I will play the swan,

and die in music.

—Othello, Act V, Scene II

Kurapika kicks off his shoes and bares his feet on the lacquered wooden floor. His jacket drops into a wrinkled pile next to his shoes, and it's getting easier now, how all he needs to do is give a light tug on his clothes and they'll fall right off. Too many days have been spent brooding in his room, thinking of all the group lineups he's been placed in only to be replaced; penning lyrics for songs that people will never hear; and reading through online articles about his disappearance from the industry.

Chairman Nostrade calls it a hiatus, and he knows that a prolonged break is just a polite way of saying that he isn't meant to return. His reflection surrounds him in the empty studio, and all he remembers are the times he remained after dance practice to perfect choreography for his next music video, of nights too long and muscles strained beyond repair. Within the confines of this room, he has seen people fail their training period and leave without their dreams realized, has seen people who make it extinguish under the limelight.

And there are people like Kurapika who are in between.

There's nothing he wouldn't endure for the sake of his dream. He needs to stop thinking so much and start doing, and it starts with a new video from the Genei Ryodan. His manager sends him messages with their videos from time to time, and he likes to take parts of their self-choreographed routines and rearrange them for practice, making them his own.

He watches their latest performance from his phone screen, analyzes their movements with a critical eye, and finds that his attention is always drawn to Kuroro first. It's not because Kuroro is a better singer or a better dancer than him. He isn't.

It's easy to see how Kuroro finds freedom in music in a way that Kurapika has never found in anything, how he has an entire group to support him, and the jealousy of that sears into his heart, something less like envy and more like heartache.

But the performance helps Kurapika remember what it's like to be on stage again. He connects his phone to the speakers and surrenders himself to the maelstrom of their music. It's different from the times he practiced alone without turning the lights on, stepped around the long shadows cast by his movements, and reveled in the intimacy of listening to music through a pair of earbuds. He can see his reflection now, can feel the rhythm sink deep into his bones. His feet take control of his body and the impact of his landing makes the slightest sound before taking off again, weightless this time.

He dances until his skin burns and his muscles ache, as if they need to be mended and stitched back where they belong. Sweat glistens his face, runs down his chin, and pools at his collarbone. He has no intention of stopping.

But the music stops.

Kurapika stumbles.

His body is trembling, though he isn't sure if it's from adrenaline or exertion. He flicks his bangs out of his eyes to look up at the mirrored wall, catching his manager's frown in the reflection.

"You're not supposed to be here." Leorio looks at him with incredulity in the lift of his eyebrows. "Why?"

Kurapika allows himself to breathe. "I had to."

It's a little too honest, too unthinking to be said aloud. But if he doesn't continue with music, pushing himself as hard as he can, he doesn't know what he can do.

"I'm not having any of that." Rather than being upset, Leorio's already picking up his jacket and shoes and offering them out to him. His kindness is too much for Kurapika's heart after years of being carved out. "I'm taking you out tonight!"

"You planned this," Kurapika says in disbelief.

"I had to," Leorio echoes. "You haven't left your apartment in days, so I was coming to get you anyway. Imagine how I felt when you weren't even there."

Kurapika tries to speak, but Leorio likes to talk over people when he's giving a lecture.

"Then the light was on in the studio and—" Leorio shakes his head. "I honestly can't believe you."

"I can't believe that you've already paid for everything." Kurapika gestures to Leorio's new change of clothing. "Was this really necessary?"

"Absolutely," Leorio declares. A robe drapes his shoulders bearing the mark of the Spider while a white headband binds his forehead with the names of all the members. He's gone above and beyond to prepare for this concert, and Kurapika's still having trouble making sense of it all.

A security guard leads them to a reserved area at the front row, right beneath the stage. Kurapika has never been inside a venue of this capacity and the stands and floor area are filling up behind them. Fans mill around in anticipation and there's a sense of urgency, a desperate need to finally see the idols they've been following for years.

Being surrounded by so many people makes him uncomfortable, but he quickly forgets when the LED screen plays a recording of the Ryodan's most recent music program broadcast. The show hasn't even started yet, but the appearance of Kuroro giving an interview heightens screams to a fever pitch. He speaks on behalf of the members, playing his part as their proper leader.

One of the reporters hands him a microphone. "What was your inspiration for this album?"

"I had a rather captivating encounter that inspired our lyrics." Kuroro gives a smile and plays nice with the media. It's rare for him to give rather than take, when all he does is steal hearts without saying much in return. "I hope my muse will find our music just as inspiring and that I will be able to find them again soon."

They're pretty words, even for someone who writes and composes his own songs, and Kurapika doesn't think much of them.

In an ocean of lights, their eyes meet.

Kurapika's only one person surrounded by thousands of screaming fans, and yet—dark eyes, dark as obsidian, pin him to where he stands. This moment where Kuroro bathes in the flux of bright lights, delivering his verses in a smooth tone, looks just like the image that's been at the forefront of his mind for months. Kurapika wonders how he must look, still and quiet, amidst a sea of adoring women.

An effortless smirk is thrown his way, an acknowledgment, and Kurapika's heart stumbles over its next beat before the pace of the world resumes. Just before Kuroro breaks eye contact, rapid clicks of the shutter resound in his ears over the screaming around him.

"Did you see that?" Leorio shouts into his ear. He throws his arms around Kurapika and shakes him for emphasis, on the verge of breaking down. "He looked at me!"

"Uh," Kurapika manages to say. An arena full of fans screaming Kuroro and Shal and Paku isn't the best place to have a conversation. He lets Leorio have his moment, when so many fans are vying for the attention of their favorite members to the point that they would throw their undergarments on stage.

"I caught it on camera!"

Leorio waves his camera with a dramatic flourish, and Kurapika can't help but wonder about the expensive equipment that all these fans possess. A heavy camera in one hand and a pearl violet lightstick in the other, they're all prepared to make their idols turn their eyes to them. Something like this couldn't possibly be captured, not in a photo, where it would never quite live up to the real thing.

Kurapika doesn't bother thinking it over as he melts into the swell of the crowd, basks in the chaos of the performance. Kuroro moves to the other side of the stage to join his members, his fur coat trailing with the cadence of his steps. Only a microphone in his hands and without even pausing for breath, Kuroro plunges headfirst into the atmosphere that seems to fuel a fire inside him, burning him brighter. Even when he's dressed in that ridiculous stage outfit, his voice gives rise to many, rousing a chant of his name throughout the arena.

Kuroro responds by dragging his shirt from the hem up, revealing an expanse of skin inked with rebellion, intensifying the enthusiasm of the audience. He is nothing short of captivating and Kurapika can't bring himself to look away.

But Kuroro's not the only one who carries the performance. With all of their members present, the Genei Ryodan is so much larger than life. The times when Kurapika has watched them on phone and television screens, has stared at digital billboards in the heart of the city can't even compare, surrounded by whispers on the streets and admiration from bustling crowds, schoolgirls and businessmen alike.

Kuroro brings his group altogether, refusing to compromise their individuality for a success that only a manufactured artist could afford. It is this ardent love for performing, this fierce dedication to staying true to who they are, that they can own the stage and set it ablaze. Seeing them together is even more stunning than Kurapika could have ever envisioned.

In the sweltering air of the venue, through the spiraling crescendo of cheers, Kurapika can't remember the last time he's felt this alive.

Leorio sighs like he's in love.

"Gross," Kurapika deadpans.

While fans are leaving the arena, Leorio lingers at the barricade right beneath the stage, still in awe from the concert. He's typically a happy guy, only now he's stupidly happy. "Don't tell me that you weren't the slightest bit impressed."

"The show was fine." Kurapika tips the brim of his baseball cap downward and adjusts his face mask. Fine is an understatement when the intensity of their music is still pulsating in his eardrums, but the soreness in his muscles can't be ignored after being pressed against the barricade the entire time. Having the best view for the show was undoubtedly both a blessing and a curse.

Leorio sends him a sly grin. "Better than watching videos, right?"

Kurapika turns away.

"Are we going to your autograph signing or what?"

That draws Leorio back to reality and he follows. They move into another hall where the autograph session is reserved for only VIP fans. Kurapika truly didn't want to attend, but it would have been a waste of tickets if he refused Leorio.

The fans around them have the brightest smiles on their faces, speaking animatedly about how everything and everyone is a blur, about their favorite moments of the night. Despite that they're standing towards the end of the line, several fans look back to steal glances before whispering to their peers. It's difficult not to stand out, given the fact that they're the only men surrounded by female fans. But they're probably still irked that someone with Leorio's height blocked the view of so many fans.

Leorio lets out a whistle. "I'm glad you came with me tonight."

"Not like I had a choice." What Kurapika feels is indescribable, too complex to be translated into words, how he was able to actually be there. It hurts his pride to admit that he didn't spend time scrutinizing their choreography and searching for mistakes; instead, he let himself enjoy the performances like they were meant to be. There's a small smile hidden beneath his mask and perhaps, he's glad that he came too. "I didn't expect you to be this big of a fan."

"Are you kidding me," Leorio says in a hush. "The fanclub's going to pay big bucks for a photobook of these pictures."

"I should have known," Kurapika groans. It doesn't come as a surprise that he's so invested in profiting off fans, and it wouldn't be unexpected if he ended up auctioning off the autographed merchandise. "I guess I've never seen you look like that when you watch me perform."

"Don't forget that I'm your biggest fan." Leorio puts his arm around Kurapika's shoulder and offers a bright grin. "But I'm allowed to like other idols too, you know? I don't think I could ever live like one of those hardcore fans dedicated to one group."

Ironically, Leorio looks more like a fan than anyone else in the room. Kurapika's outfit was meant to avoid recognition from onlookers, but apparently Leorio didn't get the memo. Perhaps that is why they have continued to garner attention around them, curious eyes and hushed whispers.

Leorio turns around when a hand taps him on the shoulder. One of the girls, carrying an LED sign with Kuroro's name on it, shyly asks him who his favorite Ryodan member is.

"Kuroro," Leorio answers without missing a beat. There's a bright gleam in the girl's eyes, a kind that speaks of kinship. "He's a man among men!"

Leorio lets go of him to engage her in conversation, singing endless praise of charisma and natural-born talent, and he can't help but feel a little betrayed when Leorio's his manager. It's something that he would never expect to feel, but also a reminder that he should never take Leorio for granted. The Ryodan are well-deserving of love, so he can't exactly blame him.

As Kurapika lets the line carry him, he peers at the other girls waiting in front of them. Looking at their heels makes him wince when he's in pain only from wearing comfortable sneakers. Numerous gift bags hang from their arms, filled with fan letters and expensive products. Even with his excellent memory, there are times when Kurapika can't remember his own fans, regardless of how pretty they look or what gifts they bring, so he can't imagine the members always doing so either.

A woman flushes when she gets to speak to Machi, from the absolute euphoria that comes from meeting someone who has made such an impact in her life. A soft smile graces Machi's lips when she's said to never smile in front of the camera and possess a heart of ice. Kurapika appreciates that she doesn't appear to be as cold as her image makes her out to be.

"What do you have there?" Machi asks, looking up from signing the album.

"A scarf for you, since it's getting cold." Pink cashmere pools in her hand and she visibly hesitates when one of the bodyguards sends her a glare. "It's not much, but will you accept it?

"Sure," Machi says, waving the man away without even breaking eye contact with the fan. She lowers her head in front of her. "Put it on me?"

With trembling hands, the woman wraps the scarf around her, swathing her in a shade of pink that matches her hair. "Thank you so much!"

"I should be thanking you. Make sure to stay warm." Machi passes the album over the expanse of the table to Pakunoda, where the fan moves onward, delighted to have had the courage to give the gift to her.

Even if they don't remember their fans, it's thoughtful that the members make an effort to make their fans' experience worthwhile. Without the need to act perfectly polite or keep disingenuous smiles on their faces the entire time.

They're only about ten feet away from the table when Leorio returns to his side. "Almost our turn."

"Do you know what you want to say to them?"

Leorio just radiates with confidence. "Of course."

Kurapika's looking forward to what he has to say. When it's their turn, the bodyguard by Machi's side motions for Leorio to walk up to the table. Leorio plasters the biggest grin he can manage on his face, the corners of his eyes creasing from the force of it.

With a click, Machi uncaps a marker and takes one of the albums from the stack. "Who am I making this out to?"

Kurapika expects him to tell her the most handsome man in the world or something along those lines.

Instead, Leorio just stares.

Like he's trying not to pass out and die.

Machi raises an eyebrow and Kurapika does the same. It takes an elbow to the side before Leorio makes a pained sound and composes himself. He doesn't even say anything before accepting Machi's signature and sliding over to meet Pakunoda. So much for that.

"What's up with him?"

Kurapika shrugs. "I guess he likes you guys so much that he forgot what to say."

As she looks up at him, a flicker of recognition passes through her blue eyes. She's the kind of artist who sings songs that tear boys like Kurapika apart and being in her vicinity makes him slightly nervous now.

"Have we met before?"

"Ah, this is my first time coming to your show." It's the truth. He lifts his face mask a bit higher to cover his nose. He doesn't want to say too much and it's not that he needs to avoid being recognized by the Ryodan themselves, but it would certainly make him uncomfortable.

"Well, alright. I hope you enjoyed the show." Machi hands the album over and he receives it with both hands in quiet thankfulness. "Thank you for coming tonight."

He has only been on the other side of the table for his own fansigns, so it feels a bit strange to act like a fan now. He's not sure if he can really call himself a fan, though he did appreciate their performances tonight. At this point, he realizes that Leorio is no longer by his side and has most likely finished meeting everyone.

Before long, he's standing in front of Kuroro.

"Hi." Kuroro smiles with an overwhelming amount of charm. His styled hair is losing its hold, but the loose strands fall nicely across his forehead. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I did," Kurapika admits.

Perhaps Kuroro simply has the ability to make people fall for him in the span of a heartbeat. Or perhaps Kurapika was so swept up in the moment, that he lost himself in the atmosphere of the concert. But he feels like he gained something from the concert, something that no one can take from him, empowering him to put in as much passion into his own work as he witnessed tonight.

"I'm glad." Kuroro spins the marker in his hands and looks at him like he's seducing an audience of one instead of thousands. "Did you come see me? Looked like you couldn't take your eyes off me tonight."

His fans would surely rejoice at this, but Kurapika decides to lie. "I'm more of a Pakunoda fan."

He isn't sure how Kuroro expected him to respond, but judging by the surprise that flickers across his features, it's clear he expected him to say yes.

"Paku? I was so sure that—" Kuroro schools his face into a more amused expression. "Well, I'm sure she won't mind if I steal one of her fans."

Kurapika isn't sure where this is going. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'd like you to have something." As Kuroro reaches for a bouquet of white flowers, Kurapika thinks that it's in poor taste if he plans on giving away another fan's gift.

"Why?"

Too unexpected, Kuroro reaches out and gently lifts the cap from his head, lets his blond hair fall freely across his face. His hair is growing out, and if he leaves it for much longer, the length will extend past his chin. Carefully, he tucks a flower behind his ear.

"Because it suits you."

Kurapika has to suppress the urge to scoff at this, when there are so many fans staring and murmuring about Kuroro's intimacy. Part of their job is to make fans feel nice, but Kuroro's efforts are so cliché and outdated that it feels more like a joke. "It's going to take more than pretty words to win me over."

"Playing hard to get, I like that," Kuroro says with a laugh. He finally returns Kurapika's hat and turns his attention to the album cover. "What would you like me to write here?"

"Anything you want to."

Opening up the album, Kuroro chooses to write inside the booklet instead. "What a shame," he murmurs. "It'd be nice to see more of you."

"We'll see about that," Kurapika answers, indifferent.

Kuroro writes much more than his name and then, he looks up at Kurapika with every intent to woo. "Here you go, all signed and personalized for Paku's beautiful fan." He slides the album to Kurapika face down, either for privacy or to look cool. If Kurapika seems too incredulous, he would just need to forgive him, by virtue of being too ridiculous. "Next time, I'll make you my fan for sure."

"Thank you," Kurapika says out of politeness, turning away from the signing table without another word.

As he walks away, Kuroro says something so quiet that he nearly misses it.

"—see you, Kurapika."

Kurapika whirls around, heart in his throat, but Kuroro's already speaking to the next eager fan in line. There are several girls gaping at him, so he puts his cap back on, flower be damned. Perhaps his imagination is playing tricks on him, given how long this night has been.

He waits until he's in the lobby and away from prying eyes to look inside the booklet.

Kuroro's message is only two lines long:

To Paku's fan:

Can I see you after this? Please wait for me at the café across the street.

In any other situation, Kurapika would have laughed because clandestine trysts should only belong in teenage fantasies. But his mind is trying to catch up with his heart, beating far too fast, nearly panicked. He fumbles to find his phone, only to be greeted with a text message from Leorio stating that he'll be drowning his sorrows at the karaoke bar with other fans.

His heart hasn't calmed down any, but he closes the album and goes.

"Sorry for making you wait."

Kurapika looks up from his book, with the white flower pressed against the page as a bookmark.

It takes a moment for him to process that Kuroro is standing in front of him. His hair falls over his cross tattoo in its natural state, parting easily at the center and free of any gel product. A pair of black frames sit atop his nose bridge, although they're most likely non-prescription glasses. His jacket and pants are loose-fitting, comfortable, and he looks absurdly normal.

Kuroro cocks his head curiously when he doesn't receive a response. "Kurapika?"

Kurapika closes his book. "So you know who I am."

"You performed at the Japan Record Awards over a year ago," Kuroro says easily, and settles into the empty seat across from him. With the high backing of their leather seats, they're away from anyone curious enough to look at them. Kurapika even removes his cap and mask while they're here. "I was there."

"That's not what I meant—" Kurapika doesn't want to think about what happened last year, and something doesn't seem right about this. "I was only invited because of my company's connections. Not because I was a contender for an award."

"I think," Kuroro says with a charismatic smile, "that you've done much more than you take credit for."

"That's easy for you to say." Kurapika internalizes his words as something patronizing, because they're being spoken by someone who has more accomplishments than he could ever imagine.

But Kuroro isn't ready to give up. "After four years of training, you successfully debuted as a solo artist under Nostrade Media."

Kurapika looks up at him, surprised. "You—"

"—collaborated with composer Senritsu for your first album, performed at Yokohama Arena when you were just a high school student—"

"How did you—"

"—rose to the top of the charts with your second album, achieved a music show win during the first week of promotions—"

"I robbed an empty house—"

"—and vanished from the industry soon thereafter."

Kuroro isn't wrong, and that stuns him into silence. He searches his mind for arguments that aren't there. His throat feels tight, not the way it feels right before crying, but tight as in it's difficult for him to speak.

Kuroro's smile is conspiratorial. "I'd love to know what made someone like you want to attend our show tonight."

"I think that you know too much already," Kurapika manages to say, and he wants to know why.

"I'm a curious person by nature. Does it bother you that I know?"

"I don't know." It comes as a surprise when Kuroro is curious about him, of all people. And he's serious, with all indications of his coquettish behavior from the autograph session gone. He's too much of an enigma, full of contradictions, and Kurapika might admire him one moment, only to resent him the next. "You just surprised me, that's all."

"Because you don't like talking about yourself?"

"It's just strange hearing it from you." It makes Kurapika feel less than perfect when he hears about things that he's done and has too many regrets to name. He thinks of the times the media has characterized him as a pretty face, meant for nothing but music videos and fan service. "Can you get to the point?"

Kuroro does nothing to hide the way his gaze turns serious. "I might know who you are, but nobody knows why you disappeared." He can't fathom why Kuroro cares so much. "If it has to do with Nostrade's financial difficulties, have you considered joining a different agency?"

"My contract has yet to expire," Kurapika answers. It's not that easy, to give up the history he has with his company.

What Kuroro says next is inconceivable.

"We could buy out your contract," he proposes carefully, with a sentiment too unprecedented, "if would be willing to join the Ryodan."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Kurapika searches him for any signs that he's being deceived, but he isn't, or Kuroro is just that good with words. Meteor Entertainment was only a fledgling of an agency when it was founded and upon Kuroro's success, it became an empire that spread to all parts of the entertainment industry. Only a fool could refuse.

"I don't quite understand," Kurapika says weakly.

"You have too much potential for it to go to waste. Will you consider it?"

Kurapika closes his eyes in thought. His chest aches with an instinctive guilt when he even dares think about it. Being born and raised in Nostrade's company, there are certain ideals that flow in his veins, having been embedded there for years. Whether he thinks about it now or a month from now, he can't fathom being on stage with Kuroro's group, when it means leaving behind his foundations and the place he calls home, whether he likes it or not.

"Thank you for the offer." Kurapika says, standing up to leave. He feels humbled by the opportunity, but immediate gratification goes against everything he stands for, and he definitely doesn't need Kuroro's charity to succeed. "But I'm sorry."

This time, he doesn't look back when Kuroro calls out to him.

Around two in the morning, Kurapika gets an Instagram notification. He rarely uses the app, only opening it up when there's a notification that he has been tagged in a photo or even when he decides to upload his own photo to ensure his fans that he's alive. But the last time he logged in was over a year ago.

The message is so unexpected that his phone nearly falls from his grasp.

kurorolucifer has started following you

Kurapika's finger hovers over his username and doesn't bother following him back. But he views Kuroro's profile out of curiosity and expects that he'll find photos with captions bordering on inducing second-hand embarrassment.

In his most recent photo, adoration comes in the form of a bouquet of white flowers.

66,106 likes

kurorolucifer #muse

View 9,014 comments

Some of the replies are thanking Kuroro for his performance tonight, while others are desperate to know more about the source of his inspiration, dreaming that whoever they are must be as lovely as those flowers. It's when he sees things like this that makes him remember exactly why he avoids social media. He doesn't care for the rest of Kuroro's photos and navigates to his own profile instead.

Waiting for him are videos of his dance practices and album promotions, with either terse captions or no caption all. He just couldn't be bothered. There are the photos he was required to share from sponsored campaigns, of him wearing high fashion brands that were subjective in taste. There are a few scenic photos as well, of night skies and the rustic countryside from when he visited his hometown with Leorio.

Kuroro likes all of his photos.

He supposes that Kuroro isn't too heartbroken to have his offer rejected if he's stalking Kurapika's social media like this. It's not that Kuroro can find anything new on his page either, when he seems to know about his entire repertoire. Their conversation from earlier echoes in his mind, taking him farther and farther away from sleep.

When hundreds of notifications flood his phone, something is inherently wrong.

Despite being away from the spotlight for months, his name seizes headlines on the front page of all the major news sites, and each and every article brings him back to Kuroro. Born from the sensational minds of journalists, there's the curious, impossible idea that they're together.

If Kurapika had promotions, then he would have expected this to be a poor publicity stunt from Nostrade. But he doesn't, and each article title leaves him in greater disbelief and confusion than the last—

Kuroro's elusive lover revealed

Kuroro Lucifer and Kurapika spotted on a secret date—a romance that transcends boundaries

Kuroro's muse is flower boy Kurapika

Kurapika's heart races in his chest, beating faster, and he needs to remember to breathe. A morbid curiosity compels him to read an article by the most renowned media outlet.

All he finds are secret photos from the concert and the aftermath, of Kuroro looking in his direction at the show; Kuroro gently touching at him at the autograph session and the ridiculous flower; and Kuroro meeting him at the café, despite that they only met for around fifteen minutes. There are even theories drawn from Kuroro's Instagram posts, and even more in the comments section.

[+12,457, -3,023] I don't know who blondie is, but Kuroro's popularly will surely fall. He can do so much better than this nobody. I'm seriously disappointed in him.

[+9,056, -2,724] He's a homo? Shocking.

[+6,892, -2,978] What's the point of idols without fans? We've invested so much time and money to shower the Ryodan with love, protected you from getting hate, and stuck by you during scandals. That's how you've made it this far. You dare betray us like this?

[+4,290, -1,421] I'm Kuroro's fan. He's my idol and I hoped that he'd be different than the rest. I guess not. I guess that now you're successful, the Ryodan isn't as important as your personal freedom. I don't think I can support you anymore if this continues.

[+1,268, -6,424] If someone like Kuroro is flirting with you, then I doubt he'd get rejected. From being a nobody to dating a top star, blondie sure hit it big. Wishing you all the best.

[+1,014, -5,498] I think they're cute together. I went to the concert tonight and thought Kurapika was just a fanboy. No wonder why Kuroro looked so happy. You have my support!

[+986, -8,026] Fans shouldn't feel betrayed. You dumb bitches, Kuroro isn't responsible for your lives. Wish him happiness and continue to love him. And if you think he ever liked women, then you weren't a real fan in the first place. Downvote me if you dare, delusional bitches.

Unpleasant comments are nothing new to Kurapika, but it doesn't sit well with him that his name is disgracing Kuroro's reputation. As an active representative of the company, Leorio could have put an end to the misunderstanding, could have explained that he and Kuroro didn't even know each other, and that this was just a poor excuse for journalism. But perhaps he was so inebriated from meeting his new friends, that he became enthralled at the prospect of a secret love between him and Kuroro.

Leorio chooses to immortalize this in a post with two photos that he personally captured from the concert. There's one of Kurapika—wide eyed, flushed cheeks, and enamored from the moment he met Kuroro's gaze, depending on perspective. The other is of Kuroro looking in his direction—looking only at him.

28,908 likes

drpaladiknight #stankurokura2018

View 3,046 comments

The comments are in an uproar. Some fans are threatening to leave the fanbase, while others have expressed their disappointment in Kurapika in leaving the industry just to date in secrecy. Kurapika scrolls through the stream of comments, encountering a few messages of support, but mostly malicious ones with a complete disregard for respect.

If there's one thing he learns tonight, it's that his career is far from over.

Notes:

* Kurapika is a solo artist, whereas Kuroro is part of an idol group. The Ryodan here consists of only four members—Kuroro, Shal, Paku, and Machi.

* What Leorio wears to the concert is a happi coat—a traditional festival coat that hardcore idol fans occasionally wear.

* Kurapika breaks Kuroro's heart twice—once when he claims that his bias is Paku, and the second time when he rejects his offer.

An alternate summary for this fic would go something like this: Kuroro is terrible at flirting and Kurapika is more dense than he seems. I used to work in the Korean entertainment industry, but obviously, this is a very romanticized view of the entertainment industry. I had some nice opportunities, like meeting idols and working behind the scenes.

I wrote this to cheer myself up, but unfortunately, my personal life has taken a turn for the worst. I was quite optimistic at the beginning of this month, but I have experienced some very serious setbacks in my life. That also means that I won't be able to participate actively in fandom anymore.

This will most likely be the last fic I upload, so that I can also work on updating my existing fics, albeit very slowly. I hope you liked this chapter, though. It's probably the longest chapter I've written so far.

Please leave a comment. I'd love to know what you think about this fic so far!

You can also reach out to me on Tumblr at seiyuna.