There were a lot of things Sorey could complain about, being an idol. The days running on two hours of sleep and as many energy drinks as his manager could pour down his throat, the complete lack of privacy, the lack of free time, the strict diet – oh, they could take away Sorey's carbs but he'd made it clear from the start that they would not be taking away his ice cream.
But, of course, Sorey would've stopped the whole gig if there weren't things to enjoy about it. His fans, for example – they were so sweet to like him, even if they overdid it sometimes, and Sorey wished there was more time in the day just so he could personally reply to all their letters and gifts. Sorey couldn't pretend to not like his paycheck; he had gotten used to the infinite book budget, and loved his scooter what was considered by others to be a "worrying amount."
And then, well.
"Right there, Mik! Hold that pose! Oh, the camera loves it!"
His bandmate Mikleo lounged in the surf, shirt open and translucent from the ocean spray. He held his fingers to his lips, tongue pressed against them delicately as if to taste the salt of the sea; his eyes heavy-lidded and darkly violet, his long, dark lashes fanning his cheeks. His hair was artfully tousled, the product of hours of work by the salon team. The makeup department had oiled his skin before the shoot, and had carefully applied sand to strategic locations – his bare thighs, for example – to better draw the eye. The camera team was all over him, and dear god, Sorey could not blame them.
Mikleo and Sorey had gotten into the idol business together, and only together had they managed to make it to the top – and keep each other sane. They liked their other bandmates well enough, but it seemed like they came from a different world: the world of idol academies, and a lifetime of being raised in the spotlight. They seemed to live for the things Sorey shied from: the drama, the paparazzi, the fans out only to get them in bed. If they wanted that lifestyle, they could have it – and really, it only benefitted Sorey and Mikleo in the end. The tabloids were far more interested in Zaveid's latest club antics and wardrobe malfunctions, or Eizen punching out photographers – popular as they were with teens and twenty-somethings, Sorey and Mikleo didn't have much to offer the tabloids other than the endless speculation on the nature of their relationship.
"Does Sorey and Mikleo is gay?", the less erudite of celeb gossip sites asked the world. Yes, incredibly, but they'd long since decided to not let their relationship be a plaything of the paparazzi. It was hard to not be able to hold Mikleo's hand as they walked down the streets, harder still to keep the naked adoration off his face as he watched Mikleo dance, or watched his fingers on his guitar. And harder still to watch Mikleo rolling around half-naked on the beach without being able to join in.
Sorey sighed and tore his gaze away. It would just drag the shoot out longer if they had to wait for Sorey's boner to settle down. The makeup team finished up oiling his biceps, and, bidding them goodbye with a smile, he settled in to read until his turn was up to play in the sand. He'd gotten permission from the photography director to bring his favorite blow-up shark toy. The sky was bright, the breeze was nice, he had a great book and a gorgeous boy to watch out of the corner of his eye. Being an idol really had its perks.