AN: Junior year sucks to the 400th degree of suckiness. That said, enjoy the chapter! XD

Warnings: As if you didn't know (or expect), but the boiluv is rising as of NOW. So if you don't like, please don't read!

Kamio was beautiful.

This was something Shinji knew rather than thought about, some ingrained notion that had rooted itself in his mind somehow without him really knowing about it. He had never had to stare at Kamio, examine his for hours to know he was the most aesthetically pleasing thing he had ever seen- but he did anyway, because he happened to stare at things a lot, and Kamio never really minded.

If there was anyone who could name where, when, how Kamio looked best it was Shinji- they were best friends, it was only natural Shinji could recall snippets of especially pretty mental snapshots- pretty, perhaps, was not the best word, for it was quite clear that Kamio wasn't a girl, for sure, but Shinji felt he was in fact a /pretty/ boy, just as he himself was a /pretty/ boy. Kamio's face looked good under the soft light of their bedside lamp, the dim, cheap light highlighting his nose, his chin, his cheek as they held quiet, late night jam sessions, murmuring words until they felt right with the song.

Kamio looked even better in the pouring rain, in the shower even, where Shinji could watch the slides of water until they disappeared into the line of Kamio's mouth or ducked under his chin, wetness pushing strands of hair into his eyes, demanding Shinji to reach out a hand and push them away. Shinji could have swore, however, his favorite Kamio, the /prettiest/ Kamio, was when Kamio was sleeping; his face just close enough to Shinji's for him to count the tiny imperfections- the bit of stubble forming on Kamio's jaw, the pimple on his chin, the stray hair on his eyebrow that needed to be plucked- and Shinji would sometimes, drawn close by Kamio's deep, heavy breathing, dare to lean in, kiss Kamio's cheek, then his mouth, watch the heavy, dark eyelashes stay shut, deep in sleep-

Yes, those were the times Kamio was beautiful, pretty. Shinji knew them well.

Now, with Kamio back lighted by the bright, starkly colored lights of the stage, body wrapped into a song- twisting, writhing around the microphone like a burning fuse, Shinji knew this was more than beautiful. Shinji wanted, for the first time (this badly, anyway. He was quite sure there had been many unconscious instances of this urge, however innocently wrapped in the past they were) to claw Kamio's clothes off, get under his tight black shirt, mark him as his own in front of the rambunctious, alive crowd of teenagers, who probably wanted the same thing as he. The feeling scared him, but was dulled, drowned out by the way his own fingers were flying across the guitar strings, the rush of the cheers and the scream-a-long of the pulsing crowd they were playing to. He didn't see the crowd though- oh, they saw him, to be sure, were screaming at him every time he let his hand stray from his guitar to thread fingers through his hair (which was down and wild, hair tie lost in the craze of the last set of songs, the craze of the performance), to tug his tight shirt languorously over his stomach, from where it had ridden up over the sweat sheened skin- no, he didn't see them at all.

His eyes were fixed on Kamio, yes, his back, his side, whatever was facing him in the sporadic, strobing moments of time in which the light was solid enough to see through the shadowed stage, taking in the wild tangle of hair, red, then purple, then all colors of the rainbow as a strobe light kicked in, watching his face, screwed up with delicious, thirsty agony as he screamed into the mic- all pretense of quite, contemplative music gone (they had moved into their harder music as the night wore on, Shinji's throat was already shot from just being on backup). Kamio was a wild creature on stage, taking large leaps of time to move crazily around, out of breath and singing heavily.

It was a break in between songs, an interlude where they stumbled backstage, when Kamio plastered himself, reeking of sweat and excitement, to Shinji's back, leaning on him as if he could die.

"This is the fucking best, man. Really on the damn rhythm." He whispered, hoarse and rough, into Shinji's ear, his very voice belying the grin on his face, lips pressed into Shinji's hair. He let go of his friend, still breathing as laboriously as if he had ran a marathon at full sprint, shirt gone see through with sweat, and even in the dark confines known as backstage Shinji could clearly see the perk of his nipple and heave of his stomach. He wanted so badly to touch, so damn badly to ride the onstage rush and make Kamio scream into the microphone, scream for him-

There were definitely times Kamio was beautiful. But right now, Shinji thought, becoming aware, deliciously aware and painfully wanting, that Kamio, onstage- electric- was goddamn gorgeous.

Not one foot was stepped inside the door of Atobe's office, held open by Sengoku. In fact, the moment the door was opened wide enough for Shinji to catch a glimpse of the ornate and intricate decorations of the inside- an office indeed, the room resembled more a four star hotel room than anything, only the little plaque on the doorframe declaring it "office" cementing it as such- Atobe himself, very recognizable due to the fact he was plastered all over television and some rather questionable paparazzi magazines, slid out of the room and gracefully took the handle from Sengoku's grasp, closing the door with a soft click.

"Ah," He murmured, surveying the scene set before him with lazy, striking eyes, mouth slowly moving into something akin to a smile, but reminding Shinji more of a tiger, showing his teeth before he bit into his helpless prey. Shinji felt something, reassuringly familiar, touch his back, a sweet brush of Kamio's hand, and he wondered if Kamio felt the same whisperings of nervousness as he did, the tumbling of his stomach that felt curiously as he imagined a washing machine must feel during a spin cycle. He watched Atobe with the morbid curiosity of one who watches a ticking bomb, waiting for something, probably explosive, to occur. It did.

"I hope you're ready?" His voice was smooth and soft, and Shinji heard the curious giggle of the Fuji boy, close to him. Atobe seemed to pay no heed to it, in fact, he was a bit more preoccupied with what seemed to be the task of cleaning out his fingernails, although Shinji was swear he was waiting patiently for a shocked response or something of the likes.

Kamio didn't disappoint. "Ready for what?" Shinji peeked at him from the corner of his eye, took in the questioning expression on Kamio's face, the frown pulling at his visible eye, slanting it in suspicion. Shinji knew Kamio had a long history of fiery impatience and arrogant run-a-rounds like Atobe never mixed well with his friend. He just hoped that Kamio remembered how much they desperately needed- it was times like these a telepathic mind link would come in handy- this gig, how the future of having meals and clothes and heating depended in this. He didn't especially want to be hungry, naked, and cold- Kamio better not run his mouth or talk smack. He saw Sengoku glance at Kamio nervously.

"You?" Atobe melted past them. Truly melted; his stride smooth and unwavering, practiced and flowing. He postured a bit, touching his chin as he circled their little group in the confines of the hallway, eyes fixed on Kamio. "Well, I supposed I shall answer your question with one of my own." He crossed his arms, his head tilting to the side to let his hair fall theatrically, dramatically across his face. "You do know what I brought you here for, right?"

Kamio frowned, and Shinji wanted to hold his hand, stroke away some of the nervous tension he saw in his friend's face. "Of course I do." He muttered, face turning red. "I think," He said a bit more quietly.

Atobe leaned against the wall and, ever seeming to be preening somehow, flicked at the loose collar of his shirt, playing with it. "Well, let me perhaps explain myself a little better. This isn't my usual thing, speaking personally with my soon to be subordinates, I'll have you know." He sniffed, his eyes trailing over their faces, before his gaze landed on Sengoku. Sengoku stood up a bit straighter. "Ah, you can go now. If you can pick up Jirou from the art studio, perhaps? I told him to expect you."

Sengoku nodded sharply, "Sure thing, sir. Good luck!" The last bit was directed at his three former passengers, whom he winked at cheekily, laughing softly as he retreated down the hall. Shinji could not say he was sad to see the boy go, and took the chance of the diversion to move a bit closer to Kamio, enough to touch him if he wanted, a reassuring distance.

After a bit of a pause in which Atobe watched Sengoku wander off, a small cough from Fuji- barely a noise, really- made Shinji look up on instinct. Having caught his eye, Fuji took good measure to make sure Shinji was really looking at him. 'Are you nervous?' he mouthed, tilting his head slightly, as if motioning towards something, someone- Kamio. Shinji narrowed his eyes and shook his head, wondering what exactly the boy was getting at. Fuji let his eyes drift to Atobe, then back to Shinji. He winked.

Shinji was befuddled, but didn't have much time to linger on the subtle intentions of the strange boy. Before he could move out of the way, Atobe brushed his way past him in the opposite direction from whence they came, waving his hand haughtily at them, like one would a servant. "Follow me." Kamio opened his mouth, and Shinji, knowing that Kamio was already a bit peeved at their hopefully-employer, clapped a hand to his wrist, effectively silencing him. Kamio looked at him sharply, and Shinji managed a shaky half-smile.

They followed Atobe, filed behind him like kindergarteners on a field trip. Atobe made no motions to make them comfortable, no small talk or greetings, and Shinji found himself staring dispassionately at the man, feeling a shallow pool of resentment pooling in his stomach. How could they work with someone who didn't even bother to pretend to want to hire them, to know them? He didn't let go of Kamio's wrist, his hold tightening as they trailed down the expansive, twisting hallways. The building was huge and very, very empty-seeming by the time Atobe stopped at a doorway some minutes and two lonely stairwells later, Shinji entertained a hysterical thought that if Atobe were to decide to lock them in a room and leave them, no one would hear them scream. He watched; thumb tracing the web of skin between Kamio's fore and middle finger, Atobe smoothly unlocked the door, pulling the key from his tailored pants.

The door opened, the room revealed was uninviting and dark. "Go on. I have to go ahead and prepare the room. I hope you're ready to impress," He said shortly, disappearing into the room, glancing at them. Kamio looked at Shinji, glancing quickly at Fuji as he followed Atobe into the unlit room. "My throat is sore. I have a bad idea about this, whatever this is." He looked panicked, his hands rising to smooth obsessively at the folds in the shirt over Shinji's chest. "I don't like Atobe, he doesn't like us, and I'm so nervous." This last part was a hushed whisper. Shinji took Kamio's hands, rubbing them with his fingers. He made sure the hallway was empty, which was absurd as they had not seen a single soul in the expansive building, but made sure none the same.

"Kamio, it's going to be fine."

"I can't do this, you don't-"

Kissing Kamio was something Shinji had never dared to do in the daylight hours, certainly never when Kamio was awake, certainly not when Kamio was so nervous and scared and needing. It wasn't much, just a thin brush of his lips against Kamio's parted ones, just a small suck to Kamio's bottom lip, plush and soft. It wasn't great, it wasn't anything he hadn't expected, but it was heaven.

"Hm, I think you two should hurry up." Fuji's soft voice, amused and dangerous, drifted towards them, its owner leaning against the doorframe, his eyes closed in bemusement. Shinji breathed in sharply, started to pull away and felt Kamio nose his cheek before moving, an affectionate, silent 'thank you'. Fuji stepped towards them, arms crossed over his slim chest. "He has quite the setup in there; you should come see if you're done with your business." His smile widened. Shinji felt a wave of foreboding, both from Fuji and the prospect of a 'setup'.

Despite the awkward air- he had just KISSED his best friend, he had just kissed his gorgeous best friend during the audition of a lifetime, he had just been caught kissing his best friend...- he began to follow Fuji stiffly. The room was now lit and he could see it was absolutely huge, about the size of a gymnasium, a giant, white gymnasium. Kamio filed in behind him, looking around in confused wonder. Atobe was at the opposite end of the room, standing behind the only visible equipment in the empty place, the rest of the room totally absent of anything. Color, furniture, even the grand decor one would expect from one such as Atobe was missing. Atobe walked to meet them, a very familiar piece of equipment in his hand, being held towards them.

Kamio stared at it for a moment, then at Atobe when the man didn't speak. "A microphone?" Atobe nodded, hand on hip. Kamio hesitantly reached out, hand white, and took it, fingering it as he brought it closer. This was all so strange, so surreal, so /fast/. It was as if he were taking a lot more than a microphone from Atobe, more like a contract binding his soul. He licked his lips, tasted Shinji there, and his stomach fluttered even harder. "What should I do with this?"

Atobe stared at him as if he were an idiot; lazy, cold eyes laughing at him, igniting him. "Show me what I'm investing in." Kamio felt even more as if he were holding his pen over the devil's books, lingering right over 'sign here, please'. Atobe looked at him, and through his cold, haughty veneer Kamio could see a spark of anticipatory excitement. The kind of stuff that moved the crowds, the happy look of a fan just about to witness a great act. Kamio couldn't resist that look.

"What do you want me to do?" A simple question.

Atobe gave him a simple answer. "Sing. Now. No audience, no stage."

And the contract was made.

AN: I hope that kiss wasn't too early... oops! I couldn't wait, I have a strong constitution when it comes to these things! XD Anyway, stay tuned, because things are going to get... chaotically wacky, if I may.