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First and Second 🎧 Masumi Usui

hi hi!! are writing requests open?? if so then i’d like some headcanons for masumi with an s/o who’s izumi’s younger sibling!! if that’s okay!! (the reader can be either male or gender neutral please!!) thank you very much!! also happy fuck tsuzuru friday

did someone say ‘carried away?’ because OH MY GOD i got so carried away with this one, but i’m very proud of it! a lot of the concepts i included are ones very dear to me, and this one made me think of so many silly masumi hcs. i might make another hc list about the massu thoughts i had here but the next request in the inbox is also for masumi, so stay tuned massu fans 🖤

word count: 8625

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, headcanons + fic, just a little bit of angst, most of this was written at various times between 1-3 am so there’s a few funny hahas in there

summary: Masumi meets the in-laws and Reader makes a new friend. Izumi is delighted at this turn of events.

Izumi’s family visits backstage on the second-to-last night of Charlatan of Oz.

Ms. Tachibana is reserved, but they’re still mother and daughter. No one talks about Yukio. It’s clear to everyone Izumi is the spitting image of her dad as well as what he left behind when he disappeared.

But Ms. Tachibana still breaks into a smile, kisses Izumi on the forehead, and presents her with a bouquet of roses in orange, red and gold like a bright sunset.

(Masumi notes one of the roses, a peach bordering on pink, matches the exact shade of Izumi’s eyes. He’ll have to ask Ms. Tachibana about the species- he has a new goal to save up and buy Izumi 99 roses in the same color.)

The Director introduces her mother first, and Masumi is the first to shake her hand.

“Good evening,” he greeted. Ms. Tachibana is pudgy and warm, and her handshake is firm, but he can feel the beginnings of prominent veins that come with age. “I’m glad you could make it. Did you enjoy our show?”

“It was wonderful,” she said. “You’ve scouted some talented actors, Izumi, not to mention polite. This one respects his elders, unlike some people I know.”

“It was one time, Mom, and I was like three and barely knew what manners were. You can’t blame me for Christmas at Uncle Masahiro’s anymore.”

“What happened on Christmas at Uncle Masahiro’s?” Sakuya asked.

At the same time, Masumi said, “Thank you, Ms. Tachibana. I want to leave a good impression on my future in-laws.”

Yeah, that explained why no one answered Sakuya’s question. Itaru let out a massive “HAH” right next to Chikage’s ear, the latter alarmed but unsure whether to laugh or not.

Tsuzuru went in for the rescue and bowed. “I am so sorry for Masumi’s behavior, I don’t know what got into him. Please forgive him.”

“Oh! So that means you’re Masumi,” Ms. Tachibana said. She elbowed Izumi, whose mouth was pried into a thin, tight-lipped smile, then went to pinch Masumi’s cheeks. He fought the innate urge to shake her off. “Izumi! You didn’t tell me you had such a handsome admirer!”

“That’s a word for it,” Izumi muttered. “Don’t encourage him. Give him even the smallest crumb of hope and he’ll run with it.”

“I love your daughter,” he said. “Can I have your blessing?”

Tsuzuru made a choking noise behind Masumi, but Ms. Tachibana just laughed. “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. Izumi is way too old for you.”

“I know, but hey,” Izumi whined, suspiciously like American comedian John Mulaney.

“But since you seem like a good boy, I have another kiddo about your age.” She looked over Masumi’s shoulder. “Reader!”

None of the Spring Troupe even noticed them enter the dressing room, save for Citron. They were looking at the prop table as the actor pointed out the cool wizard staves and a half-eaten bag of expired Fritos he found halfway during a show the other day.

Reader cocked their head and approached as Ms. Tachibana beckoned them over. “This is Reader, my youngest. You’ll have better luck with them than you will with Izumi, I can tell you that.”

“But I don’t want anyone else. I want Izumi and nothing could change my love.”

Reader’s mouth formed a big fat O. “Wait, Izu, is this the guy?”

Izumi popped the P in “Yep.”

“Oh,” they said.

Then they giggled. “Oh.”

They gave Masumi a once-over. “Ohhh,” they repeated.

There is nothing in this world that outweighs my love, Masumi thought, but if this kid doesn’t stop staring at me like I’m out of the loop, I’m gonna bash their head in with Citron’s staff.

“Hey, Izu, you tied down a good one,” they said.

“I did not.”

“I better be in the bridal party once you guys pick a date. Hear me out- beach wedding.”

“Reader,” Izumi said calmly. She wore a smile like a customer service worker on the last leg of their shift. “There is no wedding, there is nothing between us, I am single-“ Reader raised their hand to interject- “and I swear on my secret spice blend, if you take that as an opportunity to hook me up with another one of your friends’ siblings- which, by the way, is none of your business and I’m sure your friends know that as well- I’m going to strangle you.”

Reader lowered their hand.

Masumi joined them and held a hand out to Reader. “Thanks for coming to our production. Have we met? It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Masumi, Izumi’s future husband.”

Reader looked Izumi dead in the eye with the biggest shit-eating grin as they shook his hand. “The pleasure’s all mine. Treat my sister well, okay?”

Izumi buried her head in her hands.

Masumi’s on cloud nine after introducing himself to you. After all, you said you were expecting a wedding, right? How could he not be happy about that?

The Tachibanas stay in town for a few days to watch the last showing of Charlatan, then spend some time with the eldest daughter. They don’t say hello backstage, but that is… fine, actually.

He sees you once again that night for dinner at the dorms, though. You mention offhandedly you missed Izumi’s curry, and he relates to that. He’s blessed to have the perfect woman make him a perfect meal every night, and he’s glad someone else in the dorms can appreciate that, even if only on visiting hours.

The grind stops for no one. Well, it stops a little for Spring Troupe as they recuperate after Charlatan closes, but the next day Izumi is back up and at it with Summer Troupe, running through exercises like a woman on a mission.

For Masumi, though, it’s a lazy morning. All his plans today are to wake up at 12 PM (done), make some toaster waffles (done), and smoke Tsuzuru out of the room with his big-ass speakers so he can enjoy some music in peace.

He’s on his way to his room, munching on some cinnamon toast Eggos when he crosses the practice room. It’s his favorite part of the walk. He doesn’t even need to listen specifically to hear dramatic lines, Izumi’s sweet voice, and… math rock?

Lounging beside the door was Reader, a folder perched along your legs as you worked on some homework. Beside you was your phone, connected to you by earbuds in your favorite color.

You were immersed in your homework, but Masumi just had to ask. The song blasting through your earbuds was from an independent band he recently found, and he’d never met anyone else listening to it.

You feel something nudge you and you jump, but you’re relieved when you realize it’s Izumi’s loyal follower. As much as she complains about the guy, he doesn’t seem to be much of a threat to you.

The unfamiliarity is palpable as the conversation starts, but once you hear the band’s name, you’re glowing. You’ve been listening to them since their first EP, and you’ve finally got a willing audience to listen to you and why you love them so much!

You know the discography like the back of your hand, while Masumi’s a new listener, so in a lull in the conversation you skip to a new song and offer an earbud. “Hey, listen to this. Super underrated.”

He takes the earbud and sits down beside you. His arm brushes against your sleeve from close proximity. The song is sparse and dissonant. You said it was one of the most vulnerable, heartfelt pieces the band’s created, and it shows; the vocals are at a whisper and the guitar acoustic as wind effects outweigh the actual melody-

Whatever lovely trance Masumi found himself in, it was broken the second the practice room door slammed open and Kazunari strode out, Summer Troupe in tow. “Hey, it’s Massu and E-Reader! Whatcha doing out here alone?”

“Woaaaaah, look at all those papers, Reader! Were you camping out here or something?”

“I bet they were looking for triangles!”

“Wait, Masumi, were you helping Reader with homework? That’s just like the latest chapter in- eek! Actually, how about I leave now so you don’t have to deal with a third-rate third wheel like me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Muku. Izumi’s inside, so if you were looking for her, you came to the right place. No need to be shy.”

“Shut it, hack, did you even consider that they didn’t want to interrupt practice?”

Leave it to Summer Troupe to instantly kill the mood.

You made small talk with Summer Troupe while Masumi stuck to the sidelines, not interested in the conversation but refusing to leave without the name of that song.

By the time the actors left, you handed Masumi your phone.

Masumi checked the now playing feature on your phone, his mind reading the song title over and over again. Once he got back to his room, he’d do this track justice by listening to it beginning to end with one of his high-end headphones.

“Give me your phone number,” you said. “Please?”

He’s used to random students asking him out of the blue for his number or socials, but never one that seemed as cool as you, or at least as cool as your music taste suggested. “Why?”

You shrugged. “It’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

Hell yeah. Izumi was going to be so proud that her future husband and sibling were friends.

Masumi’s eyes were straight on the phone screen as he made a contact for you, but you couldn’t help but feel a little prideful for getting along so well with one of the most standoffish members of Mankai Company.

You return home, but you make good use of Masumi’s number. Your text threads aren’t much for conversation, but you both send links to music videos to each other.

“check out this band! [link] i saw them live last time they toured and they were amazing afskshsla”

“cool. think youd like this. [link]”

You can’t pinpoint when it started exactly, but over time you and Masumi get comfortable enough to just call each other and talk about whatever. He becomes a steady, reliable friend that never judges you for anything and always chills you out.

You come to more and more of Mankai’s shows with or without Ms. Tachibana, and always show up for two or more of Spring Troupe’s performances.

For Harugaoka Quartet, you decide to drop by backstage on opening night and congratulate everyone-

-but Masumi’s the one that ends up on the receiving end of your bouquet of flowers, all of them big and pale purple.

You say it’s to celebrate nailing the a lead role, but he can’t help but notice Citron doesn’t have a single flower from you.

Both of you spend all your time just talking as everyone decompresses from the play. Even though it’s been a while since you last saw each other, you don’t need to catch up- you guys talk so much, you already know where you’re going to college at, problems and interests, everything.

You leave late when the theater’s about to close for the night and the actors are packing up props.

You hug him goodbye, and he watches and waves you off as you leave. It’s always a bummer to see you go, but your personality always leaves a warmth that he clings onto.

“Ah-hem. Masumi?”

What? Huh? Who was that? Masumi surveyed the room, forgetting where he was. Where was he?

“Boo!”

“Gah!” Masumi recoiled as Citron grasped his shoulders from behind, a mischievous smirk on his face. Masumi’s breath hitched in his throat, but he brushed off the shock with a huff. “Don’t do that. Try it again and I’ll kill you.”

“But I called your name so many times! I was starting to get lonely.”

“Then just walk in front of me or tug on my sleeve like a normal person. Or even better, go bug Tsuzuru instead. What do you want?”

“Director wants us to check the soundboard before she locks the theater. You wouldn’t want to disappoint her, would you?”

Well, of course not. Izumi was the one that dragged Masumi into a new family and a new passion, and he respected her deeply for it, but the reverence he once reserved only for her was dwindling. Maybe he was feeling unwell?

Whatever it was, he nodded, still holding your bouquet close to his chest. They certainly weren’t his first bouquet, and every actor usually got one or two by the end of a production, but they weren’t yours. Yours were his favorite color.

Citron led him into the wings of the stage. The curtains were already drawn and the house lights gleamed through the gaps between fabric and wood.

“Reader gave you those flowers, yes?” Citron asked as they approached the tech booth.

Masumi’s grip on the bouquet tightened on instinct. “They’re mine.”

“Of course! I would never dream of taking them. But have you thought about what you will say to Reader?”

“What?”

“You are a smart boy! You know what I mean. Do what feels right to you, but I think you should say yes.”

“What?” Masumi repeated, even more lost than before.

Citron’s face fell. “Keep your kangaroos! Haven’t you noticed?”

“It’s ‘hold your horses.’ And seriously, what? I have no idea what this conversation’s about.”

“Oh,” Citron said.

Then he glanced at Masumi’s flowers and how he held them so close to his heart and held a hand to his mouth. It did nothing to cover the pitiful smile on his lips.

“Oh,” he repeated.

“If you keep staring at me like I’m out of the loop, I’m going to go to the storage room just to dig up your staff from Charlatan and beat you with it.”

“But you are out of the- do you truly not know?”

“What are you talking about,” Masumi hissed.

“It’s about how-” Citron combed through his long blond hair with his fingers as words escaped him. “Let me be blunt. Are you in love with the Director?”

“She’s the love of my life.”

“Think. Just for a moment. Why do you love her?”

“Everything about her is perfect.”

“I want specifics, Masumi.”

“She is…”

Masumi’s mouth went dry. Of all the times when someone was actually interested in his love life, why did it have to be the one time he couldn’t drum up unconditional love?

Think, Masumi. She was pretty. That was the first thing he noticed about Izumi, and what drew him to her, but he wasn’t so shallow he would fall in love just because of looks. He couldn’t say that.

Her curry? Masumi loved her curry. Sometimes he would wake up and think, Day 482 of eating curry for at least one meal. I haven’t gotten jaundice yet. It was delicious and enough to make Gordon Ramsay cry tears of joy if he were real, but again, not something to fall head over heels over, even if he’d willingly eat it for the rest of his life. He couldn’t say that either.

But Citron was still watching him owlishly, curling a lock of hair through his finger and expecting an answer.

“Izumi was the one that gave me a chance,” he settled on. “She was the first person that taught me how to care for people other than myself.”

“That is very sweet,” Citron said.

But he didn’t say anything else. Masumi wondered if he was unsatisfied.

“She also showed me how to act. I found something to dedicate myself to.”

“Yes, yes, I see that.”

A lull in the conversation. Citron licked his hand and went back to combing.

“Did you just spit in your hair?”

“It breaks down the hairspray.”

“That is disgusting. Just, so gross on so many levels.”

“It’s- how do you say?” Citron asked as though he indeed knew how one would say. “Whatever!”

“So are you done interrogating me now or can we work on the soundboard already- wait.” Masumi looked around. They stopped walking a while ago, but never registered where exactly in the theater he was. “The soundboard’s on stage left.”

Citron ignored him. “Say, Reader is pretty neat.”

“Yeah, they are. They’re great at listening and so easy to talk to. We’re going to go to a small club gig for a progressive indie rock duo I showed them a while ago in a few weeks and I can’t wait to see them again,” Masumi said.

Citron covered his mouth again, this time to hide a laugh. “Very cool, Masumi.”

“Seriously, why are you acting like you know something I don’t?”

“I do.”

“Then tell me already.”

“No, no, I think it’s your realization to have.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m fine, Citron. if you have something to say about me or the people close to me, then just say it instead of being vague. Do you really think- are you braiding your hair?”

“It leaves very nice waves overnight,” Citron said, halfway through a smooth side braid. The spit, unfortunately, must’ve worked.

“Seriously, you dragged me out to skip on a favor for the Director, talk trash about my beloved and my friend, and keep expecting me to know something you’re just refusing to tell me. What’s your point? If you wanted to know about my life, you could’ve just asked instead of this roundabout conversation. I mean, I talk to Reader all the time, I thought you would’ve known already how close we are-“

Masumi shut his mouth. He blinked. Blinked again. Clicked his tongue like he was about to say something else, but no words came out, and he instead decided to purse his lips like he just ate something sour.

And Citron, ever the enabler, paused his braiding just to watch his junior go through a full slideshow of faces.

Masumi spent a long period of time sticking his tongue in his cheek and staring off into the curtains, lost in thought. Citron had half a mind to make some popcorn, but instead enjoyed the silence. Thinking was a good look for Masumi.

“Oh,” Masumi finally said.

“Just ‘oh?’”

“Shut up. This is serious.” Masumi made a very uncharacteristic groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Citron said. “Just inexperienced. You’ll get there in time.”

“But I wasted a whole year. What do I do? I’ve never felt this way before.”

“How a door bull!”

“It is not adorable,” Masumi retorted. He covered his face with the bouquet. Violets, his favorite. Dammit, you even remembered that offhand comment from months ago. You were such a good listener. “I- I don’t know. If the Director wasn’t love, then what does that make Reader?”

“If I may? Attraction gives way to love, but love at fistfight isn’t common. You don’t need to make a decision right away. Time will tell.”

“It’s called l-love at first sight. And I don’t want to wait.”

“There is sweetness in taking it slow. No one will judge you for being uncertain as long as you don’t play with emotions.” Citron ruffled Masumi’s hair, the latter too dazed to protest. “And I doubt you would! You’re very genuine.”

“How do you even know all this stuff?”

“I may have never carried a torch for anyone, but everyone carries a torch for me,” he boasted.

“You’re useless,” Masumi deadpanned, hoping it would hide how his heart felt so small and soft. “I’m leaving. I’m not talking to you about this again.”

As he stalked off, Citron called out, “Good luck with your fart puddles!”

“It’s ‘heart troubles!’ Say that again and you’re dead!”

Masumi in love- maybe? He’s not sure what to call it; what he felt for Izumi was real, but the way he sees you is different. All the bravado he had proclaiming his crush on Izumi goes out the window for you.

He likes you, he can admit that to himself, but it’s something he wants to keep a secret to himself for now. It’s nice. He used to think that love was preformative and grandiose and the bigger, the better, but now it’s soft and subtle with him, and he can’t stop thinking about how he wishes you were here.

(Masumi hates to admit it, but maybe Itaru was onto something when he said the best kind of love was unrequited.)

He places your violets on his desk right where the sun hits and asks Tsumugi how to preserve them as long as possible. He checks on them every morning and evening without fail, and can’t help but think of how light he felt when you gave them to him.

Only a day has passed, but he misses you. He scans the audience for you, and when he can’t find you he busies himself with tidying up backstage after the play and hoping you’d come by again.

It’s natural you wouldn’t go to each and every performance. You were busy, and Mankai productions usually lasted a week or more. It’s understandable. But even though he gets it, he’s still the first to enter the theater and last to leave on performance days, and as much as he tries to hide his disappointment, he notices Citron give him sympathetic looks every time his hopes of seeing you again are dashed.

Three days into the week Masumi gets a text from you, wishing him a broken leg tonight. That must mean you’re watching tonight, right? He has to prepare something for you, and he’s excited.

Sure enough, look at seat 4-27 and there you are.

Masumi sees you from behind the curtain ten minutes before showtime. Nervous energy rushes to his head, but a Spring Troupe pre-show huddle steels his nerves and he gives a performance of a lifetime, definitely his best run of the play yet as he’s fully immersed in the world of Harugaoka.

The focus ebbs once he sees you in the audience during the curtain call. He’s a bundle of nerves as Spring Troupe returns backstage, but when he sees you smile and congratulate him again, it all melts away.

There’s no way he doesn’t like you. You’re infectious. He finds himself laughing with you far more than anyone else, and he trusts you beyond words.

You shrugged on your jacket as you got ready to leave again, but Masumi tugged on your arm. “Hey. Before you go.”

“Huh? What’s up-” You turned to face him and caught a big whiff of lavender. Masumi clutched a small bundle of flowers, tall licks of purple buds tied with a twine bow.

“It’s for you.” He scratched his neck with his free hand. “For the flowers last time. Thank you.”

“Oh! No no no, thank you. They smell wonderful.”

“Yeah. I need to tell you something important.” Even just saying that made Masumi’s inner voice recoil and cringe. What a childish way to go about it.

But you perked up, scanned the room, and waved your hand to your sister. “Izu! I’m borrowing Masumi!” You shouted.

Izumi shouted back, “Have him home by midnight!”

“Done deal!” You grabbed Masumi’s hand. “Hey, let’s go outside.”

“Okay,” he said, eyes boring holes into your intertwined hands. Your hand was so soft, and the fingers fit between his knuckles like puzzle pieces. He must’ve been distracted- how else would he explain not remembering the walk at all?

You dragged him to an ice cream parlor a block down from the theater, grabbed one cone for you and a cup for Masumi (“My treat,” you insisted even as Masumi opened his wallet), and plopped yourself across from him in a corner table for two.

“So.” You licked your ice cream. “What’s going on?”

Masumi dug his spoon into his Dutch Chocolate. “I don’t like Izumi anymore.” You hummed and nodded in acknowledgement, and a quiet urge for him to continue. “It’s hard to explain. She was the first person to make me feel like that.” He paused to sink his teeth into a spoonful. “But it was a lot. It didn’t feel real in hindsight.”

You hummed again, this time while swallowing. “I get that. Feelings come and go.”

“I think I was projecting.”

“Mhm?”

“I got so caught up in someone caring about me for the first time that I thought there was no other explanation but love.” Right. You knew about Masumi’s life and the loneliness that came with it, but it still stung to know he was still grappling with the past. “So I just acted like what everyone says love is. I don’t think it was love. A crush, maybe, but not love.” Not love like this. Not like how you’re the only person I could be truly vulnerable around.

He swallowed a spoonful of his ice cream. His cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as he ate. “So yeah,” he said dismissively, like it wasn’t a huge weight off his chest.

You licked a drop of melting ice cream off your cone, and lowered it to give your best friend your full attention. “Can I be real for a second? That’s great to hear. Changing feelings means you’re growing.”

“You say that like I grew an inch taller,” he quipped.

“It’s still important, though. You learn something new about yourself after every failed relationship or crush, so I’ve heard. Makes you mature or something.”

“So you’re not mad?”

Your face fell. “What? Of course not, why would I be mad?”

“It was your sister. I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“Ohhh.” You relaxed. “She’s tough, and she gets business relationships. I’m sure she’ll get over it.”

“I hope so.”

Masumi’s spoon scraped against the wall of his cup. You weaved a sprig of lavender behind your ear.

“Got any other suitors on the horizon?” You joked.

You. I feel for you. I missed you. I want to be here with you. I wish I could tell you how I feel.

Masumi suddenly stilled. He could tell you how he felt.

After all, you’re alone in an ice cream parlor together. He gave you flowers. He trusted you. You listened to him. The stalk of lavender brushed against your hair and pointed to your eyes, tender and attentive, and the scent was coaxing him to get closer. I want to tell you how I feel.

Citron saw the signs before Masumi himself could, and told him to say yes, yes, yes. He must’ve seen it realistically working out. And you could never look down on him, you were too kind and considerate. Every bone in his body said yes, yes, yes.

“No,” Masumi said. “I’m enjoying the single life.”

“You sound like a regular bachelor,” you teased.

Don’t rock the boat. Don’t ask for more than you deserve.

Masumi shoved his heart into a bottle and let it lie there as he took the safe route.

Masumi led you out of the parlor and into the night streets together. When you were talking about a new movie you saw the other day, you went to grab his hand, and his fingers laced between yours. He escorted you to the train station, made sure you knew your route, and left after the train did, just like a true gentleman.

Then he walked home alone. He knew Veludo Way like the back of his hand, and passed by the bright signs and neon lights. His headphones canceled out the noise of street acts and the lively city as he continued back to the Mankai dorms, but no song played.

He stepped through the doors at 11:43, and Izumi welcomed him back and thanked him for being on time. Tsuzuru was halfway through a bowl of tomato basil soup Masumi could’ve sworn was labeled “taichi’s - DO NOT STEAL!!” and wondered aloud where he was. Citron asked how it went.

The youngest of Spring answered them all with a simple hand wave and “It’s fine,” and didn’t stop walking until he got to his room.

He closed the door, but didn’t flick the light on. He stood there in the dark, headphones blocking out the world for a moment, moonlight shining through the blinds and on the floor.

Masumi buried his face in his hands.

Masumi Usui does not cry. It’s not an issue of vulnerability, but just a part of him. He didn’t cry when his parents ignored him growing up. He didn’t cry when they announced their divorce, or finalized it, or during any of the arguments that led up to it. And though it stung and burned and felt like a paper ripped apart, he didn’t cry as he anticipated his flight from his found family in Mankai to America, not even when all the actors, his grandmother, and one hellbent director came to his rescue at the very last minute.

But something about laying here in his bed like a dead fish, hiding from the world underneath a blanket and squinting as he anticipated tears that would not come, only made it more miserable.

The light turned on, piercing through his barrier of blankets and searing his retinas, and he quietly sucked in air like a hiss.

“Masumi?” That must be Tsuzuru. His sneakers squeaked against the floorboards as the door closed.

Masumi grunted from the pile of blankets.

“Are you okay?” Tsuzuru asked. As the silence stretched on, he added, “Citron wanted me to make sure.”

“Citron can mind his own damn business.”

“You know as well as I do he’s trying to look out for you.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He rolled over and pressed his nose down into his pillow. “Do you ever just have something you want in your grasp but every time you try and make a move for them you always wuss out and it never goes anywhere?”

Ohhh, it’s that kind of conversation. Tsuzuru pursed his lips. This was sounding an awful lot like the impromptu intervention he and Spring Troupe held when his heart broke just before Romeo and Julius, and he had half a mind to fetch Sakuya, but it was late and Masumi definitely didn’t need to be alone right now.

And, well, geez. Masumi just said more in one breath than he did in full conversations. Tsuzuru couldn’t just leave him without feeling like a monster, even if he had good intentions,

Tsuzuru climbed the ladder to his bed, and sat against the wall, not quite next to Masumi but not at the far end of the room, either. “All the time, actually. It’s a common feeling.”

“It still sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

The pile of blankets rose and fell in time with Masumi’s silent breathing. Tsuzuru distracted himself with a pen he found in his pocket. He clicked it once, twice, and three times to expose the nib.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“No.”

Even with seven younger brothers, comforting never got easier. Tsuzuru dragged the pen along his wrist, leaving a spotty black line along his veins. The line made hard turns and corners as Tsuzuru doodled, and formed a geometric pattern. The blanket monster steadied its breath. “I mean, not about it. But talking is okay.”

“Okay. I can get that.” The ink lulled as Tsuzuru thought up a story, anything to take the pressure off Masumi. “I wasn’t lying when I said it’s a common feeling. It happens to people all the time. When I was your age, I had the opportunity all throughout my school career to join a drama club, but I never got around to it.”

“You’re only two years older than me,” Masumi grumbled.

“It still counts! The point is, I always had a reason not to join every time I really considered auditioning, but they weren’t actual dealbreakers. I could’ve made the time to go to rehearsals and balance it with the rest of my life, but I never did, and I knew my excuses were bull even when I was still in school. I’m grateful I found my place with Mankai Company, but I still wonder how different I would’ve been if I just joined the club.”

The room was eerily quiet. Masumi wasn’t protesting, so Tsuzuru assumed he was on the correct route. “But I’m still here, right? I can’t imagine myself acting anywhere else, so I like to think that the stage is where I’m supposed to be, even if I didn’t get a head start with club activities. I regret avoiding the club, sure, but if I had the choice to start over and audition while I was still in school, I don’t think I would take it.

“Even when you hesitate, you learn something new about yourself, or the world around you. I think avoiding theatre for so long only cemented how much I wanted it in my future, and in the long run? I’m still an actor. And I’m still a scriptwriter. I might’ve chickened out, sure, but my regret is one of the reasons why I’m so determined to help Mankai bloom.”

The blankets grunted in acknowledgement, and parted to reveal Masumi’s head, still face-down in his pillow. He held them close to his body like a security measure. “But I feel helpless.”

“But you’re still in control of yourself, aren’t you? You get to decide what to do.” The bedding around Tsuzuru crinkled as he stretched out. “I don’t know your situation, but whatever you decide on, it’ll still teach you something about yourself, and let you improve yourself.”

“I guess.” Masumi rolled over and clasped his hands over his face. “Reader is just- they’re not perfect, but they’re perfect for me. I feel so comfortable around them. So why can’t I just be honest with them?”

“Wait, hold on.” Tsuzuru, who spent the last few minutes staring at the wall as he talked or drawing on his arm, snapped to look at his roommate. His face colored underneath the cracks of his fingers. “I’m going to be frank. Are you trying to ask Reader out?”

Masumi shot up like a cobra. His hair was disheveled and his blush still apparent, but he looked at Tsuzuru like he casually suggested they should eat a baby, or that a clothing line made of sandpaper was a good idea. “You trying to take them away from me, Minagi?”

“What? No! No way!” Tsuzuru smacked his hands over Masumi’s shoulders. “Everything I just said was important and good advice, but trust me this time. Ignore everything I just said and ask them out. I promise it’s going to work out.”

Masumi gave him a once-over. “You are the last person I want to hear love advice from.”

“Promise on my life. Actually, scratch that, I promise on my laptop and all my backup data. It’ll work out, I swear.”

“Why?”

Tsuzuru stared at the ceiling. “Uhh… It’s not my place to say. But it’s fine. It’ll all be fine. I’ve got your back.” He ruffled Masumi’s hair.

“Try that again and I’ll spoon your eyeballs out.” Masumi said this darkly, but he didn’t move to shake Tsuzuru off, and when his roommate climbed back down the ladder to finish Taichi’s soup, he wrapped the biggest of the blankets back around his shoulders. It enveloped him in down as he struggled to shake off the way his heart was still fluttering.

He had a lot to think about.

Something about that night in the ice cream parlor awakened something in Masumi. Ever since his crush first sprouted, he wanted you to be happy, and that wish never changed.

But he wants to be true to himself, and regarding that, true to you. You were a welcome interruption to the life of acting he was getting used to. He found himself checking your text history together, theorizing your next visit to Veludo Way despite you never uttering a word.

The feeling is strange now. He misses you, and the time you spend together is treasured, but he worries he’s growing too attached to you, like when he was head over heels for Izumi.

It’s because of this that he really decides that he needs to tell you how he feels. Not over-the-top or superfluous like how he handled it with Izumi- he does this on his own terms or not at all.

But there’s still a fear. Not about whether you’ll reciprocate- he’d love to date you but at this point it’s more about being honest to you than being your boyfriend, though he really wouldn’t complain with the latter- but he’s afraid of losing control of himself. He doesn’t want to treat you as a second Izumi.

After all, you’re his dear Reader. Not Izumi. He cherishes everything that makes you unique, and you deserve to be treated as no one else but yourself.

A night at the theater passes. Backstage, Masumi checks his phone in case you decide to come, and doesn’t notice Citron poking his head through the curtain and searching for you.

“Have you decided what to do?” Tsuzuru casually asked one night as the troupe was striking the set, and he and Masumi were carrying a box of props.

“Piss off. It’s none of…” He trailed off as he remembered their conversation the other night. Tsuzuru looked unfazed. “Sorry. Yeah. I’ll do it after closing night.”

Tsuzuru walks off, seemingly satisfied. It wasn’t really a lie, but his plans were far off in the future, and not in two days like the scriptwriter assumed. He couldn’t afford mixing two of the most important things in his life like that.

Saturday, the night before Harugaoka Quartet’s final performance. Masumi was already tucked into bed and checking his Reddit feed for the last time before he fell asleep when his phone vibrated with a text from one of the few people that could override his phone’s Do Not Disturb mode.

“break a leg tomorrow! clear your schedule after the play, i’m kidnapping you for the night”

Whatever drowsiness Masumi was feeling dies in a single shot as he snaps to attention. He’s already typing out a response when he sees the three dots appear on your end of the text app.

“i have something to talk to you abt tomorrow”

And before he can even think of a response to that one-

“FKJFKLAD it isn’t as intense as whatever you’re thinking”

“don’t worry about it”

“it’s not important”

The dots appear again, but it takes more time for Reader to respond this time. “you know how i got an apartment in veludo for yosei uni next term? i’ll show you around my place”

That seems to be the end of Reader’s multitext, and Masumi can’t help but smile as he responds. “k. ill let you know when im free.”

Closing night is a whirlwind, and by the time you pick Masumi up, his adrenaline has died down but the nervous excitement from a show still remains, or maybe that’s just the effect you have on him these days.

But the point is, it’s probably why he was so direct.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Masumi asked.

The neon lights outside rolled along slowly. It was getting late, but traffic was just starting to let up and keep the car’s momentum going. Saturated magenta from a late-night pub sign across the street flashed across the steering wheel and your knuckles.

Green colored your eyes, and the car sped up as you left the block.

“I didn’t expect you to remember that,” you observed.

“You mentioned it.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be memorable.”

“It was you. You literally texted me that directly.”

“I’m not exactly the most memorable person.”

“Well, I remembered,” Masumi said with an air of finality.

You didn’t respond as the car followed a curve on the road, and he took the victory in stride. Then he realized how desperate he sounded. He looked out the window, watching the orange construction reflectors by the side of the road bounce light into the car and onto his embarrassed face in the glass.

That managed to shut him up for not even half a minute. “Seriously. What were you going to say?”

In the time it took for him to recover, you were already pulling into a parking lot. “Lemme show you my apartment first. I’ll get you some snacks and then I’ll explain, alright?”

“Alright,” he said.

But on the elevator, he continued. “You’re acting weird, though.”

“Ouch. I’m almost offended.” You grabbed his hand and led him down the hall as you deadpanned. “I guess you’re right, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Are you okay?”

“I guess? It’s more of an ‘us’ thing?”

You stuck a key into your door. It swung open, an invitation into your abode. “That’s not exactly confidence-inspiring.”

“Who said I was confident?” The door opened, and you welcomed Masumi into the kitchen. “I’ll get you some hot Cheetos. I got the ones with lime.”

You turned the corner and ducked into a nondescript room. The actor might not know the layout of your apartment, but he was pretty certain that wasn’t your pantry.

Well, at least your apartment was cool. Like every student’s first time living alone, the hallways outside were dingy and the wall damage was unfortunate, but you already started decorating, and traces of you were left around the open area between the kitchen and the living room- a CD here, your chapstick there. A flowery scent permeated the air.

He scanned through your kitchen, from the refrigerator whiteboard reminders to the reusable cups in the drying rack, but his survey was cut short. In the corner of the kitchen counter was the lavender he gave you, poking out of a small glass cup tied with the twine he attached to the original bouquet.

The flowers hadn’t lost their color yet, and the stems stood strong, insisting they would last longer. No wonder why your apartment smelled so nice.

“Isn’t it crazy they’re still alive? I’m not much of a green thumb, so I’m surprised how hardy they are.” Masumi jumped at your voice. You had quietly entered the kitchen and spoke up without him noticing, then opened the door to the pantry and brought out two bags of chips. “Here. I might just be thinking of Autumn’s plays, but I’ve heard acting burns a surprising amount of calories.”

“Thanks.” He took a seat across the counter and in a living space with an L-shaped couch. “Nice place.”

You finally looked at Masumi directly, and brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face. “Oh. Thank you. I’ve been working on making it presentable for a few weeks now.”

“It suits you. You did a good job.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you stalling?”

“Just my luck you’d figure it out. Yeah, I am.” You ripped open a bag of Doritos and slumped over the couch. You were right next to Masumi, your arm against his while your head lounged on his shoulder.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s one of those things that’s hard for me to admit to myself, though.” You shut your eyes, as though it would make it any easier. Masumi felt like he was going crazy. You begun to speak, slowly and erratically as you pieced the words together like a puzzle. “Do you think something’s changed between us?”

Masumi’s heart sunk. “What?”

“It’s weird. I don’t know how to describe it, but I feel like we aren’t really just friends, you know?”

“Oh.” He stared into his bag of chips, focused on the folds of cellophane and the dark corners, anything to avoid looking at you. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking to you if you want.”

“What? No! That’s not what I meant at all!” You pressed a hand to your head. “Oh, I really messed that one up. I mean, you’re very close to me. I wouldn’t ruin that for the world. I just don’t think ‘friends’ is the word to call us anymore.”

“So we’re more than friends?”

“Yeah. More than friends.”

Masumi nodded with understanding and crunched on a Cheeto. “So we’re best friends.”

“Oh, come on, Masumi,” you groaned and wrapped a hand around Masumi’s cheek. “You’re smart. I think you can figure out what I’m trying to say.”

The actor felt like he was drowning. You were no stranger to casual touching among your friends like Masumi, but even this was pushing it. How was he supposed to keep a cool head while his cheeks were growing warm and here was no way you wouldn’t notice-

Then it all clicked together.

“Reader,” Masumi said. “Do you like me?”

You tensed.

“Because I like you,” he said.

The room was so still.

“A lot, actually.”

Now or never.

“It was hard figuring out everything, and I don’t want to cause any trouble for you, but you should know. I think the world of you and it felt wrong to ignore that, but I don’t want you to think I’m saying this for something in return. I just wanted you to know.”

The words spilled out of his mouth, but he couldn’t find the urge to regret any of it. Everything was true.

“You don’t have to say it back, though. I’m fine where we are, and if you think that’s weird or want to stop being friends, then…” He trailed off. “Then that’s okay.”

“But it’s not,” you said. “It’s not okay. I mean- I feel the same.”

“You like me?’

“You gonna make me say it twice?” Your head lolled further and you looked up at Masumi. As red as he was with your hand along his jawline, you were sure you were even redder. “Yeah. I do.”

“You mean that?”

You drew him forward and kissed him.

You were too caught up in the moment to remember that you’ve never really kissed anyone before, not like this, and the inexperience must be mutual, but Masumi’s hands were on you, feeling your hair and running down your neck and against your chest, and his breath hitched when you pulled him to pin you down, and you relished in it, utterly spellbound.

Your lips slid off his, and rested against his cheek, out of breath but not quite ready to part. “I mean it,” you whispered. “I- I like you too…”

Masumi’s voice was muffled as he rested on your shoulder. “You kissed me but you’re shy about saying that?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

To his credit, he did. He dove back into your arms, taking the initiative this time, and whatever protests you had died on your lips while your thoughts were only Usui, Usui, Usui.

❖ bonus ❖

“I should probably hang up soon,” you said. “I’m going to the gig soon.”

You laced up your concert boots (well-worn and well-loved, and steel-toed to protect your feet from moshers and dancers), your phone pinned between your ear and shoulder as your sister talked over the phone. “Riiiight. I forgot you were going to a concert-“

“It’s not a concert, Izu,” you shot back. “Concerts are stadium-sized events. This one is just at a small bar venue, so it’s a gig.”

“Same thing. I think he already told you, but Masumi’s on the way to your apartment.”

“I heard. I’ve got a date.”

“Since when did you get a date? Did you tell Masumi?” Izumi sounded worried. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of you and I want to know everything when you get the chance, but I thought it was just going to be the two of you.”

“Yep, just the two of us.”

“But what about your date? Are you meeting them at the venue? That’s not exactly romantic, or considerate- HHOOOUUUGGGHHH.” Izumi gasped.

“Wow, you sound like a broken air mattress.”

“Reader,” Izumi squeaked, holding onto her breath. “Are you dating Masumi?”

You held the phone away from your ear, fully expecting the loudest noise you’d ever hear on the other end of the line. “Uh, yeah?”

…

……

………

Oh. That was disappointing.

You brought the phone back to your ear as Izumi continued, not at all shocked but relieved. “Oh, that’s good. Congratulations! It’s been a long time coming.”

“Thanks. I’m really glad you- wait, what do you mean, ‘long time coming?’”

“You haven’t noticed yet? Almost everyone in Mankai saw it coming.”

You stood to your full height just to glare at a wall. “Seriously? That is so immature.”

“You would too, don’t even lie. If you keep trying to set me up with people, then I reserve the right to tease you over your relationships. I so called it.”

“You are ridiculous. I hate you and I’m going to cut up all your stupid striped T-shirts. How did you even figure it out?”

“You’re kidding me. How do you not?” Izumi laughed. “The second Masumi stopped following me around on his free days, I figured something was up. He’s not very good at hiding his feelings.”

“No, he isn’t! I had to egg him on so he would confess before me.”

“Wait, what? What happened?”

You recounted the beginning of your relationship, without all the raunchy details, and realized Izumi was quietly echoing everything you said. “Are you writing things down?”

“I have a duty to know. There’s a massive betting pool on you two.”

“See?! Ridiculous! That’s so obnoxious!”

“Don’t worry, it’s a community pot. You said he confessed first, so that’s some points for just about everyone in Winter Troupe, Sakyo, Kazunari and Sakuya.”

“Even Sakuya’s in on this?”

“Spring wants to see their boy winning,” Izumi said matter-of-factly. “Hey, did you offer him any Takis? Chikage was certain you’d offer him Takis right before you became an item.”

“Nope, Cheetos. The hot lime kind.”

“They’re basically the same thing.”

“No, they aren’t. He says Takis are too spicy.”

“But the hot lime Cheetos are spicier than Takis.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“I’ll just say they were Takis. If Chikage got that one right, Itaru has to pay him in gift cards from his whaling stash, and I’m kind of miffed at him for eating a whole jar of guacamole in one night.”

“In one night? But he’s built like a curtain rod, how can he physically do that? Better question, what’s Chikage going to do with a bunch of iTunes cards?”

“I heard he was going to get Minecraft, but if you ask me, I think it’s about the principle of the matter.”

“It has to be. Pocket Edition sucks.”

A knock on the door interrupted your conversation. “Speak of the devil, he’s here. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Noooo, Reader! I need to know if there was a love letter involved! My salary versus Homare’s pocket change is at stake here!”

“It can wait until tomorrow!” You abandoned the phone on the counter and opened the door. “Hey, babe.” He pecked you on the cheek in greeting.

Meanwhile, Izumi was still yelling on the phone. “Is that Masumi? Give him the phone, I need to do a shovel talk.”

You hung up without a care in the world, and turned to your boyfriend. “Sorry about that, Izu called. Did you know Mankai has a betting ring about us?”

He sniffed. “I overheard Tenma talking about it the other day. I thought it was a joke.”

“You thought wrong. Itaru’s in for a world of pain.” You locked the door behind you, adjusted your T-shirt, and brushed Masumi’s knuckles with your own. “Ready to go?”

“Always.” He held your hand as you began to walk together. 🎧

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