The first few chords of the latest hit song. The roar of the crowd. The unmistakable atmosphere of what is sure to be an unforgettable concert. And all I can sense of it is a vague rumble as I work away deep within the bowels of the stadium. The life of a manager is an inglorious one, unable to share the spotlight with the talent, yet shouldering a great amount of work all the same.
I am the manager of Silver Star, the hottest new idol sensation that has been sweeping the country recently, turning women into rabid fans with but a wayward wink and men into reluctant supporters with wonderful music. Of course, I too am a fan of Silver, but my relationship with him goes beyond a simple enjoyment of music and a business connection. No, I also harbor a great amount of unrequited love for him, the star that lights up my deep, dark night. But then, love blooming between a manager and his client would be a complete scandal, an event that would set the entertainment industry ablaze with enraged fans. So I keep everything locked inside, throwing my love for him into my work, ever determined to grow his career as much as I can.
Doing that means, ironically enough, that I have to spend a lot of time apart from my love. Instead of standing just off stage, watching him perform, I have to spend time here in the dungeons of whatever venue we are performing at, calling around for interview slots, endorsement deals, booking future concerts, papering over potential PR problems and so much more.
And whenever I get a moment, I pull out a piece of paper from my suit pocket and continue writing my love letter. In order to give my unrequited feelings towards Silver some room to breathe, I have gotten into the habit of writing intimate love letters addressed to him. I never send these, mostly keeping them in a safe and secure location or directly on my person. In these letters, I can be myself, be truly honest, take off the mask I wear in my daily life. If anyone were to find these letters, it would be disastrous, but I've taken steps to ensure that will never happen.
All this work has its drawbacks, however. In recent weeks, I've noticed that my sleep schedule has gotten more and more irregular, eschewing a good night's sleep in favor of getting more work done, telling myself that it's all worth it since it's all for Silver's sake. But I would be lying if I said I didn't notice it taking its toll on my health. The bags under my eyes are getting deeper, and I get the feeling I won't be able to write it off as just "stressful times" whenever somebody notices. Still, it'll only be a month until this tour is over. Then, I'll be able to rest. At least, that's what I tell myself, but soon enough, I find my eye lids getting heavier and heavier, fluttering shut for the occasional moment before I force them back open again. But... it's not like a short nap will hurt, right? I'll just close my eyes for five minutes, then it'll be back to work...
I wake to find myself in a luxurious hotel room, still dazed and with a massive headache. But as I slowly regain consciousness, my blood runs cold. This hotel room... I remember booking this. But that means...
"Oh, you're awake. Here, take some of these, they should help with your headache," Silver says, walking into the room holding two pills and a glass of water, which I gladly take. "I found you in your office around midnight, laying on the ground out cold. Looks like you collapsed somehow. Do you remember anything?"
Midnight? Shit, the last thing I remember was calling the next venue at 8 PM. Was I really laying there collapsed for four hours? A look at the nearby clock tells me it's 8 AM right now, meaning I was additionally out for eight more hours after Silver found me. I have to play this off, I can't have him worrying about me. "It's... it's OK. I think I just tripped on the carpet and knocked myself out by accident just before midnight. Don't worry about i-"
My words are interrupted by a slap to the face. Silver is staring at me, his expression downright furious, and his tone undoubtedly angry as he yells, "Shut the fuck up! What the fuck are you even saying, don't worry about it? You could have died! The company keeps track of your calls, you know—I know that you laid there collapsed for four hours, not just five minutes like you're trying to tell me! 'I am a lot more tired these days, but as long as I can keep your career going, as long as I can keep you smiling... all of the work is worth it.'"
My heart nearly stops as I hear those last words, and terror grips my soul. That was a sentence from the love letter I was writing that night... so he found it in my suit pocket. He knows everything now. Again, he slaps me across the face, and tears have started building in his eyes. "You fucking idiot! Have you even for a moment considered how I feel about all this? Did the thought of me not wanting my manager to work himself to death even cross your egotistical fucking mind? Is this what love means to you? I... I..." he stammers before collapsing onto me on the bed, gripping me with all his might. "I... I'm so glad you're alright, Tai... when I first saw you laying on the ground there, I was so terrified I might have lost you that I couldn't take it. How could you have been so stupid? With your dumb fucking, beautifully written, heartfelt love letters... how could you have just assumed I didn't care about you?"
I am completely stunned into silence, feeling more guilty than I've ever felt before in my life. He was so right. I was being egotistical, failing to take his perspective into account even in the slightest, and now I feel horrible. "Silver..." I begin, but cannot find the words I want to say.
He moves his face from my shoulder, looking at me with his tear-filled eyes. "Please... call me Hiro. We're beyond stage names now. No... I need you closer to me. For your own sake. From this day forward, you are no longer my manager. You are now my personal assistant. And that means you will never, ever be away from me, ever again. I'll make sure you get the sleep you need, even if that means I'll have to sleep with you," he mutters, his breath still hitching with the occasional sob.
Sleeping with him? My mind races, but I vehemently shake my head. "W-We can't! I mean, I c-can't be that close to you all the time... the rumors that w-would get started, and the fans..." I try to explain.
Again, Hiro cuts me off. "Fuck the fans, and fuck the scandals! You're special to me, god damn it! Doesn't that count for anything? Here, maybe this will get through to you..." he says before pressing his lips to mine carefully. The contact is so soft, so chaste, as expected of an idol.