Hokuto checks his phone for the fifth time in three minutes. 7:58 PM. His fingers drum against the sticky wooden table, matching the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat. The tiny izakaya booth feels like a confessional box, except he hadn’t confessed anything. Yet.
What possessed me to ask him out on air?
The memory of last night’s radio show plays in his mind with excruciating clarity. They hadn’t been paired for a show in years, and there was Taiga, looking exhausted but radiant after their Best Artist appearance, talking about catching up with friends now that Mozart! had wrapped.
“Now that Mozart! is over since yesterday, I have to catch up with friends again,” Taiga had said, stretching in his chair.
The words tumbled out of Hokuto’s mouth before his brain could stop them. “So, shall we go out?”
The silence that followed lasted approximately half a second, but in radio time, it felt like an eternity. Hokuto’s stomach clenches at the memory of Taiga’s wide-eyed look, those expressive brows shooting up in surprise, and the subsequent “Hmm?”
A waiter appears at his table. “Sir? Would you like to order while you wait?”
“Just water for now.” His voice cracks.
He tugs at his collar, suddenly aware that he spent forty-five minutes choosing this shirt. Black, fitted, casual, but not too casual. What if Taiga shows up in sweats? What if he completely misreads this whole situation?
The moment at the end of the radio show replays again. That painful silence. Then Taiga’s laugh — that bright, musical sound that made Hokuto’s chest tight.
“How about we go out for drinks tomorrow night?”
Their first night out. Just the two of them. Without their other four group mates.
They’ve known each other for over a decade. Shared stages, dressing rooms, countless moments. Yet here he sits, palms sweating like a teenager before his first date.
Is this even a date?
The waiter returns with water. Hokuto takes a sip, ice clinking against his teeth. He has chosen this place carefully — intimate enough for conversation but public enough to not seem presumptuous. The worn wooden booths offer privacy without pressure. The steady hum of other patrons’ chatter will fill any awkward silences.
His phone buzzes. 8:01 PM.
“Sorry I’m late!”
Hokuto’s head snaps up. There stands Taiga, cheeks flushed from the autumn chill, hair slightly windswept. He wears black jeans and an oversized black t-shirt that makes Hokuto’s carefully chosen outfit feel overdressed.
“Traffic was awful.” Taiga slides into the booth, their knees brushing underneath the small table. “Have you ordered yet?”
“Just got here myself.” Liar.
Taiga grins, reaching for the menu. The sleeve of his t-shirt rides up, revealing the pale skin of his forearm.
Hokuto forces himself to look away.
Just two friends getting drinks, he reminds himself. That’s all this is.
“You know,” Taiga says, not looking up from the menu, “I was surprised when you asked yesterday. On air, no less.”
Heat creeps up Hokuto’s neck. “Yeah, well…” He scrambles for words. “You mentioned wanting to catch up with friends, so…”
“Friends.” Taiga’s tone is unreadable. He sets down the menu and catches Hokuto’s gaze. “Is that what this is?”
The question hangs in the air between them. Hokuto’s pulse thunders in his ears.
Before he can respond, the waiter materializes again. “Ready to order?”
Taiga turns to the waiter with a practiced smile. “Two Sapporos and some edamame to start?”
Hokuto nods, not trusting his voice. The question still echoes in his mind. Is that what this is? What is he supposed to say to that? The truth feels too big for this tiny booth, too raw for the gentle yellow lighting and the clinking of glasses around them.
The beers arrive quickly. Taiga takes a long sip, his throat working as he swallows. A drop of condensation rolls down the side of his glass.
“So,” Taiga says, setting down his beer. “Tell me what I’ve missed while I’ve been stuck in 18th-century Vienna.”
Hokuto’s mind races through a thousand potential responses. Each seems worse than the last.
“Oh, you know. Work. Shows. The usual stuff.”
Idiot. Could you be more boring?
“Must have been intense, playing Mozart for six months.” He winces at his own words. As if Taiga needed reminding what role he played.
Taiga’s eyes light up. “It was incredible. The energy in that theater...” He leans forward, hands gesturing as he spoke. “There was this night when the harpsichord almost broke mid-scene.”
Hokuto knows about that night. He’s read every review, every fan account, hungry for details of performances he can’t attend. The memory of Taiga’s final show, streamed on his laptop two nights ago, burns bright in his mind — how Taiga had owned that stage, his voice soaring through “I Am Music” with raw emotion that still gives Hokuto chills.
But admitting that feels too much like confessing.
“That must have been challenging,” he manages instead, taking a careful sip of beer.
“Challenging? It was terrifying! But you know that rush when everything could fall apart, but somehow it makes the performance even better?”
I know how you looked in that moment, Hokuto thinks. How your whole face transformed when you found your way back to the melody.
“Yeah, I can imagine.” His fingers trace patterns in the condensation on his glass. Say something intelligent about theater. Anything.
“The costume changes were brutal though.” Taiga laughs, reaching for the edamame. “Try maintaining Mozart’s dignity while someone’s literally yanking off your pants backstage.”
The image makes Hokuto choke on his beer. He grabs a napkin, face burning. Great. Real smooth.
Taiga continues, describing elaborate backstage mishaps and cast bonding moments. Each story makes him more animated, more beautiful. Hokuto finds himself nodding, making appropriate noises of sympathy or amusement, while his inner voice screams at him to contribute something meaningful to the conversation.
Say something. Anything. Tell him how amazing he was. Tell him you couldn’t take your eyes off him during that final aria.
“You were—” The words stuck in his throat. Perfect. Mesmerizing. Everything. “Really good. In the role, I mean.”
Really good? That’s what you’re going with?
“Thanks.” Taiga’s smile softens. “I saw you at one of the shows, didn’t I? Close to the back, a few months ago?”
Heat crawls up Hokuto’s neck. Of course, Taiga had spotted him. He spent the entire performance trying to make himself invisible while simultaneously unable to look away.
“Yeah, I had a free evening...” And spent three hours getting ready, changed outfits four times, and almost had a breakdown trying to decide whether to go backstage afterward.
“You should have come and said hello.”
I wanted to. I rehearsed what I’d say. But what if I said something stupid and—
“Next time,” Hokuto says weakly.
The conversation lulls. Hokuto’s pulse roars in his ears. He should say something else, keep the momentum going. But every potential topic feels either too trivial or too revealing.
The silence stretches, elastic and dangerous.
He’s bored. He regrets agreeing to this. Why would someone like Kyomoto Taiga want to spend an evening listening to your awkward attempts at conversation when he’s just finished playing Mozart?
Taiga pops an edamame into his mouth, seemingly unbothered by the quiet. His fingers are elegant, even performing this simple task. Everything about him is elegant.
Meanwhile, Hokuto can’t even remember how to sit normally. Is this how he usually holds his shoulders? Where does he typically put his hands?
“The final performance was special,” Taiga says suddenly. “Different energy. Wish you could have seen it.”
I did. I watched every moment. I saw how your hands shook during the curtain call, how your smile was both triumphant and a little sad.
“Yeah,” Hokuto says. “Must have been.” Liquid courage. He tips back his beer, draining half the glass in one go. The carbonation burns his throat, but he welcomes the distraction from Taiga’s piercing gaze.
“Thirsty?” Taiga raises an eyebrow, that playful smirk tugging at his lips.
“Long day.” Another gulp. The alcohol hits his empty stomach, spreading warmth through his limbs.
Taiga matches his pace, finishing his own beer. He waves at the waiter. “Another round?”
“Sure.” Bad idea. Very bad idea. But Hokuto’s mouth moves faster than his brain these days.
Two fresh beers arrive. Taiga’s cheeks have taken on a rosy tint, his movements becoming more fluid, less guarded. He leans forward, closing the already minimal space between them.
“You never told me what you thought. About the show.”
Hokuto almost chokes again. “I wrote my thoughts in my blog.”
“That’s for the fans. I wanna know what you really think.”
“I—” Hokuto’s tongue feels heavy. “The way you played that scene, when Mozart first faces his own mortality—”
He stops himself. Too specific. Too obvious.
“You noticed that?” Taiga’s eyes light up. “I changed the interpretation after reading his letters to his father.”
Heat crawls up Hokuto’s neck. “The shift in your voice, from defiance to acceptance…”
Shut up shut up shut up.
“You really paid attention, huh?”
“I mean, who wouldn’t?” The words tumble out before he can catch them. “You commanded that entire theater. Even in complete silence, everyone was just... watching you.”
Like I always do.
Taiga ducks his head, but not before Hokuto catches the pleased smile. “Another beer?”
Their third arrives as Hokuto’s filter continues to dissolve. His eyes keep catching on details — the way Taiga’s fingers drum against his glass, how his throat moves when he laughs, the strand of hair falling across his forehead.
“Remember that high note in the finale?” Hokuto asks, gesturing with his beer. “When you—” He hums a few bars, then freezes.
Did I just sing Mozart at him?
But Taiga laughs, that bright, genuine sound that makes Hokuto’s chest ache. “You really did watch it.”
“The livestream,” Hokuto admits, then immediately wishes he hadn’t. “I mean, since I couldn’t make the last show—”
“You watched the stream?” Taiga leans closer. Their knees touch under the table. “What did you think of the musical the second watch around?”
“Beautiful.” The word comes out too soft, too reverent. “The way you did the tempo in ‘I Am Music’...” He trails off, realizing he’s revealing too much. The alcohol has turned his admiration transparent.
Taiga’s eyes widen slightly. His lips part as if to speak, but the waiter appears with more edamame.
“You know,” Taiga says after the waiter leaves, “most people just say ‘good job’ and move on.”
“Most people weren’t paying attention.” To every detail. Every gesture. Every breath.
The words hang between them. Hokuto reaches for his beer, needing something to do with his hands.
Their fingers brush as Taiga goes for his glass at the same time.
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
Taiga doesn’t move his hand back. The point of contact burns like a brand. His lips curve into that familiar teasing smile.
“You seem tense, Hokuto. Something on your mind?”
“No! I mean—” Hokuto withdraws his hand like he’s been burned. “Just tired from work.”
“Hmm.” Taiga props his chin on his hand, eyes glinting with mischief. “Is that why you keep staring at me?”
“I wasn’t—” Heat floods Hokuto’s face. Was I that obvious?
“You’ve barely blinked since I sat down.” Taiga leans forward, voice dropping to a stage whisper. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Your face is perfect!” The words escape before Hokuto can catch them. He clamps his mouth shut, mortified.
Taiga’s eyebrows shoot up. The silence stretches for one excruciating heartbeat before he breaks into delighted laughter. “Perfect? My, my, Hokuto. The beer’s making you bold.”
Kill me now. Hokuto grabs his glass, desperately seeking refuge behind it. But it’s empty. Of course it is.
“I just meant—” He fumbles for words, any words that might salvage his dignity. “You look... rested. After the show run.”
“Rested?” Taiga’s grin widens. “A minute ago I was perfect, now I just look well-rested?”
“That’s not—” Hokuto’s face burns hotter. “I was trying to say—”
The waiter appears with fresh beers. Hokuto has never been more grateful for an interruption in his life.
But Taiga isn’t done. He accepts his drink with that same wicked smile. “So, what else do you think about my face?”
“You were so dazzling in that final scene—I couldn’t stop staring!”
The words hang in the air like smoke.
Hokuto’s heart stops.
Did I just—
Oh god.
I did.
Taiga’s teasing smile freezes. The ambient chatter of the izakaya seems to fade away, leaving nothing but the thundering of Hokuto’s pulse in his ears.
One second passes. Two. Three.
Then Taiga laughs. It’s not quite his usual laugh—higher, slightly strained around the edges. “Dazzling? That’s a new one.”
“I meant your performance!” Hokuto scrambles to explain, hands flailing. “The way you portrayed Mozart’s last moments. Very... professional. From an actor’s perspective. Purely professional admiration. Between colleagues.”
Stop talking stop talking stop talking.
“Professional admiration.” Taiga takes a long sip of beer, eyes never leaving Hokuto’s face. “Is that why you’re blushing?”
“It’s the alcohol!” Hokuto fans his face, knowing he’s only making it worse. “And it’s hot in here. Isn’t it hot? They should really adjust their thermostat.”
“Mmhmm.” Taiga’s expression is unreadable. “So you professionally admired me enough to watch the livestream alone at home?”
“I—” Hokuto’s mind races. That strange laugh again. “Research. For future roles!” The lie tastes bitter. “Learning from your... technique.”
“My technique.” Taiga rolls the words around like he’s tasting them.
His smile has shifted into something Hokuto can’t quite decode—softer around the edges, but with a hint of... something else.
Taiga takes another sip of beer, his shoulders relaxing. “You know, I haven’t had a night like this in ages.”
Hokuto’s train of panicked thoughts screeches to a halt. “What?”
“Just sitting, drinking, talking.” Taiga gestures vaguely with his glass. “No costume changes, no vocal warmups, no pressure. Thanks for asking me out.”
Thanks for asking me out. The words echo in Hokuto’s head, making his chest tight. “I... you’re welcome?”
The alcohol must be hitting harder than he thought, because suddenly words are spilling out of him like an overturned bottle. “You deserved a break after that run. The way you threw yourself into that role was incredible. Every performance was different but somehow perfect.”
Taiga’s teasing smile softens into something more genuine, making Hokuto’s heart stutter. “You really did watch a lot, huh?”
“The way you played that scene in Act Two…” Hokuto leans forward, alcohol lending him courage. “When Mozart realizes he’s running out of time? I could feel it. The desperation, the defiance... like you weren’t just playing the role, you were him.”
Shut up shut up you’re rambling. Heat crawls up his neck as he realizes what he’s saying.
Taiga sets down his glass slowly, deliberately. The teasing glint in his eyes has been replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. “I didn’t know you paid such close attention.”
“How could I not?” The words come out barely above a whisper.
The silence that follows feels electric. Taiga’s knee brushes against his under the table, and Hokuto nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Most people,” Taiga says carefully, “don’t notice those details.”
“Most people are idiots.”
Oh god, did I say that out loud?
But Taiga laughs—not his usual bright sound, but something quieter, almost shy. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Hokuto.”
The way Taiga says his name makes Hokuto’s stomach flip. He grabs his beer, needing something to do with his hands.
“I just...” He stares into his glass like it might offer salvation. “I wanted you to know. How amazing you were. Are.”
Stop talking.
“The whole run, every performance, you just…”
Please stop talking.
“You shine.”
When he dares to look up, Taiga is watching him with an expression that makes his heart race. The usual playful mask has slipped, revealing something raw and uncertain underneath.
“Hokuto...” Taiga starts, then stops. He looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his glass in a way that seems almost nervous.
The words bubble up before Hokuto can stop them, pushed by liquid courage and the weight of years of silence. “The truth is, I think I… like you more than I should.”
The moment the confession leaves his lips, his stomach drops. The izakaya’s warm lighting suddenly feels harsh and exposing. Blood rushes in his ears.
Oh god. What did I just do?
His mind races through escape routes. He could laugh it off. Blame the beer. Pretend to get an emergency call. Maybe if he runs fast enough, he can be in another country by morning.
“I mean—” His voice cracks. “As a friend. A really good friend. Who I admire. Professionally. From a distance. Not that I’ve been watching from a distance. That would be weird. I just—”
“I was wondering when you’d finally say it.”
Hokuto’s rambling cuts off abruptly. He stares at Taiga, certain he must have misheard. But Taiga’s expression has shifted into something gentle and knowing, without a trace of his usual teasing.
“What?” The word comes out as a whisper.
“Hokuto.” Taiga’s voice is soft, almost fond. “You’ve been stealing glances at me for months. Years, actually. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Heat floods Hokuto’s face. He knew. All this time, he knew. Every lingering look, every fumbled conversation, every time he’d shown up at performances trying to be subtle – it all plays back in his mind with horrifying clarity.
“I didn’t—” His throat feels tight. “I never meant to make things weird.”
“Weird?” Taiga laughs, but it’s warm rather than mocking. “You’re the one who’s been acting weird, trying so hard to hide it. The way you’d jump every time our hands brushed during rehearsal. How you’d suddenly become fascinated with your phone whenever I changed shirts.”
“That’s not—” But it is. Every example hits with painful accuracy. Hokuto drops his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what? Having feelings?”
The simple question makes Hokuto peek through his fingers. Taiga’s still watching him with that gentle expression that makes his chest ache.
“I’ve been waiting,” Taiga continues, “for you to work up the courage to say something. Though I have to admit, I didn’t expect it to happen after four beers in an izakaya.”
A laugh escapes Hokuto, slightly hysterical. “I had a whole speech planned. Multiple speeches. None of them involved blurting it out like an idiot.”
“Of course you did.” Taiga’s smile widens. “Let me guess — you wrote them down? Practiced in front of your mirror?”
“...maybe.”
“Probably color-coded them too.”
“They were organized by scenario,” Hokuto admits, and Taiga’s laugh fills the space between them, dissolving the last of the tension.
The weight that’s been pressing on Hokuto’s chest for years begins to lift. He takes a proper breath for what feels like the first time all evening.
“So,” he ventures, still hardly daring to believe this is real, “you’re not... freaked out?”
“By you having feelings for me?” Taiga shakes his head. “No. By how long it took you to admit it? Maybe a little.”
The edges of the world feel softer now, gilded by beer and the surreal reality that Taiga knows. Has known all along. Hokuto’s secret wasn’t really a secret at all.
Taiga signals the waiter for the check, his movements fluid and self-assured. Even this simple gesture carries a natural grace that makes Hokuto’s chest tighten.
“You’re staring again,” Taiga says without looking at him.
“I—” Hokuto starts to deny it, then catches himself. What’s the point now? “Yeah. I am.”
The admission feels strange on his tongue. Liberating, but terrifying — like stepping off a cliff and realizing you might actually have wings.
“See? Was that so hard?” Taiga’s eyes dance with amusement. “Honesty looks good on you.”
Heat creeps up Hokuto’s neck. He takes another sip of beer to hide his smile, but his glass is empty again. When did that happen?
The waiter drops off their check. Their hands brush as they both reach for it.
“Let me,” Hokuto says quickly. “I invited you.”
“Such a gentleman.” Taiga smirks. “You know, you could’ve just told me sooner. Would’ve saved us both a lot of trouble.”
The words hit Hokuto like a physical force. Both of us? His mind races through every interaction, every shared glance, every moment he thought he was being subtle. Had Taiga been waiting all this time?
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest — part relief, part lingering nervousness, part sheer absurdity of the situation. His shoulders finally relax.
“Maybe I’ll be braver next time…” The words slip out before he can overthink them. He adds quickly, “If there’s a next time.”
Taiga leans back, his smile softening into something that makes Hokuto’s heart stutter. “There will be.”
There will be. The promise hangs in the air between them. Hokuto’s fingers tingle where they rest on the table, just inches from Taiga’s. He could close that distance now. It would be easy.
But his courage seems to have run dry along with his beer.
But at least there’s a next time.