The room smells like synthetic wig fibers and cheap strawberry body spray.
A pink-and-white uniform lies half-draped over a chair, its pleated skirt wrinkled from the chaos of earlier. A pair of glossy thigh-high socks dangles off the edge of the bed like sleepy cats. Bright LED lights flood the room in alternating hues of sakura pink and aquamarine blue. The poster of Hatsune Miku on the wall looks slightly crooked—probably bumped during all the movement.
On the bed, tangled in a mass of glitter and faux eyelashes, Dolly wiggles his hips with a giggle.
"Stop it, Sakuyaaa~ you'll wrinkle my tail!"
Sakuya—real name Shaka, but he never uses it in this world—smirks. His face is half-shadowed by the black spiky wig he hasn't removed yet, sweat glinting at his temples.
"You're not even wearing a tail, Usagi-chan."
"You don't know that," Dolly pouts, flicking his finger against Sakuya's forehead. "I was gonna wear it, but someone wanted a 'wardrobe malfunction' moment first."
"Oh, boohoo, my bad, Miss Stage Fright," Sakuya retorts, grabbing Dolly's fake glasses and putting them on crookedly. "Tell me again what magical high school this is where they let bunny girls use glitter bombs as weapons?"
"It's called Maiden Riot Academy, and you'd know if you watched the second season, baka."
They break into shared laughter, rolling over tangled sheets, crumpled gloves, and one detached pigtail.
A moment of silence follows. Not a heavy one. Just… calm.
Dolly stretches, arms over his head, exposing his midriff. His skin glows under the LED light, and his voice goes soft and dramatic.
"My career's over. I smudged my eyeliner mid-shoot. I'll be canceled on Twitter by morning."
Sakuya pretends to gasp. "No. Not my beloved Star Idol Chuchu-sama!"
"I knew I should've chosen Ice Queen Yukihana. Her eyeliner survives tsunamis."
He leans forward, tapping Sakuya's nose with one shiny pink fingernail. "Promise me if I die tragically, you'll feed my cat and delete my private folder."
"Never," Sakuya says solemnly. "Your cursed memes belong in a museum."
Dolly throws a pillow. It misses. Again.
Later, they sit on the floor, legs crossed, surrounded by empty boba cups and half-eaten mochi. A phone plays a random anime OP cover on loop—some indie acoustic version of "Guren no Yumiya."
"I wish we had those Japanese vending machines," Dolly says out of nowhere. "Like, the ones that sell pancake-in-a-can or spaghetti cups."
"We could build one," Sakuya shrugs. "Just fill it with melon soda and Hello Panda."
"And cosplay contracts. Onee-chan energy guaranteed."
Sakuya reaches over, pulls Dolly closer by the waist. His voice drops just slightly.
"Next con, we go as a duo?"
Dolly blinks, then grins. "Couple cosplay?"
"You, me. Asuka and Shinji."
"Gross. You mean siblings?"
"Okay fine, then Ai and Aqua."
"…You're literally trying to die."
They both dissolve into laughter, again.
There's a knock on the door.
They freeze. Then Dolly calls out, "Just a sec!"
Sakuya scrambles to pull a blanket over the clutter. Dolly fixes his pigtails in the mirror. One of the lashes is still crooked, but he leaves it. It adds character.
Before opening the door, he turns to Sakuya.
"Senpai," he says with mock seriousness, "if this is the police, you were never here."
"I'll vanish like a background character in a filler arc."
And with that, Dolly opens the door with a smile still painted on his lips, glitter still stuck to his collarbone, and his heart still beating like it's part of a J-pop rhythm.
They didn't even make it to the bed.
The floor was already a battlefield—wig caps, thigh-high stockings, scattered cosplay skirts, a loose false eyelash clinging to the edge of the chair. The monitor still glowed with paused anime, casting flickering blues and pinks across their skin.
Rio giggled, sitting on Sakuya's lap, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "You like it when I wear this, don't you?" His voice was light—high-pitched, almost musical—and for a second, if not for the flat chest pressing against Sakuya, it could've belonged to a girl.
"You're dangerous," Sakuya mumbled into his neck, arms locked around Rio's waist. "Too pretty. Too soft. It's unfair."
"I'm still a guy," Rio reminded him in a whisper, lips brushing his cheek. "Don't forget that."
Sakuya grinned. "Oh, I don't. I like every part of it."
The teasing didn't last long. Their kisses grew longer, messier—laced with breathless laughter and hushed moans. Rio's soft voice rose in little gasps, sharp and sweet, echoing in the small room like the audio of some risqué anime.
"Ah—Sakuya… slow," he whimpered, trembling slightly as Sakuya's hands found the small of his back, pulling him closer.
His thighs shook when Sakuya's fingers trailed lower, gripping him firmly—not rough, but desperate. Their bodies pressed together with mounting urgency, heat building between skin and breath.
"Damn, even your moans sound like an anime heroine," Sakuya murmured, panting. "You're gonna ruin me."
"I'm a guy," Rio shot back weakly, cheeks flushed, before letting out another soft moan that completely betrayed the protest. "Mmh—shut up…"
"You're perfect," Sakuya whispered.
Their movements slowed but deepened. Clothes peeled away like layers of shame, one after another, until there was nothing left between them but raw feeling.
Sakuya leaned in, brushing strands of Rio's wig-less hair from his sweaty brow. "You're beautiful, you know that?"
Rio didn't answer. Just clung tighter, voice breathy, legs wrapped around Sakuya like he'd vanish otherwise.
When it was over, the two lay there, tangled in a heap of blankets and bare limbs. Their breathing slowed. Rio rested his cheek against Sakuya's chest, eyes half-lidded.
The faint hum of the computer fan filled the silence.
"…I wish it didn't end," Rio whispered, barely audible.
Sakuya kissed his forehead and didn't say anything.
For now, they stayed there. Two boys, lost in a world they made for themselves—one night at a time.
—Let me wear what I love, kiss who I want, and pretend the world is just a stage. That's enough magic for me.