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Every time Shu turns on his PC after a long day at work, he tries to convince himself that this has to be the last time he does this. He’s not a broke student anymore, he can pay for his expensive fabrics and equipment on his own, and he doesn’t need to feel the sting of disgust every time he types in the code for his latest Amazon gift card.
He certainly doesn’t need to put on the entire creepy act that he does anymore. Though having the right sort of clothes was useful in attracting the men he wanted attention from a few months ago, he doesn’t have any trouble with keeping his sole remaining provider under his thumb. Still, he keeps putting on the skimpy outfits, and he keeps replacing the pink Razer cat ear headphones every time they break.
This evening, Shu has put in even more effort than usual. He’s touched up his eye makeup and added heavy blush to each cheek, copying each step from a tutorial by a girl with split-dyed hair. He slips on a pair of white lounge shorts and knee-high pink socks, but instead of throwing one of his regular oversized sweaters, he opens the package he’d received this morning and pulls out a pink turtleneck. It looks unsuspecting at first, but when he puts it on, there’s no missing the heart-shaped window that exposes the pale skin of his chest. He expected it to sag a little, but he’s pleasantly surprised by how snug the fit is.
While he waits for his computer to start up, he can’t help but stare at himself in his bedroom mirror and wonder how he’d managed to fall this far.
Although he’s constantly asking himself why he still does this, there’s a small, deeply buried part of him that knows exactly why he sticks at it. After the hordes of desperate, ugly, horny men fell away, unable to cope with Shu’s increasingly frequent financial demands, only one remains willing to throw himself at him. Acanthus - no, Mika , he doesn’t like it when Shu calls him by his screen name - picks up calls, replies to DMs, and hands out compliments like he’s still trying to get ahead of some now-nonexistent competition. Best of all, he opens his wallet, which is why Shu now has a PC powerful enough to run all his art programmes simultaneously and more clothes than he can fit in his closet.
Recently, though, the void he fills in Shu’s life has gone well beyond the financial. He finds himself actively looking forward to their calls, even if he has to pitch up his voice and pose in increasingly impractical ways every time he turns on his camera. Mika tells Shu that he couldn’t possibly have eyes for another when he looks like that, and Shu believes it, even though he knows it’s all part of the stupid, superficial act they’ve built up over the past six months. Even when he’s too tired to put on the makeup and dress himself up, Mika never fails to make him feel beautiful.
It’s the addiction to Mika’s affection that keeps him clicking on the voice call button night after night.
-
Across the city, a gangly, green-haired twenty-two year old receives a Discord call.
Mika doesn’t have much else to look forward to these days. His shows pay him well, but he has few friends at his dance company, and he has even fewer remaining from his days at school. His schedule is erratic, giving him little room for a consistent dating life. He might make more than enough money to survive, but calling it ‘earning a living’ seems pointless when he seems to do very little actual living. It’s why he doesn’t mind giving over a quarter of his salary every month just to see Shu smile.
He picks up the call on the second ring. Thankfully, Shu hasn’t elected to turn his camera on. He’s so tired that he hasn’t changed out of the outfit he wore for his performance. Matinee shows present him with an additional challenge; instead of crashing straight into his pillow once he gets home, he has to exist in the uncomfortable limbo between awake and asleep until it reaches a socially acceptable hour to go to bed.
“Good evening, kitten,” he purrs into his mic. He does his best to mask his accent while he talks to Shu. It’s not that he’d feel judged, exactly, but he thinks it doesn’t fit the vibe he’s going for. “How’re you doing?”
The sound of Shu’s giggle always gives Mika butterflies. “Hiii,” he says. “Today was pretty boring, honestly. I missed you lots and lots!”
The artificial pitch of Shu’s voice makes Mika’s heart ache. It serves as a grim, constant reminder that no matter what he does, they’ll never interact in a way that isn’t dictated by the rules of their sick little game.
“I got that sweater you sent me, by the way,” Shu chirps. “It’s sooo cute. Do you want to see a photo?”
Mika sits up straight in his office chair. “I certainly do, kitten.” A few seconds later, an image pops up in his DMs.
Shu is curled up in his pink gaming chair, legs folded under him. He’s put his hands behind his back to emphasize the stretch of the fabric across his chest, and Mika’s eyes are immediately drawn to the heart-shaped expanse of pale skin exposed by the cutout.
“How is the lighting in your room always that good?” he exclaims. It’s not what he means to say, but if he came out with the first thing he’d actually thought of, he’d be no better than an animal. As open as he’s willing to be with Mika, Shu clearly values restraint, and he has no qualms about keeping him begging for hours if he’s too vulgar.
Shu laughs. “Is that really what you’re focusing on?” he says.
“No, of course not, I just... Yer - Erm, you’re stunning, Shu. You’re absolutely incredible, did you know that?” Mika hungrily rakes his eyes across the image of Shu’s body. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but something about this sweater evokes a particularly primal desire within him. It presents the smallest offering of what lies beneath, the tiniest bit of temptation, and the knowledge that it’s all for him .
Or, at least, he can pretend it’s all for him. He doesn’t know much about what Shu does outside of their calls. Maybe he’s got a partner in real life who knows all about it and doesn’t mind because Shu gets so much out of it. Maybe they’re the one who gets to rip the sweaters and skirts off him at the end of the night.
“Do you like it?”
“Of course I fucking like it,” Mika mumbles. He presses the heel of his palm into his crotch and wonders what the hell is wrong with him, getting hard at a fully-clothed jpeg like he’s a desperate teenager all over again. “I love it. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you, kitten.”
“I’m the one who’s lucky, you know?” Shu chirps. “You take such good care of me.”
For some reason, Shu’s words make Mika’s chest tighten. Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Am I the only one who takes care of you, kitten?”
-
Shu freezes. He wasn’t expecting that sort of question, not today, not now. He came to this call knowing he was too vulnerable for it. If Mika prods him in just the right way, he might be a little too honest.
“Of course you are, Mika,” he says, as cheerfully as he can muster.
“Really? I don’t believe ya.”
Shu claps a hand over his mouth. He’s detected the soft edges of a Kansai accent in Mika’s speech before, but he’s avoided asking about it. He knows it’s better not to learn too much, better not to get too close. When he hears it slip out, he comes to the uncomfortable realization that he likes it even more than he thought he would.
“Why are you asking?” Shu says. It’s safer for Mika to believe that he has another person in his life, probably, but he doesn’t feel inclined to lie.
Mika sighs. Shu can hear the rustling of fabric as he shifts in his chair. “Never mind. Sorry. That was a really inappropriate thing to ask ya. You. To ask you.”
Shu hesitates for a moment before tossing himself headfirst into the deep end. “You don’t have to hide your accent from me,” he says, so softly that he’s worried his mic won’t pick it up at all.
He’s not good at this. He’s a master of keeping people at arm’s length, and when he becomes too interested in someone else, he bites and snaps and pushes back until they run away of their own accord. He’s never done that with Mika. He’s never wanted to. He’s afraid that if he lets him get too close, it’ll happen before he even knows what he’s done.
Mika breathes a sigh of relief. “Are ya sure? It’s not very pretty,” he says. “A lotta people find it irritatin’.”
He’s fishing for a compliment. That’s fine. That’s familiar territory. Shu’s gotten good at telling men exactly what they want to hear. He doesn’t actually have to say it like he means it.
“I think it’s lovely,” Shu says, like he means it.
He immediately pinches the top of his thigh. Get it together, Itsuki , he thinks. You’re going to make this idiot fall in love with you.
He doesn’t allow himself to think about what will happen if he’s the idiot who falls in love. Best to not entertain that dangerous line of thought.
“And - and I was being honest,” he adds. His voice is slipping into its usual lower register. “I don’t have a partner. You’re the only person I talk to.”
-
Mika launches himself out of his chair and pumps his fist. He hopes Shu can’t hear the sound of him accidentally kicking the plastic bottles that have piled up under his desk.
“That makes me real happy, Shu,” he says as calmly as he can. He rarely uses Shu’s real name, but he feels it makes sense when he’s getting this rare moment of vulnerability. “I’m - I don’t wanna say I’m a possessive kinda guy, but I like knowin’ that I’m the only one who gets to see ya like this. I mean, I don’t know why yer stickin’ by me, ‘cause there must be lots of guys -- or girls too, I dunno -- fallin’ at yer feet, but -”
“Stop that,” Shu says. “I’m confident in my good taste. You can trust my choices.”
Mika sits down again, taken aback by the firmness of Shu’s tone. He’s used to complete deference from him. He thinks he might like this more.
“I wouldn’t take money from a man who treats me like an animal,” Shu continues. “And I certainly wouldn’t dress myself up in such a degrading manner for him.”
Mika squirms in his seat. “Erm, sorry if ya find it degradin’. Yer welcome to stop, if that makes ya happier. Don’t feel like yer stuck with me.”
“I never said I wanted to stop,” he replies. “Don’t be so presumptuous. There’s a certain satisfaction in it, if you must know.”
“Is this how ya talk to people in real life?” Mika says. “Like, are ya normally this rude?”
“Maybe I am. So what? Does that make you like me less?”
“It doesn’t, it doesn’t!” Mika says quickly, waving his hands at his screen as if Shu could see him dismissing the idea. “I’ll keep buyin’ ya stuff, if ya let me.”
“That’s not what I mean, Mika. It isn’t about the money anymore. Do you understand that?”
“I dunno if I do.”
(And while it’s true that he doesn’t know , he’s hoping so intensely that he worries his heart might burst from his chest.)
“It means that I’m no longer interested in performing this asinine roleplay every time we call. I want us to talk like we’re equals.”
Mika frowns. “I want that too. I guess I jus’ don’t get it.”
“Get what?” Shu says, his voice laced with irritation. “How much clearer do I need to be?”
“Why’s it me? I mean that seriously, kitten - Erm, Shu. I think ya deserve much better than this. If yer fed up with how things are goin’, maybe ya need to move on.”
-
Shu rolls his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. Mika is being so pathetic that he briefly considers rescinding his suggestion.
“I don’t have time for this self-flagellating nonsense. Either you take what I’m saying at face value, or we hang up now and never speak to each other again.”
He can clearly envision the panicked expression that must be on Mika’s face. “No! That’s not what I want, I promise.” He pauses for a moment. “I like ya. I really do. Maybe it’s silly of me, maybe it’s like the kinda idiot that falls in love with a prostitute or somethin’ -”
Shu’s jaw drops so quickly that it almost unhinges. “Prostitute!?” he shrieks. “You need to take that back right now if you know what’s good for you.”
“Nngah, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” Mika cries. “I jus’ meant it in the way that everythin’ felt so transactional. I hit the jackpot when I met ya, Shu. Yer beautiful, yeah, and I can’t deny that I was drawn to yer body more than anythin’ at first, but yer one of the smartest and most thoughtful people I’ve ever met and yer so nice to me even though ya don’t have to be. I was afraid of the day ya got tired of me, because no one’s ever stuck around long enough to get to know me until now, especially not someone this cool.”
“Really? I find you charming, Mika. I would’ve expected you to be quite popular.”
Mika laughs, an awkward, hiccuping sound. “Y’think so? Well, I could say the same about ya, if I’m bein’ honest. I mean, I can’t believe yer not datin’ anyone.”
Shu is quiet for a moment. He decides now is not the time to admit that his loneliness runs much deeper than that, and glosses over the statement entirely.
“Well, I’m not. And you’re not. So where does that leave us?”
“Can I - can I turn my camera on?”
Shu responds by clicking the video chat button himself. He’s positioned his webcam so that it doesn’t reveal much of the room behind him, but the back of his sewing machine is clearly visible over his left shoulder. Mika asks him what he’s working on sometimes, unlike every other man he’s spoken to on this godforsaken app, and he’s always happy to show off.
“Oh, okay, lemme just -”
Mika’s keyboard clicks loudly in Shu’s ears, and then he’s plastered across his monitor. He’s leaned so far forward that all Shu can see is the top of his head, but after a moment, he leans back in his chair and rests his hands on his stomach. His camera reveals his entire upper body and some of his legs.
Shu’s hands fly to his mouth, his purple eyes blown wide. Mika’s costume is stunning . Though the bottom half is uninspired, as male ballet tights tend to be, Mika’s white waistcoat is detailed with golden trim and hundreds of miniscule pink roses. The sleeves are long, made from a sheer white fabric that reflects the light of his monitor and reveals the outline of his toned arms. He can’t possibly imagine the amount of hours that would’ve gone into sewing something so delicate looking and yet able to withstand hours of rigorous practice.
“Sorry,” he says. “I guess you’ve never seen me in my dance stuff before.”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Shu whispers, his voice muffled through his fingers. “They let you take this home?”
Mika shrugs. “Not really, but sometimes I sneak out with it because I’m too lazy to change.”
“That’s disgraceful, Mika. Imagine if you dirtied it with your horrible energy drinks. Where on Earth do you perform?” Shu says. He was expecting Mika to be some sort of D-list contemporary dancer, not a ballet dancer, and certainly not professional enough to earn him an outfit like this. He hadn’t thought twice about where his money was coming from, but now the pieces are quickly snapping into place.
Mika seems to shrink, hunching his shoulders and crossing his legs. A light blush dusts his cheeks. “Erm, I’ve danced all over, but right now I’m at the Royal Academy.”
Shu feels faint. He leans over and puts his head between his legs until the dizziness subsides.
“Are you alright?” Mika inquires.
Shu draws himself back up to full height, eyes still closed, and lets out a long, slow exhale. “You mean to tell me that a classically trained professional ballet dancer wastes his free time playing Overwatch and spending his disposable income on pink-haired e-sluts?”
“Nothin’ wrong with havin’ unusual hobbies,” Mika chirps. “And don’t call yerself a slut, Shu, ‘cause yer better than that.”
Shu tilts his head all the way back. The glare of the ceiling light is harsh against his eyes, but he genuinely believes he’ll faint if he looks at Mika’s costume again.
“You are the strangest fucking person I’ve ever met.”
“I get that a lot.”
Shu snaps back into reality and grabs his sketchbook and pencil off his bed. He flicks through it until he finds a blank page nestled in between two used ones, and immediately begins to draw a figure.
“Erm, what’re ya doin’ now?” Mika says. He’s undone the top two buttons of his waistcoat while Shu was checked out, revealing the white undershirt beneath it. Shu winces when he notices the faded sauce stain.
“I’m going to sew you something, Mika. I want to see you wear it while you dance. Not professionally, of course, just for me.”
Mika’s face lights up. “Really?” he says. He claps his hands a few times and squeals, drawing his legs up to his chest. “What have I done to deserve that?”
Shu forgets to reply for a moment, too transfixed by the mountains of possibilities that are hitting him faster than he can put pencil to paper. He’s never had an opportunity like this in his life, even when he was allowed to dictate an entire fashion show on his own for topping his class at university. To design something designed for movement -- real, magnificent movement, not the stiff struts of models -- is all he’s ever wanted.
“You’ve done so much for me, Mika,” he eventually mumbles. “Let me do this for you.” It’s more for him than it is for Mika, but he doesn’t have to know that.
Mika grins ear-to-ear. “Well, if ya insist. Yer top’s real distractin’, though. When yer arms are movin’ like that, it makes yer chest bounce.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re an actual barbarian,” Shu growls, slamming his sketchbook shut and throwing it haphazardly behind him. “I cannot believe they trained someone like you in the fine arts.”
“I’m only human!” Mika says, raising his hands in surrender.
“I suppose some things never change,” Shu says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Take off that costume before you ruin it. I’ll need you to take your measurements for me.”
“Oooh, yer askin’ me to take my clothes off. How dirty.”
Shu throws his headphones onto his desk and rips his sweater off. Mika squawks and averts his eyes from Shu’s bare chest.
“Don’t pretend to be the picture of modesty now, you animal. You need to strip to get accurate measurements, and if you’re well behaved, I’ll reward you by doing the same.”
“Erm, if ya say so!” Mika says. He jumps out of his chair so fast that he trips and faceplants into his bed. “Gotta go get a tape measure!” he says by way of explanation, and then he’s gone, leaving Shu with nothing but his own smug expression and the bombsite of Mika’s bedroom displayed on his screen.