All the Small, Beautiful Things

Backstage was a cathedral of nervous energy, thrumming with the muffled roar of a thousand voices beyond the heavy velvet curtain. The air smelled of hairspray, powdery makeup, tape, and skin warmed by nerves.

Nataria sat calmly on a folding chair, a stylist dabbing the final touches of highlighter onto her cheekbones, but inside, her blood sang a frenetic tune.

People were being supportive of her now. Actually, genuinely supportive. The comments sections had transformed from battlegrounds into kindness and fan adoration.

Second chances didn't come often in this industry.

She wasn't about to waste the gift she'd been given.

From her seat, enduring the final touches to her face and hair, she watched Senri.

Their closeness now, the shared kiss that still made her heart stutter, the whispered confessions, the simple fact that they were together, felt like a glittering dream too fragile to believe in.

To think that she'd come to this show, to the villa, as a disgraced figure prepared for rejection and humiliation, only to have a boy with a big heart and a brilliant smile choose her anyway...

It was beyond her wildest dreams.

She watched him now, eyes always drawn to him like he was magnetic north and she was a compass with no other direction.

He stood close to the curtains, head bobbing slightly to Shou’s upbeat, explosive pop number that was shaking the very floorboards, the bassline a physical tremor.

While everyone else worried about perfecting their performances, including her, Senri just enjoyed the moment, his whole body expressing an uncomplicated enjoyment of the music. Even from a rival, she thought, warmth flooding her chest. He just loves it.

The sound of Shou's voice carried through the speakers, singing his soul out. The crowd was eating it up, their cheers audible even through the heavy stage curtains.

Shou had gotten the opening spot, which, despite what the producers claimed, was not purely by chance. After his confession, that single moment of vulnerability from the overly confident idol, his fans had awakened with renewed fervour.

The result was that he and Senri were now neck-and-neck in popularity metrics, which meant Shou's agency had no reason to suspect he'd had anything to do with the confession that rendered their sabotage plan useless.

Perfect, really. Nataria felt a fierce satisfaction at how well their strategy had worked.

Senri, as the show's primary star, had gotten the closing segment, the final performance that would leave a lasting impression.

He was going to play an original song. She was desperately looking forward to it.

"All done, Hidomu-san." The makeup artist stepped back, admiring her work. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." Nataria stood, smoothing her simple outfit, jeans, and a plain white blouse, deliberately understated so the entire performance would come from her, not her wardrobe.

Sachiko's performance was next, and Nataria moved closer to watch from the wings.

The music began, a dramatic score that filled the stadium like an epic film soundtrack. Then Sachiko emerged, and Nataria's breath caught.

Sachiko was performing a contemporary dance fused with elite acrobatics, where every tumble pass and held shape formed a narrative beat. Struggle and fall portrayed through physics and gymnastics. Rebirth demonstrated through the impossible grace of the human body refusing to stay down.

The crowd went wild, cheering and gasping at each perfectly executed movement.

When Sachiko finally struck her ending pose, the applause was deafening.

Soon enough, it was Nataria's turn.

Sachiko bounded backstage, breathless and glowing. "Good luck!" she managed between gasps.

“You were breathtaking,” Nataria whispered back, squeezing her hand.

A deeper voice echoed the sentiment. “Good luck, Nata-chan.”

She turned. Senri had moved silently behind her. His proximity in the shadowy wings sent a familiar, delicious current through her.

She met his eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with stage fright. "Watch me," she said quietly. "Please."

It would be the first time Senri saw her act live. She wanted him to see her doing what she did best. It definitely wasn't because she could picture clearly the type of comments people would make if they'd seen him enjoying Shou's music from backstage. The ridiculous ShouSen ship was as strong as ever, almost frantic now that the show was ending.

Definitely not why she needed him to watch her instead.

She absolutely was not jealous of imaginary scenarios in some fans' heads.

Senri's golden eyes were gentle as they focused on her. "Of course I will. You're going to be amazing."

The assistant signaled. Nataria took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The stadium stretched out before her, thousands of faces blurring into a sea of expectation. Nataria stepped into the blinding halo of the stage light, and the world distilled into a circle of visibility. A single, ordinary wooden chair stood at its center.

Acting Through an Object. Showing range, making a connection through feelings only.

Her mind split, the way it always did when the curtain rose: one half architecture, calculating angles, timing, breath; the other half pure, unfiltered emotion.

Scene One: Authority.

Her posture shifted. Shoulders back, chin level, gaze sweeping the unseen crowd as if surveying a kingdom. The chair transformed in her mind to a throne. Her movements became slow assertions of control as she approached it and sat. The simple action was a claim of reign. In her simple jeans and blouse, the power emanated solely from her. She spoke a line, a command from a classical play, her voice ringing imperious through the silent auditorium. She could feel the audience’s held breath, their collective submission to the queen she had conjured.

Blackout. Two seconds of darkness.

Scene Two: Loneliness.

The lights rose softer. She was curled in the same chair, knees to chest, arms wrapped around herself. The throne had become a cage. Her gaze darted, seeing ghosts in the dark. The chair was emptiness given form. She mumbled a line, a fragment of a lonely child’s monologue, not meant to be heard, only felt. The silence from the crowd was different now, a pang of shared recognition.

Blackout. Two heartbeats.

Scene Three: Loss.

A warm, sorrowful light. This was the hardest to do without tipping into melodrama. She stood beside the chair, her fingers tracing its wooden edge with a tenderness that hurt to witness. Then she slowly sank to the floor, leaning her side against it, her head coming to rest gently on the seat. The chair was a memory. A place kept for someone forever absent. She said no words this time. She let the image speak: the girl, the empty chair, the love that had nowhere to go. The emotion came from a sudden, visceral flash: how it would feel if she had never found Senri, if that light had been snatched away. A single, real tear traced its path down her cheek, glistening in the spotlight.

Blackout. Then full lights.

Nataria stood to thundering applause, the sound washing over her like a wave. She couldn't help the smile that broke across her face as she bowed deeply.

A flash of memory hit her, the last time she'd bowed in front of a large audience. The press conference. The cold shock of milk on her face, the shouted accusations, the humiliation burning like acid.

But when she straightened, people were cheering. There was no angry shouting or condemnation, just appreciation for the art she'd created.

As she walked backstage, her legs trembled slightly. Senri was waiting for her at the wings, eyes wide with wonder.

"You were incredible." His voice was thick with emotion, like he'd just witnessed something that changed him. "Nata-chan, that was… I don't even have words."

The pride that swelled in her chest was almost painful. "I did my best because I wanted you to watch me."

"I loved watching you. I always do." His smile was intimate, despite the world of noises and movements around them.

An assistant called Hibiki to the stage, interrupting the moment. Nataria moved to stand beside Senri in the wings, slightly hidden but positioned to watch a fellow actor's performance.

Acting wasn't as naturally spectacular as singing or gymnastics. She wanted to see what Hibiki, the so-called prince of their generation, was doing.

Hibiki stood center stage with a simple script: a neutral dialogue that could be from any conversation. Then he performed it three times, each iteration completely transforming the meaning through nothing but interpretation.

Comedy came first: Quick timing, casual posture, subtle sarcasm. He made the lines sound like friendly banter, drawing genuine laughter from the audience.

A musical cue signaled the shift.

Thriller: the same words became menacing through the stillness of his body, his lowered voice, and the predatory gleam in his silver eyes. The audience leaned back, suddenly uncomfortable.

Another cue.

Tragedy: His body slumped under an invisible weight. The words came slower, fractured by barely audible breaths. It was like a heart breaking in real time. The same lines that had been funny, then frightening, were devastating now.

It was flawless. Different from her detailed approach, but no less believable.

When he returned backstage, he made a beeline for Sachiko on the other side. Nataria smiled and looked away, giving them privacy.

Momo's performance was next, and Nataria was curious to see.

A simple atmospheric music started. Momo appeared on the runway in an oversized shirt and loose clothes, hair pulled back, minimal makeup. She walked slowly, with a closed posture and eyes slightly downcast.

Momo, who was anything but invisible, had made herself disappear.

The transformation began mid-stage.

She removed the oversized shirt, revealing fitted clothing underneath. Let her hair down in one smooth motion. Swiped lip colour right on the stage, the gesture defiant.

With each addition, her walk changed. Shoulders back. Eyes forward. Confidence blooming visibly.

The final transformation was a whirlwind. A flick of the wrists, and simple studs became dangling earrings. A pull here, a twist there, and the muted outfit fell away to reveal a stunning, short red dress. The lighting went bright, the music dropped its powerful beat, and Momo owned the runway with a commanding presence.

She was telling every person watching that taking up space was a choice, and she was choosing it.

The applause when she exited was deafening.

Momo floated offstage, her cool composure breaking only when she saw Nataria. She hugged her tightly.

“My heart was trying to escape my chest!” Momo giggled, pulling back. Her mischievous eyes flicked over Nataria’s shoulder. “Amano-san’s next. Don’t let me keep you.”

Nataria didn’t need telling. She took her place at the curtain’s edge, her world narrowing to the spot where he would appear.

Senri listened to the final instructions from a crew member, nodding. Then he jogged over to her, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Now,” he said, “it’s my turn to ask. Watch me?”

Her heart squeezed. She smiled, echoing his earlier words. “I always do.”

Everyone had finished their performances now. They were all watching from the wings: Momo, Sachiko, Hibiki, Shou. Nataria was vaguely aware of their presence, but most of her focus was on the boy she loved.

°❀°❀°❀°❀

The stage lay empty, a vast pool of darkness after Momo's dazzling exit. Then, a single, tight spotlight ignited in the center of the void.

Senri stood within it with a lone microphone on a stand.

A hush fell over the theater.

From the wings, Nataria held her breath.

Senri closed his eyes, tilted his head back a fraction, and began to sing.

The first note was a low, honeyed baritone that seemed to hang in the air before dissolving. It was an a cappella opening, his voice the only instrument. Then the melody started gently, winding around the stage like a memory.

When his words began to weave through it, Nataria’s heart stuttered to a dead stop in her chest.

The words were a map of her.

Her favorite color, the specific shade of peach she’d never mentioned.

The way her eyes softened when she looked at him, losing their sharp glint.

Her laugh, the unguarded, slightly snorting one she tried to hide.

Her disastrous cooking.

The specific angle she tilted her head when smiling up at him, as if he were her personal sun.

He was singing about her. Every line was a stolen, intimate detail, a secret he’d collected and captured into a lyric. It was as obvious and revealing as her jar note had been.

A silent sob hitched in her chest. She didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the warm tears tracing paths through her meticulously applied makeup. In the darkness of the wings, she let them fall.

Senri’s performance was a masterclass. His long-breathed baritone modulating effortlessly, fading to intimacy, then swelling with power.

He made a stadium of thousands, breathless, feeling like they were eavesdropping on a private conversation in a quiet room.

For the final chorus, the music faded. He delivered the last lines a cappella, his voice softening to an intimate ache on the final word: “you.”

The silence after was complete.

He took a slow, deep breath into the microphone, opened his eyes with a faint smile, as if just waking from a beautiful dream. Then, as the delayed eruption of sound crashed over him from the audience, he gave a short, humble bow and walked offstage.

Nataria was moving before he’d fully cleared the curtain.

The backstage area was a sudden hive of relieved chatter, everyone dissecting performances, but it was all white noise. Senri stepped into the dimness, his eyes scanning, searching for her. He didn’t see her, hidden behind a tall, wheeled rack of costume screens.

She reached out, her fingers closing around his wrist.

He noticed who it was, saw where she was hiding, and smiled, that brilliant, dimpled smile that made the world feel right.

He let her pull him behind the barrier without resistance.

As soon as they were out of sight, she hugged him instead of trying to find words for what she was feeling. Words felt inadequate for the enormity of it.

A song about her small things, details barely noticeable to others, made beautiful and intimate through his attention. She squeezed hard, hands clutching the back of his shirt, and her face buried in his chest, where she could feel his beating heart speed up.

Wordlessly, Senri hugged her back just as tightly.

Finally, she pulled back just enough to look at him. "I love you. And I know that if we work together, we can one day, soon, be together in the spotlight without trouble." The promise felt weighty but possible. "I will make it happen."

He smiled and kissed her softly before whispering against her lips, "And I will follow whatever brilliant and crazy plan you come up with. Until then, I can have you like this, away from every eye."

"Is that enough for you?" she asked quietly, needing to know. "Just stolen moments? Hiding?"

"Having you at all is more than I ever thought I'd get," he said simply. "The rest will come. I believe in you, Nata-chan. I believe in us."

She kissed him again, deeper this time, pouring everything she couldn't say into the connection.

"I love you," she whispered against his lips.

"I love you too," he whispered back. "Always."

Around them, the celebration continued, muffled cheers, excited chatter, the electric energy of a successful showcase.

But here, in their hidden corner, they had found something more precious than fame or approval: each other.

And that was everything.