Chapter Text
Adachi was sticky all over. The back of his hand glistened with sweat after he wiped his brow, desperate to keep the salty sting out of his eyes. He was only a block away now. The temperature was so high, the heat radiated off the sidewalks, a haze off in the distance. He was a tamagoyaki in a frying pan.
This is what he got for traipsing around most of the city instead of taking the bus. He should have walked less in this heat, but he always found inspirations on quiet strolls - a building that had an interesting splash of color on its exterior, or a park with a fascinating tree that could cut off the frame edge in a way that made it feel as though the audience was peeking in on the scene. And there were a lot of interesting outdoor scenes on their new Momo Maho drama.
This framing wasn't really required of his job as Production Designer. But he was ensuring that all the design threads would come together by visiting the places Minato had scouted, taking the mood and tone of what Urabe and Fujisaki had given him and really bringing the aesthetic he had drawn or imagined to life.
He had discovered accidentally that Urabe was open to Adachi’s suggestions. And Adachi loving photography and also loving to hide meant he was often keenly aware of the outsider point of view. On screen, through door frames or on edges, it always felt more intimate, more organic. And still somehow more separate, safe.
Urabe may not choose to use that particular shot, but he would be excited about the location. It hit every one of the asks he had given Adachi.
And now, he just needed desperately to make it back to the air conditioning of the little production office. He had worked with this team enough times that it was starting to feel like his office a bit. An unwise impulse, since this industry was always moving, writhing, fluxing. But sometimes when you gelled creatively with a team, you tried to find ways to capture the magic again.
It didn’t hurt that working together was up to Fujisaki and she kept asking Adachi to sign up for projects for some odd reason.
He rushed inside to finally remove one of his too many layers. His body settled into the cool of the small work space, shivering at the change of temperature despite still being covered in sweat. He slid over to his table, his many sketches and color swatches littered about the surface, and yanked on his outer long sleeved t-shirt, but the dampness resulted in everything just being stuck together, his head awkwardly entrapped in the fabric.
“Wow, what happened to you?” Fujisaki’s kind but pragmatic tone was unmistakable.
Adachi pulled again, while twisting an arm to hold down his t-shirt, a forceful tug finally pulling the shirt free.
“It got hot,” Adachi said, thoughtlessly shoving his fingers in his hair, now standing on end from his entire ordeal.
“The forecast said thirty-two degrees, didn’t you check?”
Adachi had not. He set out as he always did, his mind in his projects, little thought to anything else. Fujisaki pursed her lips the way she always did when Adachi missed something she was sure he should have noticed. Even that had taken Adachi a while to catch on, but see! He wasn’t completely oblivious - he now knew when Fujisaki had wanted him to possibly have thought ahead more.
“I forgot,” he mumbled, smoothing out his t-shirt that was now clinging to him.
She folded her hands around her clipboard as she pulled it to her chest. As Producer, she carried it everywhere. Fujisaki was attached to it the way most people would be attached to their phone. She would make constant notes for the production, check off her lists, sometimes swat at Adachi playfully. It was multipurpose. “Well then, once you are settled we should discuss the--”
Adachi had hung on Fujisaki’s “the” while he rifled through the materials on his desk, looking for his pen and notepad, only really considering she had not finished her thought when he finally located it under a very large binder of materials.
“Discuss the what?” He asked, sliding his eyes up to Fujisaki, following her eye line toward the entrance.
He had not heard the distinct sharp noise of the door of the tiny office opening, but somehow in the doorway stood a strikingly handsome man with dark sunglasses and a baseball cap. His clothing, although looking casual in style, was most definitely not. Adachi did not feel as though he knew much about fashion in terms of what looked best on whom, but he knew materials, he knew quality, he knew cost. This man was wearing six months of Adachi’s salary easily.
The man bowed to the handful of the production team who were milling about in the office, revealing a disarming grin, as if divulging a secret he was only sharing with you.
Adachi swallowed hard as Fujisaki fluttered over to him, bowing deeply. “Kurosawa-san, we are so pleased you could join us today.”
The name stuck in Adachi’s throat. How could it be him, there, in their office?
“Thank you, Fujisaki-san, correct?” The same deep, dulcet voice. There was no mistaking it. Sure, it had been years, almost a decade really, since he had heard it in person. But in the most recent years, it wasn’t uncommon to hear his voice come onto the playlist of some of the staff. It was always surreal. Always unsettling.
“Ah, yes, thank you for remembering,” she said, looking very pleased.
“Oh, sorry,” Kurosawa said, pulling off his sunglasses and removing his hat and folding it under his arm. “I was just being discreet.” Somehow his hair was still absolutely perfect, soft messy waves that somehow looked as though they were exactly in the place they had been styled, not crushed by a hat.
“And we really appreciate that,” Fujisaki said, sweeping her arm into the space, “We don’t typically have actors of your popularity here. Can I get you some water?”
“Yes, thank you,” he said, moving into the direction Fujisaki was leading him, locking eyes with Adachi and stopping up short. They looked at one another for too long of a moment before Kurosawa smiled at him, this one a different smile, a kinder, gentler, less entrapping smile.
He bowed at Adachi as he continued toward the producer’s office, stopping again to look back once more. Adachi remembered himself and bowed back just in time for Kurosawa to turn into the glass-walled office, sitting with his back to Adachi.
“Why are you being so strange?” Minato asked, leaning over Adachi’s desk. Adachi startled and jumped out of his seat, just barely catching himself to steady his balance. “You know, stranger than usual.”
Adachi jutted out his chin, indicating Fujisaki’s office.
“Oooh, yeah, it’s so amazing isn’t it? It is such a major get to have both Kurosawa Yuichi and Mob in this drama. There has already been a crazy amount of interest from fans trying to figure out our shooting locations.”
“There...is?” Adachi asked. “I didn’t even know they were our actors.”
“Adachi-san! How did you not know? It’s all anyone here is talking about.” Which was probably exactly why Adachi had no clue. Adachi didn’t talk much to many people. He kept to his work, mostly seeking Fujisaki’s approval as the Producer or Urabe’s guidance as the Director. And obviously sometimes Minato, as his Assistant Production Designer, when he was bringing messages from Urabe or Fujisaki.
The outside door clicked again and two other people came into the small space. “Hajimemashite,” the young man said with a bow. “Where is Kurosawa-san? I have his coffee.”
There was an edge to his voice, not panic per se, but intense and immediate. He craned his neck with nervous energy, clearly already dissatisfied with the lack of assistance he was receiving and trying to locate Kurosawa himself.
Kurosawa used to like tea. It was good for his throat, especially before a production. He liked it with just a little lemon and honey to help his projection. But how often do things stay the same?
“Adachi?” Minato’s voice broke in again. “It was in the group chat, Adachi!” Minato said, sounding exasperated.
“Group chat?” Adachi mumbled, watching the young frantic man and the very calm, sleek woman hang by the door.
Minato huffed and held out his hand, nudging Adachi with it when he did not acknowledge it.
“What?”
“Your. Phone.”
Adachi pulled up his backpack from the floor and riffled through it, finally landing on a smooth surface with his finger tips. He slipped it into Minato’s hands and glanced back just in time to see the newcomers join Urabe, Fujisaki and Kurosawa in Fujisaki’s office.
“See, here,” Minato said, pointing to the Line group chat. It had two hundred unread notifications.
“Oh, I just usually call people,” Adachi said, scrolling through the messages. And by people, he meant his mom and Tsuge.
Tsuge’s novel-turned-drama started to receive more attention when the story of Tsuge and Kurosawa being from the same school and working on the same production in college got out. Kurosawa had been the lead in Tsuge’s first written stage production. The reunion of writer and actor was a fun little tale that had generated some interest, and once Mob was tied to the project - as evidenced by the wall of links following the announcement - the buzz around the drama started going off the rails a bit.
A ding indicated a new message. Adachi scrolled to see a photo of Kurosawa in the doorway of their office after he had removed his sunglasses, taken by one of the other overenthusiastic PAs. Adachi pressed on the screen to enlarge the image. He had such an easy way about him; it was hard to not find it attractive. His bright smile, his laugh lines. He just appeared to glow, even in this covert snapshot taken just minutes before. When he was really putting it on, like in a photo shoot, it was blaring. Adachi could barely stand it.
He clicked his phone into power saver mode. Other people might think his reaction was jealousy considering what had happened, but it wasn’t that. It was maybe sadness, really. They had been colleagues? Friends? Something. And then they weren’t and here Kurosawa was living his life in the spotlight at the peak of his career and Adachi was still hanging out in the wings.
He had always thought Tsuge’s novel was meant a bit as a joke and a bit as a prod - look what might have been if you were a different person. But no, that really wasn’t it. Tsuge himself understood. It took everything for him to submit his novels to publishers. To take risks.
He had written Peach Magic: 30 Years of Not Falling in Love Can Make You a Wizard?! as one of his first stories when they all had been working together on that first college production of his work. Momo Maho was an outlandish story of a 30 year old who had never found love gaining the ability to read minds, which of course leads to the character actually falling in love. A beautiful story at the heart of it, just as all Tsuge’s stories were. The show was an adaptation of this work.
There had been a joke on the set back when Tsuge came up with the story that Adachi seemed to be able to read Kurosawa’s mind. It was all just silly stuff, but it seemed to spark Tsuge’s imagination.
And Tsuge had gotten attached to the names - at least that is what he said. So when he asked Adachi if he minded using them, he said no. But Adachi never imagined it would be something he would have to cope with on a daily basis. And now...
Adachi dropped his head to his desk. “It will be ok,” Minato said as he patted Adachi’s shoulder. “Just start reading your line messages.”
Adachi laughed a silent chuckle, enjoying the cool contact of the surface of his desk on his forehead. As if being prepared for this would have helped.
“Adachi?” The unmistakable voice interrupted his mild panic attack. Adachi shifted his chair a bit so he could examine the shoes next to him - designer sneakers, a shockingly bright white, probably worth more than he made in a month. “Are you alright?”
“Uh, yeah,” Adachi said, sitting up right and running his hand through his hair so that it was no longer covering his eyes.
Kurosawa’s eyes fell to his sweaty, disheveled t-shirt. Adachi tugged at it uneasily, And Kurosawa’s eyes darted up as though he realized he should not have acknowledged what a mess Adachi was. “I didn’t know you were working on this project,” he said, giving him his easy smile again.
“Yeah, I started working with Urabe’s team a few projects ago. It has been a good creative opportunity.” Kurosawa looked at him as though waiting for him to say something else, but what else was there to say? “Uh, it’s exciting that you are working with Tsuge again. I guess that means we’ll see each other sometimes.”
“I’d like that,” Kurosawa said.
“Kurosawa-san!” The young, intense man came running over to them. “Senpai says we need to get to your next meeting.”
“Thanks, Rokkaku,” Kurosawa said, “I’ll be right there.” He turned back to Adachi, “Sorry my assistant is overly enthusiastic and my manager is very strict in terms of schedules.” Adachi looked past Kurosawa to see the woman, watching them both with a stern expression. She raised an eyebrow and tapped on the clock on her phone screen, an indication of some sort of schedule they needed to keep. “But, I’ll see you soon, Adachi,” he said, giving Adachi a bow. “I promise.”
Adachi managed to get to his feet and bow back, finally remembering his manners. “Oh, okay.”
“Adachi!” Urabe called from his office. Adachi continued to bow as he made his way to the office and Kurosawa made his way out the door.
There was an odd look on Fujisaki’s face as she met him outside of Urabe’s office. “Is everything alright?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Let’s go talk with Urabe.”
One of the PAs gasped. “Mob dropped our project!” she called out, others murmuring and surrounding the young woman’s phone. Oh no, no wonder Fujisaki looked so concerned. But then why was Kurosawa so calm? Was he just the most centered person alive? This seemed like a major problem.
“This is a major problem!” Urabe blurted as Adachi and Fujisaki joined him in his office. Fujisaki closed the door when all the PAs and interns shifted their gaze to them in unison. “It is a setback,” she said, the picture of calmness compared to Urabe.
“We can’t delay, Adachi. The cost would be phenomenal. And some of our money is tied up in our agreement with Mob. We should be able to get it back, but it might require some legal costs and our margin is razor thin.”
Urabe dropped down in his chair, slumping back as though the full force of this problem had knocked him in that position. He closed his eyes and let out a dreadful pained noise.
“I’m sure there is something we can do,” Adachi said, sitting down in the chair in front of the desk when Fujisaki sat in the companion. Adachi could not help still pulling at his damp shirt, his level of discomfort intensified. Somehow despite his distress, Urabe did not look as though he had broken a sweat that day. “There have to be other actors we can get on short notice.” Adachi offered.
“Unfortunately, they will be more than we can afford at this juncture and Kurosawa-san has in his contract that he gets approval of his second lead.” Fujisaki said, gently.
Urabe groaned. “We are sunk, unless…”
“Unless what?” Adachi asked.
“Oh no, Adachi, I couldn’t…” Urabe said, huffing, and massaging his temples. “It’s just that I have invested so much money in the project. I thought this is it. This is the one that will make all of our careers.”
“If there is something I can do, I want to help,” Adachi said.
Urabe opened one eye. “Really? Are you sure?”
Fujisaki let out a soft hum and folded her arms, looking directly at Urabe.
“Absolutely,” Adachi said. Both Fujisaki and Urabe had given him chances when others might not have done so. A simple Google search would tell you all about his epic failures in acting, not the most promising story when it comes to seeking employment. He owed them and everyone on this production.
“Well, Kurosawa said he would go forward without delay if you would play the Adachi character,” Urabe blurted.
Adachi startled so hard he fell out of his chair and caught himself on the desk. “You want me to what?”
Fujisaki gave Urabe a stern look. “It is okay Adachi, if you don’t want to do it.”
Urabe looked back at her, beseeching. He turned to Adachi. “He had so many positive things to say about you when you were students in the actors program and how diligent and hardworking you are.”
Adachi grabbed at the chair, still trying to hold on. “And how I basically failed out of the program.”
“Really?” Urabe’s face went pale. “That is not how he presented it.”
“Kurosawa is a kind person. He would never speak ill of me when you suggested it.”
“I didn’t suggest it. He came in here with the news and the suggestion. These are his terms Adachi. He said he would coach you if you felt out of practice. It is this or the drama folds.”
Adachi’s stomach lurched. He couldn’t imagine acting again, let alone acting with Kurosawa. The fact that it wasn’t in front of a large audience was small consolation, but how could he stand embarrassing himself in front of Kurosawa and others for the next few months. He would be such a disappointment. But as he looked back at Urabe’s pleading eyes and Fujisaki’s quiet, yet tense demeanor, he knew that saying no would make the disappointment immediate and final and he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Alright, fine. What do I need to do?”