(no subject)
Title: All That Glitters
Fandom: TB/X
Pairings: Seishirou/Subaru, Fuuma/Kamui, Sorata/Arashi, Yuuto/Karen... eh. There are others but I'm too lazy to list them all.
Genre: MEGA AU. All the genres you can possibly think of! Okay, maybe not. But there is crack, and there is angst, and there is other stuff.
Word Count: 26,078 (for the first three parts, being all that's done); 7,148 for this part.
Notes: Christmas fic for crazylittleme, 2006. Insanely long, insanely on crack, and insanely not finished. I have parts 3/5 done for Christmas; she can have the other two parts later as an IOU birthday fic for earlier in the year. *g* Also, there is blatant ignoring of language barriers and of music trends in Japan so HAH.
Summary: It's saved on my harddrive as "Boyband!X". I think that's really all you need to know. *cough*
PART I
~ PROLOGUE ~
"We are going to flop. No one will like us. It's going to be a complete disaster and people will laugh at us on national television and this is the worst idea I have ever had ever--"
"Kamui! Calm down! Breathe!"
"I can't calm down!" Kamui wailed. "This is going to be the most embarrassing and traumatic moment of my entire life! I keep thinking that I'm going to look down and suddenly I'll be naked on national TV, just like those nightmares, you know, and I swear to god that this is going to happen and I don't know how or why but it will!"
"Kamui!" Subaru said exasperatedly. "Hokuto's clothing isn't going to disappear into thin air, especially not in a room full of people, and-- wait, what do you mean, those nightmares? You actually have dreams about being naked on national television?"
"You mean you don't?" Kamui asked incredulously, panic and paranoia temporarily forgotten, and Subaru stared at him.
"You know what," Subaru said, after a very long pause. "Just… never mind. I don't think I want to know."
Kamui sniffed, vaguely insulted. "Fine, be that way, but I'll have you know my dreams are perfectly normal and--"
"Kamui-kun, you're about to go on live television and they need you on set in ten minutes," Karen interrupted, gentle but firm. "I need you to stop talking about your dreams and go see Hokuto-san for costume and makeup."
"Sorata!" Kamui demanded, leaping to his next victim without paying attention to a single word his public relations manager had just said. "Do you ever have dreams about being on live TV naked? Or, I dunno, school or something?"
"Yeah, I get those all the time," Sorata said cheerfully. "Doesn't everybody?"
"See!"
"Hi, did I miss anything? What're we talking about?"
"Dreaming about being on national TV live and realising you're naked," Sorata told Yuzuriha, the very soul of helpfulness. "Kamui's freaking out."
"I am not freaking out, I'm having a perfectly reasonable concerns," Kamui said indignantly, but he was drowned out by Yuzuriha's exclamation.
"Oh, I've had them! Only not about national television, usually they're at school."
"… Does this mean I have abnormal nightmares?"
"Everybody be quiet!" Karen yelled over the top of them all, starting to feel a little frazzled by this point. "Kamui-kun, stop freaking out, Yuzu-chan and Sorata-kun, please stop encouraging him, and Subaru-san, there is nothing wrong with your dreams so stop letting Kamui-kun infect you. Has anyone seen Arashi-san?"
"I'm here," Arashi said calmly, emerging from Hokuto's styling room completely prepared and perfectly rational, and Karen sighed with relief to see that at least one person in the band was ready and normal.
"Right," she said, "good, which means Kamui-kun is the only one who is not ready, so please…"
"All right, all right," Kamui grumbled, panic forgotten in favour of feeling put upon and under-appreciated. "I'm going, sheesh."
"Might I remind you we've got about five minutes until we're supposed to be on set?"
"OH MY GOD DON'T TELL ME THAT AAAAAAH!"
"I don't think you should have reminded him of that," Subaru said, very tactfully, and Karen surreptitiously asked one of the tech assistants to find her some much-needed aspirin and do it now.
Thankfully, Aoki had arrived shortly after that to discuss some technical matters with Karen and had managed to calm Kamui down while he was at it, which meant that they were only five minutes late on set instead of failing to turn up at all. Sorata theorised that maybe Aoki had this zone of Reasonable that he exuded, kind of like the Force, but everybody ignored him, especially Kamui, and soon enough everything was in place and there was no time left to worry about anything.
"Okay, guys, we're live in five, four, three…"
~
Meanwhile, in another part of the city:
"I don't care, whatever, just find me a bass player and a guitarist and do it now."
"That's what I'm trying to do! Can't you see that I'm trying? I'm not the one who turns down every single musician in Tokyo!"
Fuuma rolled his eyes. "I said find me a bass and a guitarist, I didn't say pick some hopeless street performer off the corner."
"There was nothing wrong with any of them!" Kanoe snapped, very quickly nearing the end of her tether. If Fuuma weren't such a good candidate for a lead singer there was no way she'd be putting up with this crap, but that was what the music industry was all about: bratty, arrogant, pretty children who could get away with anything because they had talent and knew it. "You just don't like them because they don't fit your image, whatever that is supposed to be."
"Well, duh," Fuuma said, like this was obvious and he was talking to a particularly dense five-year-old. "Did you miss the bit where this is a rock band, not some mass-produced bubble-gum pop group? Find me my band members, do it fast, and do it right this time."
The door made a very satisfying slamming noise when Kanoe stalked out.
"Don't let it hit you on the way out," Fuuma called after her, smirking a bit at his own ability to be an obnoxious little git. The expression was soon replaced by a scowl, though, as he flipped on the television in his suite and watched the tail end of the interview that had been playing on the music channels all day. "Fuck, he's already got a head start on me," he muttered sourly.
Kanoe had better hurry up with his band, or Fuuma was going to be very, very annoyed, and when Fuuma was in a bad mood, he liked to share it with everyone.
~
"This is the biggest mistake of my life," Sorata mimicked dramatically. "Everyone is going to laugh at us on national television and I'll have no choice but to become a Tibetan monk--"
"Oh, shut up," Kamui said sourly. "So maybe I over-reacted. And I so didn't say anything about Tibetan monks!"
"Nah, that was me," Sorata admitted, still grinning at Kamui's expense. "You know, after you'd been panicking for about an hour and your paranoia was getting contagious."
"Why Tibet?"
Sorata contemplated this seriously for a moment. "Dunno. Why not? I mean, it's Tibet."
"… Right."
"So anyway, like I was saying, constant airplay!"
"All right, you win, it wasn't a disaster! Stop rubbing it in!"
Subaru had walked into the room while Sorata was waving his arms around enthusiastically and gesturing at the television, and was now staring at Kamui with a strange expression.
"I thought it not being a disaster was a good thing," he said, very confused.
"Well, yeah, but. I mean. Oh, whatever!"
"Drinks," Karen announced, standing in the doorway, "are on me. Is Kamui-kun still inexplicably sulking, or can we go celebrate now? We've got a launch party to go to, complete with adoring critics!"
"Oh, please, critics don't adore anyone," Kamui said sniffily, but he was looking a lot more pleased and cat-in-cream now. "They live sad, bitter little lives and exist only to make people with actual talent feel miserable."
"Please don't say that at the party," Karen told him, mouth twitching into a small smile. "I don't think even a number one hit would save you then."
"See? That proves my point! It's nothing to do with music, it's all about petty personal vendettas," Kamui shot back, but he was outright grinning by this point, letting himself be herded towards the door by Sorata. "Anyway, I have faith in your PR wizardry. I'm sure you could pull me out of any hole I dug myself into."
"Thank you," Karen said, gracious but with a hint of dryness. "Your complete faith is what scares me. Now let's go, boys, the girls are waiting in the limo and the whole of the music industry is holding its breath for your arrival. We wouldn't want any of those sad, bitter little critics to pass out before they can shower their praise all over you, would we?"
"Well, if you're going to put it that way," Kamui conceded, already on his way out the door with Sorata at his heels and Subaru trailing behind. "It would be cruel to deprive of them of my company, really."
"I'm sure it would," Karen said, as she led them down to the hotel lobby. "Just try not to say anything too insulting and we won't have a problem."
"Of course I won't! What kind of idiot do you take me for?"
"One with a sharp tongue and no impulse control," she answered, covering her smile with her hand. "Please get inside the limousine, Kamui-kun."
"I do too have impulse control! I have plenty of-- ooh, limo…"
"Yes, I can see that," Karen said, under her breath so that only Subaru heard, and she slid into the limousine next to Arashi. "Party time!"
~
Several days later, Fuuma had finally agreed on a bass player. Kanoe had almost found herself a religion right then and there.
The only thing that stopped her was the fact that her sister's band had been number one since they'd released their first single and after a week she still hadn't found a guitarist, which looked like it was going to be much, much harder.
"That was the last one," Kanoe said, gritting her teeth, after Fuuma had shut down the latest wannabe with unnecessary cruelty. "The last one out of thirty. I don't think there are any more guitarists left in this city. I don't think you'd approve of any of the guitarists in the rest of the bloody country, so I feel the need to ask you, what are you looking for?"
Fuuma kicked back in his chair, feet up on the desk and arms linked behind his head as he shrugged. "I'll know it when I see it," he said breezily. "Come on, you don't seriously think we'd beat Kamui with any of the crap you've picked out so far, do you?"
Kanoe opened her mouth, and closed her mouth, and finally just mimed strangling gestures, having been struck speechless with rage and frustration.
"I think I prefer you like that," Fuuma added thoughtfully.
"You-- you egocentric little shit, we won't have a band at all if you keep turning down every single guitarist you see even before they've played a single note! How am I supposed to find you a guitarist if even you don't know what you're looking for? Do you think one will just walk in the door?"
"It could happen," Fuuma said, smirking, and Kanoe reminded herself: deep breath, he's doing it on purpose.
"Whichever way," she said sharply, prepared to continue on with her ineffectual lecturing because it made her feel better even if Fuuma never listened to a single word, but she was interrupted by a knock on the door. "What!" she snapped, not in the mood for useless interruptions by brainless lackeys. If it was Nataku, she might have to kill him and throw him out the window.
"Hi," the man at the door said, amused and unperturbed by the obvious foul temper that welcomed him. He had a guitar case slung over one shoulder, black shades and a faint smirk. "I heard you were looking for a guitarist."
Fuuma shot her a smug look, one that she was absolutely certain meant, "you were saying?" and Kanoe scowled, looking away from him. It wasn't like it would make a difference, anyway. Fuuma's standards were so impossibly nonsensical that no one on god's green earth could fulfil them.
"You'll do," Fuuma said cheerfully, and Kanoe's head snapped back to him so fast she almost got whiplash.
"You haven't even heard him play!" she half-shrieked, unwilling to believe it could possibly be this easy after all the pain and suffering she'd put into finding a guitarist over the last week just to have one walk in. She was offended by the idea that she'd gone through all that for nothing.
"So?"
"SO? You can't choose him just because he fits your image! You don't even know if he can play!"
"He has a guitar," Fuuma said reasonably. "Anyway, sure I can, watch me."
"FUUMA I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU."
"Oh, fine. You're always such a stick-in-the-mud," he said, grinning outright now, and turned to their visitor. "You heard. Play something."
The other man shrugged, still unbothered by the crackling and decidedly homicidal air around Kanoe, and unslung his guitar. "Of course," he said calmly, and pulled Kanoe's chair into the middle of the room. "Assuming you have the correct equipment in the room."
Fuuma jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "Over there," he said lazily, and the man walked over to hook his guitar up to the amp, unhurried and accurate in a way that showed he clearly knew what he was doing.
Kanoe hated him already. "I bet he can't play for shit," she muttered bitterly, determined to veto Fuuma's addition to the band even if it did mean she'd have to go on the impossible goose-chase again.
The man smiled pleasantly at her, though she could have sworn that she'd said that too quietly for him to hear from where he was standing, and crossed back to sit in the chair he'd already stolen from her. Then he began to play.
The first chord was low, not precisely flashy, but it matched his sleek black guitar: understated, seductive and somehow lethal. Kanoe could feel it thrumming, the vibrations sinking into the floor and sending shocks up through the heels of her stilettos. He played a second chord, lower and louder so it hit her in the base of her stomach, seguing effortlessly into a complex riff that sent shivers up her legs and down her spine. His playing was smooth and rich like dark chocolate, hands shifting from one chord to the next without hesitation so it looked as easy as breathing. Perhaps it was, for him; he looked perfectly relaxed, despite the fast pace of the music.
The last chords reverberated through the room for a minute or so after he'd stopped, the kind of finish that made fans fall silent before the final frenzied applause.
"I'd say he can play," Fuuma said thoughtfully, breaking the quiet that had descended over the room after the last echo of the guitar. "Fits my image, fits my style of music… I'm sorry, what were you saying, Kanoe?"
That pretty much cemented Kanoe's hatred of the guitarist, and she didn't even know his name yet. It felt almost special. However, she hadn't gotten to be the producer of a major music label by being stupid, and as much as she personally loathed both Fuuma and his new guitarist right now, she could see that the little brat was right: not only was the other man a brilliant player, he had the looks, he had the attitude, and he seemed like he was going to get along with Fuuma very well, much like a house that had been doused with petrol and set alight.
All of these things made her personal hatred stronger, especially the last, but she could appreciate these things from a professional point of view.
"Fine," she bit out. "You win. You've got yourself a band."
"Told you so."
"Just shut up now," Kanoe snapped, "and I might not have to kill you. As for you…"
"Yes?" the guitar-player said politely.
She glared at him, knowing perfectly well that she was being mocked but not able to call him on it. "You're hired. Now what's your name, so I can put it on the contract."
"Sakurazuka," he said with a charming smile. "Sakurazuka Seishirou. Pleased to meet you."
~ CHAPTER ONE ~
Another day, another press conference. Having identified Kamui as the front singer for the band, the press were aiming most of their questions at him, and the other band members were by and large perfectly happy to let him field them.
"It's been a month since your first single debuted at number one, and you've stayed in the top ten since then. How do you feel about your success so far?"
"We're really excited, obviously. It shows that people appreciate our work."
"You're releasing your second single tomorrow. How do you think it rates against your first single? Do you think it will be as popular?"
Shrug. "Hopefully. It depends on the fans. I like both songs equally, but other people may not agree."
"Kamui-san, is it true that you wrote both this and your first single?"
"Yeah, we prefer to write our own stuff. I wrote both of these, but I'm not the only songwriter in the band. Some of the songs we're working on at the moment I've had nothing to do with."
"Are you at all worried about competition from Angels of the Sepulchre?"
Cameras flashed. A large number of music journalists looked very interested. Kamui looked very blank.
"Uh, who?" he said slowly. He looked at the rest of the band for help; Sorata shrugged, Arashi shook her head slightly and Subaru only gave him a small rueful smile.
"I'm afraid we haven't heard anything," Karen said smoothly, but the blond who'd asked the question was not so easily deterred.
"They released their first single earlier today," he insisted. "Traditionally there has been a rivalry between Princess and KG labels, and there has been some suggestion that Angels of the Sepulchre are being set up in direct rivalry to your own band. You're not worried at all?"
"We haven't even heard of them," Sorata butted in, before Karen or good sense could stop him. "They can't be that good."
"Like Sorata said, we'll worry when there's something to worry about," Kamui added, and Karen tried valiantly to hide her wince. Sorata and Kamui were probably going to get a long PR-related lecture later on about being careful what you say about other bands in public, especially ones you don't know anything about.
"Okay, guys," she said loudly, trying to inject as much false cheer into her voice as she could. "I think that about wraps it up, so if you'll excuse us…"
Karen went with the band to collect all their things together while the camera crews packed up their equipment and the journalists stood around in groups chatting. That blond journalist was still watching them intently, though, with a very thoughtful expression that she had enough sense to be very worried about.
"Try not to take too long," she said to the band. "We want to stay on schedule, and I'd like to get out of here before anyway decides to corner any of you with questions they didn't get to ask before."
Subaru looked a little alarmed at that. "But…"
"They're not supposed to, no, and I'll tell you not to answer any of them," she finished wryly. "But that doesn't stop them asking and reading things into 'no comment', so get your act into gear, guys."
As it turned out, they were stopped on their way out, and unsurprisingly, it was by the blond.
"Excuse us…"
"Segawa," he said helpfully, when he noticed Karen searching for a name. "Segawa Keiichi, nice to meet you."
"Segawa-san," she continued, and smiled politely. "If you'll excuse us, the conference is of course over so I'm afraid we won't be answering any more--"
"Oh, I don't have any more questions," Keiichi reassured her, so eager that he actually interrupted before she'd finished speaking. "I just thought that since none of the band had heard the Angels of the Sepulchre single yet, you might like to. I've got a copy on disc, they were sent to our magazine for promotion."
They were always going to hear it sooner or later, but it was a fairly reasonable request and Karen knew that turning it down would hurt them more than agreeing. If they listened, they listened; they'd already said no more questions, so even if Keiichi asked them about it, they didn't have to answer. If they refused, though, all kinds of things could be read into it, like fear or arrogance, and they'd already lost enough ground because Kamui and Sorata didn't know when to keep their mouths shut.
"Go ahead," she sighed, noticing that most of the journalists were still milling around and that everyone there was looking with interest to see what would happen.
Karen tried to convince herself that in a worst-case scenario, it couldn't be any worse than Kamui or Sorata continuing in the trend of foot-in-mouth disease and saying loudly that the song was crap, who actually listens to this stuff? Somehow, though, she didn't feel any better, and perhaps felt worse.
Segawa found the audio system, popped the disc in and hit play. The opening strains were already enough to tell that they were dealing with a completely different style of music: dark and bitter, the beat building up behind the slow lead-in. It was much heavier than Kamui's music, cynical and almost mocking. Karen had to admit the other band were probably very good, just from the riff; she'd be worried, but essentially they were aiming for different markets, and on the positive side she was pretty confident Sorata and Kamui would appreciate the song enough from a musical perspective not to make any remarks she'd have to regret on their behalf later.
Of course, it was just when Karen had started to relax that the vocals started and Kamui yelled, in a room full of the some of the sharpest and most unrelenting members of the music industry press, "Oh my god, you're fucking KIDDING me!"
Today, Karen reflected as mayhem broke loose, was just not her day.
~
"'When given the opportunity to listen to the first single by the band that will reputedly be their biggest rival, front man Shirou Kamui reportedly yelled "Oh my god, you're f**ing KIDDING me!"'" Fuuma read out loud, lounging in an armchair with a decided air of smugness. "'Shirou and the rest of his band were whisked off by security before any further questions could be asked, and their PR manager would only say "no comment" when asked why the singer had reacted so violently to the song, or indeed why his reaction did not come until the end of the fairly long instrumental intro.' Am I or am I not hot shit?"
"Not," Kanoe said, snatching the magazine out of his hands, though she was obviously feeling fairly smug herself. "Stop gloating, it's unbecoming."
"We are number one," Fuuma announced, savouring the moment, "and Kamui screwed up in a room full of journalists. Today is such a great day."
"Their new single is still second," Satsuki pointed out, completely disinterested and not even bothering to look up from her book, but Fuuma was unruffled by this.
"Exactly," he said, oozing self-satisfaction as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table and linked his arms back behind his head. "Kamui is second, and I am first. Victory tastes so sweet."
"It could change next week," Yuuto said, lounging against the bar looking amused. "You're aiming for different markets, remember. And for the record? Kasumi is obviously losing her touch, if she's managed to let the kid to mess up this badly in the first month."
"You obviously don't know Kamui," Fuuma said, rolling his eyes. "I don't care how much PR wizard you think you are, no one can stop him shooting off at the mouth."
Yuuto shot him a curious look, but didn't call him out on the familiarity. "She should have avoided the situation," he said instead, though not terribly fussed about it. "That's her job."
"Somehow I doubt any of them were expecting that," Fuuma said, Devil's Advocate all the way, and sounded far, far too pleased with himself. "Kamui wasn't expecting that at all."
Ah, personal vendetta, Yuuto mused. Exactly the kind of thing to create all kinds of interesting pitfalls and liven up his and Karen's jobs both. "Clearly not, judging by the publicity disaster he managed to generate. As entertaining as it is to listen to you wallow in your glory, though, I did actually want to talk to the group about your own press conference, not to mention the music video. Where are the other three?"
Fuuma shrugged. "Around," he said lazily. "Kuzuki's sleeping in his hotel room and may or may not be stoned. Last I checked, Shiyuu is there too, communing with his jazz collection."
"Right," Yuuto said, ignoring the extra unnecessary information about the various and sundry hobbies of the band members. "And Sakurazuka?"
"Who knows?" Fuuma said, grabbing back his magazine so he could revel some more. "He'll show up eventually. Hah, listen to this, they're wondering if Kamui was shocked by the quality of my voice--"
"They're being sarcastic," Kanoe said witheringly, already aware that Fuuma knew and just didn't care. Frankly, he had a point; it was a PR nightmare for their rival label whichever way you sliced it, and Hinoto probably had the headache from hell.
Oh yes, Kanoe thought gleefully. It was a very good day indeed.
~
There was a palpable cloud of gloom hanging over the room, dampening everyone's spirits and killing all urge to make conversation. Kamui wasn't the only one feeling miserable-- bad press and falling from number one could have that effect; Sorata was moping and Karen was seriously reconsidering her life plans-- but he was certainly at the epicentre, radiating waves of doom and despair that infected everyone within ten metres of him.
"Kamui-kun," Karen said wearily, breaking the lengthy silence, "is there something you need to tell me about yesterday's incident?"
Nobody had had the opportunity to ask Kamui about the violent reaction he'd had to their rival band's song yet, especially since he'd spent most of that evening in a state of shock. The fact that it was obviously still affecting him went a long way towards convincing Karen that this was definitely something she needed to know about.
Possibly not something she was going to know about tonight, however. Kamui didn't even bother lifting his head from where it was buried despondently in his crossed arms.
"Fuuma," was all he said, which was not terribly enlightening to anyone except perhaps himself and maybe Subaru, who was staying carefully uninvolved. "I can't believe he. I thought. What the fuck?"
"Okay, that's a start," Karen said dryly. She was clearly just as strung out as Kamui, lying on the couch with her legs over the armrest and her high heels kicked carelessly to the floor. "But a little elaboration would be nice."
"Fuuma? Is that the lead singer?" Sorata butted in. "Wait, whoa, you know him? Like first-name-basis know?"
Arashi gave him a quelling look that needed very little deciphering, and proceeded to ignore the kicked puppy expression that Sorata responded with.
"Kamui-kun?" Karen prompted, when no further explanation was forthcoming.
Kamui's answer, such as it was, came in the form of a muffled groan that may have been the name Fuuma or may just have been a wordless expression of his suffering.
That meant they probably wouldn't be getting any answers out of Kamui in the near future. Karen turned to look at Subaru, who was sitting at the table in the adjoined dining area drinking coffee and trying to pretend he was somewhere else entirely.
Out of all of them, Subaru was the closest to Kamui. Kamui and Sorata were good friends, but they usually stuck to less serious topics of conversation. From her speculative expression, Karen was obviously hoping that Kamui might talk to Subaru, if he wouldn't talk to anyone else.
Subaru for his part had been hoping to be left out of this, because Kamui looked like he'd rather be left alone right now and Subaru could empathise.
"Subaru-san," Karen said, smiling at him in a cajoling fashion. "I was thinking I'd take Sorata-kun and Arashi-san to the café downstairs to get some dessert and find Yuzu-chan. You wouldn't mind keeping Kamui-kun company, would you?"
So much for that hope. Subaru sighed and put his mug down. "Of course."
"Huh? Actually, I'm not hungry-- ow! What was that for, Nee-chan?"
"I apologise," Arashi said blandly. "It was an accident."
Sorata seemed torn between confusion and suspicion. "You accidentally kicked my ankle? But you were nowhere near--"
"I was getting up," she cut him off, mild and yet somehow very pointed. "To go with Karen-san."
"Oh," Sorata said, and then, "oh, right, yeah. Going. Ahaha."
Subaru wondered why they didn't just say "we're going to go leave you and Kamui alone now," because this was hardly subtle. "Okay," he said, resigned. "Kamui and I have a song we need to work on, anyway. Have fun."
Kamui made no comment, an unmoving sullen lump on the couch, so Karen shrugged and made her way out the door. For an hour or so at least it could be Subaru's problem instead of hers, and hopefully Subaru would make more progress with it than she had.
Subaru waited for a moment after the door clicked shut to see if Kamui would say anything. "You don't have to talk about it," Subaru said finally. "If you don't want to, I don't blame you. But I don't mind if you do want to talk, either."
There was another long silence, and then Kamui lifted his head reluctantly to glance at Subaru. "It was Fuuma," he mumbled. "The singer, he was… it was Fuuma."
Subaru had guessed that much already from what Kamui had said earlier. "You're sure?"
Kamui scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, I'm sure. Maybe I haven't seen him in almost a year, and I haven't seen anything on the band yet, but I just. It's Fuuma. There's no way I'd ever get that wrong. If it was Sakurazuka… you'd know, wouldn't you?"
And what a loaded question that was. Subaru hadn't seen Seishirou for much longer than a year, but he held no doubt at all that if he heard a song with Seishirou singing, even as backup, he'd know. It would only take one word; Seishirou's voice was burned into Subaru's memory just like everything else about the man, like deep scars that even time couldn't touch.
"I… yes," Subaru said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He could understand what Kamui must be feeling right now, far better than any of the others could ever hope to. "Yes, I would."
Kamui's head thudded back against the couch cushions. "Life hates me," he said pitifully. "Fate hates me. The universe hates me. Fuuma hates me."
"You don't know that," Subaru said, trying to be supportive, but he didn't sound terribly convincing even to himself.
"Which part? The bit where Fuuma hates me, or the bit where everything else does? Because trust me, Fuuma really, really does. And since he's the leader of our new rival band, I think that's a great indication that everything else does too."
Subaru had to concede that Kamui had a point, there.
"And in conclusion," Kamui said despondently, "I'm doomed."
"I know the feeling," Subaru mumbled, and drained the rest of his coffee.
~
"I hope you're pleased with yourself," Yuuto said dryly as he dropped a stack of manila folders on the desk Fuuma was sitting at, with no small edge of frustration to his voice. "As fun as it is for you to annoy people and fire them for no good reason, it actually creates a lot of work for me."
"If this is about the wardrobe manager," Fuuma said nonchalantly, "then he was incompetent anyway."
"Yes, as a matter of fact, this is about the wardrobe manager," Yuuto said, drumming his fingers on the surface of the desk. "And incompetent as he may or may not have been-- you do realise he's renowned throughout Tokyo, right? -- I still can't help but feel that an incompetent wardrobe manager is better than none at all."
"Actually," Fuuma said, smugly contrary, "I'd disagree with that. Since I'm pretty sure I can dress myself and do it better than he could."
Yuuto allowed himself to smile slightly at that. Renowned or not, he privately thought that Fuuma probably had a point about their ex-wardrobe manager, but it was his job to chew Fuuma out over it, so chew Fuuma out he would.
Besides, this was one of the more enjoyable aspects of his job.
"Maybe you and Sakurazuka can," Yuuto agreed, letting the amusement show, "but I suspect that Kuzuki is just as likely to forget to put on any clothes at all, and as for Satsuki-chan and Shiyuu…"
Fuuma's chair made a loud clatter as the front two legs rocked forward to meet the floor again. "Okay, jeez, you've made your point," he said, rolling his eyes. "Did you come solely to bitch about it or have you found me a new wardrobe manager who isn't colour blind?"
"Both reasons," Yuuto said cheerfully, and skidded the folders across to Fuuma's side of the desk. "Take a look at that. Samples. Just so you know, I am god, and worship in the form of expensive western tea and Belgian chocolate would be appreciated."
Fuuma raised his eyebrow. "God, huh?"
"Yes. God," Yuuto told him firmly, self-satisfied smile growing as he leaned forward and tapped the folders. "Do you know how hard it is to find someone on such short notice, let alone someone who's any good? Right, well, I not only did that, I found the best. On short notice. The best who is very, very busy and also? Is the wardrobe manager for Garden of Eden."
"Okay, that probably warrants at least demi-god status," Fuuma conceded, feeling unusually generous. "I think the tea can be arranged."
"It had better be," Yuuto said, eyeing him. "Or you'll all regret it and there'll be no more miracles. Anyway, try not to fire, harass into quitting, kill through irritation or otherwise dispose of this one, because we've got an interview tomorrow and shoots for our second video for the rest of the week, and there's no way you're getting another wardrobe manager if you lose a second one."
"Yeah, yeah," Fuuma said dismissively, waving Yuuto off as he grabbed the top folder and flicked through it. "If she's as good as you say she is, I won't feel the need to get rid of her."
"That doesn't stop her getting fed up with your charming personality," Yuuto countered, though from what he'd heard, she had a fairly overpowering personality herself and could probably match Fuuma without a problem.
Fuuma snorted. "If she's already put up with Kamui for over a month," he said, "I doubt she's that easily deterred. I'll tell Kanoe to get Nataku to bring you some tea. Is that all?"
"We're meeting up with her later this afternoon," Yuuto answered briskly. "I'll tell the others, so you just have to be there. One other thing-- is there any way to make sure Kuzuki isn't smoking something tomorrow?"
Fuuma shrugged, entirely unconcerned. "He'll probably just sleep through the conference," he said. "Let him, no one will care. We're a rock band, people would be disappointed if we weren't on drugs."
"Sex, drugs and rock 'n roll," Yuuto quoted. "Not exactly what I'd call rock and roll, however, and there is a surprising lack of sex in the equation."
"Ah, the voice of experience," Fuuma said charmingly. "Don't worry, I plan on remedying the disappointing lack of sex."
"I'm sure you do. Trust me, it's the best part."
"I'm sure you'd know," Fuuma mimicked, stretching languidly. "Weren't you going? Some of us have songs to write."
"Don't forget the chocolate," Yuuto reminded him, and took a moment to revel in his Zen feeling. "Expensive chocolate, to go with the expensive tea."
"Whatever."
Yuuto decided to take that as tacit consent to bestow expensive and edible gifts of bribery, and left to inform Kanoe about the new wardrobe manager.
~
Karen had of course asked Subaru if he knew what was going on with Kamui when she'd gotten back to the hotel later that evening, but he hadn't said much more than the fact that Kamui knew the lead singer of the other band.
"It's complicated," he'd told her, which was probably the most truthful thing he could have said, and then told her to talk to Kamui about it, because it wasn't his situation to explain.
Karen had nodded, though, thoughtful like maybe she understood a little of what he meant. "Complicated," she'd repeated, and sighed. "This is going to get worse before it gets better, isn't it?"
Subaru unfortunately had to agree with that sentiment, which was one of the reasons why, two days after their disastrous press conference, he'd decided to leave the hotel and go for a walk around Shibuya. He didn't care much about where their singles placed on the charts, but the atmosphere in their suite was getting rather oppressive.
One of the benefits to being less well known than Kamui or Sorata was that Subaru could go out alone without being mobbed. He did get one or two double takes, but was largely left to be, which was a great relief to him. He wasn't a big fan of publicity, and had a tendency to stay in the background on shoots and in interviews. He preferred it that way, honestly; it was only for Hokuto that he hadn't dropped out of the music industry completely five years ago, and it was only for Kamui that he was in a major commercial pop group now.
Subaru walked idly along the busy streets, half-heartedly glancing in the windows he passed as he contemplated how he'd ended up in this situation. Once upon a time, it had been about the music; he'd never really cared about the fame or fortune, but Hokuto had always wanted him to go professional, and Seishirou…
Well. Best not to go there.
Once upon a time it was about the music, but that was then and this was now. Now it felt like it should be about the music, like it was just out of his reach, but the passion had faded into the distance as though someone had hit the mute button on everything and the inspiration just wasn't there anymore. He hadn't given up music because Hokuto wouldn't let him; he'd kept in casual contact with people in the industry (or rather, Hokuto kept in contact for him), occasionally doing backup tracks for them when they called him up to ask for assistance.
Of course, one day when they called him up to ask a favour, it was because they wanted him to play the older and more experienced part in a pop group they were forming. They had two teenagers from the programme Princess label itself ran, a boy of nineteen and a girl of sixteen, and another girl who'd been through a performing arts school. The kid they were pushing forward as the poster boy wasn't from any of the generic programmes-- he was eighteen, self-taught. They'd scouted him.
We thought maybe he'd be able to identify with you, they'd told Subaru.
He'd gone, even though he'd had no intention of agreeing, because he was too polite to tell them flat out no and figured he should probably at least meet their new prodigy. Hokuto hadn't exactly helped, either. Thinking it was a brilliant idea, she'd practically shoved him out the door in her enthusiasm.
Subaru had intended to say no. No, this wasn't what he wanted or what he was interested in doing anymore; please find someone else. He'd intended to say that right up until the moment he'd met Kamui, taken in the younger singer's flat listless eyes and the barrier he exuded, and then he'd known that Kamui was much more similar to him than he'd wish upon anybody. He'd sighed, and then he'd said okay, I'll do it, because he'd realised there was no way he could say no.
He didn't regret it. Or not much, anyway. He was glad he was there for Kamui, especially given Fuuma's sudden and unexpected reappearance. He'd been right with his first assessment that Kamui was a lot like him, too.
They both understood complicated very, very well.
Subaru's footsteps slowed as he approached a large group of people blocking the traffic, staring at the oversized screen above the street as it reflected back a young man with a mocking expression and spiked up hair, silently mouthing words into the microphone with angry, caged up energy. Fuuma, Subaru realised with a jolt, when he noticed the band name printed in large letters down the bottom of the screen. This was the music video of the band that had taken their number one spot, the singer that had sent Kamui into a state of panic.
He stood still, watching the massive screen with a very bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's only going to get worse before it gets better, Karen's voice echoed in his head, and he could imagine all too well how Kamui must be feeling.
Fuuma raked the hand not holding the microphone through his hair, spitting the words of the song into the microphone like venom, and in the background Subaru could see a girl playing keyboard and another, older man behind the drums. As a musician he made mental note of it, but only in passing; he hadn't seen their clip or anything about the band in the last two days, despite what he suspected was probably constant coverage, because he didn't really care about the media and Karen had been keeping Kamui insulated from it all.
Subaru's curiosity about the other band was mostly restricted to their musical ability and the effect Fuuma was having on Kamui, not as rivals, and after a few moments he lost interest in the silent flickering of large-scale images. He was about to walk away when the camera changed angles, and his head whipped back, eyes wide and the colour draining from his face. All of a sudden it was like the ground had dropped from beneath his feet, pale and shaking as he stared in blank disbelief at a smirk so familiar it made his chest ache. A smirk he hadn't seen in five years, that he'd thought he'd never see again.
"Seishirou-san," Subaru whispered, the name escaping from frozen lips, and he didn't need to imagine how Kamui felt; he knew.
Everything had been complicated before, and it had just gotten much, much worse.
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