Chapter Text
The overhead lights feel especially hot tonight, beating down on the dancers they illuminate as each one counts in time with the music. One, two, three— turn and hold an arabesque pose. Four, five— now we extend our hands to the others in the ensemble and dance in tandem. A line of perfect form and figure.
This is their third partial costume rehearsal. For the chorus group, with their minimal singing lines and only the dance to focus on, it's become second nature. To some extent, they can shut down any non-essential functions and simply allow muscle memory to take over. The rehearsals are no longer about them; it's about the stars, the lead singers and the dazzling visuals now.
Any sound that is not the steady rhythm their hearts beat to is tuned out.
Any word that is not the belting song of their lead male keeping them in line is ignored.
As the two guests of the theatre are led around the corner, they can't help but be impressed with the form and focus of the entire operation. The chorus group is intense, and with a few minor exceptions that should be taken care of by opening night, already near flawless. The stagehands work diligently to adjust lighting, raise and lower props, and even the costume department is on standby for make-up touch ups and to work on finalizing the unfinished designs they see. It almost seems to run itself, between the maestro giving orders in between lines and the band knowing just when to start and stop accordingly.
"Remind me why you're selling the place off again?" One of the new managers grunts, looking for all the world like he wished to be anywhere but there doing business. His long, ebony hair is tied back in a ponytail, showing off his clean shaven face and accentuating the cut of his suit even further. Unlike the dancers, kept in line by their strict teacher, the leads were more prone to distractions. The sight of this man had caught the attention of the main male, putting a stutter in his usually boisterous singing.
The maestro tapped against his music stand. "Shirakumo, sir, if you please . Let's finish this scene."
The man nods as the scene is set back a few bars, but from the corner of his eye he listens in and watches the new managers speak with the old.
"The better question, Mr. Aizawa sir, is why I didn't sell sooner." Their old manager is a short man, with greying hairs and an ugly scar across one side of his face. He never said how he received it, seemingly ignoring its existence altogether. "I have a lovely feeling you two will be the perfect fit for this theatre and I wish I hadn't kept it from you for so long!" To the outside view, the response was genuine, but those who knew their Manager Nedzu knew that he was avoiding the subject at hand. He could redirect an elephant out of the jungle and into the savannah if given enough time.
Before Aizawa can make note of his question being ignored, his companion suddenly tugs excitedly at his arm. Aizawa hardly bats an eye, used to these antics after years of work together. "Shōta, look! There she is—"
He glances over in time to see the lead female singer join onto the stage, as elegant and graceful as the posters proclaim her to be. Personally, her voice leaves something to be desired, but he's not in any place to say that aloud, especially not to her and especially not in front of one of her biggest fans since coming into the business. Hizashi nearly squeaks with excitement at the mere sight of her, and he can feel the sucking up from here.
It's going to be a long, long journey from here on . He can feel it in the pit of his stomach.
They make their way to the back of the stage as the tour continues, Nedzu quietly introducing the new managers to anyone important and unknown to them.
“You have quite the lineup of dancers, Miss…?” Aizawa prompts as he watches the rehearsal continue, gaze wandering over each of the costumes and faces like a hawk. Studying. Familiarizing.
“Nagant. You will address me as Lady Nagant,” she replies sharply, without missing a beat. Her own gaze is directed at her students, occasionally stepping forward to correct even the slightest of misalignment. Two in particular get her attention more than others, the managers notice, and curiosity gets the better of them.
“Are any of them yours, Lady Nagant?”
They somehow manage to hide their flinches as her harsh eyes pierce into their very souls. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I think of our two young leads as my own children.” She motions her head over in a moment of reprieve for the dancers; back ups on the other side of the stage are immediately on standby should the two leads still be occupied by their new duties.
Lady Nagant lays one hand on each shoulder of her children, two strapping young men with bright eyes and a passion that even Nedzu could admire. “My boys, Touya Todoroki and Keigo Takami. I’ve taught them everything they know and it shows in every performance.” Clearly not having expected the praise, the boys flush brightly, though the blond boy, Keigo, also seems tense at the mention of his name.
For a moment, he hopes and prays. For a moment, he wishes.
The disappointment on his face is visible when Aizawa once more opens his mouth. “Takami? Any relation to the–”
With the same quick thinking shown in his teacher, Touya tugs them away from the group. “Forgive us, sirs, but we do have a rehearsal to be a part of right now. Welcome to the theatre.” Yamada blinks at how such kind words can sound so threatening. Best to keep an eye on that one. That kitty has claws and I’m not tryna get cat scratch fever.
He thinks he hears a sigh of relief come from Keigo, but they’re too far away now to be able to say for sure.
Lady Nagant lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “ Unfortunately , that’s his son. Years ago, Touya found him lost alone down an alley, and rather than leave him to starve, I gave him a life here. Not long after we found out that the Thief Takami had been apprehended and executed. That boy is more than just lucky.” She turns her head to the man and smiles like he’s a prized jewel to be protected. Her eyes say there’s more to the story than what is being said, but neither new nor old manager is willing to ask for elaboration.
“That boy is blessed by an angel.”
Before more can be said, Nedzu clears his throat. “I believe that should be everyone. Now if you’ll excuse me… My retirement calls.” There’s a sweep of his white coattails as he turns, and Nedzu is gone before a single soul can protest.
To him, the music of the theatre fading behind him is a blessing in its own right.
To the others, it is only the beginning.
Nedzu, in his rush to leave the life he once knew, failed to fill in quite a few details to his new managers.
Id est, the current hissy fit that their lovely female lead, Miss Midnight, was so lovingly throwing.
“You made my costume tail too long. Do you know how many times it's been stepped on in the last ten minutes alone?”
Yamada continues to gaze at her like a lovestruck buffoon, more than pleased to be in her presence, but Aizawa can feel his eye twitching. The scar under it pulses and aches alongside the rush of blood, threatening to give him a headache if he isn’t careful. Miss Midnight is a very particular woman to please, as he’s rapidly finding out, and he isn’t sure how much longer he can take the audacity .
“Where’s my baby girl? Oboro, give me my baby Sushi.”
A small cat is tenderly handed off to the prima donna , near instantly placating her unending feedback . If Aizawa is being honest, it may be the only thing placating him as well. For a few more moments, there’s peace in the rehearsal. Costumes are pinned. Ballet slippers are dipped in gel and powdered dry. Yamada makes small talk with the maestro, mainly asking about Miss Midnight. ( “Is she always so…?” He makes a vague gesture with his hand at the woman now kissing up to her precious cat, despite the stagehands insisting they let them redo her makeup. The poor man only nods in exasperation. )
Aizawa can only hope it stays that way. He quickly learns why Nedzu desired an early retirement though, as the stagehands above in the rafters fail their duties, and Miss Midnight goes off again, seemingly intending to leave the theatre altogether. Not a single person, not even her partner Shirakumo, bats an eye at the display, even as he ultimately stays at her side.
“She’s not going to walk out,” Aizawa scoffs under his breath, crossing his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Lady Nagant’s grin, daring him to let her leave.
“She’s going to walk out. You’re kidding me.” He relents, rapidly hurrying to approach her. “Miss Midnight, it was an honest mistake–”
He freezes as the woman turns on her heel, calico tucked under her arm and glares at him. "An honest mistake? What do you know of an honest mistake ? The lot of you have only just come here and already it's clear that nothing will change. All you want is the pretty dancers and the flashy lights. You don't care about me , just like the old man."
As if by some miracle, Yamada has caught up to them as well to be Aizawa's saving grace.
"My dear, sweet Midnight," he coos, sweet as syrup. He smooths one side of his thin mustache with his thumb, and while Aizawa knows it's a ploy to butter up the singer, he still ends up feeling just a bit jealous over the way she receives his attention. "You'll have to excuse us. This is still our first day on the job, and everything is still so excitable and new to us. The novelty of the others will wear off, I'm sure, but your lovely visage will never get old." Thankfully, Yamada's quick thinking is working. Aizawa relaxes slightly.
Yamada lifts Miss Midnight's hand delicately, placing a kiss on the back like he just met royalty. "Would you perhaps do us a personal favor to entice us? I hear there is a lovely aria later in the play that you would be singing? I'd be honored to hear it."
The woman giggles, clearly charmed by all the attention suddenly on her again. "Oh, sweet manager, I would love to, but…" Her eyes narrow again as she directs all of her energy towards her personal group of makeup and costume artists. " Someone hasn't finished my costume for that aria yet!"
"Oh, that's fine, you look lovely as you are. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise of seeing it all come together in the end anyhow." Yamada bats his eyelashes, giving the small hand in his a soft squeeze. "For me, my dear? I've waited so long to hear your voice in person and now that I have the chance, I hardly want to wait another moment."
Laying it on awfully thick, Hizashi… Aizawa tries not to scowl at the exchange especially now that his blood pressure has calmed again, but hearing such praise fall from his lips leaves a bitter taste in the manager's mouth.
Miss Midnight's cheeks flush, and she mulls over the sweet nothings whispered to her, as if it wasn't clear what the answer already was. "Well… if my manager so wishes. I suppose I can take a special request for a fan." A giggle passes by her lips as Yamada offers her arm, leading her back to centre stage for her spotlight moment. Aizawa fumbles idly with the flask of liquid pain relief in his coat pocket before deciding that it's far too early for that. Best to save that for when he really needs it.
Much to his dismay, the maestro turns his book to the aria, allowing the orchestra time to follow. He wishes he could say this wasn't a common occurrence but unfortunately it happens more frequently than their full rehearsals. Practice is practice, I suppose.
The orchestra warms up with a few bars before she begins, and when Miss Midnight sings along to the piece, Aizawa can see a few of the stagehands stuffing their ears with tissue and plugs. He almost wants to do it himself.
He exits the stage to sit in the seats behind the orchestra, once more fiddling with the flask in his pocket. One sip couldn't hurt, just take the edge off of this entire situation. This was going to be a long season if they had to talk Midnight down like this every day.
Unscrewing the top, Aizawa tilted the flask back, taking a hard swig of the whiskey inside. Immediately the burn hit and he felt calm once more.
For all of three more verses.
Without any warning or signs of something about to go amiss, one of the backdrop pieces crashes forward, knocking Miss Midnight to the floor. The ropes that previously held it up were lax, and, upon further inspection of the rafters above, unattended. While Oboro curses out every stagehand and their mother in Japanese as he assists Miss Midnight out from under the city of Rome, Yamada works to help the stagehands lift the backdrop up. Eventually they are joined by the man in the rafters pulling the ropes taut once more.
" What on Earth is going on up there?!" Aizawa shouts above the commotion, finally losing his patience with the entire operation. There's not enough whiskey in the world to soothe his soul right now.
The man working is an older, skinnier gentleman, pale and sickly in the face, but with the way he tugs the ropes, there's obviously still strength in his body. He ducks down sheepishly, crouching so that he's more visible from the metal above. “Ah! Forgive me, I wasn’t at my post! Someone untied the ropes from their posts…” Aizawa’s eye twitches at the shoddy explanation, tempted to believe it if it weren’t for the piercing tone of Miss Midnight shouting off the stage.
“That’s it! I’m leaving! No amount of praise is worth staying in this hell a moment longer!” With a clap of her hands, her cat is once again gathered and Oboro at her side. This time, Aizawa does not run after her to stop her, nor does Yamada try to sweet talk her.
He takes a hard swig of his drink again. I’m going to need a bigger flask.
“She’ll be back… won’t she?”
There’s a choir of shrugs from several dancers and producers. Even Lady Nagant seems unsure. “She’ll be back, but unfortunately there’s no telling if it will be in time for opening night.”
Yamada pales. “Alright, well, who’s her understudy?”
The maestro scoffs, as if Yamada has just told the world’s worst joke. “There is no understudy for Miss Midnight, especially not when this production is so new. We’ll be ruined by opening night without the star.”
There’s a moment of silence as the realization sinks in. Less than 24 hours under their care and already Yamada and Aizawa have driven the theatre to its doom.
One of the young dancers clears his throat, grabbing the older man’s attention. It’s the boy from earlier, Touya.
“Keigo could sing it, sir.”
Aizawa bites his tongue to keep from saying the first thing on his mind. The name “Takami” on the posters and playwright would either skyrocket sales higher than Nemuri “Miss Midnight” Kayama or plummet them so far into the ground that there would be no recovery. It was a risky move, even if the Thief Takami had long since been apprehended and his name faded from history. Those of his generation and older would remember the crimes and atrocities committed, and may not be so quick to accept the sole heir to that name.
Instead, he manages, “Your lead dancer?”
Lady Nagant is suddenly beside him, quiet as a ghost, with a letter in her hand. “Like I said before, he is blessed by an angel. Well taught, and a prime choice as a replacement for the unfortunate situation we’ve found ourselves in.” She doesn’t sound remorseful in the slightest. Aizawa can hardly blame her. “Though, that being said, you do have a lovely message from his teacher.”
She twirls the letter in her hand, grinning wide as the dancers behind her titter and whisper “opera ghost” and other variations under their breath.
“And where exactly is this teacher? Should he not be up here doing rehearsals with us?” Perhaps he could even have taught Miss Midnight some tonal indicators .
Rather than reply, Lady Nagant simply unfolds the letter, reading off the main message. “He welcomes you to his opera house–”
“ His ?” Aizawa hisses.
She ignores him. “–and instructs that box one be left empty still, as that is his private viewing area. He also requires payment for this month, 350000¥ a month–”
“ A month ?” Aizawa spits out again, the vein under his eye pulsing rapidly.
“Stop interrupting me.” She waits until she’s sure he’s settled before glancing back down at the letter. “I’m sure 350000¥ is hardly anything for you, with Tsunagu Hakamada as one of your patrons.” She clears her throat as another round of thrilling whispers spreads through the choir line. There goes their big reveal for opening night. ”Perhaps you could even entice our Opera Ghost with more.”
Aizawa is dumbfounded, to say the least. His mouth opens, then shuts uselessly. Yamada watches his eye twitch so hard that his upper lip is pulled along with it, and for a moment he thinks his friend will pull out the flask and finish off his drink before the day is even half over.
Unphased by this moment of silence, Lady Nagant simply smiles. "Welcome to the Theatre, Lord Aizawa, Sir Yamada. When we do find a replacement for Miss Midnight, be that Keigo or otherwise, and have our opening night, I must reiterate that box one should be left unoccupied, as that is his box. He does so enjoy watching the shows, just as the civilians do."
This time, Yamada speaks up before Aizawa can get a word in, knowing nothing that will come from his mouth right now will help the situation. "Well, we won't know if Keigo is a good choice until we hear him sing, now won't we? Hakamada won't be quite as upset as I am to miss out on a performance from Miss Midnight, but maybe we can still entice him to support the opera house as a patron if someone just as good is leading."
Keigo's face is flushed bright red and his lips are flapping as uselessly as Aizawa's by now. He swallows hard, his shoulder blades itching and burning as they often do when he's nervous. The muscles twitch and tug as if he could sprout wings and fly away from this situation.
Touya nudges him softly.
Keigo clears his throat, "I could sing the aria that Miss Midnight was preparing to. I can't guarantee perfection, as I haven't been practicing it as relentlessly as she was, but…" He trails off as Yamada nods encouragingly and Aizawa relents, looking expectantly towards center stage. Keigo can feel those coal black eyes piercing into him, making his skin crawl as his anxiety skyrockets. He won't let that stop him though. He refuses to let his nerves rattle him to the point of missing an opportunity to become something greater than his legacy.
He won't let his father's name taint what he can become, whether that is a dancer, a singer, or an angel.
Keigo pours all of his passion into the aria, managing to hit most of the notes with the emotion needed to make it reach the audience in the middle of the story. It takes some fine tuning but by opening night, he's in full costume and dazzling the full house with the song of the century. There were rumors, murmurs about what it would mean for a Takami to be the star of a play but when Keigo receives those first claps at his big scene, he can't bring himself to care what those naysayers think. The ones who know him now, see him laid bare on the stage for them all, those are the important people to listen to.
From one of the balconies, he is watched by the managers, at last able to relax now that they know their full house doesn't need to be refunded due to a diva meltdown. From another, though it is empty, he can feel the familiar gaze of his teacher, a comfort to him as his knees shake beneath the layer of skirts in his costume.
From yet another balcony, Keigo catches the eye of Hakamada staring intently at him over the collar of his suit jacket. His eyes are a piercing emerald that Keigo can see glisten in even the dim lighting of the theatre. They're captivating. He wonders if Hakamada will visit him after the performance.
Keigo wonders if he wants him to.
The rest of the show goes off without a hitch, with every lead and every detail seeming to fall in place just as it should be. If anything, the short notice change from Miss Midnight to Keigo only enhances their performance. Even the orchestra is on their best behavior, not a tune out of place even during the nonverbal ballets. It's stunning. Magical.
"Stupendous! You've done lovely for your premiere night, Keigo. Or should I say, Hawks ."
"Absolutely magnificent!"
Compliments flood the man's ears as he leaves the stage, escaping the throngs of people as he does after every showing. It doesn't matter that tonight he's the star, with an official name for the posters in the future. It doesn't matter that tons of adoring fans wish to speak to him, meet him, send him the flowers they had brought for Miss Midnight.
What matters is the safe space he has made in his dressing room, where he can sit, still in full costume, and breathe. He blinks back the tears as everything finally catches up to him after weeks of rehearsal, deadlines and anxiety.
"Yoku dekimashita, little bird," avoice whispers, deeper than even their star baritone and yet still so light for the wind to carry it through the room. A shiver runs up Keigo's back as the cold of the room fades into a pleasant and toasty warmth, as it often does when he hears the praise of his teacher.
Fortunately enough, Touya interrupts the aura of the room when he enters. There's a sigh of relief shortly after, followed by the gust of wind of him sitting beside his childhood friend. "Listen, I know you usually come here but I thought you'd at least stay for some of the aftermath. You killed it out there, Keigo! It was incredible! I didn't know you'd been practicing so much lately with your big man." He light-heartedly jabs Keigo in the ribs with his elbow to get a laugh out of him. It barely works.
“Seriously, if he can get you to open up this much, you should introduce me to him. Anything to get the old bag off my back about my dancing skills.” He straightens up, poising himself in a mock up of how Lady Nagant often stands. In his best, creaky old lady voice, he whines, “Touya, your ronds de jambe was off with the others! Fuyumi, point your toes out farther. Disgraces, the lot of you!” That pulls a much more ambient laugh from Keigo. They both know Lady Nagant means well, more than anyone in the theatre perhaps, but she can be a bit much when a new script comes around.
There’s a beat of silence, where Keigo and Touya both slowly relax again after their laughter dies out. Gingerly, Keigo lays his head on his friend’s shoulder. As if on autopilot, Touya raises his hand and gently scratches at Keigo’s shoulders and upper back, easing the tense and twitching nerves there.
“Bad night for the ol’ anxiety huh?” he whispers.
Keigo nods. “I’ve been itching since the aria. My nerves are on fire.”
They both jump as suddenly a third voice speaks. “You did extremely well tonight, Keigo, despite all your fears. He will be
extremely
pleased.”
Lady Nagant stands in the doorway behind them, as straight laced as ever. Touya’s ears burn bright as he hopes she didn’t hear his impression of her earlier. If she did, she doesn’t mention it. Yet. “Come along upstairs. Mr. Aizawa and Mr. Yamada have cleared out Miss Midnight’s room and begun placing your gifts in there. You have quite a few admirers and visitors. It would serve you well to meet with some of them.” There’s a glint in her eyes that hints someone important is waiting for him up there, and logically Keigo knows that he should follow her advice. Yet as she departs and he’s left there alone with Touya once more, his mind clouds. He can’t seem to think long enough to register what he should do. He wants to stay here.
“Here… where I can hear him. Calling to me. Singing to me.” Touya blinks in shock at the murmurings, gently trying to encourage his friend to stand. They manage together with some effort, but Keigo’s become almost doll-like in this state. “I used to dream of a hero to save me from that life. Father was always on the run. Mother and I had to pick up the pieces. Shunned and unwelcome anywhere we went. He went.”
Touya nods slowly, half holding Keigo up by his waist as he leads him along the corridors to the big dressing room that Miss Midnight so desperately begged for seasons ago.
“Mother told me only angels could perform miracles like that. For so many years I believed that I would never find my angel and yet… I think this is him. My angel of music. My guide and guardian. Since hearing him, my life has only improved. I’m climbing out of the hellhole that my father left me to rot and die in, and it’s all thanks to him .” The sheer amount of adoration that Keigo holds for a man he had never even seen before was both impressive and terrifying. Touya pales the more he hears.
As he opens the door, shoving past the loving new fans of “Hawks”, he laughs softly, trying to ease some of the tension gathering in the air. “You must’ve been dreaming, or maybe you just need some water. Your face is red , Keigo, and you’re burning up. C’mon, sit down, let’s get you rested. Clearly the fame’s already gone to your head.” He laughs again as he sits his friend in front of the vanity but there’s no return laughter.
“It frightens me…” Keigo whispers, staring not at the mirror but far past it.
Helplessly, Touya whispers back, “Don’t be frightened.”
They’re interrupted once more by a knock on the door. Lady Nagant peers her head in. “Touya, come practice with the others. Keigo being our lead singer means you’re now our lead dancer and you need to start acting like it.” He groans in response but heads off with her, after giving his friend a longing and hopefully comforting touch to his arm.
Outside the room, once the door is closed, the excited buzz of the remaining audience fades from Keigo’s mind. He stares trancelike into the mirror, makeup beginning to smudge in the heat of the lights overhead. They flicker occasionally, the only determining factor for him that time is passing in this quiet moment. He wishes he could savor it. Instead, he only feels warmth spreading under his costume.
The hustle and bustle dies down as it becomes clear Keigo isn’t taking visitors after his debut, no matter how large the bouquet presented at the door is. It’s a shame but such is theatre life. Many of the fans are quite adjusted to being turned away at the door, even the male suitors that the newly winged Hawks has attracted.
Tsunagu Hakamada isn’t as adjusted to being turned away. He hopes that persuasion won’t be necessary, especially after he’s already denied his managers entry alongside him, but he’s willing to try a lot to meet this new lead.
Luckily for him, the door is unlocked. The public has more respect than what I gave them credit for.
He does still knock, to alert the young man of his presence in case he’s disrobing or wants to discourage him further, but there’s no immediate outburst, and so Tsunagu enters.
The dressing room is large, well lit and only slightly warm in comparison to the rest of the theater, likely due to the lack of air circulation with the door shut as it was. Keigo sits at the vanity, idly rubbing at his shoulder beneath his costume and staring into the mirror as if the weight of the world is bearing down on his very soul.
“You’re looking a little frayed at the seams. What troubles you?” Keigo jolts, hand dropping to his lap as if he'd been caught stealing and not just massaging a sore muscle. “Your performance tonight was beautiful, especially given what I’ve heard about the weeks leading up to tonight. To have the lead walk out and have to pick up the slack for her… it’s admirable, and you did the part justice.”
The younger man gapes, blinking a few times as he processes the information. He’s no fool, he knows this is Hakamada, the new managers’ patron, and he knows that he’s been in and out of fashion magazines consistently for some ten-odd years now. He just can’t seem to grasp that this is the visitor that Lady Nagant had hinted at, complimenting his performance like Keigo had been singing for years and not just a few months.
He can’t deny that it brings a flush to his face.
Keigo swallows hard, turning back to look at the mirror, desperate to find something to occupy his time so he isn’t staring too deeply into those genuine green eyes. In some unconscious attempt to take attention from himself, he begins wiping off his already damp make up. “Thank you, but I doubt I’ll stay, even with this sort of reception. My teacher is… well versed but Miss Midnight always comes back. The people love her, and she loves the theatre, despite all her eccentricities. I’ve watched her come and go for a few years now. She’ll be back.”
Tsunagu hums doubtfully, and takes a seat a comfortable distance from Keigo. “Ah, yes, Miss Kayama Nemuri. I’ve not worked with her directly before, but she and I have a considerable amount of… history together.” He speaks with bitter disdain, as many do when they work closely with her and she’s out of earshot. “As someone in the fashion business, she’s made quite a name for herself with her outlandish requests and desires.”
The patron smiles softly. Keigo can’t quite see it behind his high collar shirt, but he can see it in the way his eyes soften and crinkle at the edges. “She once requested that she had a winter set– coat trimming, hat, muff and boot trimmers– be made of only baby cashmere, which, even with her success at the time, she could not afford by any means.” Keigo’s eyes widen. He hardly knows a person alive who could afford so much luxury. Tsunagu chuckles, crossing his ankle over his knee. “You can imagine how that lovely fit turned out.”
Keigo laughs. The weighted ball that had settled in his sternum alleviates some with the sound. “Shockingly enough, I can.”
There’s a comfortable silence that washes over them in that moment. The ambient noise outside is dying down to a gentle lull as more people return home and even the other actors and stagehands finish cleaning up and going over where they made mistakes during the performance. It’s pleasant in a way Keigo hasn’t felt before, and isn’t sure if he’ll ever feel again.
“Forgive me if I’m too forward with this, but would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” Tsunagu’s eyes are on him again, kind and genuine and so vibrantly emerald. The young singer feels the heat return to his cheeks. Why me? Of all the people in the cast and crew, of all the people in his industry and in the city… Why ask me?
As if sensing his hesitation, Tsunagu continues, “In celebration of your great success tonight, of course.”
Much to the older man’s surprise, this didn’t seem to soothe all of Keigo’s worries.
“You still seem troubled. I didn’t push your buttons too much, did I?”
Keigo shakes his head, instinctively rubbing at his shoulder again. His upper back twitches with anxiety. “No, not at all. My teacher, the one who guides me in my singing… He’s very strict.”
The tension releases from Tsunagu’s shoulders. “I shan’t keep you late. Change from your costume, Keigo, I’ll call us a car to take us to dinner.” Before Keigo can fully protest, even going so far as to stand and reach for Tsunagu to stop him, the man is gone from the room. He huffs softly. How lavish a life Tsunagu must live with legs as long as that.
Warmth rushes back into the room, both soothing and frightening Keigo all at once. The familiarity has his muscles relaxing, like a soft blanket has been placed on his shoulders, but with it comes the fogginess in his head. He walks idly, drifting from the vanity to where he can hear a voice coming from behind the mirror inlaid into the wall of the dressing room.
“Basking in your glory like that. ‘In celebration of your great success-’ what a joke. He hardly even acknowledged my triumph , the effort that I’ve put into your performance.” Keigo’s eyelids flutter as he listens, nodding absently in agreement. How dare Tsunagu try to worm his way into this life that they’d begun to form, this routine that he shares with his angel.
How dare he try to wriggle his way into Keigo’s heart with such sweet, sinful words.
“Forgive me, Master… my soul was weak. Please, guide me, as you have before, down the path I know is right for me. For us.” The young man stops in front of the mirror, gazing dazedly into its reflective surface. His usually sharp golden eyes are cloudy and distant. He hardly looks himself as he waits for a sign from his teacher.
The mirror opens then, one side parting from the wall like a door swinging on its hinges. Keigo, for a moment, feels like he should be afraid, having never known the mirror could do that, but all he feels is relief. He knows the man being revealed to him from his reflection is his teacher. He recognizes the voice, the warm air that pours out alongside him and fills Keigo’s senses.
Though Keigo hardly hears it, as his angel takes his smaller hand into his own large one, the phantom hears the now locked door shuttering as Tsunagu tries to open it once more.
“Keigo?”
He grins wide, sweeping Keigo behind the mirror. It closes behind them with a gentle click. The door opens once the mirror closes, their locking mechanisms carefully intertwined to keep the secret safe and hidden. Tsunagu glances around the room in confusion, knowing that he was only gone but a moment. He would have seen if Keigo left the room.
“Keigo?!”
The stairs behind the mirror are old stone and water damaged in places. There’s a steady dripping heard almost at all times no matter where the phantom leads his protege, the plumbing from above leaking through the floorboards to the depths below. Candles are littered everywhere; tea lights, candle sticks, misshapen balls of leftover wax being reused are placed wherever there is space for them. They’re shoved into holes left by missing bricks, lining their path further into the underground labyrinth that Keigo never knew even existed.
Shadows dance along the bricks, only adding to the foggy headedness Keigo finds himself stuck in. He stays close to his angel, pressing against the solid muscle of his arm to ground himself. If he stays close, the darkness won’t steal him away.
For a moment, he thinks he sees the face of his father in one of the shadows. He gulps hard, startled, but a reassuring squeeze of the warm hand holding his has him relaxing once more. His angel would never allow him to be hurt.
Before long they are at the end of their path, entering what feels like a shoddily put together den. Years ago, before civilization settled in, Keigo imagines this was a wolf den, housing packs and families for centuries. Now, it holds old musical instruments, carefully set and carved stones and wooden figures, a large piano and even what appears to be a large bed hidden behind tattered sheets. There’s more but Keigo can barely process it all at once. The shadows dance along these items as well, masking and hiding some and accentuating others as they walk through the angel’s home.
The phantom leads Keigo to the piano, sitting at the large bench in front of it and urging Keigo to sit beside him.
“My pretty bird,” he murmurs, tucking a stray set of bangs behind Keigo’s ear, “I’ve brought you, at last, to music’s throne. My kingdom. This is where I have worked and lived for years now, hidden from the outside world. You are the closest contact I’ve had, the mask I wear so that they may still hear the sweet sound of music in this theatre.”
Soft lips press to the bird’s temple, and it’s then that Keigo realizes the right half of his angel’s face is covered by a real mask. Bright white, as if still new, with swirls of blood red and glittering gold seemingly inlaid into the porcelain. His eyes are drawn to it, like a moth to the flames of the candles around them. “From the first moment I heard you sing, I knew I needed you here with me. Your voice carries my ideals, so perfect for everything I have so carefully planned since I was young. I need you here to serve me, to sing for me, as no one else has been able to handle this the way you do.”
Keigo nods. He trusts his angel. He’ll do anything asked of him, if it means he can keep this safety and security. This warmth .
“Close your eyes,” his angel whispers. Keigo obeys.
Before long he begins to hear the soft sound of the piano playing, echoing off the walls and bouncing back to him. He gasps softly.
“Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before,” he hears under the music. “Open your mind to this strange, new world that I have shown you. Let the music surround you, pretty bird; let your darker side give in.” Keigo gasps again, sighing as he swears he feels a warm palm cup his cheek. He does not open his eyes, though the lids flutter softly.
When that same warm skin manifests as a thumb rubbing over his lower lip, Keigo’s eyes do peek open. Before he can question the sight, his angel speaks again, “Savour everything you feel tonight. I can’t guarantee when you may feel it again.” In one swift motion, the phantom’s lips are on his, enveloping Keigo in a sensation he’s never felt before. With how his life has gone, devoted to the craft in the world above, there was no time for fooling around, let alone with a man with so much experience.
He’s right. There’s no telling when either of us may be allowed to indulge this way again.
Keigo melts into the touch at last, trembling hands reaching up to grasp at the thick wrist by his cheek. There’s a soft hum against his lips, approving and content, then a hot tongue parting his lips and running through his mouth like it tastes the finest wine in Keigo’s mouth. If the young man groans, he doesn’t register it, but he certainly registers the booming chuckle rumbling from his angel’s chest.
They pull back for air before long, a string of clear saliva keeping them connected for just a moment longer. “ Clearly you have no issues with my plans for tonight.”
Keigo laughs, breathless.
“Not gonna hear any complaints from me, big guy.” Carefully, he circles his arm behind the other’s neck, pressing close to him on the stool. He groans again as he’s lifted and pulled onto the older man’s lap, his legs almost straining to straddle those thick thighs. In an attempt to soothe the odd emotion bubbling in his chest, he continues, even as the man’s mask presses against his jaw as his neck is kissed and sucked at. “Mmgh– got a name for me to call while you ravish me?”
A shudder runs down Keigo’s spine as those heated lips kiss up the column of his neck, working up to nibbling at the lobe of his ear.
“ Enji ,” his angel rumbles.
Keigo’s body goes slack in Enji’s grip, painfully aware of the way he can feel himself twitching under his clothes. With how closely pressed together they are, he’s almost certain the older man can feel it too. Even his shoulder blades are twitching, filled to the brim with anxiety and excitement .
Hesitation flies out the window when Enji stands, Keigo’s thighs encased in those large hands as he’s held up against that thick body. The younger man melts against the warm presence, allowing himself to be carried towards that area where he knows the bed is sitting, waiting for them to desecrate it. More kisses are pressed against the pale skin of the singer’s neck, chasing the dancing shadows from the flames around them.
When Enji sinks his teeth in, Keigo digs his nails into those broad shoulders and moans . The sound echoes throughout their hideaway, bouncing back at them and anyone listening to their secret world, how desperate he is for these new sensations filling him.
Before long, he’s being deposited on the mattress, bouncing lightly from the force. Keigo falls to his back, panting lightly and flushed from his cheeks to the collar of his costume. The fabric sprawls out beside him, a river of white, sparkling despite the dim lighting.
The blond, realizing he isn’t immediately being ravished again, dares to glance across his body and up at the man still standing stock still at the end of the bed. Enji’s eyes, darker now with arousal and the crystal blues almost engulfed in his pupils, lock with Keigo’s golden ones. The grin that follows is feral and shows a hint of one of those almost too sharp canines. Keigo shudders, arching his back up in what he hopes is an enticing gesture.
“Oh? Are you showing off for me again, songbird?” Keigo’s back twitches again, phantom feelings crawling across his shoulders and down his back. Songbird… why is that so familiar? Another shudder rolls down the man’s spine as he feels his skirt fabrics rustling, large hands fondling his calves as his angel kneels before him. His heels are removed and feet massaged, the knots fading under the warm touch like magic.
Up they work, ten fingers touching and massaging and making Keigo tremble as they dip farther up his dress and then back down. Teasing, fleeting touches follow behind those rough tugs at his muscles, encouraging him to relax and sink frther into the foggy mindset he came down in. His ankles, his calves, his knees, his thighs; they all get a taste of this sinful delight.
“Oh-?!” Keigo gasps out as his legs are lifted and set on the broad set of Enji’s shoulders, the older man fully encasing himself under Keigo’s skirts. Those warm hands are replaced by equally warm lips, picking up where they left off in the crease of his knee and pressing up, up, up . The blond can feel his muscles quiver under the careful onslaught of kisses as they get closer to the edge of his underwear.
He falls back flush against the bed again when he feels a sharp canine dig into the fabric and tug . They slide off almost too easily, or perhaps Keigo is just so out of it he can’t be bothered to care that it takes long to tear his performance underwear off. All he knows now is that Enji barely bothers to take them off one leg, let alone both, so they hang from his ankle uselessly, uncovered by the tulle and satin of his costume. Hot breath replaces them, warming up the skin of his thighs and his cock.
Part of Keigo’s mind insists he say something , but he can’t find the voice that his angel loves so dearly now. You don’t have to do that; don’t worry about it; allow me to–
“Oh! Enji!” All thoughts and protests fly out the window when Enji licks a long line up the length of Keigo’s cock, testing his reactions. He’s half hard, having settled during the intermission for the massage, but he’s quickly filling out again now that Enji’s full attention is on him. There’s no hesitation or doubt in the redhead’s movements, as if he’s certain that no matter where his tongue goes, Keigo will enjoy the touch.
He’s not too far off.
Every lick to the skin, every suck to his slowly throbbing vein or the sensitive spot under the head of his cock; every sensation has the singer writhing and grasping at the tattered bedsheets, thighs clenching and legs tugging the older man ever closer. He nearly sings his praises when Enji finally takes the tip into his mouth, sucking his late night lover’s length down his throat as if he’d been doing it all his life. He doesn’t even gag.
It takes every ounce of control in the singer’s body not to finish right then and there. He’s no stranger to sexual acts. Touya has given him a helping hand more than once over the years as they grew up together, and his own hand has been an asset to late night sessions when he needs the stress relief, but this is something else entirely . The heat of Enji’s mouth is like liquid fire, caressing every inch of Keigo’s length. His tongue is a precision worker, finding every weak spot that makes the young singer gasp and groan, toes curling in the air behind them and exploiting that spot to its fullest before moving on. Beneath the moans, Keigo can hear the wet slurps from Enji’s bobbing head, adding on to the debauchery of the whole situation.
Let the dream begin. Let your darker side give in.
Keigo’s fingers find a stray hole in the sheets and he howls when Enji rolls the tip of his tongue along the leaking slit of his partner’s cockhead. There’s an unfortunate rrrrip as the blond’s body jerks with his orgasm, hands twitching, back aching, and thighs clamping down around his angel’s head, keeping him in place as he shoots his load down the other’s throat.
As the curtains draw on the first of what will be many nights singing in these private lessons, Enji takes his dozing bird and carefully arranges him comfortably in the bed, allowing him a well deserved rest.
[ End Act 1 ]