners of the room, filling the space with sound. Mitsuki feels sick; he doesn't want their music to be here.

The president lets Mitsuki hesitate long enough to hear Tamaki and Sougo’s harmony from the the bridge. “I hear MEZZO” has a new single coming out soon, too,” he adds offhandedly. “I'm sure they'll be promoting on our network. I hope it does well.”

It's a thinly veiled threat. Mitsuki swallows, trying to block out his extreme discomfort and focus on who he’s doing this for: his friends. It's just another performance—if he tells himself that, he can make it through this. He backs away from the bed so he has the space to move and waits for the song to restart.

He falls into the rhythm, pretending he's on stage with the rest of the group in front of thousands of fans instead of alone in a room with this man. That is, until the song reaches the peak of the first chorus and whatever the man put inside of him turns on .

A jolt of electricity goes through him, and Mitsuki stumbles, falling to the ground as his muscles clench involuntarily and his singing breaks off into a wordless cry. All his strength leaves him for an instant, an unfamiliar intensity to the warmth coursing through his veins as pain lances up his spine from how tense he is. He tries to relax, the beginnings of panic setting in when he can’t. As much as he tries to push himself back up, he can only writhe and moan on the ground until the president lets the electric shocks slow to a more manageable torture. It feels like an eternity but the second verse is only just starting.

“Keep going,” the man orders. Mitsuki does his best to obey.

For the rest of the song, the president plays with the remote in his hand, setting it on maximum for the finale so Riku’s voice plays alongside Mitsuki's overstimulated scream. There's tears in Mitsuki’s eyes, his breath coming in gasps as he tries to focus on anything other than the overwhelming feeling of the toy inside him.

Finally, well after the song ends and repeats for a third time, the man turns the toy back down. “Come here, love.”

It takes until the song is almost over (again) for Mitsuki to get up, his legs trembling and tears still falling slowly down his face as he returns to him.

When he's within arm's reach, the man stops him, cupping his face with a hand and wiping away his tears with his thumb. Then, “Strip,” he says. “And remember, you're putting on a show.”

Mitsuki clutches at the fabric of his shirt, reluctant and tired. He pulls at the bottom hem, thinking guiltily about Yamato and Tamaki and their coaching for how to be sexier during photoshoots. He probably won't be able to look them in the eye for a while if this is where he's going to use it.

Slowly, as fluidly as he's able, he takes off his shirt, trying not to make too much eye contact. He slides his hands along his sides, down his hips, undoing the button of his pants and dragging the zipper down. He carefully steps out of them, leaving them where his shirt is. He pauses at his boxers; no matter how many times it's been, he always has to steel himself here. He squeezes his eyes shut, listening to their song and trying to forget he's being watched. He takes them off.

As if in response, the tiny probe inside him turns on again, sending him to his knees. His eyes shoot open briefly before he's overcome with unwanted pleasure, groaning as they slide shut again. He's already hard from when he'd been dancing, and unconsciously he shifts against the floor for some relief.

“Look at you, already like this after dancing for me. Are all your performances this exciting for you?”

A hand grabs his chin, always much too gentle even though it feels like he's holding a knife to Mitsuki's throat. The shocks abate enough that Mitsuki can straighten up and crack his eyes open, looking up at the man as he waits for what he has to do next.

“You feel good now, don't you?” the man continues, unbuckling his belt with one hand. “How about some fanservice?”

It's clear what he wants as he frees himself from his dress pants and pulls Mitsuki ever closer to his crotch. With a disgusted purse of his lips, Mitsuki takes him into his mouth.

He doesn't let himself think about what he's doing anymore, only responding to a few appreciative cues from the hand still around his face and the other that curls into his hair. The setting of the probe is right on the edge of enough, his hips twitching for more through the ache of too-taut muscles, but he won't beg, even now.

Eventually, with a harsh yank on his hair, the man pulls back, shooting all over Mitsuki’s face. Mitsuki will probably have to wash his hair somewhere before heading back to the dorm. The president falls back onto the bed to catch his breath and idly Mitsuki wonders through the haze of heat in his body if he can go home, as hard as he is.

It's a fleeting thought. The toy turns up again a few minutes later when the song restarts for the umpteenth time, and arms lift him off the floor and into the president's lap once more.

The president only has to wait until Mitsuki can't take the stimulation anymore, shaking until it’s finally too much and he comes on the man’s suit. He hopes the clothes are ruined, but any satisfaction he feels from that thought turns to self-loathing when he realizes the man didn't even bother getting undressed while he's completely bare.

As he comes down from the high, the room tilts, the man pushing him back onto the bed and climbing on top of him, hunger still in his eyes.

“The show's just begun, love.”

The song loops again.

Chapter Text

Iori can’t figure out what's wrong with his brother. On the surface, Mitsuki seems to be normal—he laughs, makes jokes, does his job perfectly, but Iori can feel an underlying tension in him that's only noticeable because he knows his brother so well. The way he subtly avoids eye contact with everyone, his posture becoming closed off when he isn’t speaking, the slight uptick in his normal volume as if to compensate for something. At first, Iori passes it off as his imagination, especially when all of it seems to go away during their tour. But then he starts finding little inconsistencies in his brother’s behavior again, and eventually, Iori concludes something must be wrong.

So Iori tackles it as he would any problem: by doing research. Unfortunately, his schedule doesn’t match up that well with Mitsuki's, but there's still the dorm and group activities, and they record every variety show that any of them have been on. It takes nearly a month of observation, but he notices at least a few odd patterns.

1. While it’s great that he’s in high demand, his brother’s schedule has bordered on impossible for a few months now. Takanashi Productions isn’t double-booking him at least, but he doesn’t have nearly enough off time for how much he works. The thing is, Mitsuki has been asking for more work despite how run down he is, and since his health and work haven’t noticeably deteriorated, neither Iori nor their manager have been able to stop him from increasing his load. 

2. Mitsuki comes home very late after most filming sessions for this one talk show he hosts with a few big name personalities. The show has a large, constantly changing group of celebrity guests, and it’s likely they all mingle after recording, but Mitsuki is one of the more responsible members, so staying excessively late with schedules like theirs isn’t like him. Iori hasn’t quite figured out where Mitsuki is making up the lost sleep either; he made it a point to wait up for his brother a few times for the sake of research, but most of the time he can’t stay awake, and Mitsuki somehow always gets up before him most mornings they have schedules together.

3. Mitsuki also carries himself more delicately after some of these recordings. Iori never sees him get hurt or even any physical manifestation of an injury, but his actions are a bit stiffer and careful, like he's nursing a leg or hip injury.

4. He doesn’t let people touch him anymore.

That last one took a long time to notice, since Mitsuki always spends a lot of time around other people, so contact seems inevitable. But the normal distance he keeps from others has grown just enough that he's out of arm's reach, and once Iori figures that out, he realizes it's been a very long time since his brother's initiated casual contact with any of the other members, Iori included.

The dilemma here is that Iori doesn’t quite know what to do with all this new information. It isn’t exactly convincing to anyone but him. He's tempted to talk to their parents about his concerns, but they’re busy with the shop all the time and he doesn’t want them worrying until he has a better idea of what exactly is going on. Besides, Mitsuki would be incredibly unhappy with him talking to their parents about him behind his back, and Iori isn’t going to jeopardize his relationship with his brother over speculation, which is also why he can’t go to any of the other members with his troubles either.

This leaves him one option: he'll have to talk to Mitsuki himself.

Mitsuki stumbles into the dorm barely able to support himself, thinking today might be one of the worst yet. The talk show ran long, the guests were difficult, and a certain executive decided after that to try out all his new toys all at once. The man had been rough once he'd finished with the toys and gotten himself going too; Mitsuki can still feel where he'd pulled at his hair, and he's pretty sure he tore something. It had been tempting to fall asleep on the bed there, but that's something that a lover would do and there’s no love involved here. As long as Mitsuki is coherent and able, he's going home as soon as he can.

All he wants to do is take a long, long shower, but even that is apparently too much to ask because Iori is still awake for some godawful reason and looks like he wants to talk. Mitsuki really can't catch a break today.

Iori greets him in the hallway, his gaze much too calculating. "Welcome home, Nii-san."

Mitsuki is just so tired; his mask is hard to put in place right now, especially when the only one here is his own brother. "Why are you still awake?" he asks quietly, foregoing a more proper greeting.

"I couldn’t sleep. I keep thinking about you."

"Flattering, but not a good excuse when we have schedules in the morning."

"You say that, but you’re coming in at close to two am when your shoot was supposed to end before ten."

"I can handle staying up late. I'm an adult."

"Really, Nii-san? That’s what you’re going to go with? You look practically dead on your feet."

"Just because I make bad decisions doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be in bed."

Iori sighs and clearly decides to just get to the point. "Nii-san, is everything all right? I don’t know if anyone else sees it, but you've been acting a little strange lately."

Mitsuki thinks then that it's unfair he was given such a perfect, perceptive brother, one who's smart enough to see through an act he thought fooled everyone. Iori wouldn’t have let himself be put in the same situation that Mitsuki's in. Then again, Iori looks more like an adult than Mitsuki does. "What are you talking about? I'm fine!" He throws a grin at his brother, hoping it looks convincing.

It doesn’t, judging by how Iori's frown deepens. "I don’t think you are. Help me understand—why did you start distancing yourself from us?"

"I don’t know what you're talking about."

"I think you do." Iori bites his lip and looks away. "It's been a while since you've hugged me— Not that I want a hug or anything! But it's out of character for you."

Actually, avoiding contact is second nature at this point; Mitsuki can't predict how he'll react anymore, so he's kept himself away from others. Besides that, given how he’s been spending an increasing number of his evenings, touching any of the members is...unsavory. It feels like he'll contaminate them, like they'll be aware of the grime on his skin—but this isn’t the time to think about that. Iori's unwittingly given him an opportunity, one he takes as he swallows down his self-loathing and throws an arm over his brother. "Aww, Iori, why didn’t you just say you were lonely? I've just been busy with all this work; I didn’t know you missed me that much!"

Iori can tell the tables have turned, eyes widening as he tries to get them back on track. "No, Nii-san, that's not—"

"It's okay; don't be shy! I'll always give you hugs whenever you want them." The grin pastes onto his face easily again, the pain in both his muscles and his mind pushed back while he channels the normalcy of teasing his brother. Once he's sufficiently derailed Iori's line of questioning, he ruffles his brother's hair one last time before releasing him and waltzing to the bath. "Well as much as I love you, it's late and I really want to shower and go to bed. So I'll talk to you in the morning, okay? G'night!"

"Wait, Nii-san—!"

Mitsuki shuts and locks the bathroom door as smoothly as he can before he finally lets his legs give out. This is bad. Iori's getting suspicious, and a suspicious Iori is rarely without answers for long. Mitsuki has to pull himself together, but that gets harder with every passing day. The man keeps pushing him further and further, and Mitsuki is exhausted.

He sits by the door, working up the energy to wash up. It's only the overpowering desire to be clean that gives him enough strength to pull his clothes off his aching limbs. He bites his lips to stop himself from crying out as he moves; the walls are too thin and Iori is probably still listening, possibly even waiting to ambush him when he's done. Only after he turns the shower on full blast does he let out a few muffled sobs, the sound getting lost in the pattering of water on the floor. 

The water is scalding, nearly as painful as it is soothing, but no matter how hot the water or how hard he scrubs, it isn’t enough to wash away the filthy words that ring in his ears, the memory of guilty spikes of pleasure, or the phantom sensation of hands along his skin. In their building, the water temperature drops all too fast, but despite how his fingers begin to shake and fumble with his bath things from the cold, he stays under the spray until his skin is raw from scrubbing and his eyes are puffy from tears.

When he finally gives up, it's past three. He's shivering and lethargic from the now frigid shower, and he knows he'll regret it in the morning but he doesn’t have the time or willpower to heat up a bath. He wraps himself in a towel and peeks outside, a small, ugly part of him pleased to find that Iori's gone to bed. That means no one can see any of the bruises that are already forming from tonight’s session as he makes his way across the hall to his room. Shrugging on his pjs with the last of his energy, he quickly passes out in his bed.

He sleeps through his alarm.

Thankfully, it's only for a private planning meeting with Momo for a show they’re doing a few weeks from now, something they planned as more of a play date than a job. The two of them are friends, but in a way that makes it more embarrassing because when Mitsuki fails to show up, the other idol invites himself into the dorm, where everyone is way too interested in how the normally put together Mitsuki missed an appointment.

Momo is kind enough to shoo them all away before he knocks on Mitsuki's door, letting himself in when he doesn’t get an answer.

Mitsuki is fast asleep, his towel still damp around his neck from his late night shower. Momo gleefully snaps a picture of him as petty revenge for standing him up (not that he's actually angry about it) and then goes to shake him awake.

As soon as he makes contact, Mitsuki jolts awake with a shout, his limbs shooting out and knocking Momo off his feet. Both of them freeze, wide-eyed, trying to process what just happened.

Mitsuki is the first to recover. "Oh sh—Momo-san, are you okay?" he exclaims, trying to get out of bed to help his senior up. "I'm so sorry, I—Whoa!" His legs buckle as soon as he tries to put weight on them and, instead of helping Momo, he joins him on the floor with a crash.

He expects Momo to laugh at him—heck, he kind of wants to laugh at himself. But Momo's surprised expression turns contemplative as he stares at him, and Mitsuki can only stare back in bewilderment.

"You don’t look too good, Mitsuki," Momo says finally, though Mitsuki has a feeling it's not all he wants to say. The usual cheer is gone from his voice, replaced with genuine concern Mitsuki isn’t ready to face.

"I...had a bad dream, I guess."

"Is that so? Do you want to talk about it?"

"...I don’t really remember it."

Momo hums thoughtfully, looking him over some more, and Mitsuki forces his body to sit up and look natural even though he wants to cry from how sore he is.

"What are you doing here, senpai?"

"You forgot?" Momo clutches his chest in mock hurt. "We were supposed to go on a date to get ready for that program we're on together!"

Mitsuki's eyes widen in alarm, looking at his bedside clock then back to his senior before apologies start spilling out of his mouth. "Oh no, I'm so sorry; I didn’t mean to sleep this late! I swear I set an alarm, but I guess I got in late last night and—"

"Whoa, relax! I'm not mad! Just a little worried because it’s so unusual."

"It's nothing. And it won't happen again. Let's just have our meeting now."

"Hm...I'm gonna pass!" Momo grins at him. "Get some more rest; you look like you need it."

"But the program—"

Momo cuts him off by ruffling his hair. "We don't have to do our planning in person. We can use Rabicha. I only wanted to meet with you because I missed you!"

Mitsuki gives him a funny look. "Missed me? But we had a live together last week."

"No, not like that! I mean, we used to hang out a lot outside of work with Ryuu! But since you've been kind of busy lately we haven’t run around in a while. Momo-chan’s just been feeling a bit lonely."

Mitsuki wants to offer to play soccer or something, but his body's condition has been so bad lately that he isn’t sure he can keep up with Momo or Ryuu anymore. Just like Momo, Mitsuki’s been lonely, too, and suddenly, he feels even lonelier. "Maybe our schedules will match up again soon," he says vaguely, sending Momo what he hopes is a convincing smile.

"Yeah!" Momo replies. Then, something in his voice softens, and he adds, "Let me know if you need anything, okay? I might talk a lot, but I'm also a good listener."

Mitsuki wants to lean on him; Momo is older, more experienced, and his place in the industry is secured. He might be able to help him weather this storm.

But that means admitting there’s a storm to begin with. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind."

"So you let him go?" Ryuu asks, pausing to look incredulously at his senior instead of putting more bait on his hook.

"Yeah," Momo sighs dejectedly. "He wasn’t going to tell me anything anyway. Even though he stood me up!" He throws his arms in the air demonstratively, his fishing line whipping around dangerously. "But seriously, I'm not the only one that thinks it's weird for Mitsuki to miss anything, right?"

Ryuu throws his line back out into the water and sits back. "No, it is unusual. Though hasn't he looked a little under the weather lately? They cover it up with makeup when he's on stage, but Sougo-kun was telling me a few weeks ago about how Mitsuki-kun went to a recording with a fever, and when he arrived at the live we all had together a little while ago, he looked like he was going to pass out."

"Yeah, he looks exhausted, even when he's sleeping," Momo agrees, frowning and pulling out his phone. "Look; I took a photo the other day. I was gonna use it to tease him, but when I looked at it later..."

Ryuu mirrors his frown when he sees the photo. "I think he's lost weight. How much sleep do you suppose he's getting?"

"Yuki sometimes gets like this, but only after pulling all-nighters for like four days straight."

"That doesn’t sound healthy."

"No kidding."

They both sigh. "Do you think there's anything we can do?" Ryuu asks.

Momo rubs his chin thoughtfully. "...I'm not sure. Maybe we should talk to Maneko-chan? Oh, but Mitsuki might get upset...Though we are his seniors, so might be a good time as any to assert senpai privileges?"

"We could talk to Tsumugi-chan anyway; she doesn’t have to tell Mitsuki-kun that we went to her."

Momo nods before sighing again. "...Ryuu, weren't we supposed to go fishing so we could relax? I feel all wound up now."

Ryuu reels back in his line, only to find that a fish had taken his bait while he hadn’t been paying attention. "Yeah, me too."

"Ahh, Mitsuki, that looks pretty bad!"

Mitsuki startles; he's been doing that a lot, actually, ever since he started going up to that apartment. He doesn’t really get it because it's not like he's ever been surprised by the president beyond their initial meeting. If anything, people coming in and out of the kitchen is normal, and normal is something he desperately needs. Yet here he is, in their dorm, cooking lunch on one of his off mornings, feeling decidedly abnormal and constantly about to jump out of his skin whenever someone comes in.

"I…hope you’re not talking about my cooking," Mitsuki jokes lamely, willing his heart rate to slow down and hoping Riku doesn’t notice his hesitation.

Fortunately, Riku is too focused on something else. "No, I mean, look at your arm."

A wave of panic goes through Mitsuki as he follows the other’s gaze to where his sleeve is hiked up slightly, revealing an ugly bruise circling around his wrist. Even from a distance, he can tell it resembles a hand print, and then memories of the other night flash through his head, of being held down, pressed into the bed by a heavy weight as lips ghost over the shell of his ear, trailing down his jaw and resting briefly on his jugular.

As quickly as the memories come, he shakes them away, berating himself. He's usually more careful to cover up any indication that his life isn’t perfect, but he'd slept in today and came out to the common area in his pajamas without thinking about any marks that man had left the other night.

"Wow, I have no idea where I got that." He tries to keep his tone even, though it feels like he's hearing himself from far away.

Riku squints at the bruise thoughtfully. "Doesn't it kind of look like someone grabbed you?"

Mitsuki makes a show of looking closer before answering "Maybe," noncommittally.

"It totally looks like someone grabbed you," Riku asserts, and for a moment, Mitsuki braces himself for questions, mind racing for plausible explanations for why there's a hand-shaped bruise on him. Then Riku asks, "Do you think a ghost got to you?"

"What? No—" Mitsuki's so surprised by Riku's words that he almost tells the truth because at least that's understandable, but then he remembers Riku talking about how he'd seen ghosts when he'd stayed in the hospital so much as a kid and decides it's better to just go along with it. "....Well I guess I did have a dream of something grabbing me in my sleep. Think this place is haunted?"

Riku makes an interested sound. "It must just be your room. I sleep pretty lightly, especially with ghosts around, and I didn’t feel anything. Maybe it's haunting you?"

Mitsuki laughs dryly, because yeah, he's definitely haunted, but by a living, perverted nightmare. "I hope not; ghosts don't seem good for an idol."

"Most of them are nice," Riku says, "and most of them are only passing through. You might have just been unlucky. If it happens to you again, though, we should probably get an exorcism."

If only it was so easy to rid himself of the invisible hands wrapped around him, slowly strangling him as they pull him back again and again to that apartment, to that bedroom. Maybe that room's haunted too.

"I'll let you know if it comes back," Mitsuki tells Riku with a smile, pulling down his sleeve to hide the mark again. "Oh, but can you not tell Iori? I don’t want him to worry over nothing."

Riku readily accepts Mitsuki's words at face value, which is a nice change from those that are too perceptive.

Regardless, Mitsuki won’t let them linger on this subject any longer. "Hey Riku, I have some time off; do you want me to make any sweets for you?"

"For me?" The boy's eyes light up. "What's the occasion?"

"Ah, nothing really! I just want to spoil you for some reason."

Again, Riku accepts the vague explanation, and Mitsuki makes him a batch of pancakes with lots of toppings that they finish together before anyone else gets home.

Tsumugi loves everyone in IDOLiSH7 equally, but it would be a lie to say she worries about all of them equally, too. Riku’s condition is pretty much always in the back of her mind, which isn’t entirely paranoia since they’ve had to rush to the hospital several times since even before they debuted. Tamaki and Iori are still in high school on top of being idols, and while they never complain, Tsumugi is always wondering whether the company is putting too much on their plates. Sougo has thankfully only had that one health scare around their debut, but she can never be sure if he’s being honest when she asks how he’s doing.

This isn’t really a bad thing. People are different, so it’s natural that each of the boys needs her in different ways, some more than others. She’s gotten used to who she needs to check in on more, which is why it’s particularly concerning when she suddenly gets several messages from Momo to check up on Mitsuki. Mitsuki, whose good health and self motivated attitude have made him nearly completely independent from her management. Mitsuki, whom she’s always trusted to take care of himself, perhaps to a fault.

Of course, she’s noticed that he’s been busier, both by demand and by choice, but every scheduling meeting is the same: “I can handle it, Manager.”

Which is how she finds herself at Iori’s door; even if she didn’t consult him all the time for management advice, if anyone would know how to approach Mitsuki about anything, it would be his younger brother.

She knocks and pokes her head in. "Iori-san, do you have a minute?"

He looks up from his homework, and she briefly catches the deep scowl on his face before he schools his expression. "I have time," he responds. "It's unusual for you to come to my room though."

She nods as she enters the room, closing the door behind her. "Yes, well, I need to ask you for some advice. I thought it would be best to do it in person as it concerns Mitsuki-san."

Iori's ears seem to perk up. "Nii-san?"

"Yes. Mo—I mean, some other stars have come to me recently to talk about him and how he seems to be pushing himself too much. I wanted to get your opinion as to what we should do, since you know him best."

"I've noticed it as well, but Nii-san has still been doing his job as well as always. Besides missing a fairly informal appointment with Momo-san, he's been punctual and professional. I'm not sure if we can do anything without Nii-san feeling insulted."

"But...is it really okay if we don’t do anything?"

"We can't very well punish him when he hasn’t done anything wrong. However, I suggest we force him to take a vacation if he ever slips, in any way; I don’t want us to have to wait until he has to go to the hospital like with Osaka-san." Iori pauses, glancing at Tsumugi appraisingly. "Until then, perhaps you can get him to open up. I've tried to talk to him and he brushed me off, but everyone regards you with a lot of fondness, my brother included."

"Me?"

"Yes. We can't proceed without understanding what's troubling Nii-san, and I've failed once already in prying it out of him."

"A-Are you sure I should do it? Will he even talk to me?"

"There's only one way to find out."

That was over a week ago. Since then, Tsumugi’s had several opportunities to talk to Mitsuki alone, including right now as she drives him to his regular appearance at his NHJ talk show, but it’s been difficult to broach the subject out of the blue. Now that it’s been brought to her attention, she’s been noticing an unsettling lack of conversation from Mitsuki whenever she’s driven him to a location, and without Mitsuki chattering, she’s had trouble thinking of a good opening before they have to part ways.

"Manager, is everything okay? You look tense."

Tsumugi jerks out of her musings with a yelp. Being the only one in the car, Mitsuki is sitting up front with her, so of course he'd notice her getting lost in thought. "I...I could ask the same of you, Mitsuki-san," she says, latching onto the opportunity to finally talk. "I and several others have been a little worried about you."

"What are you saying?" Mitsuki asks with a laugh. "Everything's okay on my end."

"Are you sure?" Tsumugi presses. "You've seemed less energetic when you're off camera."

"Really? I feel fine though!" Mitsuki's expression remains cheerful, but his eyes narrow ever so slightly as the gears turn in his head. "Did Iori put you up to this? He's been a bit lonely with all the solo work I've been doing, and he's determined to find something to mother me about."

"That does sound like Iori-san," Tsumugi agrees with a chuckle before catching herself. "Ah! But this isn’t because of him! He is concerned, but he isn’t the only one. I'm worried that I've given you too much work, especially since we haven’t been able to give you your own manager. If there's anything you need from me, please, say so. For example, I know you said you'll just take a taxi back from all the late night recordings you have for this NHJ talk show, but I'll gladly pick you up—"

"That’s not happening."

Tsumugi almost forgets to stop at a red light. "Eh?"

The sudden vehemence in Mitsuki's voice is gone almost immediately. "I mean, I can't ask that of you! I spend so much time with the cast and crew after the recordings that sometimes I don’t get out until past midnight! It's better that you sleep so you can take care of all of us in the morning. Otherwise we'll have two people losing sleep instead of just one."

"But..."

"Seriously, Manager, I can handle it.” There’s that phrase again. “I've been handling it since I started this gig; why change it up now?"

Tsumugi is quiet for a while, feeling like she's grasped onto something she shouldn’t have, and now that she has, she can neither let it go nor connect it to the other bits of Mitsuki's slightly off behavior. Instead, she says, "You know we care about you, right, Mitsuki-san?"

Mitsuki stares at her, taken aback by the sudden affection. "Of course I do," he replies casually, sending her a grin. "But really, don’t worry about me. I'm fine."

"I'm always going to be worried about you, Mitsuki-san."

"Hah, I suppose you’re right."

Tsumugi lacks the courage to speak again after that, so they lapse into silence. Mitsuki has made it clear that he won't be divulging any of his secrets to her. But then, she wonders, who does he go to when he's hurt or upset? He always takes care of the other members and even her, but who takes care of him? Who does he allow to get close enough to help him?

She watches him get out of the car at the NHJ building, and she realizes the answer is no one. As soon as Mitsuki enters the building, Tsumugi starts to cry.

Back in Okinawa, Ryuu used to go on walks around town just for the sake of walking around. The weather was always nice, so whenever he was bored with his studies or didn’t want to sit around at home anymore, he'd go out for a while. Everyone in his hometown knew him and would call out to him, and when he'd first moved to Tokyo, he missed that kind of familiarity.

Now though, anonymity is considered a rare blessing for any TRIGGER member, but especially for Ryuu, who somehow gets spotted no matter what he does to hide himself. He can't go out as easily, but he still tries to go for walks when the crowds are thinner (as thin as they will be in Tokyo) and there's less of a chance of him being spotted.

It's rare for him to find people he knows, but on one such early morning outing he spots Mitsuki walking ahead of him, groceries in hand. He doesn’t call out to him, since the point is to not draw attention to himself, but he eagerly tries to pick up his pace and weave through all the people to catch up to his friend. His conversation with Momo is still fairly fresh in his mind, and he realizes he hasn’t had the chance to talk to Mitsuki in a long while, not alone as a friend instead of as a coworker. Ryuu considers the two of them to be rather close; they used to talk about whatever was on their minds whenever they got together with Momo to play, and while they haven’t been doing that lately, Ryuu still wants to be a friend to Mitsuki if he can.

As Ryuu approaches, Mitsuki continues walking forward, head down as if lost in thought. It's like this that he apparently misses the light for pedestrians turning red, just as he misses the car speeding down the road towards the intersection right as he steps onto the crosswalk.

"Mitsuki-kun, look out!"

Ryuu clears the last bit of distance between them and wraps his arms around Mitsuki, picking him up and pulling him back just as the car runs over the space he'd just been standing. Several people turn to look at them, a murmur going through the others at the corner. A few whispers of "Is that Tsunashi Ryuunosuke?" make their way to Ryuu's ears, but for now he pays them no mind, focusing on his friend.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

Mitsuki nods, but his body shakes violently in Ryuu's hold. They’re drawing an audience, a few pulling out their phones, and Ryuu takes it upon himself to find them some privacy. Conveniently, the crosswalk light turns green again, so Ryuu immediately picks Mitsuki up again, ignoring his small squeak of surprise, and runs across the street as fast as he can. He doesn’t slow down until he comes across a park, ducking into it and finally coming to a stop at a bench well away from the entrance.

It's here that Mitsuki pushes him roughly away, dropping out of his arms and looking ready to flee. Ryuu, confused but not about to let him run off just when he'd gotten him alone, grabs his wrist.

"Ow!"

Ryuu drops Mitsuki's arm like it burned him, hands raised as he stammers apologies for hurting him. Mitsuki cradles his arm to his chest, massaging his wrist absentmindedly with pursed, trembling lips, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

Then he glances at Ryuu and it's like he's noticing him for the first time, recognition clearing his face of his former sour expression. "Ryuu-san..."

"Did you think I was someone else?" Ryuu sits down on the bench, gesturing for Mitsuki to do the same.

Mitsuki's eyes dart around the park, uncertain and slightly confused. He remains standing. "I...don’t know what I was thinking."

Ryuu frowns. "I don’t know what you were thinking either; you almost walked in front of a car."

"I did?"

With a sigh, Ryuu scoots over so he can look Mitsuki in the eye, gently taking the other's hands in his. "Mitsuki-kun, how much sleep have you been getting lately?"

Mitsuki looks away.

"Mitsuki-kun?"

"I don’t know," Mitsuki answers. "Not much. I've got a lot of regular programs besides group stuff. But it’s fine; it's better I'm busy—"

"Not if it means you’re walking into traffic—"

"That's fine too."

Ryuu reels back, just as Mitsuki realizes what he's said.

"Wait, Ryuu-san, I didn’t mean—"

"That isn’t something to say lightly," Ryuu scolds quietly, tightening his grip on Mitsuki's fingers. "Did something happen? You know you can tell me anything—"

"Nothing happened!" Mitsuki exclaims. He pulls his hand away so he can rake it down his face, frustration evident. "I'm just...I'm really tired. I'll be more careful and take a break so I'll feel better, okay? I won’t say anything like that again."

Ryuu feels like he's being dismissed, worse that there's nothing he can do about it. "Hey, why don’t I take you back to my apartment? You can get some rest away from all your members. I know they rely on you a lot, so—"

"No," Mitsuki replies, fast enough that Ryuu's a bit hurt, to be honest. "I have something to do in a little while, and I don’t want to cause trouble for you."

"It's no trouble at all—"

"I get mistaken for girlfriends before I get recognized for myself, and I don’t want rumors to start because Tsunashi Ryuunosuke was seen letting a girl into his apartment."

Ryuu sometimes hates their jobs, that he has to worry about something silly like gossip when he just wants to take care of a friend. "Let me walk you back to your dorm at least," he offers.

Mitsuki smiles, and Ryuu wonders when his smile had gotten so thin and tired. "Thanks. You're a great guy, Ryuu-san."

Ryuu doesn’t really agree, not when he can’t seem to help his friend when he needs to.

Mitsuki is fraying at the edges and he knows it. His sleep schedule has been practically nonexistent—between his job, his extra “work”, and the mounting anxiety of someone figuring things out, he can barely sleep. He’s flat out avoiding Iori now, and Ryuu, Sougo, and Momo have been trying to ask him through Rabbit Chat if something’s wrong. He leaves all their messages unopened.

Lately, there’s sections of time that he can’t seem to recall. He’ll go up to the president’s apartment sometimes and then leave hours later with little recollection of what he’d done with him. Admittedly, that’s something of a blessing, but then he’ll be cooking and blink and dinner would be served. He went to the market the other day and was suddenly in a park with Ryuu, who wanted to ask a lot of questions he didn’t have good answers to.

He doesn’t know what to do about it. He sleeps in the car a lot, partially so he doesn’t pass out during something important, partially so he doesn’t have to interact with Tsumugi, who’s been giving him sad glances whenever she thinks he isn’t looking. He hides in his room a lot, pretending to rest. Everyone is giving him a wide berth, even the ones that seem fairly oblivious that there might be something wrong. He cries a lot when he can’t go to sleep and he knows no one can hear.

Mitsuki is tired and lonely and miserable and he surely would have thrown in the towel long ago if he didn’t absolutely love his job.

MCing is the only way he can feel normal again. It’s as easy as breathing—in fact, it’s even easier. He knows what to expect, how to react, when to smile and when to laugh. Performing with IDOLiSH7 is slightly strained because of him, but no one can touch him in his domain.

For that reason, he’s excited for Yamato to appear on one of his shows. He misses being normal around the members, and with their leader doing promotional activities for his new drama role, they’ll be seeing each other in the NHJ studio in a few nights. Of course, Mitsuki will still have to see that man, but they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it. He’s been careful up to this point—what’s the worst that could happen?

Yamato has always been weak when it came to confrontation, both initiating it and receiving it. Even though he knows Mitsuki’s been withdrawing from them, he hasn’t been able to do anything about it because that would involve a deep discussion Yamato isn’t sure he’d ever be prepared for.

In the process of avoiding that conversation though, Yamato has possibly been avoiding Mitsuki too, so he's glad they can be on Mitsuki’s program together. The banter flows between them seamlessly like it does on any other show, which is like a breath of fresh air, like nothing's wrong. When they wrap up and all the stars are mingling, Mitsuki is still in good spirits, and Yamato takes his eyes off him for a while so he can focus on avoiding any actors or producers that have a connection to his father.

Then, as the socializing winds down and they all start picking up to leave, he notices Mitsuki is gone. It's supposed to be their last schedule for the day and he'd thought they'd go home together, so he asks around for his groupmate. There's some mixed accounts, but many of them saw him get in an elevator, and others confirm that it's pretty common behavior for Mitsuki. The president of the production company's taken a liking to him, so they meet fairly often after recordings.

Yamato is glad that Mitsuki's being recognized, but it's getting late and Mitsuki isn’t answering his phone. Yamato isn’t about to leave him here by himself, so he hopes they don’t mind being interrupted.

A sinking feeling settles into Yamato's stomach when the president's secretary kindly informs him that the president and his companion have returned to the president's living quarters on the top floor. It seems a little more important if Mitsuki's spending time with the president in his private apartment. Frankly, it's odd that Mitsuki hasn't said anything about how close he is to this man, and now Yamato is too curious to ignore it. He takes the elevator to the top floor.

The president's apartment is dark and quiet when Yamato opens the unlocked door. Warning bells sound off in his head; he's been in enough films to know that something is about to happen, but still he finds himself walking towards the only room with a bit of light and sound, his footsteps completely silent on the plush carpet. The door is open just enough that he can peek inside, and as soon as he does, he freezes.

The ambient lighting is dim, but not dim enough to hide Mitsuki's lithe body, riding an older man in the bed on the far side of the room, the sound of skin on skin reaching Yamato's ears along with a harsh panting and a high-pitched keening noise that he belatedly realizes is his friend.

"That’s it, sweetheart, you're doing great," the president croons, chuckling as Mitsuki gasps under his fingers. "Come for me."

Yamato sees Mitsuki shudder and decides he really doesn’t need to see or hear any more. He runs out of the apartment as fast as he can and goes home alone.

Chapter Text

Despite everything, Mitsuki continues to make an effort to cook for the dorm whenever he has time. It’s relaxing, and also if he didn’t it’s likely they’d all live off take out. He has a rare easy Tuesday, with only a short photo shoot around noon for an orange chocolate ad, so he texts Yamato if he wants anything in particular for dinner. Though everyone else seems to have late schedules, their leader has the roughest schedule today, having to get up before dawn to get to a location for one of his dramas, and then he’s filming for the whole day, so Mitsuki wants to have something nice waiting for him when he gets home.

There’s a bit of Mitsuki’s memory missing from the night they were at NHJ studios together—he doesn’t really know what happened after filming ended. From the soreness he felt the day after, it's clear he’d gone up to the president’s apartment, but he doesn’t know for how long or how he got home. Yamato has yet to comment on it, so it’s possible they’d gone home together like normal, but the terrible thing is that Mitsuki doesn’t know and it’s been bothering him every day since. So perhaps this dinner is also a silent apology to Yamato if anything out of the ordinary happened that night as well.

When Yamato doesn’t respond to the text, Mitsuki doesn’t think anything of it, figuring he’s busy. After a while, he makes the decision to make a simple stew that he knows the other would like and just waits for everyone to get home.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He’s practically asleep on the couch when chatter reaches his ears from the entryway, startling him out of half formed dreams (or possibly nightmares, from how his skin tingles rather unpleasantly). By the time everyone piles into the common area, he’s still blinking grogginess from his eyes, and it takes a moment to notice that the idle conversation has come to a halt.

“Did you make this, Mitsuki?” Riku asks hesitantly.

“I figured you’d all want something after you got back,” Mitsuki replies, brow furrowing as the others exchange guilty looks. “What’s wrong? You guys look like you just saw someone kick a puppy.”

“Well…”

“We all ate before coming home,” Yamato says plainly.

Something about his tone puts Mitsuki on edge, an undercurrent to the words that sets his nerves alight with anxious, unhappy energy. “I texted you a few hours ago that I wanted to make you something,” he admits without thinking.

That only earns him a shrug. “Guess I wasn’t looking at my phone.” The comment seems pointed, though at what, Mitsuki couldn’t say. But he understands at least that his efforts were for nothing, that Yamato doesn’t care at all, especially when he turns away and leaves the room, shutting the door emphatically behind him.

“I’m sorry, Nii-san,” Iori apologizes quickly. “We didn’t know.”

“I want some,” Tamaki says, grabbing a bowl. “I love Mikki’s stew.” His eagerness is flattering, at least, but it doesn’t really make Mitsuki feel any better that their always-hungry high school student wants to take pity on him.

“It’s fine. I should’ve texted some more of you.” He makes a show of getting off the couch like none of this bothers him. “I’m just going to put it all away and wash dishes. It just means we have a lot of leftovers.”

“I’ll help,” Sougo volunteers.

“Nah, I’ve got it. You guys go shower and get ready for bed.”

The room is quiet except for the clinking of dishes and the stream of water. Even Tamaki, who usually eats loudly, isn’t making as much noise. Riku and Iori, visibly uncomfortable with the atmosphere, quickly escape, presumably to wash up as Mitsuki suggested. Sougo stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, hand hovering by his chin as he seems torn between helping Mitsuki out anyway or giving him space. And Nagi….Mitsuki can’t see his expression, but he’s abnormally quiet, eyes locked on the door ever since Yamato left.

Mitsuki wracks his brain for any reason why Yamato would be mad at him. Did he just have a bad day at work? Did something happen during the blank spot in Mitsuki’s memory? Is he finally fed up with Mitsuki keeping secrets?

The worst possibility is that Yamato knows everything—that he knows everything and still decided to shun Mitsuki for it. Mitsuki doesn’t think he can take that, but he’ll have to talk to Yamato before coming to conclusions.

“Ah...Mitsuki-san, shouldn’t you shut off the water?”

Mitsuki blinks, looking down at the empty sink, all of the dishes placed neatly in the drying rack. He’d been moving on autopilot again. “Right. Thanks, Sougo.”

“Are you—”

“I’m fine.” He’s really not. “I’m going to bed. Remind Tamaki to wash his bowl when he’s done.”

“Mitsuki-sa—”

Mitsuki leaves before Sougo can say any more. He doesn’t want his concern. He’s perfectly happy screaming into a pillow for the rest of the night.

As expected, he doesn’t get a lot of sleep, which makes getting out of bed an even harder task than usual, knowing he needs to talk to Yamato. Somehow he manages to get up, but Yamato is avoiding him.

“Yamato-san, can we talk?”

“I’m running late. See you later.”

“Yamato-san, can—”

“Not now.”

“Yama—”

Another door shuts in his face.

After a week, Mitsuki’s had enough. If Yamato is determined to give him the cold shoulder, then two can play at that game. All Mitsuki has to do is stop trying, stop wasting what little energy he has on this. And he will, just as soon as he can stop crying over losing his friend.

Iori glares at his test paper, like squinting will somehow change the score written at the top.

Tamaki comes out of the convenience store with a popsicle and sighs when he sees Iori’s expression. “Iorin, it’s an 88. I’d love to have that score on a test.”

“Please don’t compare me to you.” Iori has been nothing but exceptional in his studies up to now, even after debuting, but lately his brother has been occupying so many of his thoughts that he hasn’t been nearly as focused as normal. Mitsuki has visibly gotten worse, at least whenever Iori manages to catch a glimpse of him. For some reason, he’s no longer on speaking terms with Yamato, and, as if in retaliation, he tacked on a voice acting gig, several interviews, and a commercial series to his already packed schedule, meaning he’s barely at home, which may be the point—if he isn’t home, he doesn’t have to be around Yamato. Except now, whenever he is home, he mostly wanders around the dorm like a ghost, pale skin contrasting with the deep, dark circles beneath his eyes, a distinct heaviness weighing down his body.

Iori tried talking to him. It went something like this:

“Nii-san, are you sure you aren’t working too much?”

“Leave me alone, Iori. I know what I’m doing.”

“But—”

“I said, leave me alone.”

Iori hates that it feels like they’ve returned to how they were before Takanashi Productions, when Mitsuki kept getting rejected by agencies and took out his frustration on Iori for trying to help. He thought they were past this now that their dreams had been realized, but he supposes he was wrong.

Though honestly what he hates the most is that he’s too scared to do anything about it. He's scared his brother will self-destruct, but he’s also scared of his brother, the brother who has been his whole world since he was born, the brother he wants to see succeed at all costs, the brother whom he would do anything for. He's scared that, if he does the wrong thing, Mitsuki will cut him off, that he’ll stop talking to him, stop being his brother, and given his recent mood, Iori doesn't think it's a far off idea. Intervening may prevent Mitsuki from crashing, but is Iori willing to take that risk? He isn’t even sure how to intervene; he’s exhausted most of his avenues for helping Mitsuki on the idol side, and he’s scared that bringing their parents into this will stir up even more trouble. He’s scared that anything he tries to do will have no effect at all.

His train of thought is interrupted by a coldness on his lips, a melon taste on his tongue. “You’re thinking too much, Iorin,” Tamaki complains, waiting until Iori takes the offered popsicle to continue eating the side he’d broken off for himself. “You’ll ace the next one.”

It takes Iori a moment to remember the test still in his hand. “Perhaps…”

“And Mikki’ll feel better soon. Probably.”

“Very reassuring.”

“I mean, we might have other problems if he doesn’t. So-chan’ll probably stick his nose in and then who knows what’ll happen.”

Sougo would be better, Iori thinks, and then he has to smother a sudden wave of guilt because he's running away from his own brother. Even though it’ll worry Tamaki, even though it pushes the problem onto someone else, Iori is still running away.

He hands the popsicle back to Tamaki.

“Huh? You don't want it?” 

“Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite.”  







Sougo is troubled.

Admittedly, this isn’t anything new, but at least it doesn’t directly involve him this time, and he knows he isn’t the only one that’s worried. The fans haven’t noticed yet, partially because the pair in question hasn’t had any overlapping schedules, and partially because both of them are significantly better than before at hiding their personal problems while on stage. Off stage, however, Yamato and Mitsuki’s sudden cold war has gotten to all of them; Iori seems particularly unsettled, but neither he nor anyone else has tried to break the building tension between the two eldest members.

Sougo doesn’t want their fight to come to blows again, and with no one else making a move, he decides that he needs to be assertive for once for the sake of IDOLiSH7.

It’s by chance that the three of them are the only ones in the dorm one morning, so when Yamato comes into the kitchen for coffee, Sougo coerces Mitsuki out of bed and into the common area, then slams the door closed right as the other two make eye contact. Leaning against the door, (and ignoring the betrayal on their faces) Sougo looks between the two of them and asks a simple question: "Are you two okay?"

The result is a quiet explosion, starting with Yamato. "I'm doing fine, but Mitsu's probably doing even better, right?" he drawls, an obvious challenge.

Mitsuki naturally rises to it. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying that you're living the life; you’re getting more popular, you’re getting more work, and all while you’re getting laid all the time in that cushy bed."

Sougo chokes on nothing; he doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but this hadn’t even crossed his mind, and now he has to let the destruction unfold as Mitsuki stiffens in the corner of his eye.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Mitsuki replies, voice shaky and quiet.

"I don’t? I saw you a few weeks ago, after I was on your program. Which, by the way, thanks for letting me know you weren’t coming home with me. I really needed to know what my friend sounds like while he's getting fucked up the ass."

Sougo winces at Yamato's language, and he's pretty sure Mitsuki's stopped breathing. "Yamato-san, please calm down," he cuts in weakly, moving away from the door to put himself between them, hoping there's a reasonable explanation for all this.

"Don't you think it's a problem, Sou?" Yamato asks, turning weeks of pent-up ire onto him. "I checked, and his work offers spiked right after he got that NHJ show. He's getting jobs by sleeping with their president!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Mitsuki repeats, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.

Yamato scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so what, are you in love with that old man?"

"No!"

"Then explain to me what you're doing sleeping with the president of such an important production company!"

Mitsuki bites his lip, eyes dropping to the ground, and Yamato takes that as answer enough.

"I thought you were better than that, Mitsuki. Go to hell."

Mitsuki jerks his head back up at his words, a stricken expression marring his features. "No, wait—"  

The door slams shut.

Sougo is too stunned to do anything, mind racing with thoughts that maybe he shouldn't have said anything in the first place, maybe the tension was better than this blatant falling out—

Then he hears a quiet sob, and right before his eyes, Mitsuki folds in on himself. His arms wrap around himself like it's all that's holding him together as he falls to his knees, tears cascading down his face.

Sougo is at his side in a second, self-deprecating thoughts pushed away for now. "Mitsuki-san," he starts, putting a hand on the other's shoulder.

Mitsuki reacts violently, shoving Sougo back.

Caught by surprise, Sougo loses his balance and falls, hitting his head on one of the table chairs. The clatter brings Mitsuki back to himself, just as Riku, apparently done with his schedules for now, enters the common area.

"Yamato-san just left the dorm looking kind of mad, do you—eh?! Don't tell me you two are fighting, too!"

"We're not," Sougo says quickly, rubbing his head and picking himself up. Mitsuki throws him a timid, incredulous look as he continues, "Mitsuki-san and I are going to be in my room, okay, Riku-kun?"

He grabs Mitsuki's hand, not missing the way the other's muscles tense beneath his fingers, and marches past their very worried and confused center. The constantly fretting part of his brain wonders if their actions could set off a fit, but right now his instincts are telling him to focus on Mitsuki.

It isn’t until they're safely in the privacy of his room that both of them breathe a sigh of relief.

Sougo takes another deep, steadying breath. "Is it true?"

Mitsuki lets out another sob, nodding.

Sougo sits heavily on his bed, the full weight of their predicament finally catching up to him. Mitsuki's affair with such an important executive could have long reaching consequences, even if it doesn’t get out to the press. As it is, Yamato has made his stance on the matter clear, and that could cause a rift in the group.

And Sougo doesn’t even know how he personally feels about the whole thing. He isn’t naive; he knows of the less tasteful side of “doing business” that’s much more prevalent than he likes to think about. In the circles he used to be in, while talked about with plenty of disdain, trading sex for status was seen as the fast track to power, a display of ambition above all else and, in some ways, somewhat pragmatic if a person lacked any other connections.

Sougo just never imagined that someone in IDOLiSH7 would go down that route. And unlike Yamato, the thought just makes him sad, that perhaps Mitsuki didn’t have faith in their group, or that they just weren’t enough.

Except something bothers him about this, has been bothering him since that one day in Mitsuki’s room, the only day that Sougo has ever heard Mitsuki say that he wasn’t okay. It’s the same something that had flared up when Ryuu had told him about an incident in the park, and when Mitsuki started making himself scarce at home. Then he remembers Mitsuki in the present, standing in the middle of his room seeming significantly smaller than Sougo is used to. Mitsuki always stands tall, his big personality making up for his stature—it's strange to see him shrink into himself, looking much younger than twenty-one right now.

That isn’t what someone looks like when they’ve made the decision to put ambition over everything else. 

It’s with that thought that he smiles at Mitsuki, beckoning him over to take a spot next to him on the bed, and though Mitsuki looks at him strangely for the sudden change in demeanor, he obeys anyway, sitting gingerly atop the covers.

Sougo doesn’t know what he’ll get if he tries to dig deeper, the perpetually frightened part of him wondering if it will just cause more trouble. Still, he gently takes Mitsuki’s hand in his own and asks one more question.

"There's something more to this, isn’t there?"

That’s all it takes for the dam to break, and then Mitsuki is crying even harder than before, the truth spilling out along with his tears.

"I didn't want it."

There's a beat of silence as Sougo takes a moment to fully grasp the gravity of Mitsuki's confession. He didn’t want it. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to have sex with the NHJ president, but he still is, meaning he’d been forced, some way, somehow, and suddenly a lot of things make sense—the exhaustion, the distance from the group, the concerning downward swing in Mitsuki’s everyday mood. Sougo isn’t sure why the thought hadn’t ever crossed his mind, but now all the sirens in his head are blaring at full blast.

"Why didn’t you say anything?!" Mitsuki flinches, both at the shrillness of his voice and the tightening of his grip, but Sougo can't help it; Mitsuki had been raped. Mitsuki had been raped, and none of them had known until one of them had actually seen it, and even then he’d come to the wrong conclusion.

"It's not like we can do anything about it," Mitsuki says, a defeated tone in his voice suggesting he's had this exact conversation with himself before. "He'll ruin all of us if I don’t do as he says. We have too many promotions through NHJ and he has too many connections; we could be out of jobs by tomorrow if he wanted. Any investigation we ask for won't be fast enough."

Sougo hates that he can see the logic, hates that he can't think of a reasonable way to get Mitsuki out of this. What's worse is he knows he's part of the problem; his father is still stifling their work whenever he can, and while they could have taken FSC and NHJ separately, having both of them against their group is near impossible to reconcile. "I'll talk to my father—"

"No!" Mitsuki grabs his shoulders, holding him in place as if he's going to get up and go to his father right then and there. "Your dad's just going to force you to quit. At least I can stay in IDOLiSH7."

"At what cost?!" Sougo pulls at Mitsuki's wrists and doesn’t miss the split second where Mitsuki goes slack and cloudy-eyed. "You aren't okay. It's amazing you've been able to hide it from all of us for..." He's almost afraid to ask. "How long?"

Mitsuki has to think about it, which is disconcerting in itself. "I think we're going on six months now. Not long after I got the big talk show job with NHJ."

"Six months?!" Sougo wants to throw something, preferably in the direction of the NHJ president. He forces himself to stop and take a breath before asking again, "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Mitsuki scoffs bitterly. "Yeah, I'm going to tell everyone that I got blackmailed into having sex with a pedophile because I look like a child. What a great conversation starter."

Sougo doesn’t even know how to begin processing that statement; there's so much terrible information, not to mention the heavy dose of self-hatred he can hear beneath it all. He pushes it into the back of his mind for later, rubbing his temples as he tries to address possible solutions to the bigger problem. "Surely there's something we can do?"

Mitsuki's cheeks are still wet with tears, but he offers Sougo a smile anyway. "It's okay. It's better if it's just me as opposed to any of the kids. You and the old man included."

"It's not okay! It shouldn’t be you—it shouldn’t be anyone! Mitsuki-san, I think we should talk to someone about this and figure something out, because I don’t think you can—"

"I've done it for this long. I'll do it as long as I have to, even if it kills me."

"Don't say that!" The frustration and helplessness becomes too much, and Sougo finds himself crying alongside Mitsuki. "There has to be a way. I'll find a way. But I don’t want you to do this anymore. At the very least, we need to make everyone aware and clear things up with Yama—"

"We aren’t going to tell anyone else. I don’t even want to tell Yamato-san. It's fine if he hates me. I hate me. Better that than pity."

"He won't—"

"Sougo, let it go."

Sougo won’t, but he knows a losing battle when he sees one. "I'll find a way," he says again. "Until then, hang in there, okay?"

Mitsuki nods absently, slouching in exhaustion. "How much time do we have before our next schedules?" he asks.

"I'm not on until six pm."

"Good. I don’t have anything until seven." He tips over onto the bed, dragging Sougo down to lie next to him. "I think I need to sleep awhile."

Sougo can't help but agree.







"You avoid my advances when we're in a professional setting, but I'm the first person you always come to when you’re having a spat with your group members. Really, Yamato-kun, what are we?"

"Acquaintances," Yamato replies immediately, "but you're creepy when you're in public because you think I can't run away. So I run anyway."

Yuki laughs lightly. "It's been several days since you showed up on my doorstep. What did you do this time?"

"Why do you think it’s my fault?!"

"You have a loving personality but you're very awkward about showing it. That's bound to cause problems."

Yamato grits his teeth, irritation allowing some of the truth to slip through. "Well it wasn’t me. It's all on Mitsuki this time."

"No cute nickname anymore? Must be serious."

"Yeah, though I can't tell if you're taking me seriously or not; can you do something about your perpetually sarcastic voice?"

"This is just how I am, Yamato-kun."

Yamato sighs. He’d fled to Yuki's place since he couldn’t think of any better place to go think, but a small part of him is regretting it since dealing with Yuki is nearly as tiring as being mad at Mitsuki.

Honestly, he isn’t even that angry anymore. But he doesn’t think he can trust himself to be around Mitsuki without going off again. He’d been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his own investigations had turned up a mutually beneficial relationship that reminded him all too much of the less savory conversations he’d stumbled upon during his father’s parties.

But hiding from Mitsuki won’t accomplish anything. The problem is he’s been stuck for days on what to do about this situation, especially since he unintentionally cut himself off from his own group. He’s been operating independently from management too, since his drama work doesn’t mesh well with everyone else’s activities.

Maybe Yuki will have some advice to get him out of this rut; as much as he doesn’t really want to disclose anything to him of all people, he doesn’t have many other options.

"Senpai, what would you do if you saw Momo-san having sex with someone for favors?"

Yuki’s eyes narrow, all traces of playfulness in his expression gone. "This seems rather personal."

"Just answer the question."

"Momo wouldn’t do that."

"I'm saying if he did."

"But he wouldn’t." Yuki meets Yamato's gaze like he's issuing a challenge. "I don’t trust the company he keeps all the time, but Momo is honest to a fault. If he's having sex with someone who happens to be in a position of power, then I'd be going after the other guy first to gauge their intentions. And besides, even if we have this married couple act going, what Momo does in private is still his business and his alone. If he didn’t tell me, then there must be a reason."

Yamato breaks eye contact first, folding his arms across his chest. "I guess I don’t have the same faith in people as you do."

Yuki smiles once more. "And that's just how you are. I agree, it's hard to let others get close to you. Thankfully, I've surrounded myself with sincere people. I believe you have, too—you just have to let yourself understand that."

"I feel like this turned into a lecture about my character flaws."

"Consider it payback for loitering in my house." Glancing at the clock, Yuki gets up and grabs his coat. "Well, I have a recording soon. If you still need time to cool off, I don’t mind letting you stay here a while longer."

"Thanks, Yuki-san."

"Just don't hide forever. You have a good group of kids. Whatever's happened, you guys can get through it."

Yamato lies back on the couch, hearing the door click shut. "...I hope so."

"Yamato-kun has been staying at my house for the past few days," Yuki says offhandedly as he and Momo wait in the green room of the program they’re about to be on. "It seems he and Mitsuki-kun are fighting again."

Momo nearly spits out the Momorin he's drinking. "Really? Do you know what about?"

"No specifics, but today Yamato-kun not so subtly asked me what I would do if you were sleeping with someone to advance your career."

Momo gasps loudly. "Doesn’t he know you’re the only one for me?!"

"I said about as much in my reply," Yuki replies, earning an "Aww, Yuki!" from his partner, before he continues, "But more importantly, he's making a very serious allegation towards his fellow member."

Momo's expression sobers up. "I know Mitsuki, and he'd never whore himself out to get ahead. There has to be more to this."

"I agree. But what do you want to do? We could step in, but I have a feeling this won't end well. It’s never safe to talk about sex in this line of work, let alone something as scandalous as this."

Before Momo can reply, a staff member comes in to tell them they have ten minutes until recording begins. When the door closes again, Momo stands and straightens his clothes. "Well for now, we have to put on a show," he says, clearly displeased that he can't run out and fix things right then and there. "But afterwards, let's see if TRIGGER wants to get dinner and gossip with us. I want to get Ryuu's opinion, and since he can't keep secrets from his group mates, we might as well talk to all three of them at once."

"This is going to turn into quite the production, isn’t it?" Yuki sighs as they head to the door.

"For Mitsuki's sake, I honestly hope not," Momo admits. "But also, if that's what it'll take to help him, then I'm going all out."

Yuki smiles. "I do like that about you."

Momo grins.

"I now call this meeting of the Teenage Generation to order!" Nagi says a bit too gleefully. After a lot of organization on his part, (even though he’s plenty busy these days, just like everyone else), he’s finally managed to get the younger half of his group into his room without alerting Mitsuki and Sougo. Though really, the two of them are too preoccupied with whatever feud has been simmering between Mitsuki and Yamato for the past few weeks; he could probably play Magical Kokona on his TV with the volume maxed out without hearing a single comment from either of them.

And then there’s the fact that Yamato hasn’t been in the dorm for several days.

Nagi feels slightly responsible; he considers Mitsuki and Yamato to be two of his best friends, and he thought they were close, but both of them closed themselves off as soon as trouble started brewing, not to mention Yamato’s sudden malicious streak towards Mitsuki. Nagi had tried to confront Yamato after his unsettling display following their dinner miscommunication, but their leader had shaken him off. Meanwhile, whenever Nagi tries to turn his attention onto Mitsuki, the other always manages to disappear. Mitsuki hasn’t looked well for ages, but Nagi can’t get close enough to do anything about that.

In other words, Nagi’s felt more than useless for quite some time, so it’s nice that this meeting at least is going well, even if he’s the only one that feels remotely happy about it.

"Is all this really necessary?" Iori asks exasperatedly.

"Yes!" Nagi won’t say it, but he’s been worried about Iori as much as the adults. Both of the Izumi brothers have been mulling over something for months, and while neither of them have let it affect their work, they've both been clinging to the ones closest to them. In Mitsuki's case, he's rarely been seen without Sougo the past few days, and, possibly because his brother is subtly avoiding him, Iori's been much more indulgent towards Riku. He isn’t even making a fuss right now about Riku resting his head on his shoulder.

"Are we gonna talk about Mikki, Yama-san, and So-chan and how they all seem to be fighting?" Tamaki drawls around a mouthful of pudding.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Iori chides.

"He said they weren’t fighting," Riku says quietly, drawing everyone's attention.

Iori coaxes Riku off his shoulder so he can look at him. "Who did?"

"Sougo-san." Riku looks at his hands. "A few days ago, after I had that one photoshoot, I came back to the dorm right as Yamato-san left looking really angry. Then I walked in on Mitsuki and Sougo-san looking like they’d just hit each other, but Sougo-san said they weren’t fighting. They went to his room and didn't come out until Banri-san came to pick Sougo-san up."

Nagi's mind immediately jumps to conclusions. "A lovers' quarrel?"

Both Iori and Tamaki make a face. "No!" they yell together.

"But they think of us as their wards, and in my experience, parents never want their children to know they've been fighting—"

"We are not their children!" Iori exclaims, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And I think Nii-san would tell me if he was dating Osaka-san!"

"But they spent so long in their room..."

"And Sougo-san looked kind of frazzled when he left," Riku adds, "not to mention Mitsuki stayed behind in his room..."

"Nanase-san, you are not helping!"

Tamaki fiddles with his spoon as he considers the possibility. "What about Yama-san?"

Nagi pauses for a moment as he thinks. "...Love triangle?"

"Please stop," Iori moans.

"It is the only explanation!"

"I said, please stop!" Iori’s voice cracks, and to everyone’s horror, he breaks down in tears. "This isn’t a joke—something is wrong with my brother. He’s different and refuses to talk to me and I don’t know why, and you all think this is some tv drama—"

“Whoa, calm down, Iori,” Riku cuts in, putting his hands on Iori’s shoulders to steady him. “I don’t think anyone thinks it’s a joke, but we don’t have much to work on.”

“It’s ‘cause no one talks,” Tamaki grumbles with a frown. “I mean, I’m not blind, so I know something’s up, but I’m still really stupid, so I’m not gonna get it if no one says anything.”

“Everyone has been suffering alone,” Nagi comments with a sigh. “That is why I wanted us to talk. If we do not open up, nothing will change.”

“Everything has changed,” Iori sniffles. “I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I thought maybe if I just came to him on my own he’d eventually let me in but he just wants nothing to do with me...like he isn’t even my brother anymore…”

Both Riku and Tamaki wrap him up in a hug, and it’s a testament to how shaken Iori is that he simply falls into them without protest.

Nagi worms his way into the hug, smushing his cheek against Iori’s and squeezing the younger boy comically tight until the hint of a smile returns to the other’s face. Only then does Nagi release him, cupping Iori’s face in both his hands and looking him right in the eye. “Mitsuki loves you, Iori,” he says softly. “He loves all of us, but he loves you the most. I am sure he never wanted to hurt you.”

Iori nods, wiping his eyes as he mutters, “I’m more concerned that he’s hurting himself with how much he’s working.”

“Isn’t that just because he’s avoiding Yamato-san?" Riku asks.

“While that certainly made things worse, he’s been overworking himself for several months now."

"Months?! And you didn’t say anything?"

"I certainly tried to talk to him, but as I so embarrassingly explained just a few minutes ago, he doesn’t want to talk to me. We’ve all been busy; how was I supposed to bring it up? He would’ve just withdrawn even further.”

“Mitsuki always takes all his problems on by himself,” Nagi sighs. “He is stubborn that way.”

“Since it wasn’t affecting his performances, I decided that drawing attention to whatever was bothering him wasn’t worth the fallout."

Riku purses his lips, humming a few unhappy notes as the logic sinks in. "Still, I feel bad that I didn’t notice anything for that long..."

A bit of playfulness returns to Iori’s eyes, a small smirk on his face. "For you specifically, it’s better to have as little to worry about as possible. In this case, your obliviousness is a blessing."

"Hey!"

Iori ignores him. "I did go to our manager expressing my concerns, but it seems her talk with him didn’t go very well. We both agreed to drop it but keep an eye on him. That was several weeks ago."

"Nothing changed?" Nagi asks softly.

Iori shakes his head.

"So what do we do then?" Tamaki grumbles. "About Yama-san and them."

"An intervention?" Nagi suggests.

"That might not be a bad idea,” Iori says. “I'll talk to our manager and see if we can free up an evening some time soon."

"Is this going to be okay?" Riku asks. "Will this really fix things?"

"Might as well try," Tamaki says. "For So-chan. I think he got caught 'tween them, and he never leaves things alone."

"We'll talk to Manager," Iori assures them. "And hopefully we'll be able to put this all behind us soon."

"So let me get this straight," Gaku says, brandishing his fork at Momo and Yuki like a weapon. They’re all crowded in Momo's apartment for dinner after Re:vale essentially kidnapped the trio on their way out of the studio. "Nikaidou thinks Izumi Mitsuki is using his body to get work. Is this some kind of joke?"

Tenn idly taps on the table, staring at his plate with a frown as he digests Re:vale’s explanation. "If it’s a joke, it’s in rather poor taste."

"I mean, Izumi-ani cares so much about his job and doing it right. Don’t you think it’s weird for him to do something that would be essentially career-ending if it got out?”

"I agree," Ryuu chimes in. "It's not like Mitsuki-kun to use anything besides hard work to advance his career."

"Right? The fact we're even discussing it makes me feel kind of icky." Momo shudders, making an uncharacteristically sour face. "But Yuki says that's how it is."

"To be fair, that's how Yamato-kun sees the situation," Yuki clarifies. "That might not be how it actually is."

Tenn twirls his hair with his fingers, the only indication he's uncomfortable. "Izumi Mitsuki has my respect," he says carefully, "and I believe we're fairly similar people, so I say with great confidence that there must be more to the story than what Nikaidou Yamato perceives. But knowing that group, it may be a good idea for us to intervene before they upset each other more than they already have."

"You just want an excuse to check on your brother," Gaku mutters.

Tenn kicks him under the table.

"My question is, what more could there be to the story?" Ryuu asks. "Not that I think Mitsuki-kun would do what Yamato-kun is suggesting, but it sounds like Yamato-kun actually saw him?"

"That's mostly speculation on my part," Yuki admits. "Yamato-kun was quite deliberate in asking what I would do if I saw this happening."

"Momo-san, do you suppose this is why Mitsuki-kun has been so tired lately?"

Momo rubs his chin. "Well, it would make sense. Our schedules honestly can't sustain an active sex life. And I think his work load's actually picked up the past few...months..." Momo trails off into stunned silence as he makes the connection, the others coming to the same conclusion.

Tenn stands abruptly, slapping a hand on the table in fury. "I refuse to accept that. It's not in his character."

Gaku grabs his arm to make him sit back down. "As much as I agree, how do we explain the sudden increase in his work load?"

"Let's calm down and look at this another way," Yuki suggests. "Perhaps the extra work wasn’t his idea."

"But combined with how he's sleeping with an executive?"

Yuki makes a thoughtful noise before suddenly he scowls. "...Perhaps sex wasn’t his idea either."

Again, the room falls silent as they all process Yuki's words. Once again, Tenn gets to his feet, slowly this time, and heads for the balcony. "I need some air."

"Me too," Gaku says weakly, following close behind.

As soon as they go out, Momo turns to Yuki, eyes wide, a hand covering his mouth in horror. "Seriously?" he whispers incredulously. "That's what's going on here?"

Yuki grimaces. "It's the only thing I can come up with. That, or Mitsuki-kun is prostituting himself like Yamato-kun thinks he is."

"This is bad. As much as I hate to say it, the one thing the entertainment industry doesn’t like to talk about is sexual abuse, and it’s not even supposed to exist for men. They could bury all of us just for bringing it up."

"Then we just need to have an airtight case." Momo and Yuki startle, having forgotten that Ryuu's still in the room. He flashes a smile at them on reflex, but it only comes off as dangerous. "The five of us have a lot of influence, and as of right now, we're outside of the problem. We’re probably more capable of saving Mitsuki-kun than IDOLiSH7 anyway."

Momo and Yuki share a look. "I do want to help," Momo says plainly. "Mitsuki's been really sad for so long, and if it's because he's caught up in something like that, then I want to do something."

"You can't punch anyone, though," Yuki warns him. "As much as I know you want to, we can't. You too, Ryuu-kun."

Ryuu makes the most displeased expression Re:vale's ever seen on him. "I don’t know if I can make any promises."

"Turn that energy into something more productive, like asking around studios for gossip on the president and Mitsuki-kun. We have to be smart about this or IDOLiSH7 might pay the price, if not our own groups."

They hear the balcony door slide open again and Gaku and Tenn return, looking a little less green than before. "We're in," Gaku says.

Tenn nods. "We'll be careful. Let's catch this bastard before anything else happens."

Mitsuki doesn’t know what happened. He probably should've been suspicious when the man had offered him a drink, but Yamato is still mad at him, Sougo is still visibly worried, everyone else is caught in the crossfire, and alcohol helps take the edge off of all of that, plus it makes it a lot easier to get into bed to get it all over with.

It's a fast acting drug, whatever it is. Within a few minutes he can't keep his head up or his arousal down, squirming uselessly in the president’s lap while a blindfold is fitted over his eyes. He's completely pliant in the man's hands as they begin what is likely to be a long session if there’s this much preparation before his clothes even come off. That's okay though; he has a day off tomorrow, so he can rest for a while after this. He just needs to get through it.

He thinks he hears a clicking noise, but he isn’t sure under the haze of aphrodisiacs and the sudden sensation of fingers slipping under his shirt, gliding across his ribs to take ahold of his nipples. He finds himself leaning flush against the man, stabilizing himself as he groans, shifting in an instinctive need for friction.

However, his blood goes cold when the man speaks and it isn’t directed at him.

"Isn't he gorgeous? He's always been responsive, but since today is special I decided to give him a little something."

"Oh, he's adorable!" coos an unfamiliar voice. "You've been holding out on us."

"I don’t blame him," says yet another. "I'd want this all to myself, too."

There's a third hand on him, feeling the curve of his ass as a fourth cups his face, gently, like he's delicate. He trembles beneath their touch, muddled mind still trying to process that he is no longer alone with the president.

More voices make their way to Mitsuki's ears. "I want to see his eyes. Are they as big and beautiful as I think they are?"

"Are you sure he's of age? You're not lying to make yourself feel better, right?"

"I want to hold him!"

"I want him to hold my—"

Countless hands pull him this way and that, rubbing against his face, his chest, his thighs—he can’t tell which way is up or down as the drink and the touches thrum through his body, bringing tears to his eyes from the stimulation.

"Aw, he's crying! Don't worry sweetheart, we're going to make you feel so good."

Mitsuki can't get away; there are too many bodies and not enough strength in his limbs, and his tongue is too heavy to utter a word of protest. His clothes are pulled off and he gives in quickly, falling into pleasure and haze, forgetting his own name for a time as he's called "beautiful", "gorgeous", "baby". Filthy nothings are whispered in his ears, joining a chorus of moans and gasps that has him at the center, and he barely notices someone at his backside, prepping him as others lavish over the rest of him. Vaguely, he thinks he hears fighting over who gets him first, but then a moist heat takes him in just as someone forces their way into his mouth, and he loses track of his own body after that.

He doesn’t know how many times he's used, how many times he's brought over the edge himself. He doesn’t even know when it all ends, blacking out somewhere in the midst of fogginess and overstimulation.

He comes to in an empty bed, the sun high in the sky and shining light through the bedroom window. It takes about three seconds for him to realize this isn’t his room, that it isn’t even his dorm, and then spots of his memory return, hitting him like a freight train. He's surrounded by crumpled sheets and the musky scent of sex, a wave of nausea washing over him at the smell and the realization that he doesn’t know how many people contributed to it. He can barely move, but he desperately needs to get out, can think of nothing else but escaping as quickly as he can. His clothes are neatly folded on the night stand, which in some ways makes him nearly as sick as everything else. He throws them on, deciding to burn them as soon as he can.

He's almost at the front door when he realizes that he'll have to walk through the halls of the building to get out, will probably be noticed by someone in the process while he looks as weak as a newborn kitten, and the idea of anyone seeing him and putting the pieces together sends him spiraling, desperate, anxious tears pooling in his eyes. Some part of him has enough rational thought to get out his phone—which thankfully, somehow, still has battery—though he nearly drops it several times from how hard his hands are shaking. He holds his breath as he waits for someone to pick up, the phone ringing once, twice—

"Hello?"

He thinks there's more but he can't hear anything over his own sobs.

"S-Sougo? I...I need h-help."

Chapter Text

Mitsuki immediately works himself into a full blown panic attack. He’s just so scared; he doesn’t want to be here any longer, but he can’t leave, not like this, but if he doesn’t leave then that man could come back, could bring more people, could strip Mitsuki to nothing all over again, so he has to go—

He's barely able to breathe, something in his chest squeezing his lungs as if he isn't already overwhelmed, as if he hasn't been overwhelmed for months and was just deluding himself into thinking he wasn’t. His heart beats much too fast, his ears filling with static, and he can’t understand much of anything Sougo is saying to him. He doesn't know what he’s babbling into the phone either; he can feel his own lips moving, but the words are completely lost to him.

He can't stop crying, even after Sougo finds him curled up in a ball by the front door, and it takes all his energy to listen to what the other is saying.

"-suki-san, please, I need you to calm down. Please just focus on my voice and breathe."

It takes him a long time to follow such simple instructions, struggling between the logic in Sougo’s words and the instinctual fear he can’t seem to push down. His body shakes as he concentrates on his breathing—in, out; in, out—until finally he manages some semblance of control.

As soon as Mitsuki seems stable, Sougo says, apologetically, that they have to go. They've already spent much too long in the apartment when that man could come back at any moment. Mitsuki nods, unable to give much more of a response.

Mitsuki's muscles scream as he uncurls himself from the floor, overextended from last night and exacerbated by how tense he made himself while he was panicking. He lets out a small whimper, mind racing, wondering how he'll walk out of the building like this.

There's an arm around his waist, and that's about all he registers before he lashes out, throwing it off and shuffling back, doing everything he can to keep the touch away. His nerves are much too raw right now, his mind much too fragile to remember it's only his friend, trying to help.

“Mitsuki-san, it's just me! I'm not going to hurt you!”

Sougo’s frightened face comes back into focus again, his hands open and extended towards Mitsuki like he's a wild animal.

“Mitsuki-san, I'm sorry for startling you,” Sougo says kindly, even though it should be Mitsuki apologizing for freaking out at him so much over something so small. “I should have told you what I was doing. I'm going to put my arm around you again to help you walk.”

It feels like an eternity for Mitsuki to get himself back together and nod, all while Sougo waits ever so patiently. Without another word, Sougo's arm comes around his back again, carefully, and this time Mitsuki is ready, though his muscles still tense reflexively. The support is enough that he can move, albeit slowly, and together they make their way to the elevator. As they descend to the first floor, Sougo fixes Mitsuki's tousled hair and wipes his face with a handkerchief, narrating his every move the whole time. Then, in one smooth movement before the doors open, he takes off his hooded jacket and puts it on Mitsuki.

Once the hood is over his head, Mitsuki relaxes ever so slightly; at least with this, he can hide.

Sougo is a force to be reckoned with when he's on a mission, all traces of his usual meekness gone as they walk through the building. They somehow manage to make it to the exit with minimal encounters, and Sougo talks his way out of the few times that they’re stopped, all while subtly carrying most of Mitsuki's weight and whispering encouragements whenever they're alone.

Banri is waiting for them in the parking lot in his personal car. "A taxi could have caused a problem," Sougo explains, waving him over so they don’t have to walk across the lot. "Banri-san is good at keeping secrets, and he doesn’t ask more questions than he has to. He doesn't know exactly why either of us is here, just that we needed to be discreet."

Mitsuki nods, to himself more than anything. He thinks he cares that someone else he knows will see him like this, but really, more than anything, he's tired.

"I just want to go home."

He falls asleep on Sougo's shoulder in the car and wakes up to an evening sky in his bedroom window and Sougo in his desk chair. For some reason, that's when everything catches up to him, and Sougo barely manages to hand him a trashcan before he throws up.

His stomach rolls from the ache in every inch of his body, the residual sensation of too many hands, the absolute terror he can’t seem to shake off even now that he’s home—the feeling of clothes on his skin suddenly becomes too much, the reminder of what else has been on his skin even worse.

Sougo’s voice breaks through the nausea and memories. “Here; this might help.” He holds a glass of water in front of Mitsuki’s face, pressing it to his lips when there’s no adverse reaction. Mitsuki finishes it off quickly; the last thing he’d had to drink was probably whatever the president had given him.

Sougo gives him a weak smile when he’s done, placing the empty glass off to the side. "Feel better?"

Mitsuki wants to say yes, wants to say that Sougo’s efforts have helped, but it’s all superficial; a glass of water won't change the fact that he's broken beyond repair. A fresh wave of tears begins to fall down his face as he shakes his head, muttering apologies for being ungrateful. He doesn't deserve this kindness, especially when Sougo simply hums in understanding and presses a cool, damp washcloth to his cheek to wipe away his tears.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Mitsuki can't think of anything that can really fix this, anything that can really fix him, but at the very least he'd like to feel less filthy. "Can...can we take a bath together, Sougo? I feel gross and I...I don't think I can do it on my own..."

He can’t decipher the expression that flashes across Sougo’s face, an instant of something dark and dangerous that he quickly forgets as Sougo gives him another serene smile. “I’ll go get my bath things.”

Between Mitsuki’s limited mobility and overwhelming paranoia, getting to the bathroom is a challenge; even though no one is home, Sougo has to check (and recheck) the hallway for him to be sure they won’t run into any of the other members, and then they have to hobble to the bathroom, taking twice as long as usual. By the time Sougo sets him down on a stool, Mitsuki's head is working on overdrive; he's scared in his own house, he needs help to walk, and he's still trying to process the events of the last twenty-four hours.

"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?” he asks, trying to give himself something to focus on besides his anxieties or how Sougo has to help him undress. 

Sougo lifts the hem of Mitsuki's shirt up, taking care not to move too fast. "I talked with Banri-san, and he canceled my work for today." Mitsuki stills, causing Sougo to do the same. "Is something wrong? I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?"

“You changed your schedule for me. You didn't have to do that."

“Actually, it was Banri-san's idea after he picked us up,” Sougo clarifies. “I would've asked for the rest of the day off regardless, but he decided it counted as an emergency.”

“If you were busy—”

“You called me in absolute hysterics, talking about how you didn't want them to come back and you didn't know how to get out, as well as a lot of other things that didn't make all that much sense. But even if I didn't understand, I wasn't about to leave you on your own after that." Sougo pauses. “Speaking of which...what did you mean by 'them’?”

Mitsuki would like to know that, too; the concept of “them” is nothing but fuzzy, terrifying sensations in his memory.

When he doesn't respond, Sougo presses him. “Mitsuki-san? What happened last night?”

Sougo’s hand is still on his shirt, which Mitsuki is suddenly all too aware of. He has to swallow around the lump in his throat as he stutters out an answer, but once he starts the words begin tumbling out on their own. “I-I don’t know—he gave me something and blindfolded me; then there were more people and they were all touching me and holding me down and—”

“That’s enough,” Sougo cuts in. His tone is harsh, desperate as his fingers tighten on Mitsuki’s shirt.  Mitsuki's breath hitches, and Sougo is quick to let go. “I mean,” he stammers, voice softening, “you don't have to say any more. Let's just get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Mitsuki nods, biting his lip. “Please.”

Sougo is quiet only as long as it takes to get Mitsuki's shirt off. "...What did they do to you?"

"Is it that bad?" Mitsuki asks.

"You have scratches and bruises all over you." Sougo crouches down to look at him. "Honestly, I think you should go to a hospital. We can do it discreetly—I know some people and they can take some samples, run some tests—"

"No!" Mitsuki knows it's the most logical course of action, but he's terrified of doing anything that involves anyone he doesn't know. They could recognize him, could judge him, could pity him, and that's not including the possibility of his situation being outed to the public or just how invasive such tests would be.

"Mitsuki-san, please calm down. I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to."

He hadn’t realized he'd zoned out, his breathing picking up as errant thoughts swim around his head. He lets out a long sigh, his head dropping into his hands. "I'm sorry, Sougo. I'm sorry, I—I'm such a mess."

"You've been through a lot. I'm not going to fault you for needing time." He puts a hand on Mitsuki's shoulder, rubbing small circles there with his thumb when the other doesn’t pull away.

Mitsuki feels himself calming down some under the soothing gesture, though he wonders if his heart rate will ever be normal again after all this. "I can't deal with an examination."

"I understand," Sougo says softly. "Let's keep going, then."

The process takes much longer than Mitsuki would like. His skin buzzes with tension, and no matter how gentle and slow Sougo is, every touch is enough to make Mitsuki flinch at best. Even just getting undressed is complicated; he doesn’t expect the flashback that comes with Sougo hooking his thumbs into his waistband, and they both nearly crash to the ground when he reflexively tries to push him off. Then it takes another five or ten minutes for him to calm down, and a few more to get over the mortification.

"I'm such a mess," Mitsuki repeats once he's finally in nothing but a towel, a hand covering his face.

Sougo undresses and wraps his own towel around his waist, starting the water as he replies, "I think this is all to be expected. You're not going to get over something like this in a day."

Mitsuki groans out a frustrated sound, which soon morphs into a contented sigh as Sougo runs the water over his head. His body finally relaxes a bit under the stream, warmth working its way into his tired muscles.

“I'm going to put shampoo in your hair,” Sougo says, giving Mitsuki time to brace himself before sudsy fingers begin carding through all the knots and tangles. Mitsuki tries not to think too hard about exactly how his hair had gotten as messy as it is.

Sougo is careful in his task, as with everything, and once again Mitsuki is struck by how sweet and supportive his friend has been this whole time. "I'm glad that you're here," he says quietly, the words almost lost in the sound of the water. "If it had to be anyone that I told, I'm glad it was you."

"I wish you would tell everyone else, but I'm glad you at least told me. Though I suppose I would do the same in your shoes." Sougo tips Mitsuki's head back and guides him under the spray. "You're embarrassed, you don’t want to be a burden, you don’t want to talk about something that's been eating you up inside for so long—those kind of thoughts are why I didn’t talk about my father. So I understand why you won’t say anything."

"Thanks for keeping it from the others. I didn’t really expect you to. You're good at taking care of people, Sougo." Sougo hums as he starts putting conditioner into Mitsuki's hair, and Mitsuki continues, "Yamato-san is sweeter than he looks, but when it's about feelings and relationships he gets really uncomfortable. And all the kids...I don’t want them to know. I'm supposed to take care of them, not the other way around. At least you’re an adult."

For a minute, Sougo doesn't respond. “It may be hypocritical of me to say so,” he finally says, softly, “but it's okay to let us take care of you.”

“You're right, that is hypocritical,” Mitsuki shoots back before catching himself. He turns to look at the other apologetically. “Ah, sorry. I know you mean well.”

Sougo shakes his head. “I probably deserve that. I'm still learning how to let people take care of me. But I don't think you know how to let people take care of you either.”

Mitsuki purses his lips, facing forward again. “I don't need to be taken care of. I don't want to be taken care of. Like I said, I don't want pity.”

Sougo rinses Mitsuki's hair again before turning off the water, the tap squeaking much too loud in the sudden quiet. “Do you think I'm helping you out of pity?”

The shower head is still in Sougo's hand, and Mitsuki can see the lead trembling even though he won't—can't—look at the face the other is making right now. He doesn't answer; he isn't sure what he thinks, not when Sougo has seen him at his absolute worst. He knows he looks pitiful, covered in marks he can't remember receiving, his body too tired and strung out to move, but he also knows Sougo is too kind to care, that Sougo just wants to care about Mitsuki and Mitsuki alone. And that, in a lot of ways, is more frightening than pity, because as much as he doesn't want it, pity he can understand. He can't understand why, after everything he's done to push them away, anyone would want to care about him.

Maybe Sougo is right: he doesn't know how to let others take care of him.

Mitsuki jumps as the water is turned back on, the smell of Sougo's lavender body wash filling the humid air. Sougo is letting Mitsuki hurt him again.

“I'm sorry.” His heart is pounding again, this time over simply talking to his friend, and he hates it so much that he just keeps talking. “I don't know what I'm doing anymore. Everything feels weird and awful, and I don't know if I want you to keep doing what you're doing or if I want to hide away by myself until I can be normal again. You've been nothing but patient and I've been…” There are so many ways he can end that sentence—caustic, irritable, ungrateful—and he isn't proud of any of those possibilities.

Sougo decides to cut in. “You've been hurt,” he says with finality. “You don't need to explain anything beyond that.”

Mitsuki thinks it's embarrassing how easily Sougo's words bring him to tears again, how Sougo is fine with him being horrible, how Sougo doesn't make mention of any of it as he rubs a soapy washcloth over Mitsuki's back. Perhaps it's better for Mitsuki to stop thinking for now; nothing in his head is very good at the moment. He closes his eyes and tries to think of nothing but the warmth of the water, the light press of Sougo’s hand on his back, the even tempo of his breathing...

"Um, Mitsuki-san, can you...do you need me to...?"

Sougo's stuttering brings him back into himself, and he realizes Sougo's washed everywhere except under the towel around Mitsuki's waist.

Mitsuki's face turns bright red to match Sougo’s. "Just...I’ll do it myself..." he says, unable to make eye contact. "Shower and come get me when you’re done."

Sougo puts the nozzle back into its holder and scurries off to another shower head, leaving Mitsuki to check himself over as discreetly as possible. As he expected, there's some blood, and he's glad Sougo didn’t notice or he'd be fretting over him even more. As long as he can get into the tub for a while, he'll probably be okay, and otherwise, there isn’t much else he can do.

He washes himself as best he can, noting with a pained expression that he's still sensitive in some places. He isn’t going to think too much about that.

The two of them get into the bath, and the water is so soothing to his aches and pains that Mitsuki falls back asleep almost instantly. When he wakes, he finds the water is lukewarm and Sougo has repositioned them both so Mitsuki can lean on him without falling into the water. His heart feels full to bursting at his friend's care, but he doesn’t have the words to express how much it means to him. He settles for "Thank you" but wishes he could say more.

Neither of them had noticed that Mitsuki had forgotten to bring a spare change of clothes, so when someone knocks on the door to the bathroom complaining that they’ve been in there too long, they both panic.

"Here, just wear my clothes for now," Sougo squeaks.

"Won't it look weird that I'm wearing your clothes and you’re not?!"

"It's our only option with how your skin looks right now." He helps Mitsuki into his clothes and pushes him out the door just before Tamaki is about to knock on the door again.

Tamaki tilts his head in confusion. "So-chan, why's Mikki wearing your clothes?"

"He thought they looked comfy?" Sougo answers unconvincingly.

Tamaki’s gaze flits back and forth between them. "Are you two…” He pauses, contemplating his next word, sounding it out like it's in another language. “...lovers?"

"No!" they both exclaim, going red.

"But Nagicchi said—"

Mitsuki cuts him off. "Nagi watches too much television. Sougo and I are just friends."

Tamaki doesn't look entirely convinced, but he lets them past him without saying more. Sougo nearly slams the door to his room in his haste for privacy, and Mitsuki ends up falling to the floor, exhausted all over again.

"Is that how we're seen by everyone?" Sougo mutters as he gets dressed.

"Sougo, can I keep these?" Mitsuki asks, tugging at the clothes he’s wearing. "It wasn’t entirely a lie that I think they’re comfy."

"Go ahead. I was just about to ask if you wanted me to get you anything from your room."

"...Can you get me some boxers?” he asks. When he’d thrown on Sougo’s clothes, he’d drawn the line at underwear, but he doesn’t want to go commando for long. “Also, can you throw those out? I don’t think I'm going to wear them ever again."

He motions at the clothes he’d come home in. Sougo glances several times between him and the small bundle of clothing before silently nodding.

When Sougo returns, they set about getting Mitsuki redressed, and of course, this is when Tamaki, Nagi, Riku, and Iori decide to barge in.

All Mitsuki registers is that there's a click and his pants are down, and then he's back in that room with too many voices around him, someone is touching him, and it won’t be long before he goes further, before the others join in, and he can't do anything about it because he's too small to fight them all off—

"—go-san, are you okay?"

"—fine. Mitsuki-san, can you—?"

"Osaka-san, what's going on? Why—"

"—were you doing, So-chan?"

"Is Mitsuki going to be okay?"

He can't breathe. It's too much; there are too many people. He's going to drown.

"Everyone, out!"

"Let me help my brother!"

"Sougo, please talk to us."

"Not now!"

The doorbell rings, and like that, Mitsuki returns to reality. The rest of them are in chaos, Sougo and Iori in a tangle of limbs at the door, pushing back and forth over the threshold and blocking the others from the room.

"Th-the door," Mitsuki stammers out, drawing everyone's attention.

Sougo looks pointedly at the others until Riku relents and goes to answer the bell. Then he forces Iori out with one final push and slams the door.

"Sougo..." Mitsuki whimpers. "What...?"

"Everyone came in and you got lost for a little." Sougo finishes dressing him before continuing, "It'll be hard to explain all this to everyone without telling the truth."

"There were just so many people..." Mitsuki tries to wipe away the tears that come, to no avail. He can’t even be around the other members; what is he going to do about his job?

Before Sougo can reply, there’s a knock on his door. An uncharacteristic scowl appears on Sougo's face, and with all the fury of a mother hen, he marches to the door and throws it open. "What?!" he greets curtly, only to stop dead in his tracks when he's met with none other than Tsunashi Ryuunosuke. "Tsu-Tsu-Tsu-Tsunashi-san!" he stutters, backpedaling and bowing in apology. "I'm so sorry; forgive my rudeness just now! I didn’t realize you were here—oh, I'm sorry I didn’t greet you when you came! I wasn’t aware you would be coming by, but that isn’t an excuse, I should ha—"

"See? I knew putting Ryuu at the front would work." Momo and Yuki pop their heads out from behind the taller TRIGGER member, with Gaku and Tenn standing right behind them.

"Wh-why are you all here?"

Momo offers him a reassuring smile. "We came to talk to Mitsuki."

At the mention of the other man’s name, Sougo straightens, his grip on the door tightening. "I...I'm afraid I can't allow that."

"Sougo, just let everyone in."

Sougo turns at the sound of Mitsuki's defeated voice. "...Are you sure?"

Mitsuki nods. "If they’re here, they probably have an idea of what's going on. Besides, with how my body is right now, someone’s going to catch on eventually."

"We brought Yamato-kun," Yuki says. "We're all here for whenever you’re ready."

Sougo takes one last glance between the crowd outside his door and Mitsuki's small form seated on his bed. Then, he steps aside.

Chapter Text

Mitsuki wants to leave, to run away as fast and as far as he can, away from all his friends that are going to look at him differently as soon as he tells them the truth. As it is, he already feels like he's run a marathon, stress and the after effects of his earlier flashback stealing the breath from his lungs and amplifying the bone-deep exhaustion he's been feeling all day (and perhaps for much, much longer than that). Honestly, he just wants to go to sleep, and if he asked, he's certain everyone here would let him. But that would only be delaying the inevitable.

"Whenever you're ready," Momo prompts. He's taken a seat next to Mitsuki on the bed, with Sougo on Mitsuki's other side (much to Iori's chagrin). The others are scattered around the room; Yuki is as always at Momo's hip, and Tenn, Ryuu, and Gaku have situated themselves directly in front of the bed, as if shielding Mitsuki from the others, all of whom have been regarding him warily since he let them in. 

TRIGGER and Re:vale definitely know and just want him to say it, but that doesn't make it any easier. "I don’t think I'll ever be ready for this," Mitsuki says with a weak laugh. 

"Want us to tell you what we've figured out?"

His kneejerk reaction is no, because he doesn't want to admit that he's been seen through, that months of lies and dodging questions have finally come to nothing. He knows it's for the best, that he can't handle this any longer, but hiding it is a habit even now. 

He may be on the edge of another panic attack actually, unable to reconcile the logical side of himself with the side that is still absolutely petrified at the notion of telling the truth. 

“Mitsuki?”

Everyone is waiting. Mitsuki covers his face with his hands so he doesn’t have to look at them and nods. “Please.”

Momo gives him a light pat on the back in support before clearing his throat. "Everyone here has noticed that you've changed over the past few months,” he starts, his voice soft but still much too loud in the quiet room. “You've been really tired and distant for a while now. You've lost weight, too.”

“This more or less coincides with how your work offers have increased considerably,” Yuki chimes in, “except Maneko-chan says she hasn’t given you more work than she knows you can handle, and you haven’t issued any complaints either."

“We were trying to figure out what was going on, since you're usually mindful of how hard you can work, but it seemed to a lot of us that you were pushing yourself to seemingly no end.” 

“So we played detective for a little while.”

Both Momo and Yuki try to keep their voices light and playful, but it does nothing to help Mitsuki relax. 

"For several months, various NHJ staff have seen you with their president on a fairly regular basis. They say he rarely would supervise recordings and the like, but he seemed to be interested in you, even going so far as to invite you up to his apartment on more than one occasion."

Iori interrupts, slowly and incredulously as he starts putting the pieces together. "You came back late after every NHJ recording, much later than a busy idol would if he’s just socializing."

"That’s because he hasn’t been socializing,” Yamato says. “He's been sleeping with the NHJ president."

“Then the extra work…”

“...is because of their relationship.”

An argument erupts, but Mitsuki can barely hear, too busy fighting off the panic of the truth being out in the open.

A sharp voice breaks through the fog. "Regardless," Tenn cuts in, "that doesn’t explain his odd behavior. If he was sleeping with the president for his own gain, then that doesn’t account for the exhaustion, the weight loss, how withdrawn he's been around others."

"Before this started," Momo adds, "Mitsuki would hang out with me and Ryuu a few times a month so we could play sports or just hang out and go fishing. That's dropped to zero times in six months."

"Mikki doesn’t play with any of us anymore either," Tamaki says.

"In a word, he's depressed," Gaku says bluntly, "even though it seems like so much is going his way."

Ryuu taps on Mitsuki's hands, coaxing him to look at them. "And the reason for that is?" he asks encouragingly, though Mitsuki suspects nearly everyone in the room knows already.

All eyes are on him, waiting. With Momo and Sougo on either side of him, each with a steadying palm on his back, and Ryuu in front of him, holding his hands, he takes a deep breath.

"My...arrangement with him was never my choice." He ignores the uproar in the room, focusing only on Ryuu so he can maybe get all of this out in one go. "Six months ago, I didn’t even notice he was there at one of my recordings. Next thing I know, I'm up in his apartment and he wants me to strip, or he'll get rid of MEZZO"'s radio show, or Yamato-san's drama, or...everything. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell anyone. All I could do was take it."

He feels the tears fall, and he wonders just how many tears he'll shed today as he finally lets go of it all. "The extra jobs—they weren't my idea either. I don’t know if it's his way of compensating me or what, but I never asked him for anything." He laughs mirthlessly. "I didn’t even really ask him to stop; it just seemed useless. And I couldn’t figure out what to do because the added work just made me more tired, and then he started...experimenting. I tried so hard to make it all work, but now we're here, and I'm sorry; I'm so sorry I couldn’t keep it together—" 

Mitsuki's speech devolves into hiccups and sobs; he's surprised he lasted as long as he did. He has so much more to say, six months of pent up frustration and aching loneliness that he can’t even begin to express, but right now all he can do is cry.

Without a word, Ryuu pulls him gently off the bed and into a hug, and Mitsuki sags bonelessly into his arms. A part of him wonders how small he looks next to his friend's huge frame, but he isn’t going to dwell on those thoughts right now when all he's wanted for months is to be held with no strings attached.

"I'm so tired..." he manages to say between sniffles.

"I'll ask Manager to give you some time off," Iori chimes in, and Mitsuki remembers that everyone is here, that everyone just saw him fall apart so fast and so completely.

"Mitsuki-san," Sougo says quietly. "I know this has been hard, but I think you should tell them what happened last night. If you’d prefer, I can say it."

Mitsuki shakes his head; now that he's started, he might as well say it all himself. "There were others. Up until then, it's always just been me and him, but he let more people in last night."

"Do you know who they are?"

Another shake of the head. "He drugged me and covered my eyes. I was so gone I couldn’t even remember my name."

"Well, this just got more complicated," Gaku grumbles. "It's one thing if it's just him, but now there are more people we have to chase after."

"Sorry..."

Gaku recoils from the apology. "You are the last person that needs to apologize for this," he assures him. "I just want to know who they all are so I can punch each and every one of them for laying a finger on you. I'm going to talk to my old man and see if he has any dirt on the NHJ president. Ryuu, Tenn, and I are going to use all the connections we can to get to the bottom of this and keep them far, far away from you."

"I've actually done a bit of investigating myself," Sougo says. "My father and many other people of influence are apparently aware of the NHJ president's perversion, but since no one has any evidence beyond hearsay, there hasn’t been anything done about it. I can also ask him if he has any ideas on who might have been with you last night."

Mitsuki looks at him forlornly. "But Sougo, your dad..."

"I didn’t run into nearly as much trouble as when I asked him for use of FSC Hall," Sougo says calmly. "I only asked for information, not a favor, and besides, I doubt he wants to be associated with this information at all. Trying to hold it over me would be about as effective as holding water in a sieve."

"Sorry you had to—"

"I did it on my own, Mitsuki-san. Don't apologize for something that I chose to do."

Mitsuki's at a loss, unused to Sougo's initiative and hardened gaze or Gaku's brand of kindness being directed at him. A part of him still isn’t convinced this is going to do any good, that either nothing will change or all twelve of them will go down for this. A part of him still wants to run once his body will let him.

But the rest of him is warm, nestled in Ryuu's arms, surrounded by his friends and feeling safe for the first time in months. He's spent so long hiding from them, keeping secrets and running—he'd known they'd be nothing but caring, even though he'd done disgusting things and lied to save himself, and perhaps that had been the most terrifying thing about coming clean. "I love you guys," he says, his voice nearly muffled in Ryuu’s shirt. "Thank you."

"Thank us after we make sure the president can't get anywhere near you ever again," Ryuu replies, tightening his hold on him protectively.

"Just knowing you're all still here is more than I could have asked for."

"Did you think we'd abandon you after hearing your story?" Yuki asks.

Mitsuki sighs, closing his eyes and burrowing further into Ryuu's chest. "I don't know. I was always too scared to think about it. I think I knew you'd all have my back, but the thought of you guys knowing what I did at night...it's hard to even admit to myself what I've done. It was a lot easier to just do my best to clean myself up and try to act normal."

"I'd like a clarification," Tenn interrupts, kneeling down in front of Ryuu. "It isn’t about what you've done. This is about what was done to you. Your agency in this was stripped away, and no matter what, you are not accountable for the things he forced on you."

"Mitsuki-san." Sougo's voice is politely urgent, soft but compelling. "I know you don’t like yourself right now, but like Kujou-san says, none of this is your fault. I know it's hard, but I want you to forgive yourself for these past six months. I'm sorry you had to go through it at all, but you made it through, and if I have anything to say about it, you're never going back."

"Guys, stop making me cry! I've done enough of that today," Mitsuki murmurs with a weak laugh. He knows there’s a lot of things that aren’t okay; he hasn’t missed how quiet the rest of his group mates are, and as he mentally goes over his schedule, he isn’t sure he has any real leeway between now and the next time he has to go up to that apartment. But he wants to take Sougo and Tenn's words to heart; he wants to believe that everything will turn out okay.

Sougo, with all the parental instincts he seems to possess, senses that Mitsuki's starting to fade despite all the anxious energy in the room. "I think that's enough for today," he says with finality. "Mitsuki-san has been through a lot and needs more rest."

There's some discussion about how TRIGGER and Re:vale are all getting home that passes around the room. Mitsuki hasn't opened his eyes for a while, partially out of genuine exhaustion but also because there's a small part of him that believes all the warmth he's received tonight will disappear like a dream if he does. Everything feels right for the first time in forever, and feeding off of that foreign feeling, he decides he suddenly wants to be selfish.  "I want Ryuu-san to stay," he mumbles. "He's comfy and I can't move anyway..."

Ryuu is the only one able to hear him, and he conveys the message with a laugh. "I guess I'll stay for Mitsuki-kun. I don’t have anything planned for the morning, so it's probably okay."

"Anesagi-san might beg to differ," Gaku says, though he sounds more amused than anything.

"We can bribe her one way or another," Yuki assures them.

"Sleepover in Sougo's room!" Momo whoops, and with that (and a lot of fretting from Sougo) there's some bustling around to set up for the senior idols to stay the night.

Mitsuki, however, stops paying attention, instead feeling how easy it is to breathe and how his heartbeat is finally calm. Safe and warm and surrounded by friends, he drifts off to sleep.









With Mitsuki tucked away in his room along with TRIGGER and Re:vale, (and Sougo is still screaming internally about how Ryuu is sleeping in his bed) Sougo isn't at all surprised when the other five call him to the common area.

Yamato is the first to speak. "Sou..." he starts, his voice watery. He pauses before he tries again. "Why didn’t you tell me Mitsu was being...You let me believe—"

"I didn’t know until after you'd already left," Sougo explains. "And Mitsuki-san wouldn’t let me tell anyone."

Yamato clutches at his hair in frustration. "Even so, don't you think that's something we should've known about?!"

"You should understand!" Sougo fires back. "Feeling that a secret could cost you not only your career, but those of your friends; living in constant fear that you're going to be outed, but being unable to say anything yourself because you don't want anything to change—Am I talking about Mitsuki-san or am I talking about someone else?"

"All the more reason!" Yamato exclaims. "We’ve been through this more than once; you know how bad it is for us to keep secrets from each other!"

"It's not like I was happy about it!" Sougo's voice cracks, and that's how he realizes he's shouting, but he can't bring himself to stop. "Mitsuki-san needed someone to be there for him. After months and months of trying to keep this to himself, he finally let someone in. I wasn't about to betray his trust."

"Please lower your voices. I don't want Nii-san to wake up," Iori cuts in sedately. His eyes are drooping with exhaustion and sadness, but somehow he's still being the mature one right now.  

"Yama-san is just upset he had the wrong idea," Tamaki cuts in. "I'm a little mad too, So-chan, but you get stuck when you don't know what to do. So I think I get it, even if I don't like it."

"For the record, I'd probably ask you to keep it a secret too, Sougo-san," Riku chimes in. "I mean, it's why I asked Iori to keep my body's condition a secret for a while. Like you said, you don’t want anything to change. And it feels wrong for someone else to say it for you, but you're not going to say it because you don’t want it to exist."

"It's a bad situation to be in," Iori agrees. "But you made the decision to take care of my brother in the best way you thought possible. I'm not necessarily happy about it, but I can't fault you for it either. And...I want to thank you for taking care of him while I couldn’t."

It's an impossible situation; no matter which way Sougo had chosen, someone would have gotten hurt. Though it hasn’t been long since he'd taken on Mitsuki's secret, Sougo has asked himself every day whether garnering suspicions and misunderstandings had been worth it, whether scurrying around the dorm, more anxious than usual on top of all the stress of their jobs, had been worth it. He thinks about being in the bath, the relief in Mitsuki's voice, and he decides he'd do it again in a heartbeat. "For what it's worth," Sougo says, addressing Yamato, "I'm sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. But I don’t have any regrets."

Yamato turns away, an embarrassed scowl on his face. "Sou, you’re something else when you’re actually confident in what you’re saying," he mutters. "Why can't you be like this all the time?"

While Sougo sputters at the backhanded compliment, Yamato takes a long, deep breath, before he suddenly claps his hands, hard, on his own cheeks, making everyone jump. "Ahh, man I sure feel like shit," he groans, rubbing the now tender skin. "Someone make sure Mitsu punches me when he wakes up for not trusting him more."

"Nii-san won't be mad," Iori assures him. "He was purposely hiding from us, so it's understandable that you came to the wrong conclusion. Besides—" He pauses, his voice stumbling as his expression takes on a pained look "—I don’t think a lot of people would have considered...that as a possibility."

"Yeah, because that's not supposed to happen to people, let alone Mitsu," Yamato growls. "It was practically under our noses, too."

"I think Iorin means, 'don’t beat yourself up ’bout it too much,'" Tamaki says. "Mikki won't want that either."

Tamaki's words make Yamato stop. He takes a deep breath, the tension finally leaving his body. "Yeah, you're right."

"Nagi-kun, you’ve been awfully quiet this whole time," Sougo comments, bringing attention to the blond. "Are you doing okay?"

"I am upset," Nagi replies plainly. "I feel as if something could have been done sooner. I knew Mitsuki was sad—I wanted to say something, but I did not have the words. Our schedules never seemed to match up, and I suppose I never thought it would turn out so serious, so I let him say he was all right."

"He was likely avoiding you like he was avoiding me," Iori says. "Nii-san understands people, so he understands how to redirect them as well. It's what makes him so effective as an MC. I suppose it's actually a testament to the strength in our relationship that he thought we would see through him if we spent too much time around him."

"Even so," Nagi says, "six months is a very long time. If we are such good friends, I am frustrated that we could not help him earlier."

Iori purses his lips with a stiff nod. "And even ignoring the length of time, I'm more than a little concerned about the events of last night."

"I practically had to carry him home," Sougo chimes in. "It's why you all walked in on that...compromising scene. I was trying to help him change."

Iori's face scrunches up, both in anger and concern. "It sounds like he should’ve gone to a hospital."

"I tried to tell him exactly that, but he refused."

"So what are we going to do now?" Yamato asks. "I'd like it if we can keep that bastard away from people forever, but I'll settle for just getting him away from Mitsu."

"We'll talk to Manager," Iori says. "We'll need to tread carefully though. NHJ has a lot of power, and no matter how right we are, it isn't going to be easy to prove it..." His voice trails off into a yawn.

Riku gives him a sympathetic smile before pulling him to his feet. "Well, you're no good to Mitsuki if you're exhausted. I think it's time you went to bed."

"Don't treat me like a child," Iori mumbles, though he doesn't resist.

Yamato claps a hand on Riku's shoulder. "That goes for everyone. It's been a very long day, and I don't even know what to expect when we tell Manager about this."

Tamaki makes a loud, frustrated sound, startling the rest of them. "No more worrying!" he yells. "We can't do anything right now, so stop thinking about tomorrow! Everyone, go to sleep!"

Sougo finds himself smiling at Tamaki's candor. Leave it to him to dispel the heavy atmosphere. "Well, you heard Tamaki-kun. We'll worry about this tomorrow."

Yamato gasps. "Sou telling everyone not to worry? I must be dreaming already."

They dissolve into quiet laughter as they separate and make their way to bed, feeling a bit lighter than before. Sougo opens the door to his room, the soft sounds of his sleeping guests reminding him of everything they’d been through in the past few hours. It doesn’t diminish the good feelings he’d left the common room with, though; if anything it puts him even more at ease that they aren’t alone, that Mitsuki is no longer alone. 

Even with the curtains mostly drawn, the light from the streetlamp outside his window is bright enough for him to navigate through the room, stepping carefully over the four men on the floor as he makes his way to an empty spot by the bed.

Mitsuki has barely moved since Sougo last saw him, but it’s still soothing to see him sleeping so peacefully. 

Sougo kneels by the bed, leaning an elbow on the mattress as gingerly as he can so as not to wake either Mitsuki or Ryuu. He runs a gentle hand over Mitsuki’s hair, smoothing it out to busy himself as he stares, watching the steady rise and fall of his groupmate’s chest. Mitsuki’s curled up as close to Ryuu as possible, looking small and vulnerable but also more relaxed than he’s looked in months. Even though a lot of his face is hidden, Sougo can tell most of the worry lines are gone, the serenity of the room and this moment whisking them away for now in the wake of their long discussion. 

Sougo hopes they’ll be able to keep Mitsuki’s worries away for a long time.