Powdered Sugar and Flowers

Senri felt like a weight had lifted from his chest.

As if a dense, toxic fog that had clung to his lungs for years had finally been exhaled under the blinding studio lights and scattered by the applause. The ghost of his father, a looming shadow that distorted every reflection, had been dragged into the open. And in the light, Senri saw it for what it was: it was ugly and painful, but it was no longer a prophecy. It was just a fact. His fact.

He’d called Hana and Yuki last night, their young faces serious on the video call. “Everyone will know after tonight,” he’d said, the words thick. Hana had simply nodded. Yuki had bounced on her heels, “You always do what's best for us, Nii-chan. We trust you."

Their trust was a quiet, ferocious thing, a second spine. It had held him straight in that chair under Takeshi’s probing gaze.

There was a time, not even that long ago, when Senri would have regretted getting into this world. Would have looked at the entertainment industry's demands, manipulation, and cruelty and thought it was all a terrible mistake.

But that wasn't true anymore.

His eyes found her across the post-episode celebration, amidst the chaos of relieved laughter and clinking glasses of post-show celebration. Smart, beautiful Nataria, who for some impossible, wonderful reason loved him too.

She stood by a refreshment table, accepting a compliment from a producer with her trademark polished smile.

But her eyes… those dark, fathomless eyes, were already seeking his. When they connected, her professional mask softened at the edges… just for him.

A secret in plain sight. She smiled, a real one that touched her eyes, and as he gave the slightest tilt of his head toward the door, she was already beginning her graceful, unnoticed exit.

His heart, so calm moments before, launched into a frantic drum against his ribs. This was it. This was the first time since that confession, since the dusty corridor and his breakdown and her fierce declaration that they'd be truly alone. Not surrounded by cameras or other people.

Senri found the empty corridor from before, which led to the storage areas and forgotten spaces of the studio complex. The air was cool, smelling of lemon cleaner and dust. He waited, the silence pounding in his ears. A minute later, sixty-three seconds, if he was counting correctly, which he absolutely was, Nataria appeared at the corridor's entrance.

A vision in her midnight dress, swimming above her knees in delicate ruffles, and her violet hair falling around her shoulders in soft waves that made him ache to touch it.

She looked around, that careful assessment she did whenever evaluating for risk. Then she noticed a door Senri had walked past without seeing, small and easy to overlook. She tried the handle. It opened.

"In here," she whispered, and the conspiratorial delight in her voice made him grin.

The room was tiny, some kind of equipment closet, mostly empty now except for a few forgotten cables and what looked like an old microphone stand. Barely enough space for two people, but it had a door that locked and no windows. Perfect.

It clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it, the dim light from a single safety bulb catching the gloss of her hair.

Then, he moved.

He closed the space between them in a single stride, his shadow enveloping her. She looked up, her back against the door, that beautiful smile playing on her lips. Her dark eyes sparkled with a mix of triumph and something tender.

“You,” she breathed, “were incredible. I knew it. I knew it would be alright.”

“If it is,” Senri said, his voice lower and rougher in the intimate quiet, “it’s because of you.” He was intensely aware of her gaze tracing his features, of the way her head tilted back, exposing the elegant line of her throat. She looked sweet. She looked inviting. The last of his walls crumbled to dust.

“I love you, Nata-chan.”

The words left him unburdened. With no ghost standing at his shoulder, no phone screen mediating the distance. They were just his truth, offered to her in this dusty, hidden space.

“No one has ever looked at me the way you do. Like you can see all of me, even the hidden parts. And knowing you, you probably can.” A slight laugh, wonder, and vulnerability mixed. “But you still stay. You see it all, and you still choose to stand by my side. I’ve loved you… and I’ve wanted to say it properly for so long.”

He watched the confession land, watched it transform her. Her eyes widened, pools of liquid darkness swimming with emotion. A brilliant, helpless blush bloomed across her cheekbones, the colour he'd come to adore because it meant he'd broken through her careful control to the genuine feeling underneath.

He was crowding her; he knew it, but he was physically incapable of stepping back. His hand rose almost of its own volition, his knuckles brushing the impossibly soft, warm skin of her cheek.

Her breath hitched, a tiny, sharp sound that made his own heart stutter in response.

“I love you, too.” Her voice was a whisper, thick with feeling. Her hand came up to cover his, where it rested against her cheek, pressing it closer, leaning into the touch like she couldn't get enough of it. "I've loved you for so long. Since... since that photoshoot, when you shone your light on me."

The photoshoot. The first time, he discovered he could not keep his eyes away from her.

"I love you," she continued, her voice stronger now, "And I want to always be where it's safe. Held within that big heart of yours." A pause, her eyes searching his. "Even if tonight fails, even if everything goes wrong, I want you to know that."

He was moving before she finished, drawn by a force more fundamental than gravity.

He kissed her.

Her lips were softer than he’d ever dreamed, yielding and sweet against his. A small, muff sound of surprise melted into a sigh as she kissed him back, her hands coming up to clutch at the front of his shirt. His arms wound around her, pulling her flush against him, eliminating every last shred of space. The world narrowed to the feel of her, the scent of her perfume, something soft and sweet, like powdered sugar and flowers, and the dizzying rightness of it all.

His head spun, and the tiny closet felt like it contained the entire universe

When he finally pulled back, reluctant, gasping for air he'd forgotten he needed, Nataria immediately buried her face in her hands with a soft groan.

Panic lanced through him. He leaned down, trying to catch her gaze. “Was that… wrong?”

"No." Her voice was muffled but emphatic. “No, I just… need a moment. My face is going to combust. It’s too much.”

Relief flooded him, warm and effervescent, turning into a low chuckle. He gently pried her hands away, but she ducked her head, hiding instead against his chest. He held her, resting his cheek against her hair, his heart so full he thought it might shine right through his skin.

“Don’t hide,” he murmured into her hair, his voice trembling with joy. “I love seeing this. Knowing I’m the only one who gets to see Nataria Hidomu forget how to be perfect.”

She clung to him, her laughter a warm vibration against him.

His heart felt so full and happy it could burst. This was real. She loved him. They'd kissed, and it had been even better than every late-night fantasy he'd entertained while trying and failing to fall asleep.

After a moment of comfortable silence, she spoke. “This means we’re a couple now.”

It wasn't a question, and Senri was glad for that. Glad she understood, that they were on the same page without needing to negotiate or define or make it complicated. “Yes. I don’t care if the whole world knows or if it’s just us in this closet. I want you to be my girlfriend.”

"Your boyfriend," he confirmed, grinning like an idiot and completely unconcerned about it.

They both knew they couldn't remain in their hiding place much longer. Someone would notice their absence, would come looking, would intrude on this perfect bubble of privacy and feeling.

Yet this moment was everything Senri had ever wanted it to be. The world was perfect and complete, as long as he was with her in this stolen slice of time.

So he kissed her again, softer this time, sweeter. Tried to memorize the taste of her lips, the sound of her breath, the way she fit against him like puzzle pieces, finally finding their match.

And when they finally, reluctantly pulled apart and prepared to face the world again, Senri knew with absolute certainty: whatever came next, they'd face it together.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

Senri woke up the next morning to discover the world had lost its collective mind.

His phone, charging on the nightstand, buzzed like an angry hornet’s nest, a continuous, vibrating purr of notifications. The pale morning light filtering through his blinds felt different, charged with the static of a million concurrent conversations.

Amid the chaotic stream of alerts, one text notification shone like a beacon. It was from Nataria, sent just after 6 AM.

Nataria: We really did it, Senri-kun.

The message was an intimate whisper in the digital storm. It was an invitation into her private moment of triumph, a sharing of the celebration after their battle. The warmth that spread through his chest was immediate. His thumb moved to reply, his first conscious action of the day a need to connect with her.

Senri: Thank you, Nata-chan, you made it happen.

Then, fortified by that quiet exchange, he tapped into the storm.

The view counts for last night’s show were astronomical, surreal numbers that represented more people than he could conceptualize. It was slightly terrifying to know that what they'd said, what they'd shared, had mattered to that many people. That their confessions had resonated on such a massive scale.

Senri wasn't as well-versed as Nataria or the others when it came to navigating this industry, but even he could see that things had gone according to her plan.

Maybe even a little too well.

His name was trending, dominating the conversation. Between all the confessions made last night, only Hibiki's declaration to Sachiko was being discussed with equal fervour.

And that was... bittersweet.

The articles about Hibiki and Sachiko were universally positive and celebratory. "Finally, a reality show couple we can root for!" "The confession we didn't know we needed!" Comments flooded with heart emojis and excited speculation about their future together.

If he and Nataria had been the ones to go public, Senri knew with cold certainty it wouldn't have been met with the same warmth. She was right to be cautious, right to protect what they had by keeping it private. The double standard stung, but it was real.

Still, he was genuinely happy for his friends. Hibiki deserved someone who looked at him like Sachiko did, with uncomplicated affection and admiration. And Sachiko deserved someone who'd protect her and fight for her.

Senri scrolled through the discussions about his own confession, his father, and the drunk driving incident that was now public knowledge.

Talking panels had assembled to discuss it. Articles were being written, think pieces about the children of criminals and inherited guilt. The accident that killed a mother and child three years ago was being rehashed in excruciating detail.

His hands shook slightly as he read, old fear trying to claw its way back up his throat.

But as he scrolled, bleary-eyed, through the trending topics and article snippets, a calm settled over him.

People were drawing clear lines between his father's choices and Senri's character. Praising him for his honesty, for not hiding, for using his father's failures as a blueprint for who not to be.

@SmileAmano: SENRI DID NOT OWE ANYONE THAT TRUTH AND HE STILL GAVE IT. “I learned what not to be”??? I am SOBBING.

@AmanoArchive: He raised his sisters. He broke the cycle. That’s my idol.

@bluewhitehalo: If anyone tries to use his father against him, I WILL FIGHT THEM.

The few negative comments were swiftly buried under an avalanche of support from fans turned fierce protectors.

Hana had already texted him a string of fiery emojis and a screenshot of a particularly nasty comment being ratioed into oblivion.

But the thing that made him happiest, made every tense moment, every moment of vulnerability absolutely worth it, was seeing people talk about Nataria differently.

Finally, finally, they were seeing the real girl behind the carefully constructed image.

@nataria_sweet_form: I owe Nataria Hidomu an apology for every time I called her fake. She’s been carrying other people’s expectations since sixth grade.

@ChangedMyMind_FR: Her mom naming her ‘Nataria’ because it sounded like a stage name… that explains so much.

@quietspotlight: I started this season side-eyeing Nataria and now I’m defending her in the comments. Funny how that works.

The giddiness of seeing her vindicated, seeing people recognize what he'd known all along, that Nataria Hidomu was extraordinary, carried him through the long, tedious meetings his agency had scheduled.

His manager, Ogawa-san, sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The agency higher-ups were a council of grim faces. “You dropped a nuclear truth bomb without clearance, Senri-kun.”

"I know. I'm sorry." He wasn't, really, but professional courtesy demanded the apology.

The higher-ups from the agency were less understanding. Stern-faced executives who lectured him about image management and the importance of consulting the PR team before making "major personal disclosures."

Senri sat through it with polite attention, nodding at appropriate moments, offering apologies that were technically sincere. But inside, he was already thinking about tonight. About the talent showcase tomorrow. About Nataria and the text he'd send her as soon as this meeting ended.

They scheduled him for "additional PR training," which sounded tedious but was probably necessary given his apparent inability to stick to scripts when emotions were involved.

"We're not angry," the senior executive clarified, though his expression suggested otherwise. "The public response has been overwhelmingly positive. But in the future, we need to be informed of these decisions before they happen on live television."

"Understood," Senri agreed, meaning it this time. He'd been lucky. It could have gone so much worse.

Finally, mercifully, they let him leave to prepare for his performance at tomorrow's talent showcase.

Senri walked out of the agency building into bright afternoon sunlight, already pulling out his phone and grinning like an idiot.

Senri: Finally free. They lectured me for an hour, but I survived. How's your day going?

The response came almost immediately, like she'd been waiting for his message:

Nataria: Better now. My agency was more pleased than yours seems to be. The public response helped. Are you ready for the talent showcase tomorrow?

Senri: Absolutely.

And because he was too giddy and it felt like he would never tire of saying it, he sent:

Senri: Love you!

Nataria’s admission, “love you, too,” even through text, made his heart do complicated acrobatics. Senri looked up at the sky, clear blue, perfect weather, a day that felt like a possibility made tangible.

His father's ghost was finally laid to rest. The truth was out, and it hadn't destroyed him. Nataria loved him, and tomorrow he'd sing his feelings to the world whether the industry approved or not.

For the first time in his life, Senri felt completely, utterly free.

And it was perfect.