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.
Notes:
helloo~
i've finally finished this fic, it's been a long journey.
hoshina and narumi have made me suffer a lot eheh but eventually, here we are, all in one piece (maybe).i hope you'll enjoy reading their story as much as i've enjoyed writing them~
comments and kudos are always apprecaited, and i'll see you next week!
akemi
Chapter Text
Sometimes life really knows how to surprise you.
Because it’s not every day you find yourself, after a long, exhausting day, sitting at a bar table with the current hot issue of the entire industry.
When Narumi dragged himself out of bed that morning, he never—not even for a second—considered the possibility that he would end up spending time with Hoshina Soushirou.
The Hoshina Soushirou.
The man every human being on Earth seems to fantasize about—or better, wants to get in bed with.
And if the internet found out about this little… date? Escapade? Whatever this is—Narumi would be doomed.
He would witness firsthand the fury of women—and men, too—unleashing hell in the comment sections. He’d learn exactly what glacial stares that burn skin feel like.
Because being this close to Hoshina?
It is basically a taboo.
Everyone wants him.
No one gets him.
And somehow, miraculously, Hoshina’s private life has never been exposed in any sleazy gossip magazine.
No scandals.
No suspicious sightings.
No blurry paparazzi photos of him locking lips in some alleyway.
To the public, Hoshina Soushirou is the ultimate heartthrob. The most wanted bachelor on the market.
And the mystery surrounding his love life?
It only adds to the allure.
It’s strange. Weird. Suspicious, even.
But undeniably part of the Hoshina effect.
And Narumi—
Narumi is sitting across from him, watching him nurse a drink with that same ethereal calm he carried on set, wondering how the hell this even happened.
He doesn’t want to become the latest target of the mass media circus just because of one unexpected post-work encounter.
He doesn’t want problems.
He hates problems.
And yet, here he is.
He wonders why he even accepted Hoshina’s invitation in the first place.
But maybe he already knows the answer.
Because how could he have said no when Hoshina asked him out? Anyone else in his shoes would have said yes without hesitation. Of course they would.
But for Narumi, it’s not just about Hoshina being beautiful, or famous, or painfully alluring.
There’s something more.
Narumi has never cared about gossip. He doesn’t waste time with trending drama or cheap conversations. He barely knows what’s going on online and frankly, he doesn’t give a damn.
He has never lived his life by public opinion. Never asked for permission. Never sought validation.
Narumi Gen has always done exactly what he wanted.
And on set, when Hoshina struck him, it wasn’t just because of his looks.
There was something else. Something buried. Something whispering to him in silence. Something unseen, just beyond his reach.
Darker.
And Narumi felt the pull—felt the urge to uncover it. To know. To understand what that strange, insistent feeling was.
To him, it felt like Hoshina was calling out to him.
Like he wanted Narumi to come closer.
But Narumi had pushed those erratic thoughts aside, had buried them under professionalism. He had a job to do.
But the moment he stepped out of the studio, he was just Narumi.
And if Hoshina Soushirou asked him to keep him company for a drink… well, who was he to say no?
Life is unpredictable, indeed.
Narumi can’t stop staring at Hoshina’s mouth—the way it moves when he speaks, the way words spill out from those marvelous lips. They look too soft, too kissable—
Dangerously distracting.
Across from him, Hoshina seems… relaxed.
More so than Narumi ever expected. His shoulders are lower, his posture looser, far from the composed, poised figure he presented on set.
He even smiles—really smiles.
Sincerely.
He talks about how he started modeling. How his strict family never opposed his career choice—because it served their image. A son in the entertainment industry was good publicity. His success aligned with their interests. So they let him go that route, not out of support, but convenience.
Narumi is not surprised.
He’s heard that story before, in different voices, different faces.
It’s not new.
Normally, he wouldn’t care.
But this is Hoshina.
And Narumi realizes, with a strange mix of fascination and horror, that he would probably listen to Hoshina read his grocery list and still hang onto every word.
He would probably find something captivating between tomatoes and cabbages.
But what truly captures his attention, what really makes his heart stutter, is when Hoshina, with a disarming ease, talks about how he was raised.
The way he mentions it—so casually, so nonchalantly. His hand reaches for his left side, like an old habit.
It makes Narumi’s stomach twist.
And this time—this time, the feeling is not pleasant.
Narumi has always believed that powerful, wealthy families must rise from deep, dark shadows.
The brighter the light, the darker the shadow, right?
Hoshina is reserved, of course. He doesn’t say anything explicitly damning about his father or his brother, but he doesn’t even praise them, either.
And Narumi recognizes it. The flicker of pain that flashes in Hoshina’s eyes when their names slip past his lips.
They are cold people, he says. Strict. Always smiling, but never sincerely. Always talking about business, image, strategy.
He grew up with everything—big houses, sports cars, prestigious schools, endless money, friends by the dozens, and flings whenever he wanted.
Hoshina grew up surrounded by countless people.
But he never grew up with those people.
They were just passersby in a journey paved with loneliness.
And it doesn’t take a genius to see how different Narumi’s upbringing was.
Narumi didn’t have to worry about disappointing his parents. Because he didn’t have them.
He never worried about cold, because the orphanage rooms were always too full. Silence was a luxury. His world was noise—yells, laughter, crying, chaos.
He never had anything that was truly his. Not until the day he was given a camera by that older boy—the one who showed him the beauty hidden in the click of a shutter.
Narumi never had riches. But he knew the warmth of a hug. He knew the innocent tears of children, the comforting voice of someone who felt like an older brother, the taste of food made with care.
He would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the orphanage sometimes. When he turned eighteen, he had to leave. It was abrupt, but he expected it. Inevitable.
And since that day, a void has taken up residence in his chest, one he hasn’t been able to fill. Not with work. Not with success. Not even with the endless noise of the city.
How many years has it been since he last felt the warmth of a hug?
He honestly can’t remember.
His eyes lock onto Hoshina’s face, still speaking in that low, quiet tone as if he was sharing a secret meant only for Narumi.
And in this moment, Narumi realizes, he is not talking to beautiful, ethereal, breathless Hoshina.
Well… yes, of course he’s talking to beautiful, ethereal, breathless Hoshina.
But.
He is also talking to someone whose eyes reflect his own.
Someone whose gaze holds the same hollow weight.
And for the first time, Narumi recognizes something familiar in another person’s irises.
His loneliness.
His heart sinks, heavy and aching. A dull, uncomfortable pressure settles on his chest, and his head begins to throb. He can’t hear Hoshina’s voice anymore, not clearly. The sound gets swept away in a blur of soft, indistinct background noise.
The weight on his chest hurts, more than he’s ready to admit.
Unknowingly, he holds his breath.
He needs air. Fresh air—
“Are you okay?”
Hoshina’s voice cuts through the haze.
His eyes are sharp with concern, brows drawn together, lips slightly parted. One of his hands now rests over Narumi’s.
The photographer hadn’t even felt the contact until just now.
He blinks. Inhales. Tries to steady himself—slow, deep breaths, grounding. He doesn’t want Hoshina to see this.
What even happened? Was that a panic attack? But why?
It doesn’t feel like one. But maybe it was.
Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s the conversation—the weight of being seen.
Maybe it’s nothing at all.
But now, looking at Hoshina’s face, still watching him with that same quiet worry, Narumi feels something like guilt creeping up his spine.
But more than that—why does Hoshina look so concerned for him!?
He swallows and clears his throat, though he doesn’t pull his hand away from beneath the model’s. The warmth spreading from their touch is… comforting. Grounding.
Narumi hasn’t felt that in a long time.
“I—I’m fine,” he manages to say, his voice slightly trembling.
“Are you sure?” Hoshina asks again, concern deepening in his gaze. His fingers gently brush against Narumi’s skin. “You are pale.”
In truth, Narumi feels like he is combusting from the inside out. He’s hot, breathless, though for an entirely different reason now. Hoshina’s touch is delicate, careful, but it’s making his heart pound. He swallows again, afraid his voice might betray him.
“I promise I’m fine,” he reassures. “Maybe just a little cold, that’s all.”
It’s a weak excuse and he knows it. And from the way Hoshina’s expression tightens, it’s clear he knows it too. Still, Narumi hopes it’s enough to make him let it go.
Narumi pursues his lips. “I-I mean—”
“Would you like to go somewhere else?” Hoshina interrupts gently, his voice soft, the concern still present in his eyes.
His hand hasn’t moved.
“Somewhere warmer, maybe?”
Narumi blinks, confused. “Like where?”
Hoshina smiles. A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “Like my apartment?”
“Oh.” Narumi’s eyes widen, caught completely off guard.
Is this really happening? He’s not sure if he’s dreaming or hallucinating.
“I-I—”
Hoshina’s smile falters. He notices the sudden shift in Narumi—the shock, the hesitation. Maybe it was too much. Too fast.
He begins to pull his hand away. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. We can just go our separate ways—”
“No, wait—!” Narumi stops him without thinking, his hand closing around Hoshina’s wrist too tightly.
Hoshina winces slightly, and Narumi immediately loosens his grip.
“I mean…” He mumbles, gaze dropping to the table. He can’t meet the model’s eyes. But he doesn’t let him go. “If it’s okay for you…”
Hoshina is momentarily stunned by how young the photographer looks like this—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, embarrassment scrawled all over his face like a confession.
He looks like a boy grappling with his first crush.
The thought makes Hoshina smile. A soft giggle escapes his lips, and with it, the last traces of worry vanish.
“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” he says, gently intertwining his fingers with Narumi’s.
That’s when the photographer finally looks up at him. His long bangs shadow his eyes, but not enough to hide the shine in them. Those striking magenta eyes.
He’s adorable.
Narumi is speechless. Because honestly? He can’t believe this is happening.
If someone had told him that Hoshina Soushirou would one day ask him out—would suggest continuing the night at his place—Narumi would have laughed in their face.
And yet, here they are.
And Narumi doesn’t know how or why, but he knows one thing for certain. He’s not letting this moment slip through his fingers.
Because there’s something in Hoshina Soushirou’s eyes. Something that Narumi thinks he understands. Something pulling at him.
He wants to know Hoshina. Not just the model, not just the ethereal face in front of his lens.
He wants to know the person.
It almost feels like a need.
They may come from different worlds, but maybe they are not that different, after all.
Tonight, Narumi saw something in Hoshina’s beautiful eyes that felt… familiar.
And that’s enough.
With renewed strength, and a surprising rush of confidence, Narumi tightens his grip around Hoshina’s hand. The sudden boldness makes Hoshina gasp softly in surprise, eyes widening. Narumi meets his gaze, holds it.
Oh, shit.
Hoshina Soushirou is truly mesmerizing.
Narumi’s heart kicks in his chest, fast and loud and aching. And deep down, he hopes that this won’t be the last moment like this.
Because Hoshina makes him feel things he has never felt before.
And he doesn’t hate it.
Not at all.
“Lead the way.”
—
Narumi Gen has always found a strange kind of relief in the full moon. If there’s one constant in his life, it’s that pale light shining above his head, watching over him in silence.
No matter where he is, no matter how chaotic things become, the moon has always managed to soothe his unstable heart.
Even now—walking side by side with Hoshina, knowing exactly where this night is headed, what might happen—Narumi feels calm.
And it’s odd, really. Because inside his head, there should be a storm. A mess of tangled, flustered thoughts. But there isn’t. Even when Hoshina’s fingers brush against his—a light, almost nonexistent touch—his heart stays steady.
Until Hoshina slides his hand into Narumi’s fully, their fingers intertwining, firm and sure.
Then his heart starts pounding. Not from panic. But from something else entirely.
The cold night air bites at their skin, but it doesn’t matter. Not when their hands are warm from contact.
Narumi is beginning to realize that Hoshina likes to talk. He keeps speaking about whatever comes to mind, little anecdotes and passing thoughts, soft pieces of himself.
And Narumi knows—he just knows—that Hoshina is not trying to fill an awkward silence.
Because their quiet moments together haven’t been awkward at all.
They are comforting.
Intentional.
And Hoshina never forces Narumi to speak. If Narumi wants to share something, Hoshina waits.
Patiently.
Narumi is grateful for that.
He’s never been one for cheap talk, idle chatter always grated on his nerves.
But with Hoshina? He’s certain that he could listen to him for hours without the risk of growing bored. That voice—low, smooth, unhurried—is slowly becoming his favorite sound.
And the way Hoshina chuckles, soft and genuine, it brushes against Narumi’s ears like a caress. A gentle kiss. He could get drunk on it.
He doesn’t know what kind of enchantment Hoshina has cast on him, but he must be under a spell. What else could explain this? The rapid pace of his heartbeat. The ache blooming in his chest. The way everything suddenly feels like too much.
And yet. Narumi has always known how to resist. He’s always had the strength to break free from spells.
But then a thought cuts through his head, sharp and sudden. The bitter taste it leaves on his tongue makes his stomach twist.
This feels wrong.
Holding hands with Hoshina Soushirou feels wrong.
Knowing where this night is going feels even more wrong.
This entire situation feels like it’s slipping beyond his control.
But.
It’s the first time Narumi has ever felt anything so strong.
So real.
It’s strange. It unsettles him.
But he doesn’t despise it.
In fact, he kind of likes it.
For the first time, the ache in his chest doesn’t bother him.
For the first time, he can hear his own heart.
And he’s startled by the realization that maybe this is the first time he’s truly living.
The first time he has ever really breathed.
He doesn’t want to lose this feeling. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow and slip back into that familiar numbness. He doesn’t want to lose this sudden, fragile ability to feel something.
This is wrong.
Completely, utterly wrong.
Narumi can’t let himself give in to instinct, to the fleeting pleasure of living through emotions for just one night.
Because now, one night will never be enough.
And without realizing it, they have stopped. Standing in front of a skyscraper that screams money from every corner. Not a word passes between them as Hoshina leads the way toward the elevator. Toward his apartment. Toward a night Narumi suddenly doesn’t want to happen.
Not like this.
A one-night stand feels like the worst possible ending.
He doesn’t want Hoshina to think that this is all he wants.
Because it’s not.
Narumi doesn’t want to be a passing moment.
He doesn’t want to be forgotten by morning.
This is wrong.
Narumi opens his mouth to say something—to stop this.
But before he can, Hoshina’s lips are on his.
Not soft.
Not hesitant.
Just sudden. And sure.
In that instant, time stops. And Narumi’s heart is louder than bombs. He can’t stop himself. Even though he knows how wrong this feels, Narumi can’t hold back.
He kisses Hoshina back. Hungry. Deep. Desperate. He traps the model’s lower lip between his teeth, pulling him closer, tilting his head as their tongues clash in a messy, heated fight for dominance.
His hand finds Hoshina’s face, cradling that sharp, chiseled jawline, while Hoshina grabs the front of his coat and yanks him in, crushing the space between their bodies until there’s nothing left.
Hot breath, hot skin, too much.
Hoshina nips at his lips, then trails kisses along Narumi’s jaw, down to his neck. He sucks hard at the skin there, where sweat clings and Narumi’s scent lives.
The moan that slips from Narumi’s lips is ragged, involuntary, and it only drives Hoshina to mark him more.
A mark anyone could see.
But in the haze, in the overwhelming rush of heat and pressure and sensation—
Narumi snaps out of it.
He doesn’t know how.
But suddenly, he pulls back. His hands grab Hoshina’s shoulders, pushing him just enough to separate them.
His grip is tight—too tight. Like he doesn’t really want to let go.
But this is still wrong.
And it’s tearing him in half.
“I—I…” Narumi pants, struggling to catch his breath. “I think it’s better if we stop here.”
Hoshina blinks, bewildered. His chest rises and falls, fast, his lips still parted.
“What? Why?” Hoshina breathes out, stunned. “I thought… I thought we were getting along—”
“I don’t want to have sex with you.”
The words fall out from the photographer’s lips—blunt, jarring, honest.
And even Narumi looks a little surprised by how quickly they came.
Hoshina stares at him. Absolutely stunned.
Did he hear that right?
No one—no one—has ever rejected him like this. Openly. Sober. Without hesitation. With this strange mix of… honesty? Stupidity?
He doesn’t know what it is. He doesn’t understand.
He thought Narumi wanted this too.
He thought their chemistry—the way Narumi looked at him, touched him—meant the same thing.
He thought Narumi felt what he felt.
But now, he doesn’t know what’s happening.
“But I thought—”
“I don’t want you to believe that all I want is to have sex with you,” Narumi cuts in again, his voice quiet but urgent, as if the words are burning on his tongue.
He sees it—the hurt in Hoshina’s eyes. And it knocks the air right out of him.
“I don’t want you to forget me after just one night.”
His voice dips lower, almost a whisper. He stares at the floor. He can’t bring himself to look at Hoshina.
“I think I should go.”
Narumi bows deeply, the gesture formal—distant. He steps back, putting more space between them. But it’s not what he wants.
Because Narumi doesn’t want random sex with Hoshina.
He wants everything.
But he can’t say that.
Not now.
Not yet.
It’s too sudden. Too much.
Narumi has never felt emotions this vivid, this wild, this insistent. But with Hoshina, everything feels natural. It feels right.
And that’s exactly why tonight—this—feels wrong.
If he ever hopes to see Hoshina again, to know him, to be known by him, he can’t let this become a one-night stand. He won’t become just another faceless body to forget.
Narumi finally straightens, keeps his gaze lowered, and turns to walk away.
But then, a hand grips his wrist. Firm. Unwavering. Narumi stops. His breath catches in his throat as surprise washes over him. Slowly, carefully, Narumi turns. Only to meet Hoshina’s eyes, wide with emotion. His lips are parted, his hand still holding on tightly, unwilling to let go.
“Stay.”
That’s all Hoshina says. His voice is low. Almost a plea.
“Not to have sex, but to—just… stay.”
His heart pounds, loud and desperate in his chest.
Because Hoshina Soushirou has always gotten what he wanted. Whether it was something material or a person, the answer was always ‘yes’. He’s never been told ‘no’.
Until now.
Hoshina doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t want Narumi to leave.
He’s afraid.
Afraid that if the young photographer walks out now, he’ll vanish, like a fleeting dream. And Hoshina doesn’t want this night to end.
He doesn’t know why he is so desperate, why he is clinging to this man with a grip that borders on needy, but he wants Narumi to stay. No, he needs him to. No matter the cost.
And Narumi…
Narumi swears that he can hear his own heart thundering in his chest.
It hurts.
So much that, for a split second, he wants to tear it out of his ribcage just to make it stop.
He doesn’t understand what’s going on in Hoshina’s head. But whatever it is, he doesn’t dislike it. Because what he sees in Hoshina’s eyes is that raw, desperate emotion of simply not wanting to be alone.
And Narumi knows that feeling too well.
It’s carved into his bones.
His heart sinks. Not just from the ache.
He doesn’t want to be alone either.
“…No sex, right?” Narumi asks, voice barely above a murmur, almost embarrassed.
He finally looks up—finally meets Hoshina’s crimson eyes. Fuck, they are so beautiful. Like flawless rubies set in a necklace worth millions. Dazzling. Precious. Dangerous.
Hoshina nods, just slightly. “No sex. I swear.”
Narumi’s lips curl into a small smile. A real one.
“Okay,” he mutters, reaching out, fingers wrapping around Hoshina’s hand, gripping just a little tighter.
“I’ll stay.”
Notes:
looking back at these first chapters, i can tell you that they are just two sillies falling disgustingly in love without even noticing eheh
well, will narumi really resist hoshina's allure? i don't know ^^
anyway, thank you so much for reading, i hope you've enjoyed it! comments and kudos are always appreciated!!
and see you next week~
akemi
Chapter Text
The sound of his heartbeat is so loud that it drowns out everything else.
Narumi can’t think. Can’t properly breathe. It’s impossible to grasp a single coherent thought when his own pulse keeps hammering in his ears. And he still doesn’t understand how the hell they ended up here.
Sitting on Hoshina Soushirou’s couch, the two of them shrouded in the shadow, lit only by pale moonlight filtering in through a nearby window.
The room is quiet—too quiet—but Narumi’s mind is deafening.
His thoughts won’t slow down. And Hoshina’s presence, even from a room away, is too distracting. Too present.
He tries to steady his breathing. He tries to absorb his surroundings, eyes scanning the space like it’ll help anchor him. But all he sees is a room that feels too… impersonal. Too polished. Too untouched. Like Hoshina barely lives here. The sleek minimalism, the lack of warmth—it presses on Narumi’s chest like a weight.
But before the feeling can take shape he hears footsteps—Hoshina’s footsteps—drawing closer.
Narumi turns toward the sound automatically.
And then he sees him.
Walking with that infuriating confidence, two cups in hand, that same maddening smirk resting on his kissable lips that—
His lips.
Not kissable.
Just lips.
Goddammit, stop going there, Gen!
“Tea?” Narumi asks, raising an eyebrow as the warm cup is pressed into his hands and the sweet scent reaches his nose. “At this hour?”
Hoshina chuckles as he settles beside him on the couch, leaving just enough space for the air between them to feel electric. “Would you have preferred whiskey? I’ve got a very nice bottle—”
“No, not tonight,” Narumi cuts in quickly, stopping Hoshina from even thinking about getting up. “Tea is perfect. Is it… peach?”
“Thought you might be a peach tea guy,” Hoshina says with a small nod before taking a sip from his cup.“Did I guess it right?”
Narumi shivers. Under the weight of that gaze—those narrow crimson eyes locked on him like a sniper scope—he’s completely undone. And he swears—he swears—he doesn’t normally act like this.
He doesn’t melt just because some absurdly attractive model looks at him for longer than five seconds. Not even when said model has a ridiculously handsome face, perfect lips, majestic ruby eyes, a dumb but somehow iconic bowl-cut, and a body sculpted by the gods themselves—
Wait. How does he even know that Hoshina’s body looks like that!? It’s not like Narumi spent two straight hours—maybe more—of his nonexistent free time scrolling through fan pages and accidentally landing on a few spicy shoots that should be illegal. No. That never happened. Obviously.
The photographer clears his throat, trying to pull himself together. “Maybe.”
He looks away, hoping his flushed cheeks aren’t as obvious as they feel.
That simple reply earns him a light, melodic giggle from Hoshina.
“I’m glad,” the model says, smiling as he takes another sip.
The moonlight filtering through the window hits just right, casting gentle highlights across Hoshina’s face, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw, his cheekbones, the soft parting of his lips.
He’s glowing.
And Narumi can’t help but stare.
His heart thunders in his chest—louder, faster.
And for a moment, he swears he can’t breathe.
Hoshina is talking. His voice is low, soft, probably saying something charming.
But Narumi doesn’t catch a single word. Not one. Because all of his focus—every last bit of it—is locked on Hoshina’s lips.
Those rosy, full, maddening lips.
Narumi stares, wondering what they taste like now—sweet? bitter? sharp like wine?—convinced that he’s being subtle.
But he is not.
Hoshina’s sharp, observant gaze easily notices it.
The way Narumi’s eyes stay glued to his mouth. The way he doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink.
A knowing smirk plays at the edge of his lips.
“Are you listening to me, Narumi-san~?”
The teasing lilt in his voice sends a shiver down Narumi’s spine, and then he leans in.
Close.
Too close.
Their faces are just inches apart now, and Narumi freezes.
His breath catches. His eyes go wide.
He can’t look away from those crimson eyes—
He can’t think.
Panicking, he turns his face away, heat blooming across his cheeks.
But then, two fingers gently press against his chin, guiding him back.
And now they are face-to-face.
Again.
Fuck, he’s beautiful.
Narumi swallows hard.
His gaze drops to that smug little smirk curled on Hoshina’s lips, then rises again to meet those eyes that look like they could strip him bare with a glance.
This is fucking torture. Narumi feels like he’s dying. And to be honest? He wouldn’t mind being devoured by a creature this gorgeous.
Hoshina holds the eye contact, burning through him with that gaze.
Then, in a low murmur, soft enough to curl heat around every inch of Narumi’s body, he says, “I really want to kiss you right now, you know.”
Narumi forgets how to breathe. His lips part slightly. His brain goes quiet.
Despite everything he said earlier, despite his resolve, Narumi would let him.
He would let Hoshina kiss him.
He would let him devour him.
How feeble.
How weak Narumi is for the man that is Hoshina Soushirou. He can’t believe he’s letting himself be undone like this—subjugated by a man whose smile could kill.
Since when did he become this pathetic?
Narumi should pull away. He should knock Hoshina’s hand off his face. He should say something sharp and distant and cold.
But when Hoshina leans in—excruciatingly slow—Narumi doesn’t move.
Because he wants him to kiss him.
He needs him to kiss him.
So Narumi closes his eyes. And surrenders.
God, how did he let it come to this?
They are strangers.
He doesn’t know Hoshina, not really. He could be arrogant. Manipulative. Shitty.
And yet, all Narumi wants is to feel his lips.
How naive of him.
All this… just because of a pretty face.
But it’s not just the face.
It’s everything.
Narumi can’t resist it anymore. He doesn’t even want to. And just when he thinks it’s happening, just when he feels Hoshina’s breath right there, the kiss never comes.
Hoshina stops. Right before their lips touch.
He exhales softly. His hand slides to cradle Narumi’s cheek, and the photographer leans into it without thinking.
“If I kiss you now,” Hoshina whispers, voice brushing over Narumi’s lips like velvet. “I won’t stop at just one.”
A shiver runs down Narumi’s spine.
“And I promised you ‘no sex’, remember?”
Narumi’s eyes open, and when he meets Hoshina’s gaze, soft and steady, something inside his chest cracks.
And maybe, just a little, he starts to loathe himself. He regrets saying it now.
He could have had sex with the most gorgeous man in Japan, and yet—
No.
Narumi wants to be a good person, doesn’t he? He doesn’t want to be just another jerk. Just another name in a long, disappointing list.
Because Narumi knows the industry. He knows the people. He knows how much rot lives beneath the glamour. And he just doesn’t want to be that for Hoshina. He doesn’t even know why. But something about this man makes him want to be better. Maybe that’s what scares him the most.
So, after swallowing down the bitter taste of regret and a little bit of well-earned self-loathing, Narumi does the only thing he can.
He holds his ground.
He scoffs, a weak smirk tugging at his lips.
“That’s right,” he says, refusing to look away from Hoshina’s eyes.
The model giggles softly, and Narumi’s breath catches when a thumb begins tracing gently along his cheek.
Still warm. Still lingering. Still not letting go.
And Narumi feels like a weakling under that touch.
What a pity, Narumi thinks he hears Hoshina whisper.
“You know,” Hoshina murmurs, his thumb brushing lower, right at the corner of Narumi’s mouth, “this is the first time that someone has turned me down.”
His voice is low. Velvet. Dangerous. The voice of a devil with full intent to seduce.
“People usually line up to fuck me.”
Narumi’s fingers tighten into his lap. He tells himself that it shouldn’t bother him. He tells himself that it’s none of his business.
A man this gorgeous? Of course he could have anyone he wants. Of course people would throw themselves at him.
So why does it sting?
Why does it sit wrong in his chest?
Pathetic.
“Oh, for real?” Narumi arches a brow, voice flat with mock surprise.
But Hoshina hears the edge in it. The annoyance, barely concealed.
“Yeah,” he says easily, his grin widening with amusement. “Everyone is so desperate to get in my bed.”
Narumi scoffs and leans back, tearing his eyes away from Hoshina’s, effectively breaking their contact.
Hoshina’s hand drops. But the smirk on his lips stays. He’s very pleased with himself.
“But,” he adds, voice softer now, “I said that they want to fuck me. Not that I let them.”
Narumi turns again, frowning.
“I don’t like casual hookups,” Hoshina says. “I prefer stable relationships.”
And just like that Narumi’s balance tips. Because if Hoshina isn’t the man he thought he was—if he doesn’t just fuck around—
Then why is Narumi here?
“So why me?” He asks, brows drawing together. He doesn’t know if he wants the answer. Not really.
Hoshina chuckles at his confused expression.
“No sex,” he reminds him.
“That’s because I asked,” Narumi shoots back. “And we were already in front of your building when I did.”
“I’ve never brought anyone to my place before,” Hoshina says quietly. A confession. A surrender. Something he wasn’t planning to give away. “You are the first one.”
And when their eyes lock, Narumi swears his heart is pounding so loud that it’s a miracle Hoshina can’t hear it. It echoes in his chest like war drums.
Hoshina is going to kill him. That face. Those eyes. That voice. He’s a fucking threat to Narumi’s sanity.
And the way he’s looking at him now—really looking, like he sees something worth unraveling, Narumi can’t take it.
His lips part without permission.
I’d like to be the last one—
Wait.
What.
What the hell am I thinking!? I don’t even know this man, I can’t let myself fall for a stupidly beautiful face with crimson eyes and a hypnotic smirk.
I’m not that kind of idiot.
Right?
Right!?
Get a hold of yourself, Gen!
They keep staring.
Seconds stretch. Bend. Wrap into something that doesn’t feel real.
Hoshina’s gaze doesn’t waver. And Narumi feels himself losing his control. He doesn’t know how long he can resist.
“From the moment I saw you for the first time,” Hoshina says, voice barely above a breath, “it felt… different.”
There’s no teasing in his tone now.
No smirk. Just truth.
“I’ve never wanted to talk to someone as much as I did with you today. And I don’t even know why.”
A soft, self-deprecating chuckle escapes Hoshina’s lips as he shakes his head, clearly surprised by his own confession.
Narumi’s whole body tenses. He can’t breathe. He can’t believe this is real.
Hoshina Soushirou—the man of his newfound, unspeakable, completely ridiculous desires—is sitting in front of him, saying things that make his knees weak and his chest ache.
Narumi should say something. Literally anything. But his throat is tight. His thoughts too loud. His mouth—useless.
So all he can do is sit there, trembling slightly, and swallow the lump threatening to choke him.
Oh fuck.
He feels miserable.
And all because he decided to be a fucking gentleman—which, let’s be honest, he’s not! He’s never been a gentleman! All he has ever done is mess around, keep things casual, detach before it gets complicated.
So why the hell is Hoshina Soushirou, a perfect stranger, so different from everyone else?
“I don’t know why,” Hoshina says, voice dripping softer, a little hesitant, “but it’s like… I’ve known you for a lifetime.”
Narumi flushes. Hard. Thank god the lights are off. Maybe Hoshina can’t see the explosion of red across his cheeks.
(Please, let him not see.)
And then Hoshina leans closer—again—eliminating the space between them with maddening ease.
Narumi’s breath stutters. Everything inside him screams. He notices Hoshina’s eyes now, a little duller, heavier.
He’s tired.
They both are.
And Narumi can’t think. Not with Hoshina this close. Not when just one tilt forward would have their mouths meeting.
God, he wants it. He wants it so badly. He’s still mentally cursing himself. Just a little. For saying ‘no sex’.
And then—
Fingers.
Hoshina’s fingers threading through his hair. Slow. Gentle. Worshipful.
Narumi shivers. He closes his eyes. He leans into the touch before he can stop himself.
Hoshina chuckles softly, and it lands like a kiss behind Narumi’s ear.
Narumi’s body eases. His thoughts finally stop screaming.
For the first time tonight, he lets go. Just a little.
So when Hoshina’s hand slips away, he barely notices. Until the weight of a head settles into his lap.
Oh.
Narumi goes completely still. His breath catches.
“What—”
“Let me close my eyes for five minutes, Narumi-san,” Hoshina sighs, already halfway gone. “Your lap looked cozy.”
And Narumi wishes he could disappear.
The Hoshina Soushirou is lying on his lap, so vulnerably, so defenseless. How many people would kill him if they knew about this intimate situation? They would call Narumi a lucky bastard.
Undeserving of Hoshina’s attention.
Narumi doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t understand how they even ended up like this.
He inhales deeply, throws his head back, and tries to stay sane, but with this beautiful young man resting on his lap, it’s becoming increasingly impossible to keep calm.
A quiet groan slips from his mouth. He looks down at Hoshina, his breathing slow and steady, as if he has already drifted off. His eyes trace the soft curve of Hoshina’s hair. That ridiculous bowl cut, somehow so fitting. It looks like silk. And the urge to touch it becomes unbearable.
So he gives in. His fingers run slowly through it, just once. Testing. Curious. It’s soft. Too soft.
And it’s weird.
How this feels so normal—so domestic—when they are just two strangers who happened to cross paths.
It’s odd.
How Narumi feels at ease with someone who should be so far removed from him. Yet it’s like they are slowly being pulled into each other’s orbit.
And it’s absurd.
The way Narumi swears he saw that familiar, heavy loneliness hiding in Hoshina’s eyes.
Because he can’t bring himself to believe that someone like Hoshina could possibly understand that kind of feeling.
It’s insane, really.
But then again, what does Narumi truly know about this perfect stranger?
Exactly.
Nothing.
Narumi sighs when he realizes that Hoshina has really fallen asleep on his lap. His breathing is steady, slow. He looks peaceful. Vulnerable in a way that makes Narumi’s chest ache. He doesn’t want to wake him up.
So, he leans his elbow against the couch’s armrest, propping his chin in his hand, falling silent as his thoughts creep in. His eyes wander from Hoshina’s resting body to the window at his side, where the full moon hangs heavy in the sky.
The entire moment feels unreal. Like something out of a dream. Maybe it’s the last traces of alcohol still lingering in his veins making everything too vivid, too fragile. Maybe he’s imagining it all.
His eyelids are starting to grow heavy. His fingers have slowed their motion in Hoshina’s hair. He knows sleep is creeping up on him, too.
He should go.
Narumi tries to shift, carefully pulling his hand back, but the moment he moves, Hoshina stirs and makes a soft sound in protest, unconsciously reaching to keep Narumi close.
Shit. I’m stuck.
But, truth to be told, Narumi doesn’t really mind. He could stay a little longer. No one would care.
And he doesn’t have it in him to wake Hoshina, not when he looks like this. At ease, maybe for the first time in a while (Narumi has been in the industry long enough to recognize the subtle signs—the expertly hidden dark circles, the slight tension in the jaw even in rest).
So, Narumi stays.
His hand drifts back into Hoshina’s hair, then slowly trails down to his nape, fingertips ghosting over warm skin.
He feels Hoshina shiver, but he doesn’t wake.
Narumi bites back the flood of thoughts rising in his head—vivid, explicit, unwanted. He pushes them down swearing under his breath.
Now is not the time, for fuck’s sake, Gen!
His hand settles on Hoshina’s hip, firm but still.
He lets out a long breath.
The moon outside spills pale light across the room, surrounded by a scatter of indifferent stars. And somehow, it strikes him—how lonely the moon has always looked.
Just like him.
Just like Hoshina.
When Hoshina turns onto his back, face tilted up toward him, Narumi freezes. His breath catches. His whole body goes still.
Fuck, this is insanely dangerous.
However, if this is a dream, Narumi doesn’t want to wake up.
—
When he opens his eyes, Hoshina is met with the gentle warmth of a timid ray of sunshine hitting his face. He blinks a couple of times, trying to register where he is (his living room, right), and piece together what happened last night.
Then, all at once, the memories return, vivid and dangerous.
He asked Narumi Gen out.
Took him back to his apartment.
Kissed him outside.
And then Narumi rejected a night with him.
But Hoshina insisted—begged him to stay with the promise of no sex, just the comfort of his presence.
They sat on the couch—talked, maybe, though it’s a blur—and Hoshina had summon every ounce of self-control not to kiss him again. And again. And again—
His eyes snap open fully as he realizes he’s still lying on Narumi’s lap. Exactly where he fell asleep.
Narumi’s thighs—firm, undeniably well-toned—were far too comfortable for his self-restraint.
What the hell did he do?
A sigh slips from his lips as his gaze shifts upward to Narumi’s sleeping face, his lips slightly parted.
He looks exhausted.
But even now, he’s beautiful.
Fuck.
Narumi Gen is the most beautiful creature Hoshina has ever seen, and he has met so many men and women.
Hoshina can’t help the warmth blooming in his chest, quickening his heartbeat as a soft smile curves on his lips. He lifts his hand slowly, bringing it to Narumi’s face, his fingers gently cradling his cheek, the touch light as a feather.
It’s enough to send a shiver down Narumi’s spine.
Still half-asleep, Narumi blinks his eyes open, slowly, inhaling deeply as reality sinks in.
His gaze drops and lands on Hoshina. The smirk greeting him makes heat rush to his face, his cheeks flushing a deep red.
He hasn’t noticed the hand brushing his cheeks, too overwhelmed by the awareness that the most beautiful man in existence is still lying on his lap.
And Hoshina seems to enjoy the way Narumi short-circuits, a low chuckle escaping his lips.
“Good morning, Narumi-san~” He says, cheerful and way too composed.
“G-Good—” Narumi clears his throat, his voice rough from sleep. “Good morning.”
Another laugh. Softer this time.
But they don’t speak more than that. They just look at each other. Still. Quiet. Suspended. Both of them lost in their own heads, thoughts running in all directions, too many to hold onto just one.
Hoshina’s fingers keep tracing Narumi’s cheek, unbothered, gentle, until Narumi finally raises his own hand, catches Hoshina’s, and stops him.
Hoshina holds his breath.
But Narumi doesn’t push him away. He just holds his hand there, still against his skin, fingers squeezing just slightly.
And Hoshina swears his heart tries to break out of his chest.
“You stayed,” Hoshina whispers, voice low and laced with disbelief.
Narumi blinks at him, confused. “You asked.”
And in that moment, Hoshina thinks—no, he knows—that if Narumi Gen could ever break him, he would let him.
Because maybe this man isn’t the end of him after all.
Maybe he’s the beginning of the life Hoshina didn’t even know he was still hoping for.
He clears his throat as he rises from the other’s lap, the warmth creeping up his cheeks impossible to hide, not with Narumi’s intense, slightly confused gaze still fixed on him.
Hoshina turns his head to the side, hoping the other man won’t notice how flustered he actually is.
If Narumi sees the flush on his face, he doesn’t comment on it. He’s more focused on the quiet absence left behind, the fading warmth of Hoshina’s body now putting distance between them.
He swallows down the bitter taste rising in his throat.
Hoshina glances at the watch on his wrist, then turns back to Narumi. “I’m sorry for making you stay this long,” he says, a faint blush still lingering on his cheeks. “Let me drop you off at your studio. I feel kinda bad for making you late for work.”
Narumi blinks, a bit stunned by the offer. As if punctuality was ever his strong suit.
Please. Narumi Gen showing up on time would be more concerning than the alternative.
But of course, Hoshina doesn’t know that Narumi’s sense of time is basically nonexistent. That’s why he is always behind on his work.
The photographer has to suppress a chuckle as he shakes his head.
“I’m not late, don’t worry,” he says, reassuring the model with a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “But I would appreciate a lift to my place. I’ve got some photos waiting to be edited.”
“Oh?” Hoshina raises an eyebrow, eyes glinting with sudden interest. “And is it too soon to see the photos you took of me yesterday?”
The teasing lilt in his voice sends a shiver down Narumi’s spine.
Hoshina leans in, a smirk playing on his lips as their gazes lock. And Narumi has to swallow the lump rising in his throat.
Fuck, he’s—again—too close—!
“Y-Yes…” Narumi stammers, placing a hand against Hoshina’s chest to gently push him back. He can’t handle this kind of pressure this early in the morning.
He just hopes Hoshina can’t hear the way his heart is trying to beat its way out of his ribcage.
“It’s just too soon. And I don’t show raw pictures.”
“Why not?” Hoshina asks, genuine curiosity flickering in his irises.
And to that… Narumi doesn’t have an answer.
He never shows his pictures unedited. Not because he thinks they are unworthy, but just because those photos are not the ones people expect from Narumi Gen.
It’s difficult for him to explain what he means.
It’s like—raw pictures and edited ones are completely different photographs. The edited ones are what people love and praise him for. Those are the pictures that made Narumi the most sought-after young photographer in the fashion industry. There isn’t a single brand that hasn’t tried to claim a spot in his packed schedule.
Those are the photos that have made Narumi visible. The ones that shed light into his everlasting dark room. Even if it’s a cold light, it’s still light.
But the raw photos? They are the ones he keeps for himself. Unfiltered, untouched—just what Narumi sees through his lenses.
A piece of his soul.
And he guards them jealously.
He doesn’t let anyone see them. Not even Hasegawa, whom he trusts with his life.
Even the staff at the studio doesn’t get to look. On set, Narumi always checks the photos himself. He doesn’t connect his camera to a laptop. He reviews everything on the device, controlling what remains hidden and what gets revealed.
He doesn’t want anyone to see his pictures raw.
But how can he explain that to Hoshina, a beautiful stranger who is already driving him insane?
Exactly.
He can’t.
He would sound ridiculous. Like a child. He has heard it more times than he can count. But for some reason—one he can’t name—he doesn’t want Hoshina to think that of him. He doesn’t think he could bear it.
“I just—” Narumi bites his bottom lip, teeth sinking into the flesh. His eyes drop to his hands, now nervously fidgeting in his lap. “I just don’t.”
And Hoshina notices. The subtle shift in his posture, the tension in his shoulders, the way he shrinks inward like he’s suddenly too exposed.
A faint guilt tugs at Hoshina’s chest.
Maybe it’s a delicate topic. Something that Narumi is not ready to explain.
“I see,” Hoshina says gently, not pressing further. His voice soft, easy.
He rises from the couch and offers Narumi a hand, a small smile on his lips. “Then, let’s get you home, shall we?”
Narumi glances up, caught off-guard by the calm in Hoshina’s tone.
The weight between them lightens, just a little.
It’s not as tense as it was a moment ago.
He stares at the hand extended toward him—uncertain, for a heartbeat—and then finally takes it, letting Hoshina pull him up.
Narumi had imagined that Hoshina was strong. Just from the photos on his social media—hell, even from his silhouette on set—it was obvious.
Lean muscles, perfectly sculpted in all the right places. A body carved with intention. With precision.
Narumi knows Hoshina is ripped—remember, it’s not like he’s spent a shameful amount of time scrolling through thirst edits on fan accounts or anything.
That. Did. Not. Happen.
Anyway, Narumi wasn’t ready for that kind of strength when Hoshina pulled him up. He stumbles forward, clumsy and off balance, and would have crashed face-first into the floor if it weren’t for the model’s quick reflexes.
He avoids a disastrous fall, yes, but now his face is pressed firmly against Hoshina’s chest and—
His brain shuts off.
His heart is pounding like an alarm bell, and all he can register is the firm pressure of Hoshina’s sculpted pectorals against his cheek.
Solid. Warm. Unfairly perfect.
Oh, this man is a fucking threat to his life.
Narumi has never had such vivid, filthy thoughts before breakfast. And yet here he is, mentally scrolling through every indecent image his brain can conjure.
I cannot be this horny in the morning. Get a grip, Gen!
It’s all Hoshina’s fault.
No one should be allowed to look this ethereal at 8 a.m.
It should be illegal.
He’s committing murder with that body and he doesn’t even know it.
And Hoshina—he’s still holding him. Steady, warm hands curled around Narumi like he doesn’t intend to let go.
It takes everything in Narumi not to combust on the spot.
When he finally forces himself to pull back, locking eyes with Hoshina—
Yeah.
Prison.
Immediately.
He needs to be sued for looking like that in the morning.
Attempted murder.
Life sentence.
They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, both their lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed, eyes tracing each other’s features—lingering, longing, drifting down to the other’s mouth.
It’s a comfortable silence.
The kind that Narumi doesn’t detest.
Not like the suffocating stillness of his apartment. When loneliness slips through the crack to invade the space he calls his own.
No, this feels different.
Narumi finds himself thinking that maybe—just maybe—he could bear the silence if Hoshina were there with him.
How crazy of him.
“Shall we go?” Hoshina asks, voice low and soft as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Narumi’s ear.
The touch sends a shiver down Narumi’s back.
Too tender.
Too intimate.
But he doesn’t pull away.
“Yeah…” Narumi replies, still a little dazed by it all.
His eyes won’t leave Hoshina’s. He tries but he just can’t.
Hoshina smiles, clearly aware that he’s made a mess of the photographer’s mind. And he doesn’t look even sorry for it.
His hand slides into Narumi’s, fingers curling between his.
Narumi doesn’t stop him. He ignores the fast beats of his heart.
“Then, lead the way.”
They walk out together, still holding hands, leaving behind the hush of Hoshina’s apartment.
Notes:
yk, since i'm very aware of where this is going, re-reading them at the beginning of the story makes my heart ache with nostalgia T^T
they're just two sillies here, i miss themmm.ANYWAY, let me know your thoughts!! i'm always curious about what you think ehehe
and as always, thank you for reading!!comments and kudos are very much appreciated!!
see you next week!!
akemi