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Today is Hasumi Keito’s birthday, and it feels like any other day in the world. He stretches, yawns, rubs his eyes and doesn’t think for a second that he’s a day over twenty. It hasn’t quite occurred to him that he’s another year older — he’s only just gotten up, after all. Socked feet pad quietly past his roommates as he fumbles through his drawers upon drawers of glasses. The eyes are a window to the soul, and they must always be lovely and in good shape, he muses, as he does every day, before settling on a dark wire frame for the day. He rubs them clean with a slight flourish, takes a glance at his sleeping roommates, and goes to throw the curtains open.
There are immediate squeals of annoyance. Hidaka Hokuto rolls over and groans. Shino Hajime makes a little noice of discontent, hand coming up to shield his eyes. It’s a late morning. Usually they’d all be up earlier.
“As idols, it is your duty to rise with the sun and clear any menial tasks before the day starts,” Keito informs them, already picking things up off the floor and organizing trinkets on the desks. “Hidaka, your side of the room is a mess, please clean it immediately. We have these weekends to do our own personal work and this is nothing to be ‘saved for later’. Please get to it immediately.”
Hokuto gives no indication that he’s heard, snoring away rather than jumping up and throwing himself right into it as Keito would have liked. It’s a shame not everyone is Kanzaki Souma, but these are his juniors just as well, so he’ll be a little lenient today.
He leaves them to sluggishly rise and scrolls through his numerous messages while waiting for his hot water to boil. Eichi’s messaged him, it seems, a “Happy birthday, my dear friend.” with a series of bright, glittery gifs that involve some kind of cake or roses. Keito feels his ears go red. Ah, that’s right. So it’s his birthday. He’d been so caught up with work recently, he hadn’t remembered to check the date. He sends Eichi a quick thanks when three messages from the dreaded Hibiki Wataru pop up on his phone. Disgruntled, he tries to swipe them off the top of his notifications, but ends up opening them instead, and finds an essay on the importance of one’s birthday, written in all caps with an emoji between every two or three words.
Keito leaves him on read. The block button looks tantalizing.
He finishes three glasses of scalding hot water, polishes his delicate glasses once more, and starts his daily stretches. An idol’s body must be kept in perfect shape for whatever might come — and with how well Akatsuki’s been doing recently, it might be best to always stay ready for more strenuous activity. He can’t risk being the part of the group that falls behind. Souma and Kuro can nearly fold themselves in half, and here he is, struggling to touch his toes. It’s embarrassing, but Keito chooses not to dwell on it, balancing precariously on one leg.
He changes positions — the cheap yoga mat does nothing to protect his aching back, and his hips press uncomfortably against the hardwood floor as he stretches. Hajime passes by him to the kitchen, giving him a curious glance as he makes his way past. It’s a little strange, sharing a dorm with a member of Ra*bits. Keito won’t forget their loss at Yumenosaki, but that was a long time ago, and they’ve both gotten over it. Hajime doesn’t treat him with any ill will. He’s quite the cute little rabbit, spending his time with the rest of his little rabbit group — Wataru’s strange rabbit minion in particular. Ah, Tomoya, that’s his name. He and Hajime are nearly always joined at the hip.
Once Keito’s done stretching, he skips the slightly questionable oatmeal Hokuto’s made in favor of some granola, sugar-free and organic with raisins and pumpkin seeds. He mixes it in with low-fat yoghurt and eats it at the table, taking his time for once in his life. Eating quickly is cause for poor digestion, which leads to stomachaches, pain, indigestion and whatnot. He won’t have any of that. Idols need to be in perfect shape. He’s Akatsuki’s leader, and he will practice what he preaches. He won’t have Kuro or Souma thinking of him as incapable.
He washes his dishes himself, washes Hajime’s and Hokuto’s as well even though they didn’t ask him to, and rifles through his closet to decide what pair of socks he’ll wear today. Everything on his hanger is business casual, slacks and blazers and carefully ironed shirts. Various shades of green and grey and beige, but to Keito it’s so much more than that. “Green” is not nearly enough to encompass the many different shades there are — jade, emerald, sage, to name a few. “Beige” doesn’t include tan, tawny, taupe. Semantics? No, specifics, that’s the word. Keito likes to be well-organized and he likes to be well-dressed. He stettles on beige and white, for today. It’s easy to dirty the lighter colors, but today’s his birthday, so he can indulge a little. He likes to think he looks better in cream.
“Happy birthday,” Hajime says, surprising Keito as he’s getting ready to leave. He turns to see the little blue-haired boy waiting behind him, smiling. “Have a nice day!”
Keito adjusts his glasses, strangely embarrassed. “Er- thank you.” And he’s on his way, phone upside down in his back pocket, messenger bag slung perfectly over his right shoulder. He runs into Eichi at Ensemble Square, out of his office for once. He’s carrying a great stack of papers that threatens to blow over in the wind, but he beams upon seeing Keito, nose and cheeks flushed red from the autumn weather. “Ah, Keito, happy birthday! I’ll take you to tea later, my treat.”
“You don’t have to,” Keito says immediately, because teatime with Eichi can last for hours, but he does like the Earl Grey that Eichi always brings out for him. A special little blend handmade for Keito. “And… the papers?”
“Oh, these?” Eichi laughs lightly. “I’m delivering them to Wataru. You know how my dear Hibiki gets. I’m sure he’d like it much more if I delivered it myself, rather than having his little rabbit boy do all the work instead. Poor thing might just fold under all this, you know.” Eichi makes an odd little face. Keito doesn’t encourage him, because he’ll be here for ages if he does, listening to Eichi rant about his dear Hibiki Wataru and the strange people he befriends. Eichi’s been jealous and petty ever since he was a child, but it’s a comfort to know nothing’s changed.
“It’s only paper, Eichi,” Keito says with a little shake of the head, but he leaves Eichi to carry on doing strange things for his strange magician boyfriend, and finds his way to Kuro and Souma, waiting in the pavilion.
“Hasumi-dono!” Souma nearly knocks him off his feet with a hug. “Happy birthday!”
Kuro trails after him, wearing a lax grin. “Hey, Hasumi, happy birthday.” He gives Keito a little knock on the head and a one-armed hug, and Keito’s ears go red again.
“Would you all just- stop that!” he blusters, swatting at Kuro and disentangling himself from Souma, who’s latched onto him like some kind of octopus. Is he learning this from the creatures at that marine bio club? “Really, you’re all just being silly. Aren’t we going to practice at all today?”
“Thought we’d take a day off, danna,” Kuro says, waving a hand. “It’s your birthday, after all. Might as well go somewhere nice.”
“Yes!” Souma says, eyes sparkling. “We could go to a cafe, or to lunch together — Kiryu-dono planned a-”
Kuro slaps his hand over Souma’s mouth. “Ya didn’t hear that, danna.”
“You two do an awful job,” Keito says, unamused. He’s never been a big fan of celebrating his own birthday, not past idol activities and lives where the tree of them eat cake and stare sternly at the camera. It’s a waste of time. It’s silly.
“At what?” Kuro still hasn’t removed his hand from Souma’s mouth.
“Everything. Nothing. It doesn’t matter. If you want to go to a cafe, now’s the time. I had a terrible breakfast. Granola is rather unpleasant.” He can’t keep his smile from breaking through his usually impassive face, and Souma lets out a little yell of joy, latching onto him once more.
It might be silly and a waste of time, but he's Hasumi Keito, he's twenty-one years old, and it's his birthday today, so he lets Souma tug him along hand-in-hand down the street, Kuro trailing after him with a smile.