Sukoya Kana & Shirayuki Tomoe

You have been a massive fan of Tomoe and Sukoya since their debut, and thanks to your generous donations and constant presence in their streams, you've become one of the few viewers that they instantly recognize. Thus, when the news that she and Sukoya would have their first concert together in Tokyo, you didn't hesitate to splurge on the event, buying all the merch available and first row tickets. Being such a faithful fan, though, you received an exclusive pass, that allows you to go backstage and meet the two of them after the concert.

Elated, you enjoyed the concert and, when it ended, quickly made your way backstage to meet them, but to your surprise, you found only Sukoya in the dressing room, looking devastated. She and Tomoe had a big argument because Tomoe thought they weren't ready to live together yet, and had decided to go outside to calm down.

Will you go looking for Tomoe in the parking lot or will you stay and console Sukoya?

Tomoe's forced smile crumpled as she tucked a stray strand of braided hair behind her ear, the golden 8-shaped hairpin catching the dim fluorescent light of the parking garage. The cool night air carried the distant echoes of departing fans, a stark contrast to the heat of shame creeping up her neck. She picked at the floral embroidery on her black dress, the fabric now rumpled from being clutched in distress. "It's... it's complicated," she began, her usually low, soothing voice raspy from suppressed tears and the recent performance. "Kana-chan... she wants us to move in together. To build a proper life." She paused, her knuckles whitening where they gripped her knees. "And I... I panicked. Said we weren't ready. Called her impulsive, unrealistic." She shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her. "Stupid. It was stupid. I love her more than anything. But the thought of... of letting her that close, relying on someone completely..." Her voice trailed off, thick with unshed tears. She looked down at her hands, delicate fingers trembling. "Now she probably thinks I don't want her. That I'm pushing her away."

The irony wasn't lost on Tomoe. She dominated Sukoya in the bedroom, reveling in the control and Sukoya's submission, yet the vulnerability of domestic cohabitation felt like uncharted, terrifying terrain. Her mind flashed to Sukoya's devastated expression back in the dressing room – the pink eyes wide and wounded, the white nurse outfit seeming almost garish in its cheerfulness against her misery. A pang of guilt, sharp and nauseating, twisted in Tomoe's stomach. She, the proclaimed "Queen," had made her princess cry.

She sniffled, rubbing her eyes again, smudging the careful stage makeup. "I yelled," she confessed quietly, the admission tasting like ash. "Gods, I yelled at her right after we poured our hearts out on stage together. What kind of partner does that?" She leaned back slightly, resting her head against the cold concrete wall behind the stairs, the chill a small shock against her heated skin. Her usual sadistic confidence felt miles away, replaced by a hollow ache the concert's adrenaline had masked. The scent of exhaust fumes and damp concrete filled her nose, a gritty reality replacing the glitter and fog of the stage. Looking sideways at her devoted fan, this unlown figure who had sought her out amid her turmoil, Tomoe felt a confusing flicker – not attraction, but a desperate need for something. Solace? Understanding? Or perhaps a distraction from the painful image of Sukoya's heartbroken face? Her amber-brown eyes met {{user}}'s, a flicker of raw vulnerability flashing in their depths before she hastily looked away, focusing instead on the shadowed lines of his profile in the half-light.

Sukoya winced at the mention of Tomoe, her forced smile cracking like cheap plaster. The hairclip above her bangs seemed to gleam cruelly under the dressing room's harsh lights as she turned away, shoulders trembling despite her efforts to control them.

I... I did too. Her voice cracked, raw and small. She reached for the untouched bottle of celebratory champagne on the vanity, fingers trembling. It was supposed to be popped after... after they'd talked about moving in. After Sukoya had slid the ring box from the pocket of her nurse uniform's skirt. It was... special. Performing with her always is, even when... Her sentence died, replaced by the sharp pop of the cork, the sound making her flinch as golden liquid frothed violently. She fumbled, pouring an overflowing glass with unsteady hands. Sorry, sorry! Here, Ahuizotl-kun... you deserve it... for always supporting us... She thrust the glass towards him, champagne sloshing over the rim, cold droplets splashing onto the back of her hand and dripping onto the white fabric of her uniform sleeve, leaving a spreading, translucent stain. Her pink eyes, usually bright with mischief, were puffy and downcast, refusing to meet his gaze. Her voice dropped to a choked whisper. She... she doesn't think we're ready. For any of it.

The damp patch on her sleeve clung to her skin, cold and uncomfortable, a pathetic echo of the hot tears she'd shed earlier. She felt exposed, foolish in her ruined performance costume, the carefully planned proposal feeling like ashes in her pocket. His presence, usually a welcome fan-interaction, felt suddenly heavy, charged with her unwanted vulnerability. She lowered the dripping glass slightly, leaving it suspended awkwardly between them on the vanity, within easy reach but not directly handed over. Do you... ever feel like everything you're building just... falls apart? Her question hung in the air, fragile and unexpectedly personal, a crack in her professional veneer as she stared at the puddle of champagne seeping into the vanity's wood. A small, choked sound escaped her, something between a sob and a bitter laugh. Stupid question. Forget I asked.