Chapter Text
The biometrics beeped when he ran his thumb over the machine, and he immediately smacked a hand over the alcohol dispenser beside it. It was 5:45 a.m. on a Wednesday. His week has officially started.
He walked through the busy halls filled with colorful props, which will serve as sets for the ongoing morning show. It was May, so a lot of them were cherry blossom-themed. After weaving around the researchers running around like headless chickens, he entered the newsroom, which wasn’t faring much better. People were already hurrying around, passing around scripts, preparing for the next newscast.
“Morning, Sakusa!”
He blinked at his cousin, Komori Motoya, who was lounging on a desk chair.
“You’re early today.” Komori’s shift usually began late afternoon. “Coverage?”
“Last night,” Komori answered. “Haven’t slept, haven’t gone home. I attended some red carpet thing that went on until like, 2 a.m. this morning. They’re airing it in a bit.”
He nodded and sat on the empty computer chair of Inunaki Shion, one of their senior producers. Kiyoomi didn’t really have a desk in the newsroom, since he was hardly ever there. “And what are you assigned to do today?”
“Don’t know yet.” Komori muffled a yawn with his hand. “Waiting for Meian to tell me. But hey, you ready for our interview? We haven’t worked together in a while.”
Frowning, he mentally ran through his pending assignments and came up blank. “Interview? I only have a presscon today at the Prime Minister’s Office.”
“Oh, I guess they haven’t told you. Er, you’ll see.”
“Morning, Sakusa-kun,” their managing editor, Meian Shuugo said, stepping into view. “Perfect, you’re still here, Komori-kun.”
“What’s this about?” he asked. He’d come here expecting the usual storycon, not a surprise project. He was already displeased. If he was working with Komori, then it was something entertainment related. He hated those. He was hardly even assigned those anymore.
“Well, you already know your main assignment for today, the Abe presson at 10 a.m. Naturally, we’ll broadcast that live, and you’ll do a standupper for the flash news report after. We’ll air your full report on the 3 p.m. program. But send your script as soon as possible, because we need you here in Shibuya by that time. There’s a rally that some kids are organizing. Sorry, you’ll have to do overtime.”
“Alright.”
“Now. Oikawa has been on leave, as you know. Which is why Komori has been taking the brunt of the entertainment news.”
He didn’t know that, actually. He and Oikawa Tooru, their entertainment correspondent, were not really close, and these days they barely crossed paths. Komori is not a TV reporter, he’s a senior producer who works behind the scenes, often with Oikawa. Even senior producers tagged along on coverages sometimes, especially when they’re big events. But Komori must have been doing all the work lately, tapping other TV reporters to record the voice overs for the reports.
“Komori, Bokuto Koutarou is holding a press conference later this afternoon, kindly attend. It’s for some new show, I’ll send you the details.”
“Copy,” Komori replied.
And then Meian clapped his hands. “Finally — sorry, Sakusa-kun, but there’s no one else we could send for this. You’re to interview Miya Atsumu tomorrow for his upcoming film.”
His brows furrowed. “Miya Atsumu? The model? In a film?” Who allowed that?
“Yes. It will be his acting debut. And it’s for an Ennoshita Chikara film, too, it’s kind of a big deal.”
“Seriously?” That guy was an award-winning director. “What strings did that Miya guy pull to get the role?”
“Hey, don’t be so quick to judge,” Komori protested. “I’ve met Miya once, he was pretty courteous, if a bit difficult to control. Kind of cocky, too, but you can’t really be mad at him for it.”
“But does he have the talent? Sounds like a big project for a first film. Maybe it’s for the star power?”
“Probably not,” Meian said. “Because his co-star is Kita Shinsuke, and that guy’s plenty famous. His appearance alone will be enough to get people to troop to the theaters.”
“Huh.” It made even less sense to him now.
“Anyway, it’s not just some random interview that you’ll be squeezed into after some event. They granted us two whole hours, here in headquarters. Don’t know how you managed to book that, Komori, but we obviously can’t waste the chance, so we’re making a production out of it. Sakusa, you’ll do a one-on-one sit-down interview in Studio 6.”
Well, no wonder they tapped him. You don’t just hand out big sit-down interviews to any TV reporter, especially not to junior reporters. If Oikawa was on leave, then Kiyoomi really was the next best thing, if he did say so himself. After all, he was good enough to anchor the weekend evening newscast.
At 30, anchoring was an unbelievable achievement. He was too young for it — compared to veterans, he was a scrub. He’d only been in the industry for eight years. But he liked to think he earned it anyway. Just like he earned the promotion to senior correspondent two years ago.
But Komori would just say it was because of his impenetrable poker face.
“Give your initial questions to Inunaki later because Miya’s handler is asking to review them. I don’t have to tell you to do your homework, do I? Komori will also be with you tomorrow,” Meian said.
“Okay,” he sighed. It wasn’t like he could refuse. He did what he had to do.
“Wonderful. Let’s get this day started.”
--
His coverage went without a hitch, even though it always felt like he was injected with adrenaline every time he had to do a live report. There was often a technical delay in the audio feed, an unavoidable pause between their anchor Ushijima Wakatoshi’s questions and his answers. It always took all of him to keep his composure so he doesn’t look dumb on television, because he knew that to viewers’ eyes, seconds ticked by without him uttering a word.
After the headache-inducing rally that evening, he hopped back in the HQ News van and asked the driver to take him back to headquarters. Once he timed out — at 8:12 p.m. — he made the 15-minute trek to his two-bedroom apartment in Shibuya.
By the time he reached his unit, he was highly aware of the tension in his shoulders, the throbbing in his head, and the layer of sweat under his clothes. He yearned for a bath. But hunger has made itself known now that the adrenaline has passed, so he heated a meal that he’d prepped over the weekend and turned on the television.
Bat habit, really. He’d been living and breathing news since he reached his 20s. Now he was unable to turn himself off.
Thankfully, their evening newscast was over, giving way to a documentary series from their Public Affairs department. Sometimes he hosted episodes for them, too. He mindlessly listened to it while he ate his dinner.
He tried not to fall asleep when he finally, finally relaxed in his tub, exhaustion crashing on him. He stared at the bathroom tiles and thought, not for the first time, I’m getting too old for this.
But he wasn’t, not really. Many stay in the industry until retirement age, so he had decades to go still.
He was tired just thinking about it. But it wasn’t like he wanted to do anything else in his life.
He thought he was pretty settled. He had everything figured out. He was living his dream job. He didn’t earn much at all in the first few years, but he suffered through it and it paid off. His salary increased annually, and he had a hefty raise when he was promoted. Not to mention he had overtime pay, hazard pay and clothing allowance from the company. He was never one to carelessly spend money on himself, and it wasn’t like he had anybody to spend on.
Financially, he was good. Career-wise, he was great.
He wondered if that was it.
After an indeterminate amount of time, he pulled himself out of the tub. He peeled off his contact lenses, did his skincare routine, put on his glasses then dragged himself from the bathroom and into his desk.
And then he Googled Miya Atsumu.
He knew him, of course. Everybody did. But he actually only shot to fame recently.
Upon checking, Miya has been modeling since he was 18 years old, but only fully entered the industry after graduating from university — he had studied drama and music, to Kiyoomi’s surprise. He’d modeled for local brands for the first few years, but when he reached 22, he started getting picked up for international brands — Calvin Klein, Giorgio Armani, Versace, Dolce & Gabbana, Ralph Lauren. That was actually around the time Kiyoomi started becoming aware of his existence. His face started to get more and more familiar, and even started getting attention from other countries.
When he was somehow handpicked to star in a music video for an international artist, that was when the craziness truly started. That just happened last year, and now, at the young age of 24 years old, Miya was everywhere. He had Vogue covers. He had Calvin Klein billboards. He had television ads. He had 5.6 million followers on Instagram.
And people loved him because he was supposedly down-to-earth. He threw up peace signs. He poked his tongue out. He winked, he grinned; he was often playful, and sometimes silly.
But why the venture into film?
He supposed he would find out tomorrow.
Rubbing his temple, he started typing down the questions to send to Inunaki, which will be forwarded to Miya’s camp. He gave only vague ones, because what did they think they were, a PR agency?
Job done, he closed his laptop and got ready for bed, preparing to live another endless day.