Chapter Text
That morning, Narumi shouldn’t have taken the subway.
First of all, he hates the noise. Especially early in the morning.
Then, there’s the disgusting stench of whatever that foul mixture is; his delicate nose suffers every single time he stands on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive.
And lastly, he hates people. Being surrounded by an army of rushed, loud, inconsiderate commuters, all too focused on not being late to work to care about personal space, is reason enough for him to never take the subway again.
He should just start using taxis.
…No, that’s a terrible idea. The cost would be unbearable by the end of the month. It’s not like Narumi is loaded. Sure, he is not struggling, but he certainly can’t afford to be reckless with his money. He’s doing fine. Okay, more than fine, but that doesn’t mean that he should throw cash away on something trivial, right?
Like, for example, paying for a taxi to pick him up every morning, drive him to the studio, and then take him home at the end of the day. That would be a waste of money. And time. Because Narumi’s apartment is literally only two stops away from his studio. He could just walk.
…Yeah, as if.
Lazy, rising star, young fashion photographer Narumi Gen would never walk fifteen minutes first thing in the morning just to show up at the studio to work.
Absolutely not. Impossible.
Better the subway, then.
But if he loathes the crowded, suffocating train so much, maybe he should just use a car instead, right? Better to be stuck in Tokyo’s ridiculous traffic than to be packed like a sardine with sweaty strangers.
The problem? Narumi doesn’t have a car.
Or a driver’s license, for that matter—he failed the exam so many times that he just gave up. Clearly, driving is not for him.
And that is why Narumi arrives at his studio—fashionably late, of course—with a don’t you dare talk to me look on his face, accompanied by a striking pair of deep eye bags that somehow still manage to make his magenta irises pop.
Though, to be fair, those eye bags are mostly from him pulling an all-nighter. His latest photoshoots need editing, and those pictures must be sent to clients by the end of the week.
Oh, it’s Thursday, by the way. Narumi is not making that deadline.
Typical of him. No one is really surprised anymore, but that won’t stop his manager, Hasegawa Eiji, from delivering the usual morning scolding.
And with coffee in his right hand, the other stuffed in the pocket of his baggy pants, Narumi nods lazily at studio staff members as they greet him.
He doesn’t understand how they can look so lively at eight in the damn morning.
Narumi could never.
“You’re late,” Hasegawa states flatly, arms crossed over his chest, his expression dripping with disappointment.
Narumi sighs, taking a slow sip of his hot coffee before replying, completely unfazed. “Good morning to you too, Hasegawa-san.” His tone is utterly devoid of enthusiasm. He’s already mentally bracing himself for the inevitable scolding, the one Hasegawa has definitely prepared for him—the same one that will also come with a helpful reminder of his tightly packed schedule.
“Bet you were up all night messing around with your BS5 again,” Hasegawa scoffs, shaking his head in disapproval.
Narumi frowns, ready to immediately bite back—except Hasegawa shuts him down before he even gets a chance, launching straight into his infamous morning lecture.
And just like that, Hasegawa’s voice fades into background noise.
Because, for the record, that accusation is completely untrue.
Narumi wasn’t up all night playing video games.
He was working! On his photos!
…Okay, fine. Maybe he did spend a couple of hours playing that video game he’s been trying to finish.
But still!
That’s not the whole truth.
…Alright, maybe it was more than a couple of hours. He didn’t exactly keep track, can you blame him?
But.
Narumi did also work on the editing. That is a fact—an undeniable, absolute truth.
It’s just tragic, really. Such a pity that Hasegawa will never know this.
Narumi knows better than to interrupt the tall man mid-rant, so he lets Hasegawa finish his soliloquy in peace, sipping his coffee with practiced patience.
He yawns, not intentionally, of course, but when he catches the deadly glare Hasegawa shoots his way, he quickly covers his mouth.
Ops. That might have made things worse.
Still, after years of working together, Hasegawa has honed a patience most would consider saintly. By now, even Narumi’s most annoying and disrespectful antics barely make a dent in his resolve. With a long, resigned sigh, the manager finally speaks.
“Go on set. Now. They are all waiting for you. I already put out your equipment, you just have to set it up.”
“Thanks,” Narumi replies, his chin lifting in a small nod as if bestowing Hasegawa with royal gratitude.
Then, without another word, he walks past him toward the set.
As he crosses a couple of doors and hallways, he can’t help but notice the unusually loud buzz of conversation among the staff.
It’s not uncommon for people to chat and whisper as if sharing some scandalous secret—it’s just gossip, after all—but today, something feels… off.
The talking is hushed, but it carries an undercurrent of excitement. People lean in closer, speaking more secretively yet with an unmistakable eagerness, voices rising with every exchanged word.
Narumi doesn’t have to think too hard to figure it out.
The chat must be about today’s model.
Great, he thinks. They must have booked some big-name celebrity, and now everyone is freaking out.
Not that he cares.
Famous or not, it makes no difference to him.
Because Narumi Gen has the ability to make anyone shine in his photos.
His pictures have stolen breaths, turned nobodies into icons, and caught the attention of the world’s most prestigious fashion brands. The industry’s biggest designers don’t just want him—they request him, specifically, to shoot their campaigns.
Whoever the model is, they are lucky.
Because once they step in front of his camera, they’ll never look better.
Narumi has loved photography for as long as he can remember.
At the orphanage where he grew up, there was an older boy who had a camera. It was a gift from his parents before they died. And Narumi, drawn to him like an admiring younger brother, would hover around him constantly, watching, learning. It was he who first taught young Narumi how to use a camera.
And with that first click of the shutter, Narumi was pulled into a world of wonders. A world he needed to explore.
How many ways could he capture the same subject? How drastically would a photo change if he altered the angle, the exposure? How many expressions could he steal from the person in front of his lens?
He wanted answers to everything.
Then, somehow, life threw him an opportunity.
A rising designer discovered his work and asked him to shoot his latest collection—all while Narumi was still a high school student, balancing his studies with his role as the president of the school’s photography club.
That photoshoot was the beginning of his successful career.
He had no idea then just how far would he go.
And so, Narumi Gen became accustomed to the insanity that was the fashion industry.
Working with models who followed his every directive was easy. The fashion world paid exceptionally well. And, to be honest? Narumi liked the easy money.
No one could blame him. He was an orphan. He needed to survive. And in a world as unforgiving as this one, survival meant getting paid.
However, the real reason Narumi keeps taking pictures isn’t just for the money or success.
It’s because he loves capturing people’s emotions through his lens.
He, who rarely shows any emotion himself—aside from frustration, annoyance, or sheer exhaustion—loves to see what others can express.
Standing in front of a camera isn’t as simple as it looks. Some people freeze under the weight of the lens, becoming stiff, uncertain, uncomfortable. But Narumi has always managed to draw the best out of them—even the most timid, the most guarded.
There’s something about the way Narumi works. Something alluring, something that makes people feel at ease when he’s the one behind the camera.
And this—Narumi knows well.
And he wants to use his talent to show the world the things only he can see through his lens.
It doesn’t matter if people fail to understand the real meaning behind his photos. As long as they acknowledge his undeniable talent, Narumi is more than satisfied.
The real meaning? Narumi will keep it for himself.
But the beauty—the sheer beauty of his work—that, he wants the entire world to recognize.
He can live with people’s ignorance. He doesn’t need them to understand.
But he does want to be acknowledged.
Because, at the end of the day, he wants to leave something behind. A trace of his existence, however fleeting.
Greed has always tasted sweet on his tongue. It doesn’t matter if others can’t see the world the way he does.
And even the loneliness that comes with this life—this path he has chosen—has dulled with time.
Narumi doesn’t even care anymore if he has been left alone.
“Good morning, Narumi-san,” one of his assistants greets him with a bright smile, eyes practically sparkling as he steps onto the set, already eyeing his equipment on the table. “Today’s shoot is for a makeup brand. They are launching a new lipstick series and specifically requested you as the photographer.”
“I see. Thanks, Shinonome.” Narumi listens absently, barely registering her words. He doesn’t particularly care about today’s job—he’ll take his pictures, get it done, and then head straight home to finish editing before the sun sets. Otherwise, he will never hear the end of it from Hasegawa.
“Everyone is so excited for today’s campaign!” Shinonome clasps her hands together, her voice dripping with excitement. “You know, you’re going to work with that model—”
But her words fade into background noise.
Narumi is already tuning her out, focused entirely on setting up his camera. Besides, he never really cares who the model is. His job remains the same.
He’ll take his shots, make them shine, deliver perfection. That’s it.
For a lipstick campaign, the brand probably booked someone popular. Maybe Ashiro Mina, the cool, ethereal model currently dominating the industry. Every fashion house wants her, every brand fights for her as their ambassador. And honestly? It wouldn’t be bad publicity for Narumi to shoot the Ashiro Mina.
But—
It’s not her.
Narumi’s breath catches in his throat, his lips parting slightly.
He can’t tear his gaze away from the man standing in the middle of the set, surrounded by the makeup artist and the stylist.
A black silk shirt clings to his lean figure, tucked into matching slacks that contrast sharply against the stark white backdrop. His violet hair, cut into a bowl shape, frames his delicate yet striking features—his slightly elongated eyes, dark and deep, impossible to ignore.
Gorgeous.
Utterly otherworldly.
Then, for just a fleeting second, their gazes meet.
And time stops.
Narumi holds his breath.
Because he feels it—those crimson eyes locked onto him, piercing straight through him.
He’s sure that he doesn’t even look remotely decent today, but he will save his self-loathing for a later moment.
Right now, all he wants is to etch this—this perfect, unreal moment—deep into his memory.
His skin burns, a shiver running down his spine as the intensity of the model’s gaze makes his legs weak.
The man is truly looking at him—watching him. Attentive. Cautious. Focused.
Narumi isn’t imagining this.
Then, the model smirks.
And just like that, he breaks eye contact, finally releasing Narumi from his invisible grip.
Narumi exhales shakily, his breath coming out in a rush as if he has just experienced something divine.
Or maybe something straight out of Hell—depending on how you look at it.
That smirk? It’s a deadly weapon. And Narumi knows that the man wielding it is fully aware of his own power. If he wanted, he could have killed the photographer right then and there.
And honestly? Narumi already knows—today is going to be a nightmare.
Desperation tightens around his heart. His pathetically weak being won’t survive this shoot.
That man is a demon walking on Earth. And he’s ready to eat him alive.
It’s a tragedy, really. A disaster of epic proportions.
Because from the moment their eyes met—
Narumi was doomed.
His heart is still racing, slamming against his ribs, refusing to slow down.
And the thought of Hoshina Soushirou looking at him—smirking at him—is driving him insane.
He cannot believe that he just locked eyes with that man. Famous, witty, and devastatingly attractive, Hoshina Soushirou is the name on everyone’s lips. There isn’t a single living soul who doesn’t know who he is.
Youngest son of Hoshina Rihito, President of the Hoshina Group (don’t ask Narumi what that means—he only knows it has something to do with tech), Hoshina Soushirou started his career as a child actor, working with big names, before effortlessly transitioning into the modeling industry in his adolescence.
And since, as the youngest son, he wouldn’t be taking over the family business, his family didn’t just allow his rise in the fashion world—they encouraged it.
It was good publicity for them.
Easy money for the family, easy money for Hoshina, everybody wins.
Narumi knows this scheme a little too well.
He’s met too many people just like Hoshina.
And yet—
There’s something different about Hoshina Soushirou. Something irresistible. Something that calls to Narumi like a siren’s song.
He doesn’t know yet if he wants to chase that mystery or remain blissfully in the dark.
With his camera set, Narumi takes a few test shots, his lens focused on Hoshina as he casually chats with the stylist and the makeup artist.
Narumi is certain that Hoshina won’t even notice him.
But every time he clicks the shutter, Hoshina’s eyes find his lens. Direct. Unwavering.
Every time Narumi takes a picture, Hoshina is already looking at him.
As if he knows—as if he can sense the exact instant before Narumi presses the shutter.
And every single time those crimson eyes pierce through his lens, Narumi’s breath catches in his throat. Oh, by the way, his lens is very expensive. So if Hoshina’s stare is actually as dangerous as it feels, Narumi really hopes it won’t shatter into a million pieces right here on set.
…Right?
But the moment those eyes find him, again, Narumi’s heart skips a beat. His lips part, his fingers tightening slightly on the camera body.
And suddenly, he has to force himself to look away, pretending to check the display—anything to keep people from noticing the heat creeping up his face.
Because this?
This has never happened before.
Narumi has worked with countless models. And not once—not once—has he ever felt this dragged in, this unsteady, without even exchanging a single word.
And honestly?
He’s not sure he would even be capable of speaking to Hoshina.
The sheer absurdity of it almost pisses him off.
Because who the hell does Hoshina Soushirou think he is—to make his legs tremble, his heart stutter, his breath falter?
To make Narumi—Narumi Gen—come completely undone with nothing but a glance?
Time flows strangely today. Narumi feels disconnected, as if part of his mind is floating elsewhere, detached from the present moment.
And yet, somehow, he’s already deep into the shoot, his camera clicking away, his voice slipping into the air, softer than usual.
He’s guiding Hoshina. Directing him.
And Hoshina follows effortlessly.
Every pose Narumi envisions, every movement he wants—executed perfectly.
Hoshina is flexible, sensual—too sensual—and Narumi has to focus, has to concentrate, has to not let his eyes linger too long on that defined waist or the way Hoshina’s flexuous body folds at his command.
Because there are no issues at all.
Hoshina moves exactly as Narumi wants him to.
And through Narumi’s lens, Hoshina shines.
No—he ascends.
In every shot, he appears untouchable.
Ethereal.
A deity molded into flesh and fabric.
And Hoshina notices it, too.
How effortless this has become. How seamlessly their rhythm synchronizes.
Narumi’s voice grows quieter, his directions less frequent—because Hoshina no longer needs them. He moves as if he can hear Narumi’s thoughts, as if he already knows exactly what the photographer wants.
And he’s more than willing to give it to him.
Because Hoshina Soushirou was born to be the subject of Narumi’s photos.
Narumi realizes this immediately.
He can’t stop.
Shot after shot, he chases something unseen, something elusive. He wants to see how many different sides Hoshina can show him. How much more he can unravel.
Time slips away, and Narumi has already studied him—his chiseled features, his perfectly sculpted body—from every possible angle.
And he’s completely fucked.
Because Hoshina Soushirou has already poisoned him.
And Narumi—
Narumi is swallowing that venom willingly, letting it seep into his veins.
Because it’s a sweet drug.
And he has no intention of stopping.
He wants to become addicted to that man.
When it’s time to wrap up the shoot, Narumi stalls.
He takes longer than usual, stretching the session with poorly disguised excuses—blaming the lightning, a sudden camera setting he definitely didn’t program, or some imperceptible issue that no one else seems to notice, which, naturally, raises a few eyebrows.
Because Narumi never prolongs a job.
He never messes up.
And yet, no one questions him. No one asks why.
Hoshina, for one, doesn’t seem to mind.
In fact, he seems to be enjoying this borrowed time with the photographer.
And it’s surprising—almost laughable, really—that no one on set has noticed.
No one has noticed how Narumi and Hoshina’s gazes keep searching for each other’s—as if they are both yearning for something neither of them knew they needed until now.
No one has noticed how Narumi drifts closer when he usually prefers to keep his distance from models.
And no one has noticed how Hoshina’s eyes have remained locked onto the lens when he usually favors showcasing movement, shifting poses with every frame.
But for Narumi and Hoshina, this job had become something else entirely.
Something more.
Something they don’t even realize yet.
Eventually, Narumi runs out of ways to steal more time. He has no more excuses. And he has to let Hoshina go.
He doesn’t want to.
But he has no choice.
And when he finally whispers, “This is the last one,” his voice barely makes it past his lips, veiled with something dangerously close to sadness.
Resignation.
As if he truly, deeply, doesn’t want this moment to end.
Because, after all, he doesn’t know when he will get the chance to see Hoshina again.
As always, the staff applauds when the photoshoot officially ends, congratulating everyone—especially the photographer and the model— for their work.
Both Narumi and Hoshina bow.
The model deeper than the photographer.
But, to be fair, Narumi barely bows at all in these situations. Usually, he gets away with just a small tilt of his head, held a second longer than necessary.
So it’s a bit of a surprise to his colleagues to see him being so unusually docile today.
Again, no one says a word.
And Narumi doesn’t care if anyone has noticed his odd behavior. It’s none of their business.
But before he turns away, he looks at Hoshina.
One last time. And not through his lens.
And maybe—maybe—having that camera between them had been his lifeline. Because now, with nothing separating them, with Hoshina looking directly at him—
Narumi feels like he can’t breathe. That burning gaze is unbearable, and he has to fight the instinct to tear his eyes away, to escape its pull.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there, held in place, before Hoshina is called away by his manager.
The model subtly bows at him. And then he’s gone.
Narumi’s gaze lingers on his back, still breathless.
This must be it, Narumi tells himself. They won’t see each other again. Not anytime soon.
He feels something heavy settle in his chest.
And the day moved forward, unbothered, uncaring of Narumi’s growing turmoil, of the way his thoughts won’t quiet.
Still, Narumi doesn’t act like himself. And now people are starting to notice.
Yet, no one asks.
And Narumi doesn’t talk.
He finishes late, that day. Much later than planned.
He had intended to leave the studio in the afternoon, head home, and finish his editing there, but things didn’t go as planned.
Of course, they didn’t.
Now, he’ll have to pull an all-nighter if he wants to meet his deadline. Not that he actually will. But at the very least, if he manages to get the pictures edited and sent before tomorrow night, maybe—just maybe—he can avoid getting completely annihilated by Hasegawa’s wrath.
Maybe.
Oh.
Or maybe Fate has decided to toy with him tonight. Maybe Fate is bored and has decided that Narumi Gen would make an amusing little plaything.
By the time he finally drags himself out of the studio, the moon is already high in the dark sky.
It’s past 9 p.m.
And Narumi is exhausted. He just wants to go home. This time, he won’t make the same mistake as that morning. This time, he pulls out his phone, books a taxi, and promises himself this won’t become a habit.
But what he could have never anticipated—what no one could have anticipated—
Is him.
Hoshina Soushirou.
Waiting.
Standing right outside the studio, leaning against the building’s wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his long coat, half of his obscenely beautiful face hidden behind a black mask, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
If that’s supposed to be a disguise to keep paparazzi and fans from recognizing him—it’s a miserable failure.
Because Narumi would recognize him anywhere.
In any form.
In any crowd.
In any universe.
And for what feels like the countless time that day, Narumi finds himself breathless—heart stammering, mind short-circuiting, admiring the man in all his effortless magnificence—and utterly, completely speechless.
What the hell is he doing here? Narumi can only wonder. Is he waiting for someone? For—for his partner?
The thought sends a sharp, unexpected ache straight through Narumi’s chest. And he doesn’t really know why.
But before he can even begin to make sense of the turmoil unraveling inside him, Hoshina finally notices him. And Narumi’s heart stops.
Just stops.
And Hoshina moves.
Pushing off the wall with effortless grace, he walks toward Narumi—slow, deliberate, unshaken.
And despite the black mask concealing half of his face, Narumi knows.
He knows there’s a cocky smirk playing on Hoshina’s lips.
“Good evening, Narumi-san,” Hoshina greets, his voice muffled by the mask, yet unmistakably delighted.
He knows my name!? Narumi swallows hard, the lump in his throat refusing to budge.
“Hi.” That’s all he manages.
Great.
All right, he’s panicking—panicking—in front of the model. The model.
Just another absurdity to add to today’s already cursed list of oddities.
Narumi never panics, for fuck’s sake, what the hell is happening to him!?
“I was starting to think that you would never come out,” Hoshina remarks, stepping close—too close—and Narumi tenses.
Even worse.
Now Hoshina is fully aware of the effect he has on him. And judging by the amused glint in his eyes, he’s enjoying it.
Narumi refuses to look at him, his gaze darting anywhere but Hoshina’s face.
Hoshina smiles. Cute.
“W-Why you care?” Narumi stammers, utterly confused, trying desperately—but failing miserably—to keep his voice steady.
God, he wants to disappear.
A soft chuckle escapes Hoshina’s lips.
“Why, you ask, huh…” He tilts his head slightly, gazing off into the distance and giving Narumi a perfect view of his best side.
As if Narumi hasn’t already memorized every single detail of Hoshina’s face—and body, legs, arms, chest, ass—
Oh, fuck.
Hoshina turns back and catches Narumi staring.
Narumi freezes.
And Hoshina smiles.
“Would you like to keep me company for a drink, Narumi-san?”
Narumi malfunctions.
His bewilderment must be painfully obvious because another soft laugh spills from Hoshina’s lips, muffled by that damn mask that refuses to let Narumi get a proper look at them.
Maybe... Maybe he misheard? Maybe it was just his exhausted, overworked brain playing tricks on him?
But he doesn’t ask Hoshina to repeat it.
What if it wasn’t a fantasy?
What if it was real and asking again would make Hoshina rethink the offer?
No, no, he won’t lose this once-in-a-lifetime chance.
Even if there’s something behind the invitation, something wicked, or a simple candid camera prank, Narumi will let his future self deal with the consequences.
But for now—
“Yeah. I’d like to.”
—For now, Narumi accepts without overthinking it, without hesitation.
Maybe he’s just enchanted by the model.
Maybe he wants to understand why he’s so drawn to Hoshina.
Or maybe—
Maybe he just wants to spend the night with the beautiful man who has somehow done something to his heart.
The how and why don’t matter.
The ending doesn’t matter.
For now, Narumi wants to succumb to Hoshina.
And whatever happens after—
That’s future Narumi’s problem.