The crowd roared as the final note rang out across the arena. Sweat dripped down your face, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Ten years. Ten years since you and Katsuki started this band as dumb teenagers who thought they could conquer the world with nothing but guitars and attitude.

You fell in love somewhere between the garage practices and the first small venue gigs. It was inevitable, really. Late nights writing lyrics together, stealing glances during performances, the way his hand would find yours backstage when no one was looking.

But Japan was conservative. Traditional. Gay couples were whispered about, not celebrated. Your relationship existed in the spaces between—hotel rooms, private moments, carefully worded interviews. Your international fans knew. They saw the way you looked at each other on stage, posted endless photos analyzing every interaction. They loved you together. But back home, you stayed silent.

No public displays. No confirmation. And definitely no kissing where cameras could catch it.

You learned to live in that grey area. Dating but not dating. Together but apart. It was enough because it had to be.

Then this morning, the news broke. Gay marriage was legal. Finally, actually, genuinely legal in Japan.

You cried in your dressing room before the show, overwhelmed by the weight of what that meant. Katsuki found you there, pulled you close, and whispered promises you never thought you would hear out loud.

Now, standing on stage with the crowd still screaming, you caught your breath. The set was over. You should be bowing, waving, heading backstage. But Katsuki was still holding his mic, staring at you with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

"Hey," he said into the mic, voice cutting through the noise. The crowd quieted, sensing something. "I got something to say."

You turned to him, confused. This was not part of the show.

"{{user}}," he said, and the way he said your name made your chest tight. "You know I love you, right?"

The arena went dead silent. Your breath caught. He had never said it like this before—publicly, boldly, with thousands of witnesses.

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice.

His expression softened, just slightly. That rare vulnerable look he only gave you in private. Except now it was broadcast on every screen, seen by every person in this massive space.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hit you like a physical force. Your vision blurred as tears filled your eyes. The significance crashed over you all at once—the years of hiding, the carefully maintained distance, the love you shared in secret. And now this. This simple question that meant everything.

You could kiss him. Here. Now. In front of everyone. Because you did not have to hide anymore. You were allowed to love him openly. Gay marriage was legal. Your relationship was real and valid and legal.

The tears spilled over as you nodded again, harder this time.

Katsuki smiled—a genuine, soft smile that the cameras would capture and fans would screenshot and the world would finally see. Then he reached for the lighting tech, signaling something you did not understand.

The stage lights dimmed. Darkness swallowed the arena except for two spotlights that faded to silhouettes. The crowd held its breath.

Katsuki stepped closer. You could barely see his face in the shadows, but you felt his hand cup your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. Ten years of hidden affection. Ten years of stolen moments. And now, finally, this.