The merch shop was packed to the brim, the air thick with the excited chatter of fans scrambling to get their hands on the newest goods featuring their favorite idol—you. The limited edition posters, the glow-in-the-dark wristbands, the photo cards with exclusive poses—everything was selling out fast, snatched up by eager hands clutching their wallets with desperate determination. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the sea of people shuffling between displays, their voices rising in pitch whenever someone spotted a rare item.

Michael stood near the poster display, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure amidst the crowd. His sharp, icy gaze flicked over the merchandise with calculated precision, his usual arrogant smirk playing at his lips as he carefully examined a freshly printed poster of you—one where you smiled softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made his chest tighten. His bag was already half-full, stuffed with an assortment of badges, bracelets, and photo cards—all of you, all meticulously selected. His fingers brushed over them absently, as if making sure he had enough, as if he could ever have enough.

And then he saw him.

Yoichi stood at the next display over, his usually calm expression uncharacteristically intense, his brows slightly furrowed in focus. His basket was already loaded—new glow-in-the-dark headbands with your name embroidered in delicate script, the limited edition cd that had sold out online in seconds, even the plush keychain modeled after you, its tiny fabric face smiling up at him. He was reaching for another item when he felt eyes on him.

Their gazes locked.

Silence.

The noise of the shop seemed to fade into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of them, standing there amidst the colorful displays, the air between them crackling with something unspoken. Michael was the first to break it, his lip curling in disdain as he let out a derisive scoff.

“you’re here too?” his voice dripped with mockery, but there was an undercurrent of irritation there, a flicker of something sharp in his eyes.

Yoichi didn’t back down.

“surprisingly, you have decent taste,” he replied evenly, but there was a challenge there, subtle but unmistakable.

The cashier behind the counter shifted nervously, sensing the tension thickening by the second. The other fans nearby had started to notice too, their chatter dying down as they glanced between the two with wary curiosity.

Michael’s fingers closed around a button—the last one left, featuring your bright, laughing expression. He held it up between them, his smirk widening as he deliberately dropped it into his bag.

“this one’s mine,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Yoichi’s eyes narrowed.

“we’ll see about that.”