Three Months of Silence

Momo’s voice cut through the silence hesitantly.

“Are you… not going to sleep?”

Nataria looked up.

Momo was peeking over her covers, her expression a mix of concern and awkwardness. Sachiko had turned from her dresser, too.

“I…”

Nataria began, her voice rough. She cleared it.

“I have some work to do. I’ll just be a minute.”

Sachiko met her eyes then, her smile gentle.

“You can always work in the morning. The lighting is better then, anyway. You should get some rest.” I

t was a weak attempt at normalcy.

“I know,” Nataria said, forcing a small, tired smile in return.

“Thank you. I’ll just finish this thought. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” they both murmured, turning away.

The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words; they’d seen the teaser, too.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

Once their breathing evened out into the rhythms of sleep, Nataria moved. She slid out of bed with purposeful quiet and padded to her small desk in the corner.

Design sketches littered its surface.

Preliminary concepts for their photoshoot challenge. She'd been working on them earlier.

Now she looked at them with fresh eyes.

The concepts were good, designed to highlight both her and Senri as equal partners.

She'd planned poses that would emphasize symmetry.

Outfits that would complement their looks.

She gathered the sketches into a neat stack.

Then she threw them into a trash can, out of sight.

A new idea was forming.

If the audience wanted Senri without her, she'd give them exactly that.

If her presence was a liability, she'd minimize it.

Transform it into something useful.

He'll be the center, she decided, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. And I'll be the support.

I can't fix public perception immediately. I need to make them hate me less first.

Her pencil moved across the page with swift confidence.

Rough shapes took form.

A concept built around light and shadow.

Senri would be illuminated. The focal point that drew every eye.

And she...

She would be the darkness that made him shine brighter.

It was practical. Strategic, even. If people wanted to hate her anyway, she might as well use that hatred productively.

Let them focus all their adoration on Senri.

Let him be the beloved star while she faded into the background shadows.

Maybe then they could actually win this first challenge.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The memory surfaced unbidden.

Vivid despite the years that had passed.

Four girls in a practice room.

Sweat-soaked and exhausted.

Dancing the same routine for the hundredth time.

The instructor's voice cut through their labored breathing:

"Nataria, you're off again. You're the reason this group hasn't qualified yet."

She'd been sixteen.

Young enough to still believe hard work could compensate for lack of natural talent.

Young enough to not yet understand that in the entertainment industry, being the prettiest face sometimes mattered more than being the best performer.

"You three have real talent,"

The instructor had told the others behind her back, not bothering to lower her voice.

"But it's her or no one. She's the one who'll catch eyes. So we make it work, or we don't make it at all."

They'd made her center position.

Not because she deserved it, but because her face photographed well.

And her name recognition, from a minor acting role, gave them an edge.

Then she'd missed a crucial turn during the showcase.

A split-second hesitation.

Enough to throw off the synchronization.

Enough to make the judges pass them over.

Enough to end everything.

She remembered their tears.

Her friends, because they had been friends, genuinely, crying in the dressing room afterward.

But still full of fight and hope.

Hugging her goodbye with promises to stay in touch that had dissolved like sugar in water.

She'd never seen any of them again.

They'd never made it, despite their talent.

Despite working twice as hard as she had.

Despite deserving success.

They'd missed their chance because of her.

Because she hadn't been good enough.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

Nataria's pencil pressed harder against the paper.

The line went thick and dark.

She lightened her grip with conscious effort, continuing the sketch with deliberate control.

I won't do that to anyone ever again, she thought fiercely. I won't drag someone else down with me.

Especially not Senri.

With his complete lack of defense against the industry that would chew him up the moment they found a weakness to exploit.

If being paired with her was going to hurt his popularity, she'd fix it.

She'd step back. Dim her own presence.

Become whatever the narrative needed her to be so he could emerge unscathed, and she could survive.

Yamazaki was right; this was a chance.

She could try and work with it, and if it never worked, then she would disappear like everyone wanted her to.

Her phone buzzed silently on the desk.

Probably more notifications about the teaser.

She ignored it, focusing on the sketch taking shape beneath her hands.

It was going to be beautiful.
And it was something no one could fault her for.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

Later that night…

The villa was a tomb of shadows and silence.

Nataria slipped from the shared bedroom, easing the door shut without a sound.

Momo and Sachiko slept on, undisturbed.

The ever-present cameras were dark, unblinking eyes in the corners as she padded barefoot down the grand staircase in her silk pyjamas.

The scale of the western-style villa felt alien at night, all vaulted ceilings and vast, pale walls that swallowed sound.

In the kitchen, she filled a glass with water.

As she drank, her gaze drifted through the archway to the even larger living room.

Moonlight spilled through the massive windows, painting sections of the white sofas and glass coffee tables in monochrome.

She turned to head back to the safety of her room.

As she passed a closed side door, one she’d assumed led to a pantry or utility room, it suddenly swung inward.

A hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

Nataria barely had time to gasp before she was yanked sideways into darkness.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The storage room smelled like dust and electrical equipment.

She was already fighting the person off before she even recovered her bearings, and…

"Ow! Watch it…"

She knew that voice.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the crack under the door. Hibiki stood in front of her, one hand still on her wrist, his other hand pressed against his jaw where she'd accidentally hit him.

Nataria wrenched her arm free. "What the hell…"

"I needed to talk to you." Hibiki straightened, and even in the darkness, his silver eyes caught the light.

"Away from cameras."

The fury that had been building in her chest for so long exploded.

"Talk to me? You couldn't talk to me for three months, but now you drag me into a closet?"

"It's not a closet, it's a storage room…"

"Forcing a girl into a storage room is the kind of career suicide move that could end you."

Nataria crossed her arms, glaring at him.

"What if someone saw?"

Hibiki rolled his eyes, actually rolled them, the politeness of his public persona completely gone.

"No one saw. I checked."

There he was.

The real Hibiki.

The one who bickered and argued and didn't bother with fake smiles when it was just them.

The one who'd disappeared since the scandal.

"Someday,"

Nataria said, her voice sharp despite the ache in her chest,

"Your fans are going to find out you're not actually a prince charming. They're going to discover this forceful, bossy side, and all hell will break loose."

"I don't care right now."

Hibiki's expression softened. The sarcasm bled out of his voice.

"Look. I'm sorry. For... everything. I was trying not to cause any more scandals or problems."

The hurt she'd been suppressing for three months clawed up her throat.

"You could have texted me. I'm not stupid, Hibiki. I would have understood you needing to stay away."

"You are stupid."

His voice was gentle despite the words.

"If you actually believed I stopped talking to you because I thought the same things those people online think about you."

Nataria's breath caught. "Then why…"

"They changed my phone number."

Hibiki ran a hand through his black hair, messing up the perfect styling.

"Blocked all my social media access. There is always someone around. I couldn't reach you even if I wanted to."

The room felt too small suddenly.

"Why would they change your number?"

Hibiki's jaw tightened, and he looked away.

"Because I may have said some... dumb things. To the higher-ups. About them not defending you. About them throwing their own talent under the bus for PR."

The air left Nataria's lungs in a rush.

"You idiot," she whispered.

Tears burned behind her eyes.

She tried to blink them back, but they came anyway, hot and completely beyond her control.

"Oh, no…"

Hibiki's expression shifted to panic.

"Don't, come on, you're going to make me feel worse…"

"You're such an idiot."

The tears spilled over. She wiped at them furiously, but they kept coming.

"Do you know what I thought all this time? Seeing you look away whenever I walk into a room…"

"Hey, now… I said I was sorry..."

His hands found her shoulders, steadying her.

"Remember the last time you cried like this in front of me? When you came blazing in to defend me against my old group and somehow started a brawl instead?"

A laugh caught in her throat, strangled and wet.

"I was trying to help. You just stood and let them."

"I know."

His smile was soft. Genuine.

The one he saved for people he actually cared about.

"You always try. Even when it makes things worse."

They heard a shuffle outside and froze.

Someone walked past the door.

"You need to go,"

Hibiki said. He pulled out his phone, fingers flying across the screen.

"Give me your number."

Nataria recited it through her tears. A moment later, he saved it with a rabbit emoji.

She looked up at him.

"Really?"

"My manager checks my messages sometimes."

Hibiki shrugged.

Something warm unfurled in Nataria's chest.

Relief. Gratitude.

The dizzy feeling of having one friend back in a world that had felt entirely empty.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Hibiki froze for a heartbeat, then his arms came around her shoulders.

He was taller than her by several inches, and she had to stand on her tiptoes to rest her head on his shoulder.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"I missed you, too."

The moment stretched. Soft.

The first genuine comfort she'd felt in a long time.

Then Nataria remembered it had taken him three months to do this.

She stepped back and kicked his shin.

"Ow!"

Hibiki hopped back, clutching his leg.

"What was that for?"

"For making me think you hated me for three months!"

"And this…”

She aimed another kick, but Hibiki dodged it.

"Is for waiting until the last possible day to fix it!"

"Okay, okay! I deserve that!"

He held up his hands in surrender, still hopping on one foot.

"Are you done?"

Nataria glared at him, breathing hard.

"Maybe."

They stood in the dark for another moment, the air between them now charged with something else, exhaustion, vulnerability, a fragile reconnection.

“You have a certain look,”

Nataria said quietly, studying his shadowed face.

“What is it?”

He shook his head, a slight movement.

“It’s nothing.”

He reached past her, his hand on the doorknob.

“You should go to sleep. You’ve got panda eyes.”

The familiar, teasing barb made her lips twitch.

“It’s you who should sleep instead of lurking in shadows and kidnapping girls.”

He cracked the door open just enough, checking the hall.

The slice of dim light cut across his profile.

“Clear. Go.”

She slipped out into the vast, quiet villa.

The walk back to her room felt different.

The silence was no longer hollow, but peaceful.

The weight in her chest, while not gone, had changed shape. It was lighter.

She didn't look back, but she felt the soft click of the door closing behind her, a gentle period on the night's strange, emotional sentence.