JE, The Other Side of Maybe

Title: The Other Side of Maybe [Hokuto/Fuma]
Rating/Warnings: NC-17
Summary: Hokuto’s had the crush on Fuma roughly forever, but getting what he wants isn’t the graduation present he was hoping for, as it turns out.
AN: Christmas present for Ributa, who by the way has been my girlfriend for 9 months as of yesterday ( ^_^)b I tried to pick out a pairing that I thought you would like and we don’t get much of, so I hope you like this. Also there is bonus terrible senpai advice from Hasshi in here, which is something I think every fic ought to have.

Merry Christmas, baby ♥ And to anybody else who is down for this XD

The Other Side of Maybe

Of all the people that Hokuto thought he might see at their little graduation party, Kikuchi Fuma was not on that list. So when someone whispers, “Hi there,” right in Hokuto’s ear, he whirls around and is struck dumb with surprise for a second or two.

Fuma chuckles, the soft flop of his hair into his eyes making Hokuto’s heart flop in symmetry, the same way it used to when Hokuto was fourteen.

“Hi,” Hokuto says, and he probably doesn’t even look that stupid because he’s been working on his acting all year. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” It’s true that there are a bunch of guys from work here, which only makes sense, but Fuma seems too grown-up lately for a silly graduation party. Even Hokuto feels like he’s out of place, just another reminder that he should have passed this milestone a year ago.

“And miss my cute kouhai’s graduation party? Don’t be ridiculous.” Fuma grins at Hokuto, and Hokuto has to remind himself very firmly that he got over his silly crush on his ex-groupmate ages ago.

He puts on a relaxed smile. “Guess you’re kind of obligated, huh? I just saw Shori a minute ago, over—”

“Not Shori,” Fuma interrupts, leaning in a little closer. He reaches up to brush his hair out of his eyes, so there’s nothing keeping Hokuto from seeing what a sweet, rich brown they are. “I’m here to see you.”

“’re…what?” Hokuto barely has time to scrunch his brow before Fuma is leaning in to press their mouths together.

Hokuto is kissing Fuma back before he realizes what he’s doing, Fuma’s mouth hot and perfect against his, everything he’d imagined, back when he ever let himself imagine it, except that Hokuto was always shorter than Fuma in his daydreams. Fuma shifts closer, and Hokuto’s fingers curl in Fuma’s shirt, the spot where Fuma’s hand is resting on his hip making heat radiate up Hokuto’s side.

Then Hokuto remembers they’re at a party with a bunch of people, and pushes Fuma back a step. He has to force his fingers to unclench from Fuma’s shirt. He licks his lips and they’re tingling, his cheeks hot.

“What are you doing?” he asks, somehow forcing his voice even even though his heart is crawling up into his throat.

Fuma doesn’t take offense. “Wanna get out of here?” he asks. His hair is back in his eyes and smile is a little shy, and it’s so fucking appealing, damn him, and the “yes” is out of Hokuto’s mouth before any sort of common sense can get in the way.

So maybe he’s not over this crush so much. Whatever.

Both of them still live at home and home is far anyway, so they end up at a love hotel, and Hokuto doesn’t even care. Although he cares a little that Fuma picked the jungle-themed room while he wasn’t looking.

“This isn’t funny,” Hokuto informs him, folding his arms when Fuma cracks up at the swing covered in fake vines.

“Shh, a bed’s a bed,” Fuma soothes, taking Hokuto by the shoulders and steering him towards it. He pushes Hokuto down to sit on the edge and then backs up a step, throwing his jacket carelessly over the swing. His hands linger around the hem of his shirt, tugging on it a little without moving it anywhere. When Hokuto manages to drag his gaze up from those hands, Fuma is smirking at him.

“Are you teasing me?” Hokuto asks, eyes narrow. “What’s this all about, really?”

“How can I resist teasing you when you make faces like that?” Fuma asks, chuckling. “So serious, Hokuto-kun.” Hokuto opens his mouth to retort, but he gets distracted by the graceful arc of Fuma pulling his shirt over his head. Fuma shakes his mussed hair back out of his face, and all Hokuto wants is to get his hands in it, to touch all that pale skin. “You want to, right?” Fuma asks.

“Yeah.” Hokuto tugs his own shirt off and drops it on the floor. “Please.”

“Good.” Fuma shoves his jeans off, suddenly impatient, and then reaches for Hokuto’s too. Hokuto’s barely fumbled his belt undone and his zipper down before Fuma strips them off with a firm yank, leaving nothing but Hokuto’s boxers and his own briefs to separate them.

Fuma crawls on top of Hokuto, pushing him down on his back, and Hokuto gasps at the heat of Fuma’s skin against his. His hands settle on Fuma’s back to feel how hot that skin is too. Hokuto skims his fingers up Fuma’s back and down again, and Fuma pushes down against him, practically purring.

“You feel good,” he praises, and then his mouth is on Hokuto’s. It’s rougher than before, and Hokuto’s skin prickles with pleasure, arms goosebumping. Fuma licks at Hokuto’s lower lip and Hokuto opens his mouth to brush their tongues together, fingers digging into Fuma’s skin.

It’s amazing, but it’s not enough, and soon Hokuto is rocking up against Fuma, rubbing his cock against Fuma’s thigh. Hokuto feels a little embarrassed about how hard he is already, but then Fuma’s hands are on his ass, pushing him a little up, a little to the side. All at once his cock is rubbing against Fuma’s, just as hard as his, and Hokuto wonders hazily if this is some crazy idol sex dream he’s going to wake up from any second.

Fuma pushes himself up to his elbows suddenly, breaking the kiss and making Hokuto blink up at him stupidly. The way Fuma smiles down at him makes Hokuto’s blood run even hotter, and then Fuma rolls them over without any warning, so that it’s Hokuto looking down at him.

“You want me, right?” Fuma asks, even though his expression says he’s confident about the answer. Hokuto nods, then his eyes widen when Fuma parts his legs so that Hokuto settles in between his thighs. “This way?”

Hokuto nods again, a little more shyly. He’d thought about them this way, sure, but Hokuto has always assumed that if Fuma ever liked him back, Fuma would be the one on top. That Fuma wants him like this is almost too much for Hokuto to wrap his brain around.

“Know what you’re doing?” Fuma asks, teasing just a little, and Hokuto pinches one of his nipples to make him squirm.

“Of course I do!” he says. “I’m plenty popular, thank you very much.”

“I know.” Fuma chuckles, brushing fingers along Hokuto’s cheeks and up into his hair. “With a face like that you must be having lots of fun these days, huh? I remember when you used to blush if Kouchi so much as yanked on your towel. Senpai’s so proud of you~.”

“Shut up, seriously,” Hokuto growls. He means it to be threatening, but Fuma seems to like it way too much for it to have the desired effect. “You better hope this room has something besides banana-flavored lube or you won’t be getting what you want.”

“Just what are you planning on licking, Hokuto-kun?” Fuma asks, making his eyes wide, then cracks up when Hokuto only scowls harder.

Leaving Fuma to laugh at his own jokes, Hokuto investigates the bedside basket of hotel items. The condoms look innocuous enough, even if they’re all animal-print patterns, and after brushing aside the banana-flavored lube because Hokuto totally wasn’t kidding about that, he supposes he can live with passionfruit. By the time he turns back to Fuma, Hokuto double-takes because Fuma’s underwear is gone and Fuma has a hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly.

“It’s still cute when you blush, though,” Fuma tells him. Hokuto can’t even snap something back, because his eyes are glued to Fuma’s fist. His cock is flushed a deep pink, the tip already damp, and Hokuto licks his lips. “You can help out if you want, you know.”

Hokuto reaches out to brush Fuma’s hand aside and wrap his own around Fuma’s length. It’s so hot against his fingers, hard and velvety at the tip, and as often as Hokuto used to imagine doing this while he was touching himself, the reality of it is so much better. Fuma is flexing his hips into it, making soft noises that go right to Hokuto’s own cock, and that’s before he bends a knee to show the place where he wants Hokuto’s touch next.

“I want your fingers,” Fuma says. The way he’s so straightforward about everything is the best ever, so far as Hokuto is concerned. He’s already reaching for the lube before Fuma says, “You might want to take off your boxers before you do that, genius.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Hokuto demands, which just makes Fuma start laughing again. Sitting up on his knees to push his boxers down, Hokuto gives an oof of surprise when Fuma sits up suddenly and wraps arms around his waist.

“Where would the fun in that be?” Fuma asks, nuzzling Hokuto’s belly just above where his cock is hanging, so close to where Hokuto wants him that Hokuto can feel Fuma’s breath making his cock twitch. “Besides, you like it. You used to tell me all the time how much you loved my voice.”

That wasn’t exactly what Hokuto had meant back then, but Fuma sucks Hokuto’s tip into his mouth before Hokuto can say that out loud. Fuma’s eyes are still on Hokuto’s face as he sucks him off, and it’s so hot that Hokuto is shaking. He threads fingers through Fuma’s hair, the fluffy strands bleach-rough between his fingers, just for something to hold on to. Fuma’s tongue teases against his slit, and Hokuto moans softly, making Fuma’s eyes flutter.

“Better stop,” Fuma murmurs, pulling his mouth away with a soft pop of suction breaking. “I want you inside me, after all. With the way you’re looking at me, neither one of us might last.” He flops back down onto his elbows, and Hokuto kicks off his boxers the rest of the way as fast as he can.

He settles between Fuma’s thighs, heart tripping over itself at how Fuma is all spread out just for him. Fuma hums encouragement when Hokuto rubs slick fingers around his rim. He does wonder what that soft, wrinkled skin would feel like against his lips, after Fuma’s earlier teasing, but Hokuto doesn’t quite dare do it. Instead he pushes one of his fingers inside to distract himself, marveling at how Fuma opens up for him, how hot and tight he is inside.

“Yeah,” Fuma sighs, and when Hokuto glances up, Fuma’s eyes are shut, his cheeks pink. “Feels so much better.”

“Than what?” Hokuto asks without really thinking. He pushes a little harder, trying to get in as deep as he can because Fuma’s breath catches when he does it.

“Than when I do it myself,” Fuma answers. Hokuto can’t help but imagine Fuma just like this, only with his own fingers inside himself, and the groan spills out of his mouth before he can bite down on it. “Want to see it, huh? Maybe next time, Mr. Voyeur, because if you stop doing that right now, I’ll kill you.”

Hokuto pushes a second finger in, hoping to reduce Fuma to moaning because if he doesn’t stop talking Hokuto really will embarrass himself. Fuma’s voice is so low and rich that he might as well be stroking Hokuto’s cock directly with his hands every time he talks about what he does to himself, what he wants Hokuto to do to him. Hokuto’s probably never going to be able to listen to a Sexy Zone single ever again after this.

He manages to get three in, barely, before Fuma tells him he can’t wait anymore, just to do it. Hokuto calls him a liar and tries spreading his fingers a little, and Fuma all but squirms off of them in his desperation.

“Please,” he begs, kicking at Hokuto’s thigh with his heel. “Please, you’re driving me crazy, just fuck me already.”

“Fine, okay,” Hokuto says, tugging his hand free and wiping it off on the zebra-print sheets, trying to hide how his hands are shaking as he rips open one of the condoms. It’s pink leo-print, and that’s about as appropriate for a Johnny’s fucking as possible, he supposes. “Ready?”

“Did you just hear me say please fourteen times?” Fuma demands. His complaints cut off with a groan as Hokuto starts to push in. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” he chants, eyes squeezed shut and hands groping for Hokuto’s arms blindly. When Fuma finally grabs him, his fingers dig into Hokuto’s biceps, making him groan quietly.

Hokuto feels like he can’t catch his breath as he looks down at Fuma, Fuma’s hair sticking to his flushed face in sweaty curls, his blush spreading down his throat and chest. Hokuto’s chest feels tight with how good Fuma looks under him, better than the best fantasy he’s ever had, and he wants to memorize every detail in case it never happens again.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts, making Fuma open his eyes. He looks surprised for a second, before his expression relaxes into a smile.

“Thanks. Bet you say that to all the boys,” Fuma says. “Move already.”

Hokuto is obeying almost before Fuma is done saying the words, easing out and back in a few times before he gets his bearings. When he digs his knees in and thrusts hard the first time, Fuma’s back arches. His fingers are probably going to leave marks on Hokuto’s arms, but Hokuto couldn’t care less because it feels so good.

“Like that,” Fuma says, voice breathless. “Harder, just like that.”

Fisting his hands in the sheets, Hokuto gives it to Fuma as hard as he can, the slap of his hips hitting Fuma’s ass almost as hot as the noises Fuma is making. Sweat is rolling down his back and beading along Fuma’s throat, and Hokuto leans down to lick at it. Fuma groans at the change in angle, and suddenly his legs are around Hokuto’s waist, squeezing him tightly.

“Fuck yes,” Fuma encourages, moaning louder when Hokuto bites down a little on the jut of his collar bone. He tells Hokuto to do something else, but the syllables are run together and jumbled so that it takes Hokuto until the third try to understand that Fuma wants him to touch him.

Pushing himself back up is a lot of effort for his shaking arms, but there’s no other way to do what Fuma’s asking him to do. Fuma’s legs slide down from his waist to around his thighs as Hokuto finally manages to straighten up and get a hand around Fuma’s cock. Maybe it’s not as intimate a position as a second ago, but Hokuto wants to watch anyway.

Fuma is a squirming mess as Hokuto jerks him off, the squeeze of Fuma’s body around him getting tighter and tighter until Hokuto can barely push through it. He can’t fuck Fuma as deeply this way but he keeps his hips rolling in rhythm with his hand until Fuma gives a long wail and comes all over his stomach and Hokuto’s hand. Hokuto loosens his grip a little but keeps stroking him until Fuma stops shaking and goes limp against the mattress, skin flushed and damp all over.

“Fuck,” Hokuto says weakly, eyes traveling from Fuma’s cock still between his fingers, over the drops of white scattered all the way up his chest, to Fuma’s kiss-swollen lips and dark eyes looking back at him. “That’s the most pornographic thing I’ve ever seen.”

It makes Fuma laugh breathlessly for some reason, and then, like it’s a challenge, he picks up a hand to swipe through his own come and then licks his fingers clean. Hokuto can only moan helplessly, and that’s before Fuma sucks on his first two fingers suggestively.

He’s caught totally by surprise when Fuma sits up suddenly and shoves Hokuto down, tired thighs giving out and dumping him on his back. Fuma snaps the condom off of Hokuto and tosses it aside, then drops onto his stomach to put his mouth back on Hokuto’s cock as if picking up right where he left off earlier.

“Fuma,” Hokuto moans, hands finding their way back into Fuma’s hair as Fuma sucks him in as deeply as he can. He wants to watch, his cock sliding past those plump lips so hot, but he’s so close he can’t hold them open, so he concentrates on just feeling instead. He only lasts a minute or two in the wet heat of Fuma’s mouth, and then Hokuto is coming, not even trying to keep his hips from jerking up, probably yanking Fuma’s hair pretty hard too.

“Mmm,” Fuma purrs, and Hokuto struggles to peel his eyes open. Fuma is licking his lips like he’s making sure he got it all, and Hokuto whimpers, the sight in front of him way too much. He doesn’t put up any kind of fight when Fuma flops down on his chest, probably smearing come all over him, and kisses him deeply enough that Hokuto can taste himself.

Hokuto is dizzy when the kiss ends, clutching at Fuma’s back tightly. Fuma strokes at his hair with one hand, and Hokuto keeps his eyes firmly shut long after he catches his breath, not ready for this to end yet.

“That wasn’t a challenge to be more pornographic,” he says eventually, and Fuma laughs so hard it makes the whole bed shake.


Now that they don’t have school to meet up at, it’s a couple weeks before Hokuto and Shori happen to have coinciding holes in their schedules to hang out. They’re both tired after work, but Hokuto is glad when Shori invites him over anyway. He wants them to keep being friends even now that they aren’t stuck together randomly in a high school class.

“Where’d you go, anyway?” Shori asks when they’re lounging around in Shori’s bedroom. Hokuto is sprawled out on the carpet and Shori is lying across his bed with his head hanging over the side. “During the graduation party, you just disappeared.”

“Oh, that.” Hokuto has a flash of memory, Fuma over top of him, Fuma stretched out underneath him, Fuma laughing against him. Hokuto shakes his head a little to clear the images. “Well…keep a secret?”

“Sure,” Shori says, shrugging. He looks down at Hokuto curiously, still upside-down.

“Fuma showed up,” Hokuto confesses.

“Fuma-kun?” Shori frowns. “I didn’t see him.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. He found me first and we snuck out. We went to a love hotel and, um…” Hokuto trails off, feeling silly for the way his cheeks are heating up. For all he knows Fuma is telling anybody who will listen, and it’s not even close to the freakiest thing Hokuto’s done with somebody else.

Shori rolls over to his stomach to peer down at Hokuto more closely. “You slept with Fuma?”

“Uh-huh.” Hokuto flops his hand against the floor a little, sort of helplessly. “It just sort of happened. It’s not like I usually rush right out to sleep with somebody but he surprised me and then he was kissing me and it was really hot…sorry, you probably don’t want to hear this about a groupmate.”

Shori is still staring down at him with a funny look on his face, and Hokuto feels guilty for saying stuff that’s sort of weird when Shori has to work with Fuma every day.

“I mean, you know, I wouldn’t do it with just anybody,” he tries to explain, keeping an eye on Shori’s expression to see if he’s making it worse. “I just…I used to have the biggest crush on Fuma, you know? Back when we were in B.I.Shadow together. I never did anything about it because I was too shy, I never told anyone. Then he debuted and we didn’t see each other much anymore, so I tried to forget about it.”

“Hokuto…” Shori says, but Hokuto keeps talking. It’s like now that he’s started saying this out loud to somebody finally, he he can’t stop it all spilling out.

“But I guess I still feel that way, maybe I always felt that way about him. As soon as he kissed me, it was like it all came back only it was better because I’m not a little kid just chasing after him anymore. We felt equal, you know? Anyway, ever since then he’s texted me a few times, and he’s all I can think about. Like, maybe if I finally told him how I felt, maybe we could be together? I guess that’s dumb, to him it was probably just a random thing, but he did come to get me, and—”

“Hokuto!” Shori finally interrupts, voice sharp enough to snap Hokuto out of his rambling.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, sighing. “It’s weird, like I thought.”

“That’s not it.” Shori sits up, his expression serious, and Hokuto looks up at him curiously. “Look, I have to tell you something, but you can’t get mad, okay?”

“O…kay?” Hokuto blinks. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“I heard Fuma and Kento talking about you,” Shori explains. “It happened ages ago, before we were friends, so I forgot about it. But then when you were talking about Fuma just now, I remembered and…” Shori heaves a frustrated sigh. “They were talking in the dressing room and didn’t notice me come in. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t exactly help it.”

“About me?” Hokuto asks.

Shori nods. “They were…listen, I didn’t hear the whole thing. But they were betting on whether or not Fuma could sleep with you.”

Hokuto feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured down his back. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Shori says. “You just sounded kind of serious so I thought you should know. And it was a long while ago, so maybe it has nothing to do with anything. You should just talk to Fuma about—”

“He wouldn’t say that!” Hokuto snaps, surprise turning into anger. “Fuma and Kento-kun wouldn’t bet on something like that! You definitely got it wrong!”

“I heard what I heard,” Shori says stubbornly, eyes narrowing.

“You didn’t!” Hokuto gets louder the calmer that Shori remains. “And even if you did, why didn’t you say anything? You should have told me!”

“I’m telling you now, quit shouting at me,” Shori says, the icy tone of his voice bringing Hokuto up short. “I’m your friend, and I’m telling you because I don’t want you to get hurt.” Shori pauses, pursing his lips. “Any more hurt. So don’t get mad at me about it. Just…talk to Fuma about it, okay? You should least give him the chance to explain himself.”

“Sure,” Hokuto mutters. Shori drops the subject after that, and Hokuto goes home not long after, stewing in his own thoughts.


He knows Shori is right, and he should talk to Fuma. But every time Fuma mails him, the cold knot in his stomach draws a little tighter, and Hokuto deletes the mails without reading them. Fuma probably doesn’t even care, Hokuto reasons. He’s sure Fuma has plenty of other cute kouhai to keep him entertained. Fortunately Sexy Zone is busy with promotions for their next release, so there’s no reason for Hokuto to run into Fuma at work.

Hokuto tries his best to keep his drama to himself, since it’s his job to be a happy-go-lucky idol and all. Jesse must know something is up, since they spend the most time together, but he doesn’t pick at Hokuto about it, which Hokuto appreciates. He knows Jesse would listen if Hokuto asked, and that helps. Mostly just wants to forget about Fuma and his crush and the whole thing. It worked before; he can totally make it work again.

It’s actually Kouchi who calls him out in the end, although he doesn’t do it directly. Instead he corners Hokuto at the end of practice and informs him they’re going out to play billiards. Hokuto expects the questions to start any minute, but Kouchi just racks the balls and lets Hokuto break. He doesn’t ask Hokuto a single thing, just takes his turns and patiently waits while Hokuto takes his.

By the end of the third game, Hokuto asks meekly if they can go sit someplace for a while. Parked at a table in a Starbucks a block over, Hokuto tells Kouchi what happened as tersely as he can. It hurts a little less afterwards, but it still doesn’t feel good.

“Do you think Fuma could have really done that?” Hokuto finally asks. “You know him as well as I do, I guess. What do you think?”

Kouchi takes a long sip of his coffee, weighing his words. When he speaks, he looks Hokuto square in the eyes. “He knew you liked him.”

“How?” Hokuto asks, feeling his stomach twist. “I never told anybody.”

“It wasn’t hard to figure it out,” Kouchi says gently. “Anytime he put a hand on your shoulder you might as well have had hearts in your eyes. But obviously you wanted to keep it a secret, so he kept his distance.”

“Oh.” Hokuto looks down at his coffee, picking at the cardboard sleeve.

“The reason I mention that,” Kouchi continues, “is because Fuma might be kind of a flake sometimes, but he’s not cruel. If he knew you had feelings for him, he wouldn’t bet on that kind of thing, he wouldn’t purposely hurt you. But if Shori-kun says he heard something, then I believe him. So it’s a mess, right? The only person who can tell you what it’s all about is Fuma.”

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Hokuto says quietly. “If he knew I liked him…that’s worse, isn’t it? Why show up after all this time? He knew I’d be easy for it, right? I was so easy for it. Just a dumb, easy kid with a stupid crush.”

“That’s not it, I don’t believe that.” Kouchi pauses again, thoughtful. Hokuto just waits for whatever he’s going to say, wrung out after blurting out all the awful things he’s been feeling for days. “Look, maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about, and the gap between you and me isn’t the same as the gap between you and Fuma. But if it were me, I would have wanted you to do as much normal high school stuff as you could. Kiss girls, heck, kiss boys, meet in stairwells and on the rooftop, get confessed to and compete over how much Valentine’s chocolate you get. You’ve got forever to be a hot idol and fool around with senpai. I’d have wanted you to be a normal high school kid as long as you could.” Kouchi offers Hokuto a warm smile. “You had a good time, right?”

“I guess so,” Hokuto says, trying to digest that whole response.

Kouchi slaps Hokuto on the shoulder. “Try to sound more convincing than that when you tell it to Fuma, okay?”


Hokuto tries to work up either the courage or the energy to talk to Fuma, but somehow the longer it drags out, the less sure he is that it’s worth talking about at all. Maybe none of it matters, and even though Hokuto’s heart hurts just like it did when he was fifteen and he can’t even touch himself without seeing Fuma’s face, he figures he’ll probably get over it, sooner or later.

But he does find himself thinking about what Kouchi said to him more than a little, and of all people it’s Hashimoto who makes Hokuto pause a second when he stumbles over him in a rare moment of peace. Hashimoto is eating his bento and rifling through Jr. ni Q cards for his own amusement, picking out the winners, and he glances up when Hokuto pulls out the folding chair next to him and sits down.

“Hokuto-kun!” Hashimoto greets, cheerfully enough. “What’s up?”

“Can I ask you something?” Hokuto asks. “Something serious?”

“Do you think if I let Jinguji talk about his answer, there’s any way to keep him from taking it over as his own segment?” Hashimoto looks up with a grin to see Hokuto rolling his eyes. “Something serious, got it. Shoot.”

“So you’ve been with Totsuka-kun for like a million years, right?” Hashimoto grins triumphantly in response. “Do you ever…do you think you missed out on a bunch of stuff in high school, being hung up on Totsuka-kun that whole time? Like having girlfriends and confessing on rooftops, that kind of stuff.”

Hashimoto blinks a couple times. “Wow, serious. Hmm.” He shuffles the cards in his hands into a single pile and taps them straight on the tabletop. “I think…I spent all my energy trying to cross the gap between me and Tottsu, trying to catch up. I got what I wanted, so it’s not a regret but…maybe if I would have saved some of that energy for the people on my side of the gap, I wouldn’t have regretted that either.”

“Yeah…” Hokuto sighs. “Do you think it’s a regret for Totsuka-kun?”

Hashimoto only grins harder, showing a lot of teeth. “It’s not a thing I worry about. Trying to figure out if you’re old enough yet to finally confess to Fuma-kun?”

“Seriously, does everybody know about that?” Hokuto growls, making Hashimoto laugh out loud. “Forget it, geez.”

“Now, now, don’t be so hasty,” Hashimoto soothes, pushing Hokuto back down into his seat easily when Hokuto tries to stand up. “Hasshi-sensei, doctor of love, is here to help.”

“Are you gonna rap?” Hokuto asks suspiciously. “Is this gonna be like the Hip Hop Clinic gone all wrong?”

Hashimoto doesn’t answer, but Hokuto’s pretty sure the answer is yes when Hashimoto grabs Hokuto’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting his head this way and that. Hokuto feels like a toy poodle in a fancy dog show having his breed markers inspected.

“Yeah, you got it bad, all right. Slept with him without confessing, huh? Tsk tsk.” Hashimoto gives Hokuto a wink when Hokuto’s mouth falls open in surprise. “Also Fuma-kun’s been whining about you ignoring his mails for like a week and a half.”

“Tcht,” Hokuto says in disgust, pulling back out of Hashimoto’s grip. “Maybe rapping would be better after all.”

“Fuma-kun doesn’t look that good heart-broken,” Hashimoto says, making Hokuto snort. “And neither do you, to be honest. Dr. H’s prescription is that you do all of us a favor and just talk to him, yeah? I mean, can whatever he says make you feel any worse?”

“The ‘H’ stands for ‘ecchi,’ doesn’t it?” Hokuto asks.

“Just for that, you are totally going on this Jr. ni Q segment,” Hashimoto informs him.

Hokuto frowns. “But I didn’t fill out a card.”

“Dr. H will definitely take care of that,” Hashimoto says, smile sharp, and Hokuto groans. Just once he’d like to leave the Hip Hop Clinic with fewer problems than before he got treated.


“You went to Hashimoto-kun for advice?” Shori asks, and then he laughs so hard he cries.

“You know the worst part is, he’s usually right,” Hokuto grumbles. “Also I think he scolded me for sleeping around, and then he wrote a Jr. ni Q card for me.”

“Stop,” Shori gasps, clutching his stomach. “Stop, it hurts!”

“Just shut up.” Hokuto gives Shori a shove that sends him tumbling over the edge of the dressing room couch, but Shori keeps laughing on the floor. “So I guess I have to talk to Fuma.”

“For the record, that was my advice,” Shori says, wheezing a little. “You would feel a lot less stupid right now if you had taken it from me, plus you wouldn’t be in a Jr. ni Q segment.”

“Plus you wouldn’t be in a Jr. ni Q segment,” Hokuto mimics, making a face. Shori makes a face back, and reaches over to yank Hokuto’s shoelace to untie it. “Hey!”

“Fall on your face, jerk,” Shori says easily. “Gimme your phone.” When Hokuto raises an eyebrow at him, Shori beckons with his hand impatiently. “Come on, come on. I’m helping you out, trust me.”

Knowing that must be a lie, Hokuto drops his phone onto Shori’s chest anyway. He isn’t even surprised when Shori hands it back with a mail sent to Fuma that reads [we need to talk or something].

“I tried to imitate your usual eloquent style,” Shori says seriously, and Hokuto launches himself off the couch to wrestle Shori into submission.

Hokuto is probably losing, Shori sitting on his chest and pinning his wrists to the floor, when the door swings open and Fuma sticks his head inside. “Shori? I just got a weird mail from…oh.”

“Get off me,” Hokuto growls. Shori gives him a pointed look before he obeys. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like Shori is kicking your ass,” Fuma says.

“Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.” Hokuto tries to hop up, trips over his loose shoelace, and does indeed fall on his face. “Ow.”

“I’ll leave you two alone. Don’t kick him when he’s down,” Shori advises Fuma, patting his shoulder on the way by. The door closes behind him with a click as Hokuto sits up, rubbing his nose and wincing. If he gets a black eye right before Shounen Club filming, Jesse is going to kill him.

Fuma sits down beside Hokuto and reaches over to re-tie his shoelace. “You wanted to talk?”

“I guess.” Hokuto draws in a deep breath, trying to figure out where to start. “Hashimoto says you’re sad I won’t answer your mails. Kouchi says you knew the whole time I had a crush on you. Shori says you bet Kento that you could fuck me. Any info you want to add to that?”

Fuma’s eyes go wide. “Shori said I what?”

“He overheard you two talking. He said it was ages ago, and you didn’t know he was in the room, but he definitely heard it.” Hokuto folds his arms. “So?”

“That’s not…” Fuma heaves a sigh. “We weren’t betting on whether I could fuck you. We weren’t betting at all. First of all, who would even put money on me not being able to…” Fuma takes a look at Hokuto’s expression and clears his throat. “Never mind. It wasn’t like that.”

“Are you gonna tell me what it was like?” Hokuto asks, struggling to hold on to his temper.

“He made me swear I wouldn’t touch you until after you graduated.” Fuma stares at the floor very hard. “I knew you liked me, and when we didn’t see each other so much I sort of missed it, or missed you, and then you got all tall and rawr…” Fuma shrugs a little. “I maybe said some stuff, and he made me swear.”

“Who the hell cares about graduation?!” Hokuto demands. “I’ve been eighteen for months!”

“Well, you weren’t supposed to get held back a year!” Fuma says. “But by then I thought Kento was right after all, that I should just leave you be. You seemed happy, and I didn’t want to be another distraction. After all that time, another year didn’t seem like so much.”

“So I get my diploma and magically I’m fair game?” Hokuto asks. “Suddenly it’s all different than it was before?”

“Quit shouting, nobody forced you,” Fuma replies, voice gaining a little snap. “I didn’t even know if you still liked me or not. I thought the worst that would happen was you might turn me down.” He sneaks a glance at Hokuto’s face. “But I guess maybe that wasn’t the worst thing, huh?”

“I guess not.” Hokuto heaves a sigh, but it still feels like a heavy weight is sitting on his chest.

“Are you really mad at me?” Fuma asks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to turn into a thing.”

Hokuto winces. “I just…” he tries to put the heaviness in his chest into words. “I feel helpless. You make me feel like I’m fourteen again, and I hate it. I hate feeling out of control like this. Because I can’t ever catch up with you, right? We’ll never be even, because you’ll always know how long I’ve had this crush on you. You had to know, right? That all you had to do was ask, and I wouldn’t say no. Not to you.”

“Hokuto…” Fuma says sadly.

“No, it’s fine.” Hokuto shakes his head, standing up, carefully this time. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. Don’t worry about it. It’s something I need to work out on my own.”

Hokuto leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and Fuma doesn’t try to stop him.


He tries, he really does, but after two weeks Hokuto isn’t doing any better than when he started.

At work it’s not so bad, where Hokuto can keep himself distracted with practice and people. Dancing helps the most because Hokuto can focus only on his body and the throb of bass along the floor, can close his eyes and lose himself in it. The choreographer even praises him for his unusual focus, but the good feeling only lasts until he turns to see Jesse watching him with concerned eyes.

It’s worst when Hokuto tries to sleep. When it’s quiet and dark in his room, Hokuto can’t think about anything but how Fuma felt so good against his skin, so hot and muscled and perfect, how badly he wants to feel that again. He tries jerking off, his usual method of putting himself to sleep, but it’s suddenly a lot less fun on his own than it used to be. It feels good for the ten seconds that he’s coming, but it’s not worth the wave of loneliness that washes through his chest right afterwards. Hokuto curls up in a tight ball on his side but even that doesn’t help, because it’s so easy to imagine Fuma curling up tight along Hokuto’s back, pressing his face into Hokuto’s hair.

“Are you sleeping at all?” Jesse asks, and Hokuto shakes his head. They have a little bit before lunch is over, so Jesse makes Hokuto lie down on his sweatshirt and put his head in Jesse’s lap. Jesse strokes Hokuto’s hair with gentle fingers, and it’s like the gentle touch only makes Hokuto feel more clearly how miserable he is.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he says, closing his eyes when they start to sting. He’ll be damned if he’s going to cry over a senpai here on the floor like a total trainee. Jesse doesn’t say anything, and after a minute, Hokuto asks, “You aren’t going to tell me what to do? Everybody else has.”

“And that seems to be working out so well for you,” Jesse says. His hand leaves Hokuto’s hair to squeeze his shoulder. “Do what you want, man. But maybe try something else besides whatever you’re doing now, because Shintarou’s been asking me if I broke up with you or what.”

Hokuto wrinkles his nose. “Ew.”

“Yeah, I don’t correct him anymore.” Jesse chuckles. “Juri has him convinced that if you get assigned a senpai duet you have to make out afterwards or they won’t trust you with any other ones, and that’s why we keep getting them.”


Jesse only laughs harder, and goes back to petting Hokuto’s hair. “Just try to be happy, okay? It’s fine to change your mind if you decided something and it turns out it sucks.”

Maybe he’s right, Hokuto thinks with a sigh, or maybe anything sounds good while he’s having his hair stroked. Either way, trying something different can’t suck worse than sucking.

“Can I talk to you?” Hokuto asks, staring at Fuma’s sneakers. It was really hard to come crawling back into Sexy Zone’s dressing room after his dramatic exit a few weeks ago, and now that’s he’s here, Hokuto isn’t sure he has enough energy left to get through what he wants to say.

“Sure, yeah,” Fuma agrees right away. He looks over at the couch, where Marius, Kento, and Sou are all watching them with open interest. Marius is grinning like he’s watching a Korean drama. “Um…”

“Okay, let’s go,” Shori says, tugging them off the couch and towards the door like a wayward kindergarten class.

“Aww, Captain!” Kento whines, making Shori shove him a little harder with a pointed look.

“Fuma’ll tell us the whole story later anyway,” Sou whispers loudly, making Fuma’s cheeks turn a little pink as Hokuto drags his eyes up from the floor to narrow them at Fuma.

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving an awkward silence.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Hokuto starts abruptly. “I can’t even jerk off anymore without it feeling all weird. I can’t think about anything but you, and it sucks. It just keeps getting worse so could we just go out or something? It can’t suck any worse than not doing it with you does.”

“This is the grumpiest confession ever,” Fuma says, and if he’s trying to hide his smile, he’s doing a piss-poor job of it. “You look like Fujigaya-kun on a beach date photoshoot. If I accept your feelings, are you gonna punch me?”

“Try it and see,” Hokuto grumbles.

Fuma kisses him instead, arms sliding around Hokuto’s waist, and Hokuto’s eyes fall shut as he relaxes for the first time in what feels like days. The kiss is nothing more complicated than a gentle press of their lips, and Hokuto still embarrasses himself with a needy noise.

“You like me that much?” Fuma asks, pulling back far enough to look at Hokuto’s face.

Hokuto nods. “Do you like me at all?”

“You idiot,” Fuma tells him, tightening his grip around Hokuto’s waist like he’s afraid Hokuto might bolt at any second. “I’ve had a countdown to your graduation on my phone for two years. I could have killed you when I had to reset the date on that thing.”

Hokuto just blinks at Fuma, struggling to take that in, and Fuma kisses him again while he’s good and distracted.

Neither of them notice the dressing room door open until a cheerful voice announces that this is backstage at Shounen Club with Sato Shori and this shit is going right on the Valentine’s Special Episode.

Out in the hallway there’s a shocked gasp and then Shintarou hollers, “You cheater!”


“Is this really okay?” Hokuto frets as Fuma all but drags him towards his front door. Fuma seems to think his worry is cute, which doesn’t make Hokuto any less worried.

“You’re the one who said you wouldn’t do it in some seedy love hotel again,” Fuma informs him, pausing at the door to fuss with Hokuto’s collar. He kisses him, quick but sound. “So now you get to meet my mother. Enjoy!”

Maybe the jungle-themed room was okay after all, Hokuto thinks miserably as he gets dragged through the front door.

Fuma-san looks just like Fuma and seems very nice and doesn’t seem to think there’s anything weird about Fuma bringing Hokuto home. She even says how much she loves it when Hokuto covers Yamapi’s songs on Shounen Club, making Hokuto blush and stutter a thank you.

“Maybe you ought to give that poor boy the number of your vocal coach,” she adds, making Fuma cover his mouth to muffle snickers.

She’s going out shopping with Fuma’s little sister, both of them tugging their coats on when Fuma pushes Hokuto towards his room. He doesn’t stop pushing until Hokuto is sitting on the edge of his bed, and Hokuto jumps twitchily when the front door slams shut.

“Would you relax?” Fuma chuckles, brushing his fingers through Hokuto’s hair. “They won’t be back for hours. Now hurry up and take your shirt off, I’ve been waiting ages to see you again.”

Hokuto does as he told, blinking in surprise when he gets the fabric out of his eyes and Fuma is on his knees. Fuma grins at startling him, already undoing Hokuto’s belt with clever fingers. He urges Hokuto to lift his hips and tugs his pants and boxers down just far enough to free his cock. For a moment he only looks, licking his lips, and Hokuto groans quietly, getting harder even though Fuma isn’t touching him yet.

“Nice,” Fuma says in approval, wrapping a hand around Hokuto’s base and squeezing gently. “I’ve been thinking about doing this again, you know. It’s one of my favorite things.”

Hokuto can tell, eyes glued to how Fuma slides his lips over Hokuto’s cock, making a show out of it. He’s peering up at Hokuto through his bangs, making sure he’s got Hokuto’s full attention, and the heat in his eyes makes Hokuto curl his fingers in Fuma’s blankets. Fuma’s pretty fucking good at it too, teasing at Hokuto’s head with his tongue as he bobs up and down, cheeks hollowing. He sucks harder every time Hokuto moans, obviously enjoying that, so Hokuto gives up on being quiet after not even two minutes.

Fuma pulls his mouth away eventually, still watching Hokuto closely. “Should I stop?” He licks at Hokuto’s tip with a flicker of pink tongue. “Or should I keep going?”

“I’m close,” Hokuto admits reluctantly. Fuma can probably tell himself, given how hard Hokuto’s breathing and how far down his chest his skin has flushed. The idea of finishing with Fuma’s mouth on him, or maybe on Fuma’s face, has Hokuto swallowing another moan and shifting his hips.

“Hmmm,” Fuma says thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb along the underside of Hokuto’s head, making Hokuto twitch in his hand. A drop of precome wells up, and Fuma smears his thumb through it, then pulls his hand away to lick it. Hokuto whines as Fuma sucks his thumb into his mouth. “Damn, I really want to ride you, though. Next time, I’m definitely tasting you.”

Hokuto makes a low noise, shivers running over his skin every time Fuma says stuff like that. Fuma stands and kicks off his jeans, and Hokuto stares at how hard Fuma is already, before Hokuto’s even touched him at all.

“You really like doing that,” he says.

Fuma nods, grinning. “The way you look down at me, who wouldn’t? Like I’m the best thing you’ve ever seen.”

“You are,” Hokuto says without thinking, then flops on his back with a groan. “Quit making me say weird stuff!”

“Shh, it’s not weird, it’s sweet,” Fuma soothes, crawling on top of Hokuto. He’s heavy and warm, pressing Hokuto into the mattress, and Hokuto wraps arms around his neck to hold him right there because that’s exactly what he’s been wanting. “You’re supposed to say weird stuff when you like somebody.”

“You like to talk so much,” Hokuto grumbles, face pushed against Fuma’s shoulder so that his voice is muffled. “You say weird stuff.”

“It’s so awesome that you’re taller than me now,” Fuma bends his head to murmur in Hokuto’s ear. His breath brushes over Hokuto’s skin, making Hokuto shiver. “I always used to wish that, that you’d be bigger and stronger and hold me down and take care of me. It seemed weird to want that, since you were my kouhai, but now that I’ve got my wish, it’s the best.”

“Fuma?” Hokuto says, his chest warm and squirmy from Fuma telling him a secret like that.

“Take care of me, please,” Fuma says, voice so low, and then he’s kissing Hokuto fiercely, licking at Hokuto’s lips until he opens his mouth to him. Fuma’s tongue strokes along his own and Hokuto moans so loud the neighbors would probably hear it if Fuma’s mouth weren’t covering his. Fuma’s cock is rubbing against Hokuto’s stomach, and Fuma moans back just as loudly.

Hokuto slides his hands down Fuma’s back to grab his ass, squeezing until Fuma arches into the touch. It’s a bit of a stretch, but Hokuto manages to edge one hand down far enough to rub fingers along the cleft of Fuma’s ass, not quite where Fuma wants it, but enough to make Fuma spread his legs with a choked noise.

“Please,” he gasps, rubbing his cheek against Hokuto’s, fingers digging into Hokuto’s shoulders. He sounds desperate, nearly ready to beg, and suddenly Hokuto wants exactly that.

“Please what?” Hokuto asks, dragging just one finger over Fuma’s tailbone, just to the very edge of where Fuma’s skin starts to wrinkle.

“Please touch me,” Fuma answers right away, trying to squirm down into Hokuto’s touch. “Please use your fingers, please get inside me already, please.”

Fuma rolls off to the side and onto his back, nearly edging Hokuto off his narrow bed. Hokuto saves himself with a lucky grab and throws a glare over his shoulder as he sits up to rifle through Fuma’s bedside drawer. Fuma just grins at him.

Hokuto’s first finger slides in with nearly no resistance, making him raise an eyebrow. “It sure doesn’t feel like you’ve been just waiting.”

“I thought about you, I promise,” Fuma assures him. He bends his knees, feet flat on his bed, and pushes down against Hokuto’s touch. “Mm, I definitely thought about those fingers.”

“Yeah?” Hokuto blushes harder the more that Fuma talks, but he likes the idea of Fuma fantasizing about him an awful lot. He pushes in a second finger and Fuma moans his name, and Hokuto likes that too. He takes his time stroking Fuma from the inside until Fuma really is begging for it.

When Fuma gets fed up of waiting, he reaches between his thighs to slide one of his own fingers inside along with Hokuto’s two, and Hokuto isn’t sure which of them moans louder. Hokuto pulls his fingers free, making Fuma growl in frustration, but his voice cuts out when Hokuto drops to his elbows and licks Fuma’s skin just beside where Fuma’s finger is disappearing inside of himself.

“Hokuto?” Fuma asks. Hokuto doesn’t answer, busy licking at Fuma’s skin more firmly, and Fuma’s words melt into a long moan. It feels strange against Hokuto’s tongue, but Fuma’s noises would make anything worth it. “If you don’t hurry up and get inside me I’m gonna—” Fuma interrupts himself with another long moan, and Hokuto pushes himself back up to his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The condom isn’t pink leo-print this time, more’s the pity, but Hokuto can’t say he’s terribly concerned about that as he rolls it on. He looks up in surprise when Fuma sits up and puts hands on his shoulders. “Eh?”

“I said I was gonna ride you,” Fuma reminds, pushing Hokuto back and climbing on top before Hokuto can reply. “Got a problem with that?”

“Nope.” Hokuto shakes his head quickly. Fuma looks gorgeous over top of him, hair mussed and hanging down in his face, cheeks flushed and eyes dark.

“Good, then hold your dick up if you want me on it,” Fuma tells him. Hokuto does as ordered, hand squeezing around his base as Fuma starts to sink down onto his cock. He pulls his hand away so that Fuma can sink the rest of the way down, struggling to catch his breath, but it seems like a lost cause. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Uh-huh,” Hokuto agrees. He can only push up a little with Fuma’s weight holding him down, but Fuma must like it, given the way his eyes flutter. When Fuma starts to roll his hips, Hokuto settles hands on his hips just to have something to hold on to.

He needs it when Fuma starts to move in earnest, pushing himself up and back down on Hokuto’s cock.

“Come on, help out,” Fuma encourages, so Hokuto pushes up the next time Fuma comes down, making their skin slap. Fuma groans approval as they work out a rhythm, his thighs already starting to shake under Hokuto’s palms.

Hokuto isn’t sure how much longer he can last with Fuma riding him like this, the sight of it alone better than any porn he’s ever watched, much less how tightly Fuma is squeezing around him. He sees no solution other than to peel one hand away from Fuma’s thigh to wrap around Fuma’s cock instead, already hard and leaking.

“Don’t,” Fuma groan, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh don’t, don’t wanna come yet.”

Ignoring him, Hokuto strokes him base to tip, planting his feet to fuck Fuma up into his fist as hard as he can. Fuma scrabbles at Hokuto’s chest for balance and hisses at him to quit it, but Hokuto doesn’t stop until Fuma is coming over his hand in hot pulses, shuddering himself out.

“You’re a jerk,” Fuma gasps, but he’s laughing too, little giggles sneaking out around his gasps for air. He’s twitching around Hokuto’s cock, squeezing tight every time he laughs, and Hokuto is hanging on to his own control by a thread. He tries to keep it from showing on his face, but Fuma realizes right away and grins down at Hokuto as he tightens all his muscles on purpose. “Oh, just come already,” he says affectionately. “My thighs are killing me.”

He still manages to push himself up and down just a little, and it’s enough to push Hokuto over the edge. He arches his back and comes, buried deep inside Fuma, feeling fuzzy all around the edges when his orgasm fades and he goes limp against Fuma’s bed.

“Ow,” Fuma complains, falling forward onto Hokuto’s chest, trying and failing to stretch his legs. Hokuto rubs at his back clumsily. “Hope that was everything you were jerking off over, because I can’t move ever again.”

Hokuto doesn’t answer right away, busy getting Fuma settled against his side and both of them under the blankets, because now that his heartbeat is starting to slow it’s actually kind of cold. Fuma curls up against Hokuto’s chest like he belongs there, humming with satisfaction when Hokuto brushes the hair back from his face.

“I was actually thinking,” Hokuto says then, making Fuma crack an eye back open in mild surprise. “You know, when I used to think about it before? Like in the beginning? You were always on top.”

“Okay, okay,” Fuma says, eye slipping closed again. “Give me like fifteen minutes and then we can start working on your cute little fantasy.”

Hokuto kisses Fuma thank you and hugs him just a little tighter, and decides now might not be the time to admit to some of his other, more involved fantasies. There’s no rush, he figures. As long as he had to come up with them, they’ve got more than enough to work through them all from now on.


“I knew it was too good to last,” the choreographer sighs the next day, when Hokuto predictably sucks. Hokuto shrugs sheepishly, because honestly even just stretching was enough to have him gritting his teeth.

Jesse just rolls his eyes and distracts the choreographer with some made up problem with his hiproll, giving Hokuto a look that plainly says “You owe me.”

He’s downed half his water bottle when someone whispers, “Hi there,” right in his ear, making him near choke on his water. When Hokuto looks over his shoulder, Fuma is grinning at him.

“Hi,” Hokuto says, and he probably looks pretty stupid smiling like an idiot, but he doesn’t care at all.

“Wanna get out of here?” Fuma asks, and Hokuto glances over his shoulder to make sure the choreographer can’t hear this shit. Jesse’s face now says “You owe me so big.”

“As if,” Hokuto tells him, giving his shoulder a shove in place of the touching he actually wants to do.

“Okay, we can stay. I know about your mirror fantasy.” Fuma laughs when Hokuto sputters, but he’s saved from further embarrassment when Shori sticks his head in the room and tells Fuma to get his skinny ass moving. “Yeah, yeah, Captain, I’m coming.”

“Later,” Hokuto promises. Fuma chances a quick kiss to Hokuto’s cheek, and Hokuto shoves him off, towards the door. “You can even pick the Jungle Room if you want,” he murmurs as Fuma turns, making Fuma bark laughter as he leaves.

They won’t get to see each other again for a couple more days at least, their schedules at constant odds, but that’s okay, Hokuto figures as he returns to practice to get yelled at some more. Now that he knows it’ll happen eventually, imagining Fuma’s arms around him, Fuma warm against his back, is a perfectly pleasant daydream.

And anyway, he thinks as he watches his own reflection in the wall of mirrors, it just gives him more time to work on some new fantasies for Fuma to fill.

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