. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ (1) ༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆.
The sound of bass-heavy music pounded through the studio walls, vibrating in tandem with the sweat-slicked floor as FANTASTICS pushed through the bridge of their new song. Breathless voices counted beats between each move.
“One, two—Leiya! What are you doing!?”
The music came to a sharp halt as Yamamoto Sekai’s voice cut through the room like a whipcrack. A collective groan rose around him, followed by a dramatic collapse from Keito, who sank to the floor like a wilted flower.
“Leiya-kun,” Sota muttered, arms over his head, “that was the third time you spun in the wrong direction.”
“I was improvising, I think it could be a good fanservice,” Leiya defended, showing a sheepish grin that worked wonders on fans but meant absolutely nothing to Sekai.
“You spun into Yusei, you menace,” Sekai snapped, wiping sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt.
“Your son is acting up again,” Sekai declared, turning to Taiki with an expression that toed the line between fond exasperation and righteous fury. “Fix him.”
“My son?” Taiki blinked, equally breathless and glistening, fingers wrapped around a towel as he tossed it over his shoulder. “Excuse me, wasn’t he the one you chose because he ‘had the sparkle of chaos in his eyes’?”
“That sparkle has become a wildfire,” Sekai deadpanned. “This is clearly because of your parenting.”
“Don’t bring my parenting style into this,” Taiki said, narrowing his eyes as he crossed the studio toward Sekai, expression full-on disapproving mom mode.
“Then control your child!”
Leiya watched them with wide eyes, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “Can I just say I feel like a hot topic of discussion right now.”
“Shut up, Leiya!” both leaders snapped in perfect unison.
From the corner, Yusei was fanning himself from the heat. “They’re doing it again,” he stage-whispered to Sawanatsu, who nodded solemnly.
“Married couple arguing over which child takes after who,” Horinatsu muttered. “Classic.”
Meanwhile, Keito, ever the brave baby of the family, tried to step in.
“Maybe we can talk about solutions instead of blame—?”
“Keito.” Taiki turned slowly toward him, voice low, dangerous.
“Oh no,” Keito blinked, hands raised. “I recognize that tone. That’s the ‘you’re just a child’ tone. I apologize for speaking above my sibling status.”
The two turned back to each other, and the tension in the air shifted. The arguing hadn’t cooled—it just... simmered. There was a heat in their gaze that burned beneath the teasing and frustration.
“Look,” Taiki said, stepping a bit closer, “maybe if you didn’t spoil him so much during choreography notes, he wouldn’t think every mistake was just him being ‘free-spirited.’”
Sekai stepped forward too, their toes nearly touching now. “Maybe if you didn’t defend him every time he pouts, he’d learn how to take correction without puppy eyes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was my parenting session.”
“Don’t turn this on me, Taiki.”
The room was dead silent, all eight other members practically holding their breath.
Keito leaned toward Sota. “Are we supposed to call a counselor?”
“Don’t,” Sota whispered, “just... let it play out.”
Sekai’s jaw tightened as he looked at Taiki, who was still flushed from dancing, hair damp and falling into his eyes. There was a flicker of something wild in that look—affection disguised as frustration, want hidden beneath words, and an intimacy so familiar it made their bickering feel like a form of love.
“Okay,” Taiki sighed after a long pause, pushing a hand through his hair and stepping back just a little. “Let’s do it again from the chorus. Leiya, no spins unless instructed.”
“Yes, sir.” Leiya grinned cheekily, already positioning himself back in line.
Sekai rolled his eyes but nodded. “Five, six, seven, eight—”
The music started again. Smooth. Controlled.
For all their chaos, they moved in perfect sync.
After a round of rough and intense practice, the group is dissolved into a quick break for the second time. Yusei lay on the floor dramatically with a bottle of Pocari, muttering, “Every time you two fight, it adds ten years to my life and five years to your fake marriage.”
“Fake?” Horinatsu scoffed. “At this point, they probably have a joint bank account and a Google calendar with shared anniversaries.”
“You think they send each other Google invites for arguments?” Sawanatsu asked half teasingly.
“Tuesday 3 PM: fight about Leiya’s footwork.”
“Thursday 5 PM: flirty banter thinly disguised as a disagreement.”
“Saturday night: intense staring contest during cooldown.”
Sekai threw a towel at them, grinning. “You all talk too much.”
“Yeah,” Taiki added, just a little pink in the ears, “and some of us are trying to parent responsibly.”
“Yeah,” Leiya muttered to himself, “by fighting over custody of me like I’m a house plant with abandonment issues.”
Taiki groaned into his hands. “I’m changing family to other EXILE TRIBE groups. This one is too much.”
“Too late,” Sekai said with a smirk. “We already filed the family register.”
It was a joke.
Probably.
Maybe.
Definitely not.
Not when the warmth in Taiki’s eyes lingered just a second too long as Sekai reached out to ruffle Leiya’s hair, their hands brushing accidentally, yet so familiarly that even Keito squinted suspiciously.
“Are they...” he whispered.
“No, no,” Sota muttered, sipping from his thermos. “That would be too easy.”
And just like that, FANTASTICS fell back into chaos again—music blaring, dance steps flying, and two leaders arguing like old married couple in the middle of it all.
And if Taiki looked a little too fond when Sekai took his hand to correct a step—
And if Sekai’s fingers lingered just a beat too long when they brushed against Taiki’s wrist—
Well.
It’s not like anyone didn’t notice.
. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ (2) ༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆.
The high of the Osaka show still buzzed in their limbs as FANTASTICS filed out of the venue. Bodies heavy with fatigue, sweat gluing clothes to skin, laughter clinging to their throats like smoke. Sekai stretched his arms above his head with a groan that sounded halfway between a victory cry and a death rattle.
“We crushed it,” he muttered, eyes twinkling beneath his tousled hair.
“You almost crushed me with that spin at the end,” Taiki yawned beside him, wiping his damp neck with a towel, his hair sticking to the sides of his flushed face. “But yeah. The crowd gave me goosebumps.”
They reached the hotel just past midnight, bags slung lazily over shoulders. The comforting thought of fluffy beds calling to their exhausted bodies like sirens.
But the mood dampened the second their manager bowed with a sheepish smile.
“I am terribly sorry. There’s been a booking issue.”
Eight heads swiveled in panic.
“What kind of issue?” Sota asked cautiously.
“Two rooms short.”
A pause. Then—
“WHAT?”
“No worries, no worries!” the manager said quickly, hands waving like a cartoon character trying to calm a riot. “The staff scrambled and found one more room—but it has only one double bed.”
The silence was deafening.
“Did you say double bed?” Keito asked slowly, like the words physically hurt him.
“Yes,” the manager answered with the confidence of a man who had clearly accepted death. “We can draw sticks to decide who shares it.”
Horinatsu snorted. “This sounds like a game show gone wrong.”
A battered bottle was placed in the center of the hotel lobby, filled by eight sticks—two marked with tiny red dots at one end, courtesy of Yusei’s emergency red lipstick.
“Grab one, and take it out at the same time,” Sota instructed like a seasoned game master.
One by one, the boys chose one of the sticks, holding it tightly in their fists.
“Three, two, one—REVEAL!”
The room exploded.
And right in the center, two red-tipped sticks stood tall and terrible in the hands of Sekai and Taiki.
“No WAY,” Keito gaped. “You two?!”
“This feels rigged,” Sota said, suspicious.
“You saw me shuffle them!” Yusei yelled defensively. “I swear on my skincare routine!”
Sekai lifted his brows, waving the red stick like a white flag. “Guess it’s us.”
Taiki sighed. “We’ve lived together before. It’s fine.”
“Fine,” Leiya echoed with a grin. “Totally fine. Not like anyone’s going to wake up to new sibling announcements or anything.”
“I will throw you off the balcony,” Sekai grumbled.
──── ୨୧ ────
Room 1103 was... cozy. Neutral walls, faint smell of lavender cleaning spray, a large window with the Osaka skyline blinking sleepily beyond it. And the dead center of it, there it was—a single, perfectly made double bed.
Taiki walked in first, already rummaging through his bag for his phone charger. Sekai flopped face-first onto the mattress, groaning.
“This bed’s actually soft,” he mumbled into the pillow.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Taiki said, already grabbing extra pillows from the closet. “I’m making a wall.”
“Seriously?” Sekai turned, lip quirking. “What is this, a cheap ass romantic comedy drama?”
“You kick in your sleep. I witnessed it when you fell asleep on couch back then,” Taiki said coldly, stacking the pillows like a barricade. “And I value my spine.”
“Coward,” Sekai teased.
“Says the man who once rolled off the bed and blamed the ghost in our old apartment.”
“It was a ghost.”
Taiki didn’t have the energy to bicker so he didn’t answer.
It was a brief of silent moment before Sekai complained and tossed his shirt off his shoulders. “It’s hot in here.” And just like that, he peeled off his shirt, muscles flexing with lazy grace, skin glistening faintly under the yellow lamp.
Taiki didn’t even blink. “Do whatever you want. We’ve all seen each other naked anyway.”
“Damn, you didn’t even flinch,” Sekai said, mock-offended.
“I’m too tired to be flustered.”
“I’ll try again tomorrow,” Sekai grinned.
Despite the teasing, the room fell into a lull. Exhaustion crept into their bones like warm water. Concert fatigue was a heavy thing—deeper than just sore limbs. It tugged at the eyelids, at the heartbeat, made time slow.
They changed clothes—Sekai decided not to wear any shirt to sleep, brushed teeth side by side in the bathroom, argued over who got to pee first, laughed at absolutely nothing. And finally, they collapsed onto either side of the bed.
Sekai lay on his back, arms behind his head. Taiki curled on his side, facing away. The pillow wall sat awkwardly between them, threatening to tumble.
And then...
Silence.
For the first time all day, there was no sound. No fans. No screaming. No footsteps. Just the hush of city lights outside the window.
Sekai turned slightly. “We’ve never shared a bed before.”
“No.”
“It’s weird.”
“A little.”
“... But not bad.”
Taiki didn’t answer. His breathing had already evened out.
──── ୨୧ ────
Sota stabbed a piece of scrambled egg with surgical precision. “Where are the leaders?”
“Still not here,” Sawanatsu said, checking his phone.
“Didn’t they set alarms?”
Leiya smiles playfully. “Do you think they—”
“NOPE,” Horinatsu cut in. “Do NOT complete that sentence. I refuse to let my brain touch that image.”
“I think it’s cute,” Keito said innocently. “They’re probably just cuddling in their sleep like tired puppies.”
Everyone stared.
Keito blinked. “What?”
They waited for the leaders to appear for half an hour but no one showed up at the hotel buffet. Phones are called, but never connected. So they decided to send two brave warriors to check on them.
Knock knock knock.
Nothing.
Knock knock knock knock.
Still nothing.
Knock knock knock knock knock knock.
“Maybe they’re dead,” Keito whispered.
Sota groaned. “No. We are not leaving without them.”
He knocked again. “Sekai-san? Taiki-kun?”
From inside, the sound of shifting sheets. A groggy thud and uncoordinated footsteps can be heard softly. The door finally clicked open and there stood Sekai.
Hair utterly wild, eyes half-lidded, bare chested, revealing a gorgeous expanse of bare skin. His pants hung dangerously low on his hips. A pillow mark streaked across one cheek like a battle scar.
Sekai rubbed one eye, voice raspy and deeply unimpressed.
“Who... what do you want?”
Keito froze. Sota took a sharp inhale.
“Uhhh—” Keito began, eyes wide.
Before they could answer, a muffled voice came from inside the room.
“Who is it...?” Taiki called out, voice still hoarse with sleep.
Sota blinked.
Sekai blinked.
All the pillows were spotted all on the floor.
Half-naked Sekai-san, hoarse voiced Taiki-kun, all pillows scattered on the floor… Sota’s usual smart brain suddenly didn’t work, and Keito still stunned there with mouth gaping.
“We’re very sorry for disturbing!” Sota yelped, grabbing Keito’s arm and dragging him down the hallway. “We just wanted to tell you that it’s almost the time for hotel check out!! But if you’re still tired then we won’t bother you!! Goodbye!!”
“Wait—what?” Sekai frowned after them, too dazed to fully process anything.
The door closed shut.
Sekai stood still for a second, then turned and walked back into the room.
Taiki was half-sitting now, hair a tangled mess. “Who was it?”
“No idea,” Sekai mumbled, flopping back into bed.
“They could’ve been robbers.”
“Let them. I’m too tired to care.”
A soft laugh. “Same.”
And just like that, they curled back under the covers—close enough to touch, but not touching. Faces inches apart.
Neither mentioned the collapsed pillow wall. Maybe Sekai did kick during his sleep. Maybe Taiki was attracted to another body warmth and decided to crumble the wall and sleep closer. Maybe one of them woke up during midnight and realized they were too close, but too tired to complain.
They slept for a few precious minutes more.
. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ (3) ༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆.
The FANTASTICS meeting room was unusually quiet.
The type of quiet where not even Keito dared to whisper a joke under his breath. Not even Leiya, who once attempted backflips indoors just to kill time, had the guts to stretch his legs. Not even Yusei, ever the sweet peacekeeper, opened his mouth to ease the tension.
Because in the corner of the room, slumped in the plush black chair reserved for their leader, was Yamamoto Sekai—hood up, arms crossed, and an aura so dark it made the fluorescent lights flicker. He didn’t say a word as he stared at his iPad, but the intensity of his silence was enough to make everyone else question their life decisions. Occasionally, he'd sigh. Deep, heavy sighs. The kind that shook the room like aftershocks.
No one knew why.
No one dared to ask.
Except one.
“Good morning~” came a light, familiar voice from the door.
Taiki stepped in, mask pulled down, smile warm and slightly sleepy as usual. His tousled curls bounced gently with each step. A second coffee in hand. He greeted the staff, waved at the members, and with absolutely zero hesitation, slid right into the seat next to Sekai like gravity had always meant for him to be there.
Sekai didn’t even look up, just made a low grumble in response. But his shoulders dropped, just slightly.
The meeting began.
Sota sat with the music director, Yusei humming under his breath beside him. Leiya was bouncing his leg, and the Natsukis scribbled down notes with military precision. Keito had to physically stop himself from scrolling his phone. Across the room, Taiki leaned forward with a nod, absorbing the concepts being thrown at them. But his gaze flicked sideways more often than not.
Sekai wasn’t off professionally. His suggestions about choreography were precise as always, noting rhythm structures, timing breaks, camera appeal. His voice was calm, even, leader-like. No mistakes.
But… something was off. That glimmer in his eyes was missing. That bounce in his voice when he talked about stage formations. That half-grin he threw at Taiki when they matched opinions.
Nothing.
Just tight-lipped nods. And the sighs.
When the meeting finally took a break, everyone all but bolted from the room, escaping like it was a war zone. Except Taiki.
He leaned his elbow on the table, turned toward Sekai fully, and gently prodded.
“Tell me.”
Sekai blinked. “What?”
“That aura is illegal. You scared even Keito into silence. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Sekai pouted—actually pouted, bottom lip sticking out like a sulking kid. “It’s not that deep.”
“Liar.”
Sekai’s gaze dropped to the table, and after a long pause, he muttered, “I lost.”
“…Lost what?”
“There was a drop, Taiki,” Sekai said dramatically, lifting his head with the look of a war survivor. “Supreme x Kimetsu no Yaiba. Limited edition hoodie. The one with Rengoku’s flame pattern. They only released a hundred pieces in Tokyo.”
Taiki blinked. “…Oh my god.”
“I tried everywhere,” Sekai went on, voice rising like he was recounting a tragic romance. “I had five alarms. I logged in ten minutes early. I even tried one of those shady resale sites. It sold out in under one minute, and now the prices are insane.”
“Condolences,” Taiki said, utterly deadpan.
Sekai narrowed his eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s Rengoku.”
Taiki hummed noncommittally. “Still. Glad it's not something serious.”
Sekai groaned, slumping over the table. “This is serious.”
Unseen by him, the rest of the members peeked in from the hallway. Sota breathed out in visible relief. Leiya whispered, “Oh thank god it’s just anime.” Keito grinned. “I thought we were getting disbanded.”
──── ୨୧ ────
A week later, on backstage…
The pre-livestream dressing room buzzed with energy. Makeup artists moved like ninjas. Hair was sprayed, touched-up, fluffed. Staff ran back and forth checking tech. Sota practiced vocal runs in a corner. Leiya and Keito argued about what snacks to eat after the stream.
Taiki stepped in holding a carton bag with the unmistakable Supreme logo painted in black and red.
Sekai was mid-laugh at one of Sawanatsu’s chaotic ONE PIECE theories when Taiki approached him silently. He shoved the bag into Sekai’s lap and said in casual tone, “Here. Just take it.”
Sekai blinked at it. “What is it?”
“Just open it.”
Skeptical, Sekai peeled open the bag, and—
He froze.
Absolutely. Frozen solid.
His mouth dropped open, hands tightening on the material like it was spun from angel feathers.
“You didn’t.”
Taiki just shrugged, playing nonchalant, but his ears were already tinged bright red.
“You didn’t!” Sekai gasped again, pulling out the exact hoodie—Supreme x Kimetsu no Yaiba, Rengoku edition, flame-kissed sleeves, the vibrant red and gold licks dancing across the softest black cotton he’d ever touched. His size. Perfect condition. Tags intact.
He looked up, voice half-cracked, “You bought this for me?”
Taiki cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. You wouldn’t stop moping. Couldn’t take the drama.”
“…How did you even find it?”
“Yahoo Auctions,” Taiki said. “Had to bid for it. Got into a war with some guy named ‘ZenitsuFan94.’”
Sekai burst out laughing, the brightest he’d looked in a week. “You fought a war for me?”
Taiki smiled without looking directly at him. “You fight enough for the group. This is the least I could do.”
Sekai was already stripping off his old worn hoodie—shamelessly, right in the middle of the dressing room—and tugging the new one on. It fit like a dream, the design landing perfectly on his arms and chest.
Taiki watched him fondly. He stepped forward and fussed with the hoodie, adjusting the hood so it sat just right on Sekai’s shoulders.
“You’re such a perfectionist,” Sekai murmured, voice lower now, warmer.
“You would do the same for me,” Taiki said.
“Yeah,” Sekai whispered. “I would.”
From across the room, Keito peeked out from behind the partition and loudly whispered, “Why does it feel like we’re intruding on a married couple’s moment?”
Sota giggled behind his water bottle. “Sekai-san is definitely the sulking dad. Taiki-kun is the caring mom who quietly fixes everything.”
Leiya grinned. “I feel like I’m watching a domestic anime.”
“‘My Husband is a Sulking Otaku,’” Keito said.
Sekai turned just in time to catch that, narrowing his eyes. “Say that again and you’re buying me the next one.”
The crowd dispersed in panic and pretend to continue their activities like nothing happened.
. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ (4) ༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆.
The summer heat rolled off the concrete like waves, shimmering in the air above the backyard Keito had rented for his YouTube BBQ shoot. Cicadas screamed in the background, half-hidden by the hum of chatter, laughter, and the distant pop of fireworks being tested early by Leiya and Horinatsu.
Sekai stood at the grill, sleeves rolled, tongs in one hand, a sweatband holding back his hair. Smoke curled up in thick white ribbons. The scent of soy-marinated short ribs and miso-glazed chicken wings filled the air like a seduction. His expression was cool, calm, collected.
"Sekai-san looks too cool right now," Yusei muttered to Sawanatsu, watching from under a beach umbrella, legs sprawled like a cat in heat.
"He's not even blinking," Sawanatsu replied. "I think he entered a zen state."
Behind them, Taiki wandered back from helping Keito set up camera angles, wiping his hands on his jeans. His hair was soft with sweat, lips pink from the soda he'd just finished, the collar of his pastel striped tee slipping off one shoulder like it had given up. He beelined toward the grill, clearly drawn by smell alone.
Sekai didn’t look up. Didn’t say a word.
He lifted one particular slice of short rib—perfectly cooked, edges caramelized, juices glistening like temptation—and placed it onto a small, separate plate.
Then, like it was instinct, he held it out sideways.
Taiki blinked. "Wait—this is my favorite part."
Still not looking at him, Sekai responded with a quiet, "You always go for that piece first whenever you have BBQ. I know you. How many years do you think we’ve been together?"
Taiki stared.
The world seemed to shift slightly. Just a fraction. Like something warm cracked open in his chest.
Yusei dropped his soda.
"I’m sorry, did everyone hear that?!" Leiya called from across the yard, hand over his heart. "Is this a drama shoot? Should I roll the camera?"
"This is domestic as hell," Sota groaned, flopping dramatically into a lawn chair. "Why does it feel like we’re all intruding our parents?"
Keito laughed behind the camera. "Do we need to put a censor blur over them? Too intimate for YouTube.
Taiki flushed pink, fiddling with the paper plate in his hands. “You didn’t even ask if I wanted food yet.”
Sekai finally glanced over, eyes dark with amusement. "Did I need to?"
Taiki looked like he was about to short-circuit.
──── ୨୧ ────
Later that winter—months after that fateful BBQ, with memories of grilled meat and chaotic fireworks, came a harsh December shoot.
They were filming for a winter fashion spread in the open, half-dressed and barely awake at 6 AM. The frost hung in the air like tiny knives. Everyone looked miserable. Especially Taiki, who was visibly shivering.
"Why is it always freezing on location?" he whined, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
Sekai, seated on a bench nearby, didn’t reply. He just opened his bag, pulled out a jacket, and tossed it over with casual precision.
Taiki caught it mid-air. "Wait. This is yours."
Sekai shrugged. "You forgot your coat. Again."
Taiki slid his arms through the sleeves, the hoodie massive on him—black, plush, warm, and emblazoned with some anime girl with big boobs printed on the front. The sleeves swallowed his hands, and the hem fell halfway to his knees.
Horinatsu looked at them painfully. "The camera is recording us. At least bring a normal one, not this borderline hentai thing.”
"Why do you even pack extras?" Taiki asked, cheeks pink as the wind bit at him.
Sekai stood up, fixing his gloves. "You always forget."
Taiki tilted his head. "This is the third time."
"Mm." Sekai nodded, as if that answered everything. "And I’ll keep packing it."
Taiki didn’t respond. He just pulled the hoodie tighter around himself, half-hiding in the scent of Sekai’s cologne and soft detergent. No thanks. No words. None needed.
──── ୨୧ ────
The café was busy—bustling with the soft clatter of cups, indie music playing faintly from ceiling speakers. Sekai sat near the window with Yusei and Sota, long legs crossed, phone in one hand, iced latte in the other.
The barista placed a tray down with three drinks.
"Oat milk latte, hot hojicha, and matcha roll," she said.
Yusei squinted. "Why did you order hot hojicha? You already have iced latte."
Sekai didn’t answer. He just slid the drink to the empty chair beside him.
Two minutes later, the door jingled. Taiki jogged in, scarf trailing behind him, cheeks pink from the cold.
He spotted the tray, paused, then looked at Sekai.
“… How did you know I wanted hojicha today?” he asked, slowly sitting down.
Sekai sipped his latte. "You had a sore throat yesterday. You always go for hojicha when that happens."
Taiki blinked and hid his face behind hot cups.
──── ୨୧ ────
The pre-concert meal room was a battlefield.
Members rushed in and out, grabbing snacks, rice balls, and drinks like they were stealing treasure. Sota and Keito argued over miso soup. Leiya grabbed the last three pudding cups.
Sekai, of course, was already seated, legs stretched out, bento opened before him. He was unfazed. Untouchable. Scrolling through his phone with chopsticks in one hand.
But the moment Taiki stepped into the room, Sekai moved. Without looking, he reached into the tray of rice balls. Three tuna mayo flavored rice balls landed neatly on Taiki’s plate.
Taiki stared for a moment before took a seat slowly beside Sekai. "…How do you know I wanted three?"
Sekai took a bite of his own. "You always eat three before a show. First one fast, second one slow, last one during mic check."
Taiki narrowed his eyes. "Do you always watch me that closely?"
"No."
He absolutely did.
Taiki shook his head and starting to eat his favorite rice balls. "You’re insane."
"You’re predictable."
Leiya leaned toward Yusei. "And we’re just background characters in their marriage."
And perhaps that was the truth.
Because Sekai was always watching. Always remembering. His brain cataloged everything Taiki did—what food he liked, which songs he hummed when he was nervous, the way his hands curled when he was cold, the exact second his smile tilted from real to tired.
And Taiki?
Taiki never said thank you. But his eyes sparkled when Sekai handed him something before he asked. His laugh softened. He wore the jackets, drank the hojicha and ate the rice balls like they were love notes.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what they were.
. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ (5) ༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆.
The lights were up. Cameras were rolling. The soft buzz of industry-grade mics picked up every laugh, shuffle, and word.
It was a breezy weekday afternoon in a Tokyo studio, and FANTASTICS was filming a special segment for a popular variety show. The occasion? Promotion for their new single, the upcoming MV drop, and a bonus spotlight on Taiki’s latest acting project—his historical samurai drama that had been generating quite the hype across fan communities and veteran drama critics alike.
The members were arranged in two rows on the set’s couch: Yusei, Sota, Sekai and Taiki were in front, Keito, Sawanatsu, Horinatsu, and Leiya were behind them.
Sekai and Taiki almost had mirrored in posture. Sekai had one ankle resting over his knee, arms crossed lazily over his chest, sunglasses pushed into his eyes. Taiki was beside him, his posture straight but relaxed, a thumb rubbing slow circles over his lower lip—a tell that he was both excited and just a tad nervous.
“Alright! So let’s start with the new single!” the host said with a grin. “It’s already trending on the social media. Tell us the concept behind the choreography and the theme of the MV.”
“We wanted something summery, but not just bright,” Sekai explained.
“More like—the feeling of dusk in August,” Taiki added. “That warm, nostalgic glow.”
Sekai grinned. “Exactly. We used slower grooves in the hook choreo to match the softness of the melody.”
“And we shot the dance scenes near the ocean—” Taiki continued.
“In Chiba,” Sekai finished Taiki’s sentence. “It rained the day before but cleared up right on cue.”
“It actually worked out perfect,” Taiki said. “The sky had this cloudy texture that made the colors pop in post.”
The host blinked, amused. “Wait—did you two rehearse this whole answers?”
In unison, all of FANTASTICS chimed, “Nope. That’s just them.”
The host had burst into laughter, momentarily bewildered. The camera had cut briefly to Keito who snickered, while Yusei tried to cover his grin behind a water bottle.
The interview moved onto the next topic.
“Now Taiki-san, let’s talk about your new drama!” the host said. “We heard you’re playing a very stoic swordsman character?”
Taiki chuckled, a little bashful. “Yeah, it’s my first time doing full-on samurai era, so I was really nervous about handling the dialect and sword forms.”
“He trained for weeks,” Sekai chimed in. “Had bruises all over his arms. Still came to rehearsal the next day and danced full-out.”
“Oh wow, that’s dedication,” the host remarked.
Taiki had smiled softly. “Well, someone kept nagging me not to skip practice.”
Sekai grinned. “Nagging? I call it responsible leadership.”
“You literally texted me ‘I will drag your actor ass to the studio myself.’”
“And yet you showed up. Motivation works.”
More laughter. That quiet crackle of chemistry filled the air again. The host leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “You two are really in sync.”
Without missing a beat, both of them continued,
“Taiki always says—”
“—that we’ve lived in each other’s pockets for so long, we share a brain.”
The studio had gone silent for a few moments.
“…Okay. I believe that one was definitely rehearsed?” the host asked, wide-eyed.
“No.” Both Sekai and Taiki answered at the same time.
Yusei wheezed. Sawanatsu snorted so loud it echoed. Leiya practically slid off the couch, clutching his stomach. Horinatsu had muttered, “This is getting ridiculous,” while Keito wondered, “Is this what marriage looks like?”
Meanwhile, Taiki blinked slowly, only just realizing what he said.
“…Oh.”
Sekai, nonchalantly sipping water, shrugged. “Well, it’s true.”
In the evening, when it was just the two of them in the van and a driver who was sending them home, Taiki’s thoughts still lingered around the filming that day.
“...You really remember every line I say,” Taiki said quietly into the void.
Sekai didn’t looked up. “You say a lot of things.”
“But you quote the important ones.”
Sekai let out a soft laugh, eyes still on his phone. “You talk a lot about me. Of course I remember.”
Taiki turned to him, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “And you’re always watching.”
Sekai finally looked up, meeting his gaze.
“Always,” he said.
Later that week, a new behind-the-scenes video dropped on the official FANTASTICS YouTube channel. It featured bloopers, off-camera laughs, and a shot where Sekai silently slid over a bottle of water to Taiki without even looking—right as Taiki was about to ask for one.
The comment section was exploded.
“Sekai is Taiki’s husband confirmed 😭 ”
“The way they finished each other’s sentences I—”
“Manifesting a drama where Sekai is the tsundere husband and Taiki is the flustered wife.”
“This is domestic. This is love. This is what 10 years of marriage looks like.”
. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺(+1) ༻⋆. °⛧⛧°. ⋆༺ ❤︎༻⋆.
It started, as most unhinged moments did, with an MC segment that went completely off the rails.
It was midway through FANTASTICS LIVE TOUR, night three at Saitama Super Arena. The energy was electric—flags waved a lot, fans screamed themselves hoarse, and the members glowed under the lights, dripping in post-performance sweat and adrenaline.
They had just wrapped a performance of their newest single when the stage lights dimmed into a soft golden wash, signaling the start of their talk segment.
Sekai was the first to grab a mic, already grinning, his arm slung casually around Taiki’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Taiki, flushed but smiling, accepted the familiar weight without hesitation.
Leiya flopped dramatically onto the corner platform, claiming it like a throne. “Can we talk about something real quick?” he asked, one hand already raised like he was about to declare a national emergency.
The audience roared in anticipation.
Leiya pointed straight at the two leaders. “You guys realize you’ve been fake-married for like… five years now, right?”
The crowd screamed.
Sekai snorted. “Fake married?”
Yusei raised his mic. “You literally had an argument in the dressing room over who used the last of the shampoo. If that’s not marriage, I don’t know what is.”
Sota chimed in sweetly. “Also, Taiki-kun brings food for all of us when Sekai-san forgets to eat. And Sekai-san carries Taiki-kun’s bag when he’s tired.”
Keito added, deadpan, “And they fight about whose turn it is to treat us snacks.”
Horinatsu and Sawanatsu, in perfect sync: “Like parents.”
The arena buzzed with energy. Fans chanted like it was a wedding march. Sekai smirked and leaned into the role, tightening his hold around Taiki’s shoulders. “We’ve basically raised these kids, haven’t we?”
Taiki’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he lifted his mic. “Well, you cook.”
Sekai arched a brow. “You clean.”
Taiki shrugged, playful. “That’s a marriage.”
And the crowd lost it.
Flags were waved wildly. Fans screamed. The group members screamed. Even the staff wobbled from backstage laughter.
Leiya, never one to let chaos die, waved his mic like a wand. “Wait, wait, wait, this needs to be official. Right now. On stage.”
Sekai perked up instantly. “You want a wedding?”
Taiki turned to him with mock sternness. “You’re proposing during MC segment? Really?”
Sekai leaned in close, so close their mics barely picked it up.
“Let’s get married.”
That did it.
Leiya collapsed to his knees in fake shock. Sawanatsu hit the floor laughing. Yusei choked so hard on his water, Keito had to slap his back.
Sota’s eyes sparkled as he pointed skyward with sudden inspiration. “I’ll officiate!! I bless this chaotic union!”
The lighting crew caught on immediately. A romantic spotlight dropped like moonlight over Sekai and Taiki. Soft pink filters bathed the stage. Sparkles drifted. Someone in tech played wedding bells. Some creative staff in the backstage screamed into a headset, “Go with it! GO WITH IT!”
Sota stepped forward, suddenly in Very Serious Pastor Mode, holding a rolled-up towel like a sacred scroll. He cleared his throat with dignity.
“We are gathered here today,” he started, “to witness the union of our dear leaders, Yamamoto Sekai and Sato Taiki—also known as the parents of FANTASTICS.”
The arena cheered.
Sekai and Taiki, still fully committed to the bit, turned to face each other. Sekai had that mischievous glint in his eye like he was loving every second of this. Taiki, cheeks burning red, stood tall with mock formality, hands behind his back and a barely-suppressed smile on his lips.
Sota continued, “Yamamoto Sekai, do you promise to keep nagging Sato Taiki about hydrating and never letting him skip meals even when he's filming seventeen dramas a day?”
Sekai, steady and smug. “I do.”
Sota turned. “Sato Taiki, do you promise to keep looking out for Yamamoto Sekai even when he forgets to rest due to his super concentrated gaming session?”
Taiki, soft and sure. “I do.”
Sota nodded solemnly. “Then by the power vested in me by EXILE TRIBE Family Law, I now pronounce you—”
The entire arena held its breath.
“—HUSBAND AND HUSBAND!”
Everyone cheered. The lighting ignited like fireworks while the other members completely lost it. Keito dropped to his knees laughing. Horinatsu filmed everything with dramatic commentary worthy of a docuseries.
Sekai tilted his head, leaned in, gently lifted Taiki’s chin like he was in a live romance drama—and kissed him.
For a beat, the world froze. Taiki’s eyes flew open, then fluttered closed—and he didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in, just a little, like he’d been waiting.
They parted slowly.
Taiki was flushed, dazed, but smiling. He grabbed Sekai’s hands and never wanted to let it go.
Like it had always been meant to happen.
END