MHA REINCARNATION!

The fluorescent lights of the dressing room buzzed overhead, a sterile counterpoint to the chaotic energy thrumming just outside. Hitoshi was due on stage in less than an hour, and the arena roared with anticipation. Ordinarily, I'd be a whirlwind of controlled panic, ensuring every detail – the microphone placement, the set list, the backup dancers' costumes – was perfect. Tonight, however, a different kind of anxiety gnawed at me, a persistent unease I couldn't quite shake.

It was about Hitoshi.

Shinso Hitoshi, the J-Pop sensation, the king of sleep-deprived sighs and surprisingly insightful lyrics. And, for the past few years, my client. More accurately, he was everything. I was Monoma Neito, his manager, his confidante, his… well, everything but what I wanted to be since we were teenagers at U.A.

Lately, though, Hitoshi had been… off. Distant. Fidgety. The usually sharp-tongued retorts were replaced with mumbled agreements, the piercing gaze softened with… was that blushing? And the way he'd been avoiding my eye contact was unnerving, completely unlike the Hitoshi I knew.

This couldn't go on. Not with a performance of this magnitude looming. We were about to launch his international tour, the culmination of years of relentless work. Any slip-up, any hint of unprofessionalism, would be disastrous.

He was sitting on the plush velvet couch, headphones blasting his own music – an exercise designed to calm his pre-show nerves. I hated to interrupt, but I braced myself and approached.

"Hitoshi," I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

He startled, ripping off the headphones. "Monoma? What is it? Is something wrong with the stage setup?"

"The stage is fine. You're the one who's not fine."

He frowned, his lavender eyes clouding over. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play coy with me. You've been acting weird for weeks. Distant, easily flustered… especially around me." I crossed my arms, trying to project an air of professional detachment, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. "This needs to stop. It's affecting your work, and it's making my job impossible. Whatever it is, spit it out."

He looked away, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. "It's nothing. Just… pre-show jitters, I guess."

"Pre-show jitters don't make you blush every time I ask you to check the microphone levels."

He flinched, his jaw tightening. "Drop it, Monoma."

"No. I won't. I need to know what's going on, Hitoshi. We're a team, remember? We're supposed to be able to talk to each other."

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

My patience snapped. "Then make me understand! Explain it to me. Now."

My voice rose with each word, and Hitoshi finally looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and something else I couldn't quite decipher. He stood up abruptly, and before I could react, he spun me around, backing me against the cool mirror of the vanity.

My breath hitched. We were close. Too close. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of his cologne filling my senses. The Hitoshi I'd worked so hard to keep at a professional distance was gone, replaced by… something else completely.

"Fine," he said, his voice rough, raw. "You want to know what's wrong? This is what's wrong!"

He leaned closer, his breath ghosting across my cheek. "I'm in love with you, Monoma. Okay? Happy now?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. My mind reeled, trying to process the sudden shift in reality. Hitoshi… in love with me?

The memories came flooding back – stolen glances in the U.A. cafeteria, late-night study sessions fuelled by lukewarm coffee, the undeniable spark that existed between us, a spark I had relentlessly extinguished in the name of professionalism.

Back then, I'd dismissed it as a teenage crush, a fleeting infatuation born from shared trauma and ambition. I'd convinced myself that focusing on our careers was the only path to success. And I'd been adamant that a romantic relationship with my best friend would inevitably end in disaster.

But here he was, years later, confessing the truth, laying bare his vulnerability. And something inside me, something I thought I had buried long ago, stirred to life.

My mouth was dry. "Hitoshi… I…"

He stepped back, a flicker of regret in his eyes. "Don't say anything. I shouldn't have… I'm sorry. Just… forget I said anything. I'll get over it." He turned to walk away.

But I couldn't let him. Not this time.

I reached out, grabbing his arm. "Wait."

He stopped, his back to me, his shoulders tense.

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts, to find the right words. "Hitoshi," I said, my voice softer now, almost a whisper. "This… this is a lot to take in."

He didn't move.

"I haven't… I haven't thought about us like that in a long time," I continued, my voice trembling slightly. "Not since… U.A."

He finally turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "And?"

"And… hearing you say it now… it brings things back. Things I thought I had forgotten." I met his gaze, and in those lavender depths, I saw a vulnerability that mirrored my own. "I don't know what to say, Hitoshi. This is… complicated."

"I know," he said, his voice resigned. "I figured as much. Just… tell me to forget about it, and I will. I can compartmentalize. I'm good at that, remember?"

He was waiting for me to reject him, to reinforce the walls I had so carefully constructed between us. But as I looked at him, at the raw emotion etched on his face, I knew I couldn't do it.

"I can't," I said, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

His eyes widened. "Can't what?"

"I can't tell you to forget about it. I can't pretend that this didn't happen. Because… because the truth is, Hitoshi, I'm not entirely sure I want to."

A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes, quickly followed by a wave of disbelief. "Are you… are you saying…?"

I took a step closer, closing the distance between us once more. "I'm saying that maybe… maybe there's a reason why you've been acting so weird around me. Maybe there's a reason why I've been so distracted lately. Maybe… maybe we need to explore this."

He stared at me, his expression a mixture of shock and cautious optimism. "But… your career. My career. Everything we've worked for…"

"We'll figure it out," I said, my voice firm. "We always do. We're good at that, remember?"

A small smile played on his lips. "Yeah," he said. "We are."

The arena roared, a distant reminder of the performance that awaited us. But in that moment, standing in the cramped dressing room, bathed in the harsh fluorescent light, all I could see was Hitoshi. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a flicker of something beyond professional obligation, something that resonated deep within my soul.

Maybe, just maybe, I had been wrong all those years ago. Maybe, a romantic relationship with Hitoshi wouldn't be a disaster. Maybe, it would be the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to me.

The roar intensified. The show was about to begin.

I took Hitoshi's hand, intertwining our fingers.

"Let's go," I said. "We have a show to put on. And after that… we have a lot to talk about."