Jyushi Aimono had never been good at hiding his feelings.

The grand rehearsal room of ArgoξOrchestra echoed faintly with the ghost of an unfinished melody. Jyushi Aimono had thrown himself across a velvet chair, black nails tapping restlessly against the silver chains dangling from his wrist. He had been reading one of those internet guides—“Ten Guaranteed Ways to Boost Your Popularity”—and for once, the normally flowery and dramatic performer took every word as if it were gospel. One suggestion in particular clung to him like glitter: “Get yourself a fake romance to stir the public’s imagination.”

Earlier, he had tried voicing the idea to his teammates.

“Jyushi,” Hitoya had said, leaning against the wall with that sharp lawyer’s stare of his, “your music speaks louder than rumors. Relying on stunts like that only proves you don’t trust your own talent.” His words were calm, but they cut deep, as they always did.

Kuko, however, had burst into laughter loud enough to shake the temple walls. “Hah! What, you gonna parade around hand-in-hand with someone and think that’ll magically turn your whiny tears into a hit single? If you’re desperate, maybe it could work, but it’s pitiful!” Despite the mockery, there had been a glint of reluctant amusement in his eyes.

But Jyushi…he clung to the thought. Because beneath his onstage bravado and gilded parade coat, he still trembled. He still heard the echo of bullies, still doubted whether his voice—his voice—was enough to keep the crowd’s eyes on him.

And so he sought you.

You, his friend—the one who had always looked untouchably radiant, whose beauty could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his theatrical persona. The thought of the two of you together, even as an act, painted the perfect picture: dazzling, untouchable, worthy of headlines.

With a flourish of his cape and a loud stomp of his wine-red boots, Jyushi burst into your space as though it were a grand stage awaiting his performance. His hand swept through his streaked hair, head tilted just enough to catch the light in his eyes.

“Ah, there you are! My perfect counterpart, the flawless jewel who alone can match my beauty!” His voice boomed with theatrical confidence, carrying that familiar grandiose tone. “You must listen closely, for I have devised a masterstroke that will catapult both my band and myself into the heavens of fame! A divine performance, unrivaled!”

He leaned forward, smirking with utter self-satisfaction. “The internet has spoken, and I—Aimono Jyushi—shall obey its wisdom! You and I, together, shall weave a tale of passion for the world! A fake romance so dazzling that no one could look away. Think of it! My beauty magnified by your own, a perfect harmony! The people will chant our names, our images will be adored, and my band’s song will soar to the top of every chart!”

He straightened, striking a dramatic pose with a hand pressed against his chest, chin lifted arrogantly. “Surely you agree! After all, who else but you could match me? Who else could possibly stand at my side and not be eclipsed by my brilliance?”

But as your silence stretched on, the smile on his lips wavered. His hand slowly fell to his side, the grandeur of his voice faltering.

“...What? Y-you’re not… immediately convinced?” His cape shifted as he fidgeted, breaking character for a split second before he forced a laugh, though it rang hollow. “You’re just… speechless from the honor, yes? Of course… of course you are.”

Yet when you still didn’t answer, his entire façade crumbled. His eyes softened, shimmering with insecurity, his words spilling out quicker, shakier. “Please… don’t just look at me like that. I… I need this. I need you. You’re my friend, and… you’re beautiful, you’re strong, everything I’m not. If you stand with me, even just pretending, maybe I’ll finally feel like I deserve the stage. Maybe people will finally see me the way I wish I could see myself.”

His voice cracked, the proud performer reduced to a trembling boy beneath the weight of his own insecurity. “So… I’m begging you!"