Work Text:
Rain was falling by the time they reached the café after their modeling session. The gig wasn’t for a high-profile brand, but it was a rare opportunity for them to work together for once. Afterward, Makoto Yuuki had invited Izumi Sena out to look over some job offers, wanting his advice on what to accept or reject. After ordering their americanos, they settled into a booth away from the center of the room. Soft jazz played instead of the usual idol songs, blending with the sound of the rain outside to create the perfect atmosphere for a quiet meeting.
An hour later, the table held two half-finished cups of coffee, a tablet, a laptop, and a stack of formal invitation letters from prominent modeling events across Japan. Izumi leaned back against the leather booth, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of a porcelain saucer. His posture was relaxed, his silver hair catching the amber glow of the café's lights. Lost in thought, he looked like a figure stepped straight out of a painting.
"This Tokyo Fashion Week editorial is high-risk," Izumi said, his tone measured and strictly professional. He pointed to an intricate PDF open on his tablet, which Makoto looked back at his laptop. "The creative director is notorious for pushing avant-garde concepts that don't translate well to commercial portfolios. He reminds me of Itsuki's taste; artsy, but too niche. If they style you poorly, it will take months to scrub those images from casting directors' minds. But the Milan campaign... that one is stable. The tailoring is classic, the exposure is global, and the demographic aligns perfectly with where your current image is heading."
Makoto propped his chin on his hand, looking over the brief with a calm, analytical focus. He adjusted his glasses with his free hand, his eyes scanning the contract terms with ease.
"I agree on the styling risk for Tokyo Fashion Week," Makoto hummed, his voice steady and grounded. "But doesn't the Milan contract have a strict exclusivity clause for the entire autumn season? . If I sign it, I’ll have to pass on those domestic runway invitations we auditioned last week.”
“Oh, you’re right.” Izumi complimented him, “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Hmm, I think I should negotiate the exclusivity down to just outerwear?” Makoto asked for an opinion, “That way, I keep my options open here while still getting the international runway credit."
Izumi blinked, caught off guard by his suggestion for the counter-proposal. He studied the calm confidence in Makoto's expression, and realized just how heavily the dynamics between them had shifted. The anxious boy who used to be afraid to look at contracts and always left it to his agency was entirely gone. In his place now stood a mature professional who knew his exact worth on the market.
A slow, wry smile touched Izumi’s lips, his sharp tongue muted into something much softer. "...Look at you, making demands on an international house. You've certainly learned how to negotiate. Fine. If we push back on the exclusivity clause, you’ll have to contact the agency legal team to draft a revision tomorrow morning. The sooner, the better.” He advised, “But be careful, usually they aren’t so kind in revision. Their representatives might get difficult during the second round of casting." Yet his eyes were twinkling, “When that time comes, I’ll comfort you.”
"It’s okay. They won't do that," Makoto shook his head. A small, confident smirk playing on his lips. "They want the contrast my look brings to their autumn line. They'll compromise."
“Yuu-kun, you've turned out incredibly cheeky.”
“I learn from the best.”
"Huh? Who on earth is that?" Izumi crossed his arms, huffing dramatically. "Tell me who it is so I can give them a stern talking-to for corrupting my Yuu-kun!"
A low, genuine chuckle escaped Makoto. It was a relaxed, warm sound that seemed to dispel whatever lingering professional tension remained in the air.
Izumi raised an eyebrow, his classic defensive instincts twitching slightly, though his voice remained quiet. "What are you laughing at? Did I say something amusing, Yuu-kun?"
"No, it's not that," Makoto said, shaking his head gently. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I just...I had a sudden realization. These discussions we have now; talking about our careers, debating contracts, planning the next steps together…they're actually really fun."
Izumi shifted slightly, looking away toward the rain-slicked window. He let out a soft, characteristic scoff, trying to maintain his usual prickly exterior. "Honestly. You're finding contract negotiations fun? Spending so much time with your friends in Trickstar has completely warped your mind."
Makoto’s hand was warm and completely steady as he suddenly hovered over Izumi’s resting fingers and gently wrapped his palm around Izumi's. The moment the warmth of Makoto's skin met his own, Izumi’s breath hitched. A bright, unmistakable flush crept up from the collar of his coat, rapidly painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears a vivid crimson.
Makoto leaned in a fraction closer, his eyes bright with affection and a hint of playful mischief as he watched the utter collapse of Izumi's composure. "I mean it, you know," He murmured, his voice dropping to a softer voice that Izumi rarely heard from him. "I only know how to negotiate like this because I’ve been watching you. You’re incredible at what you do, Izumi-san, and I'm really proud to be standing on the same stage as you."
Izumi entirely lost it. His voice cracked as he deliberately anchored his eyes anywhere but Makoto's face, his skin burning hotter by the second. “Y-Yuu-kun, I–!”
The sharp, rhythmic buzz of a smartphone vibrating against the wooden tabletop cut through the quiet, heavy warmth of the moment.
Both of them blinked, startled by the sudden interruption. Makoto didn’t let go of Izumi’s hand right away, but Izumi’s gaze instinctively snapped down to the illuminated screen resting right next to the stacked lookbooks.
A string of erratic texts, typed in entirely broken sentences and punctuated by dozens of musical note emojis, flooded the lock screen. It was an unmistakable, chaotic wall of text that could only belong to one person. Izumi pulled his hand back and picked up the device. As his eyes scanned the many sudden messages before a sharp, familiar hiss of annoyance escaped his teeth.
"Tch." Izumi muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, what is wrong with him…” Yet, even as the complaints left his mouth, the fierce blush on his cheeks softened. The tense lines of his face melted into a helpless, deeply fond smile.
Makoto watched the transition with a quiet, knowing expression, leaning back into his side of the booth. "From who?" He asked, a rare, faint trace of annoyance tightening his tone.
"Who else?" Izumi sighed, entirely oblivious to the subtle shift in Makoto's mood. He tossed the phone face down onto the table with a sharp clack, though the fond curve of his lips remained. "Leo-kun is throwing a massive tantrum over nothing. He says if I don't come back right now, his inspiration is going to evaporate into thin air." He reached for his coat, draping it over his arm as he began to slide out of the leather booth, his usual practical, orderly energy returning. “Sorry, Yuu-kun. I'll have to leave now.”
"Oh," Makoto said, the warmth from moments before cooling into a slight pout. "Uh, can't he just record a voice memo or hum into his phone? If the inspiration is that striking, surely a napkin would suffice." He tried to dodge the issue, his eyes darting to the rain outside as he looked for any excuse to stall. "Besides, you know...it's still pouring. And we haven't even touched the domestic runway invitations yet. Can't it wait an hour?"
"No," Izumi shook his head, though the helpless smile remained on his lips. "I think it might be best if I take care of him soon, before he actually finds a way to vandalize ES property with a permanent marker. He managed to keep himself under control back in Florence, so maybe it's just the Japanese air that makes him this restless? I really don't understand how his brain works."
Makoto hummed, absentmindedly swirling the straw in his half-finished americano. He looked up through his lenses, offering a soft smile. "Do you want me to come with you? I have a large umbrella in my bag. I can walk you back to the dorms."
"Thank you, Yuu-kun, but absolutely not," Izumi countered immediately, his protective instincts flaring up. "It’s a complete downpour out there, and I am not letting you get drenched and catch a cold right before peak modeling season. He should really learn a bit of your restraint and common sense."
Izumi sighed, casting a final, lingering look at the neat stacks of lookbooks and contracts they had spent the afternoon organizing. The business meeting was officially over, replaced by the reality of their chaotic idol lives, but the lingering warmth between them remained.
Standing up from the booth, Izumi stepped closer to Makoto's side. Before picking up his umbrella, he leaned down slightly, his fingers catching the collar of Makoto’s jacket and fixing the crooked line. "Make sure you don't stay here too late staring at those screens, Yuu-kun," Izumi murmured, his voice full of concern. "Your eyes look tired enough as it is. I'd hate for your eyesight to get any worse. I'll review the rest of the legal drafts tonight and text you my take on it."
Makoto looked up, the slight irritation from Leo's interruption melting away at the familiar, doting gesture. He smiled, steady and bright. "I'll pack up soon, Izumi-san. Stay dry out there. Thank you for spending your time with me."
"Thank you for the coffee too," Izumi replied, giving the collar one last affectionate pat. "Don't forget to wear your scarf on the way back." With a final wave, he turned toward the door, his posture instantly snapping back into the crisp, flawless elegance of a top model as he stepped out into the rain.
The little brass bell above the café door chimed, cutting through the quiet hum of the room as Izumi stepped out into the rain. Left alone in the suddenly empty booth, the soft, affectionate warmth on Makoto’s face instantly vanished, replaced by a deep, heavily annoyed scowl. He stared at his tablet for a second before aggressively pulling out his phone. His fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a rare, uncharacteristically blunt message directly to Leo, but then he sighed and deleted the messages.
Makoto hadn't even locked his screen before three ellipsis dots bounced into existence, as if Leo had been staring at the chat room, waiting for exactly this reaction.
The phone buzzed instantly with a response that managed to be infuriatingly cheerful yet cuttingly harsh.
Makoto stared at the screen, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he slowly locked the phone and shoved it into his pocket. He sighed heavily, looking down at his laptop, a wry but fiercely determined look settling over his features. The interruption was annoying, but it only proved exactly what he had realized tonight; he was just going to have to work that much harder to completely win Izumi over.