Work Text
Hit sensation Kinashi Anzu, currently
the
most popular idol in the scene. Known for her eccentric nature and abstract way of dressing, her happy-go-lucky demeanor has continuously captured the hearts of many adoring fans and future fans. Under the limelight, Anzu-chan is sure to excite your night!
“Absolutely not!” Ranmaru says in exasperation, examining the draft design Anzu requested from him. “This is atrocious- Have you not
considered
your own safety?!”
“What do you mean?” she giggles and she rolls the lollipop in her mouth to the other side of her cheek, resting her chin on his shoulder as she takes a second look at her design. “I think it’s nice.”
“Just look at all this stray fabric, they’re just begging to be stepped on! You’ll fall and die,” Ranmaru flatly tells her, circling the bits as such with the back of his marker. “You’re not wearing this, I’m not making this.”
“Kageyama…,” Anzu stares at him, eyes big and pleading.
Ranmaru steps forward and her chin falls from his shoulder, making her stumble back slightly. He grimaces, staring at her face, before plucking the lollipop out from her mouth and taking it for himself. He turns, takes a seat in their little work studio-slash-office, and starts making adjustments.
“Ouh,” she licks her teeth, already missing the sugar from her mouth. “You’ll do it?”
“Sure,” he sighs, digging into his pockets to find hairclips for his hair. “Go practice your routine while I try to make this wearable.”
“You’re the best, Kageyama!” she beams, shooting him heart beams with her arms raised over her head. “I knew it was a good idea to hire you!”
“Humph,” he huffs, but makes no effort to hide the blush in his ears, and rolls the lollipop in his mouth.
Orange.
He widens the petticoat, makes it a curtain so it doesn’t look too awkward, and adds a skirt. The streamers that Anzu wanted from the start, the same ones that could’ve caused her to trip to her death, are still attached on the outmost. As a bonus, if she does a spin, they’ll go flying. He thinks she would’ve liked that.
“Could you change the colors?” Anzu asks.
“No,” Ranmaru says firmly, so incredibly tired of being able to predict what she wants and still hating it. Her vision is so clear in his head, so clearly eye-bleeding.
“You talk like you already know what colors I want,” Anzu pouts, stomping her feet.
“Yellow here,” he points to the vest, the design sheet a little larger and pinned on a whiteboard with wheels. “Highlighter yellow.”
Anzu gasps, hands to her mouth, “Are you a psychic?”
“No, Kinashi,” he says tiredly. “I just know you.”
“And you still don’t want to do what I want!” she squirms, hopping one foot to the other.
“Who’s the expert here?” he deadpans, hands on his hips. “Me or you?”
“I pay you!” she points at him, jumping.
“Your agency pays me,” Ranmaru pushes his hair out of his face, reclipping his hair clips. “No more changes. Be on time for measurements.”
“You already know my sizes…”
“Kinashi,” Ranmaru folds his arms.
“I hear you!” she huffs, hopping off to go practice for her next performance.
She is not on time for measurements. In fact, she is half an hour late.
Ranmaru is sitting in the office, knee bouncing arms crossed, every so often he’d check his phone for updates, only to find nothing. His cup of coffee has long since been drained, and even if he hadn’t drunk it so fast, he’s sure it would’ve gone cold instead.
He isn’t allowed to call her phone on most days, in case she’s in the middle of something important. He’s not that entitled enough, yet.
But still, she should at least let him know if she’s running late.
“Ahh,” he hears from the front door, hearing it click open, then shut. “I’m sorry!”
He cranes his neck and sees Anzu pull off her mask and sunglasses as she’s stepping inside, tossing her cap aside onto a table. She pulls her uncharacteristically dark grey hoodie over her head to reveal an obnoxiously bright pink top, her hair mussed up from haphazardly doing so.
“Where were you?” Ranmaru asks, watching her carefully fold up her hoodie to only cast it to one corner of the couch.
“Ryuu-kun was lecturing me on something and it dragged
waaaay
too long.” she sighs, stretching out her limbs.
“Have some respect for your manager, Kinashi,” Ranmaru says with exasperation, but gestures her towards him anyway. He’s already lost a lot of time, so he better get this done quick.
“But I knew Ryuu-kun as a friend first,” Anzu argues, methodically raising her arms so he can start measuring her the usual way with the tape, but instead, he jumps straight to testing the sewing pattern on her. “Just like how I knew you as a friend.”
Ranmaru lets out a laugh through his nose, coming out as a scoff as he wraps the pattern cloth around her, “You didn’t know me as a friend first. You commissioned an outfit design out of me, then hired me.
Then
we became friends.”
“Still,” Anzu turns when he makes her. “Just doesn’t feel right.”
“The ego getting to your head?” Ranmaru asks flatly. “Stop ego-surfing and acting like everyone is your buddy. You’re gonna disrespect the wrong guy if you keep going down this route.”
“You act like I have no manners,” she huffs, folding her arms.
“Arms back up.”
She raises them.
“Sure, and then god forbid if you start treating your fans the same way,” Ranmaru laughs. “Don’t get too friendly with people you hardly know, Kinashi.”
“Yeah, yeah. I hear you.” she rolls her eyes, turning once more when he commands it.
Ranmaru shifts, then slips another pattern onto her—the vest—and gives it a good tuck, bringing her close.
She holds her breath, watching Ranmaru work away, just inches away from her face. She sucks in her stomach out of instinct.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” he murmurs, stretching back to get another pattern for the lower part of the outfit. She exhales when this happens and continues letting him work away. When everything is in place, he leans back and gestures with a finger for her to do a little spin.
She spins, carefully, knowing that it can be delicate on her and could fall apart if she isn’t gentle.
“Cool,” he smiles, then begins plucking it all off. “Yeah, this could work.”
“Yeah?” Anzu lets out a nervous laugh.
“You’ll love it,” Ranmaru shoots her a thumbs up. She fist bumps it.
He’s among the crowd when Anzu is performing in the dress he made. It flows as envisioned, she wears it as though she was the one made for it, and spins with so much joy and passion as she sings.
Ranmaru isn’t the hardcore fan type to start waving glowsticks like the rest, and so he stands out like a sore thumb in the front row, leaning against the barrier with a tired smile. He should’ve stayed backstage, but the only way to see the outfit properly is to be an audience member, and so he endures the rough shoving and the smell of sweat and the music ringing in his ears.
She smiles at him at every given moment, and he thinks, if he were cheering like everyone else right now, she still would’ve been able to spot him within the crowd. Even if he blends in the middle, the farthest part of the crowd, she’d still find him. It makes him a little warm inside.
When the performance ends, he finds her in the back, and she’s the first to engulf him in a hug. It is sticky, and he can feel her chest heaving against his from exhaustion and exhilaration, but he does not mind too much.
“You did great,” he pats her on the back.
“I love the dress
sooo
much,” she jumps in his arms, dodging his toes when she lands. “It was so fun, spinning around and around.”
“You’re a different breed if you’re able to do all of that without getting dizzy,” he laughs.
“I do get dizzy,” she pulls back. “But it’s part of the fun!”
“Sure,” he smiles, amused.
“Let’s get dinner!”
Anzu licks leftovers stuck between her teeth and Ranmaru finds himself watching across from her, licking his own teeth too, tasting pork and ramen despite having neither. He imagines that would be what she tastes like at the moment and rests his lips into his palms, elbow to wooden table, and drills his eyes into his empty plate of curry.
He doesn’t know where she’s looking behind her sunglasses and so worries she might’ve caught him looking, but she doesn’t say anything, and instead, strikes another conversation up with her manager.
“Ryuu-kun, the next time you book a hotel for me, can you find one with a bigger bathroom?” she asks, bouncing in her seat. “Usually all the small ones have showers only, and I want a tub!”
“Sure, sure,” he rolls his eyes in response, marking that down for later in his phone.
“Kinashi,” Ranmaru murmurs, eyes still focused on his plate. “He’s your manager.”
She squirms, huffing as she pouts, “But he doesn’t mind!”
“Actually, I just gave up a long time ago,” Ryuu says with a weary smile.
“Ryuu-san,” she says flatly, reluctance dripping from her tone.
“That’s an improvement,” he shrugs.
Usually, Ranmaru is given about two months to prepare Anzu’s outfit for her next performance. Sometimes, they reuse old dresses, recycle the designs and change it up a bit. Make some improvements and adjustments. Other times, Anzu gets a bright idea and Ranmaru makes a few tweaks before working on it.
Sometimes, Ranmaru is left to his own devices, because Anzu is usually busy. She’ll tell him her vision, as opposed to the usual rough drawing, and then he’s left to decipher her rambles and convert them into a visual. Fortunately, he has yet to get any of her ideas wrong.
This time, he’s completely left on his own, and all she has done to help is by giving him a vague theme. No dresses this time, and that’s all there is to it.
Anzu isn’t a big fan of suits either—she says they’re too constricting for her taste—and so he worries he might have to consider something casual. He really, really doesn’t want Anzu showing up in jeans or sweatpants.
But after an hour of pacing around, and three full glasses of water, Ranmaru thinks his best shot might be to delve into the land of disco jumpsuits. A not too bad idea, definitely up the lady’s alley.
“No cleavage!” she yells at him through the phone when he first suggests it.
“Of course,” he rubs his sore ear. He already knows her enough to not add that from the start.
“I want it to shine like a disco ball!”
“No, I’m not doing that.”
He can practically hear her angry stimming, “You’re so boring!”
“And you’re a walking safety hazard,” Ranmaru banters back.
He does not call her in for measuring, and instead, calls her in for fitting much later than she had expected.
Of course, since she skipped the whole measuring process, she feels as though it has been eons since she last saw Ranmaru. Between practice, rehersal and photoshoots and the occasional interviews, she barely has enough time for—who she might call—her best friend. He doesn’t mind though, not as if he has any more time on his hands than she does.
“I missed seeing your face,” Anzu tells him straight as she pulls the jumper on, shaking out her legs to play with the bell bottoms. “These are really long.”
“You’ll be wearing platforms, that’s why,” Ranmaru tells her, and then. “I missed your face too.”
Anzu nods, “Can you come backstage this time?”
Ranmaru blinks, “Why?”
“Nothing, it’s just…,” she gestures with her hands. “I want you there?”
“But I’m always in the crowd.” Ranmaru says, and unspokenly,
What changed?
“And it takes you forever to come backstage because of that!” Anzu complains, stamping her feet childishly. “Watch me backstage! You don’t need a better reason than, y’know, simply me just wanting you to be there!”
“Okay, fine,” he says, giving up rather quickly. Only because she said so, only because she says she wants him there. He can be fairly weak like that.
He realizes it is easier to watch her from backstage, and then wonders why he hadn’t done this any sooner.
The angle is different, and the stage vibrates a little beneath his feet to the beat of the music. He misses the way she would look at him when he is in the crowd, but easily catches every rare instance when she does whip her head towards him and flashes a smile.
She loves him there and he can tell.
Shyly, he smiles back.
He pumps his fist half heartedly to every hop she takes, bouncing on his heels with mismatched enthusiasm; and as the song climbs to a drop, he, too, bends overand mouths the rest of the words, eyes squeezed shut. Distantly, he hears the crowd cheer and drag a long, “Oooooooh!”
Ranmaru raises his head back up, beaming wide, and swipes his hair back, wiping away his sweat. Having the space to move around can be so fun.
Anzu stumbles into his arms, resting her chin into the crook of his neck, and breathes heavily. She doesn’t say anything at first, and in turn, he slowly wraps his arms around her.
“Dinner?” he asks.
“Actually,” she shifts herself in his arms. “A clinic would be nice.”
“What?” he holds her shoulders gently and pulls away.
She lifts a foot sheepishly and he does not miss the way her other knee slightly buckles, “Landed my foot wrong earlier.”
“Idiot!” he half yells in exasperation.
She laughs sheepishly in response, right as her manager comes barrelling in towards her.
After they see a doctor about her foot, concluding that it’s just a simple ankle sprain and she’ll be fine in the coming weeks, Ranmaru is the one that takes her back to her hotel room. It would’ve been Ryuu if not him, but Anzu had specifically requested it to be Ranmaru, and so they complied.
She insists on not using a crutch or getting in a wheelchair, and since most of her journey is by car, they let her have her way. Then, for the rest of the walk back to her room, she traverses by leaning her entire weight against Ranmaru.
He doesn’t mind. Surprisingly enough, carrying around fabric rolls, mannequins and sewing machines has really built his strength. Not to say he’s absolutely ripped, but he doesn’t struggle too much supporting Anzu.
When they finally reach her room, Ranmaru makes sure she’s completely inside before turning around and bidding her goodnight. Though, before he can even mutter it out, she stops him.
“Stay the night with me?” she asks, sitting on the floor with her arms wrapped around one knee, the other leg stretched out to ease her sprained ankle.
Ranmaru glances down at himself. Hoodie and jeans, with a t-shirt underneath. He isn’t sure if he’s willing to sleep in these. But then he glances back at Anzu, who looks so poor with her ankle brace below him. He sighs, “Okay.”
“Yay,” she cheers. “Help me to my bed!”
He does, and so gets the chance to get a good look of her hotel room. He notices the balcony immediately.
“Did you get the big bathroom like you wanted?” Ranmaru asks when he sets her on the bed.
“Yeah,” she nods excitedly, lying flat on her bed with a deep, satisfied sigh.
“You don’t mind if I use it later, right?” Ranmaru asks.
“Knock yourself out!” she shoots him double thumbs up. He fist bumps one of them. “Oh! And you can borrow my clothes, if you want. Casually, we’re the same size right?”
“I think you’ve got a wider waist than mine,” Ranmaru says bluntly.
“Don’t worry, they’re all elastic,” she gestures to her waist, before pointing to her luggage. “Sweatpants for the win~”
“You can take the bath first if you’re planning to bathe before going to bed,” Ranmaru says with a smile, heading towards the balcony.
She blinks, watching him go as she nods.
He slides open the window door and steps out, sliding it close behind him. The night air blows lightly against his cheeks and he shivers slightly, reaching into his pocket.
Leaning against the railing, he picks out his cigarette pack, alongside his lighter, and takes a stick out. He pockets back the packet and slips the stick between his lips, lazily gazing towards the skyline as he lights the cigarette.
One after every tiring day, a routine he’s stuck to ever since he got hired as Anzu’s stylist. Not to say that getting this job stressed him out to the point he had to pick up smoking, because he was already doing it pretty often when he was freelancing—it’s just, compared to now, he’s doing it a lot less.
He takes a little pride in that, being able to control his nicotine intake to a single stick after a job well done. Whether it’d be a long day after designing away, making a dress or whatever today was, he thinks he deserves at least one stick to end the night. Nothing more or less.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Anzu suddenly comes up behind him and he jumps in surprise. He hadn’t even heard the door slide open in his thoughts.
“Yeah, it’s just,” he waves a hand vaguely. “Something I picked up after high school.”
“You don’t smell like cigarettes whenever I see you,” Anzu grips the door tightly, before limping towards the railing after closing the door behind her.
“I don’t smoke that often,” he answers. “The last time I smoked was…” he scratches his chin, “...a week ago?”
“I thought that shit was addictive,” Anzu snorts in amusement, but coughs when the ash fills her lungs.
“I’m built different,” Ranmaru quips.
“Can I try one?”
“No.” he replies firmly. “Don’t forget what your career is, miss.”
“Hehe, I was only curious,” she giggles, leaning against metal.
They stand there in silence as Ranmaru slowly finishes his cigarette, the two of them watching the scenery tiredly. When he finally finishes it and stamps it out, he offers to help her inside.
“You know,” she suddenly says from her bed as he drops his cigarette bud in the bin. “The tabloids are snooping into my love life.”
“Oh,” he says, turning to look at her.
“That’s why I wanted you backstage,” she continues. “Otherwise, I was worried they would’ve dragged you into it.”
“Oh,” he says again, a little disappointed that it wasn’t actually because she personally wanted him there.
“Anyway,” she says. “I want to bathe. Help me get to the tub.”
Quietly, he does, the disappointment still lingering in his mind. He guides her to the bathroom, then stays at the door as though an invisible barrier is preventing him from entering any farther, and marvels at the sight of the large bathroom. It really is big. If he chose to lie flat on the tile floors, arms and legs spread out like a starfish, he wouldn’t be touching anything at all. Maybe his head will brush the bathtub though.
She runs the water and Ranmaru feels the air grow a little warmer from the water’s heat.
“The bathtub is big too,” she says with a small smile.
“Uh huh,” he says, arms folded, and turns to leave.
“Do you want to join me?” she asks, dipping a hand into the water, before bringing it out and shaking the droplets off.
“You’re awfully clingy today,” he notes out loud, feeling his heart ache a little. It doesn’t sit right with him, to be intimately close to her after the revelation of her motive behind moving him backstage.
“I’m sorry for lying, or really, not telling you about the real reason why I wanted you backstage,” she says, as if reading his mind. “But, really, I wanted you there too. I really, really liked being able to see you there, a little closer to me.”
He stands there for a while longer, brows furrowing. He shouldn’t, if he isn’t sure what she wants.
“Join me?” she asks again, as a request, rather than a suggestion this time.
It’s so easy to say no when it’s poor coloring against fabric, ugly placement of accessories. Awkward frills and messy patterns scribbled across fabric lining. Their interests clash, always, and it
feels
like it’s supposed to be clashing now but he doesn’t feel frustration in his bones.
“We should’ve met sooner,” the back of Anzu’s head rests on his collarbone, head tilted up as she stares at the white ceiling. The warm water is doing good to her ankle, and she can tell Ranmaru is being careful with not touching it on accident with his own leg.
Sleepily, Ranmaru replies, “Yeah?”
His head rests on the edge of the tub, his arms are on either side of the bathtub, and his eyes are half lidded so he isn’t exactly staring at anything at the moment. The water feels like a weighted blanket around him, and he supposes, Anzu is part of that feeling as well.
“How long have we known each other?” she asks.
“Almost three years…wait, it’s already three years,” Ranmaru counts in his head.
“And it already feels like we’ve known each other forever, but at the same time,” Anzu yawns, rising and falling along with Ranmaru’s chest. “I hardly know you too.”
“Mm,” Ranmaru nods. “We would’ve been great friends in high school.”
“Would you still have taken up smoking after?” she asks.
“You’re
really
hung up on that, huh?” he laughs, and she feels it through her back. “But, um, I dunno. I’ve been smoking longer than I’ve known you, so it’d feel weird
not
smoking in another life.”
“I probably wouldn’t have become an idol if I had known you.”
His eyes blink open, and the water shifts when he readjusts himself, “Why’s that?”
“Probably because like…,” she gestures, water splashing. “I would’ve thought to myself, ‘Why would I want anything more than you?’”
And his heart flutters.
“I think I’m in love with you,” she says at last, and when he raises his head to look down at her, he notices that her ears are redder than the streaks in her hair.
“Wow,” he says, pulling himself out of the tub and pushing himself up onto the ledge where he’d been resting his head upon earlier. He’s covering his face with the back of his hand, embarrassment seeping in his face. “You just…said that.”
“Yeah?” the water sloshes when she turns around to look up at him.
“Careful! Your leg, silly girl,” Ranmaru covers his face entirely, bending over entirely in exhaustion. “God… You’re…”
“Me,” she points to herself, readjusting herself, wincing a little. “You don’t have to, like, reciprocate or whatever. We can totally just stay friends, if you want—”
“Stop talking,” he says, strained.
“Okay.”
“I like you too,” he manages out, raising his head, flushing in embarrassment. “Look, let’s just- I’m gonna get dressed.”
“Eww, you’re all wrinkly from the water,” she points, splashing water towards him as she barks out a laugh teasingly.
“Shut up. You should say the same for yourself,” he sticks a tongue out at her.
“Help me out!”
And when he does, he quite clearly notices how happy she is, lips spread wide as everything she does suddenly has an extra bounce to it. He absentmindedly comments in his head how cute he finds her for doing that.
Her shirt reaches his knees and yet it manages not to slip off his shoulders. He wonders where she buys these clothes.
“So,” she says, wrapping her ankle brace around her ankle. “Are we dating?”
“If you want us to,” Ranmaru shrugs, resting on the foot of her bed. “I think it’s more complicated than that though.”
“Screw complications,” she stretches her arms out. “I declare us officially kissfriends!”
“Kissfriends?” he asks.
She grabs his face and plants a smooch on his lips. He blinks, incessantly, and flushes crimson.
“Oh,” he says, realizing he just got his answer. “Yeah, okay. Kissfriends. I like that.”
She grins wide and proud.
“We still need to tell your manager.”
“Damn.”
Ryuu, fortunately, does not make a fuss about it. In fact, he looked rather excited for the both of them. Of course, he still tells them to keep it on the down low—which neither of them minds—and leaves it at that.
Then, life simply goes on. Well, with the exception of Anzu’s healing leg.
And life goes on.
“Ranmaru! I want my next outfit to be an inflatable!” Anzu shakes around her phone, showing him photos of inflatable dinosaur costumes and the like.
“Are you hearing yourself?” Ranmaru asks her in exasperation, gripping her shoulders. “Are you actually hearing yourself right now?”
“Please?” she blinks up at him, hands clasped together. “I’ll reward you with a kiss if you agree!”
“No!” Ranmaru strains. “Seriously! No!”
“You’re no fun!”