Chapter Text
They say that sometimes, extraordinary things happen on the most ordinary of days—and so it goes that on a perfectly average Tuesday in October, Chigiri Hyouma receives the most bizarre offer of his life.
It’s a gorgeous day, sunny and a little windy; Hyouma has always preferred colder weather, and with autumn in full swing, he’s relishing the ever-so-slight chill carried on the breeze that winds through his hair. To be honest, he should probably be using the rest of the lunch period to study, but the historical fiction novel he checked out from the library yesterday has been calling his name all day. He pulls it out of his bag as soon as he’s finished eating, curling up with his back against the trunk of a gnarled tree to crack open the thick book and continue where he left off last night.
For a few minutes, all Hyouma knows is bliss: the warm sunlight on his face, the muted chatter of the other students eating in the courtyard, and the gentle chirping of the birds in the tree above him coming together to form the perfect ambiance for him to get lost in his book. He’s just starting to really get invested in the story when a shadow falls over him, snapping him out of his trance.
“Oi. Princess.”
Annoyed, Hyouma looks up to see Barou Shouei’s pointy head eclipsing the sun above him. The big, broad football player looms over him like a predator, but Hyouma doesn’t particularly feel like being his prey.
“Barou,” he says primly, stretching his legs out and tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Can you move? You’re blocking my sunlight.”
Unfortunately, Barou does not move. “Stand up. I need to ask you something.”
Well, isn’t that interesting? Hyouma supposes he and Barou could be considered friends, even if they’re not very close, and even if most of their interactions consist of Hyouma teasing Barou and Barou getting irritated and snapping at him. But he doesn’t think Barou has ever approached him directly like this before, and certainly not to ask him for anything. It certainly piques his curiosity—but Hyouma isn’t going to give in that easily.
“Why do I need to stand up?” he counters. “Can’t you come down here?”
A vein bulges on Barou’s clenched jaw. “No way in hell am I sitting down in the dirt with you,” he grits out. “And we need to go somewhere else. Somewhere more private.”
Oh? So Barou wants to ask him something in private? Screw holding out just to tease him. Hyouma can’t resist his curiosity anymore. “Alright, you’ve caught my attention. I’ll come with you and hear you out.” Tucking his bookmark carefully between the pages of his novel, Hyouma briefly laments the loss of his precious reading time before putting the book away and hopping to his feet, dusting the grass off his uniform. Barou’s poorly-disguised grimace makes him smirk. “Lead the way, King.”
Barou scowls at him fiercely, but to Hyouma’s surprise, he stays quiet, turning on his heel and setting off without a word. Hyouma falls in a step behind him, ignoring the handful of curious glances sent their way by the other students; he’s far too preoccupied with wondering what this could possibly be about to care about a little extra staring.
With so little information at hand, Hyouma is left to try to fill in the gaps himself, but honestly, every idea he has seems more absurd than the last. It’s probably a favor of some kind, but what kind of favor would Hyouma be able to help Barou with? Tutoring? That’s doubtful—as a third-year, Barou is Hyouma’s senior, so it’s not like Hyouma is going to be much help with any of his classes. Besides, he can’t really imagine Barou debasing himself by asking for help with studying, especially not from a second-year.
Then, what else could it be? Hyouma’s mind is stuck on the fact that Barou wanted to talk in private, and his thoughts begin to drift in another direction. Maybe he wants dating advice, or help confessing to some girl he likes. It wouldn’t be the first time somebody has assumed that Hyouma has relationship experience solely due to his looks. It’s just as hard to imagine Barou wanting advice with something like that, honestly, but what other options are there?
Wait. Hyouma’s steps falter, his eyes widening.
Is this a confession?
No, surely not—Barou wouldn’t confess to him. Nothing has ever indicated that Barou would have a crush on him. In fact, while they may be friends of a sort, Hyouma isn’t even totally sure that Barou likes him as a person, much less as a romantic interest. And Hyouma certainly hasn’t ever thought of Barou in that way, either.
But what if…
“Keep up, princess, I don’t have all day,” Barou snaps over his shoulder.
Hyouma bristles, hurrying to catch up with him. As he goes, he tries to shake off the frankly preposterous idea that this could be a love confession. There’s no way that could be even remotely possible.
Still, though, Hyouma’s heart beats faster with every step they take as Barou leads him around to the back of the school, away from prying eyes and ears. By the time Barou stops walking and turns to face him, Hyouma has only managed to halfway convince himself that he isn’t about to receive a sudden declaration of love.
And that conviction is quickly faltering as he takes in Barou’s body language: one hand shoved in his pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck, his head ducked awkwardly, eyes steadfastly avoiding Hyouma’s. Even worse, his ears are turning red, brows pinched together, mouth twisting. He looks nervous. Hyouma didn’t even know Barou Shouei could get nervous.
Oh, God. Maybe he really is about to confess. A drop of sweat rolls down Hyouma’s cheek. What should he say? He should politely turn him down, right? He—
Barou clears his throat, and Hyouma jumps. “I need your help with something,” Barou says. Grumbles, really.
He’s still not looking at Hyouma, instead just staring off to the side, but Hyouma forces a smile anyway. “Sure, I’ll help you if I can. What is it?”
The scowl on Barou’s face deepens, and he scuffs at the ground with his shoe. Hyouma braces himself for impact, hands balling into fists.
And then, Barou opens his mouth, and the strangest sentence Hyouma has ever heard drops like a stone between them.
“I need you to be my fake girlfriend.”
Every single thought in Hyouma’s head seems to grow wings and fly away, leaving him utterly dumbfounded. Speechless. Flabbergasted, even. He isn’t even sure that he heard Barou correctly. There’s no way, right?
Barou is looking at him now, the redness on his ears spreading to his cheeks. Hyouma has absolutely no idea what expression he himself is making. He probably looks like an idiot.
All of a sudden, the absurdity of the situation catches up to him, and Hyouma bursts out laughing. Because it’s a joke, right? It has to be. “Wow, Barou, that’s a good one,” he snorts. “I didn’t know you were this funny.”
Somehow, impossibly, Barou turns even redder, those veins on his jaw and neck popping out again. “Shut the hell up,” he barks. “What the fuck makes you think I’m joking, huh? You really think I’d joke about something like this?!”
Hyouma’s laughter dies a swift and instant death. He stares at Barou incredulously, eyes wide. “What? Why the hell wouldn’t I think you were joking? What kind of question is that?! You’re insane! You do know I’m a guy, right?!”
“Of course I know that,” Barou snarls. “You think I don’t already get how crazy it sounds? I wouldn’t be asking you if I had any other options! Just help me out here!”
Okay. Things are very quickly getting out of hand. Hyouma rubs the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Alright, let’s just settle down,” he says, aiming for placating but probably missing by a mile. “Go back to the beginning. Explain to me—in detail—exactly what led you to ask me to be your fake girlfriend.”
Barou still looks pissed off, not to mention deeply embarrassed, but he seems to be following Hyouma’s example and trying to calm down. He pushes both hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders a little. “Don’t fucking laugh at me again.”
“I really can’t make that kind of promise, Barou.”
“Tch. Fine.” Barou huffs out a breath. “My little sisters have been teasing me about getting a girlfriend for ages. I usually just brush it off, but for some reason, those damn kids are obsessed with the idea. This weekend, they even roped my mom and grandma into it, and somehow, I… I ended up blurting out that I already have a girlfriend to try to get them off my back. I swear, it was just supposed to be a one-off excuse, but then they made me promise to bring my ‘girlfriend’ to dinner this weekend…”
Hyouma stares at him blankly. “You’re an idiot,” he informs him. “Why don’t you just ask one of the girls in your class?”
“I tried already!” Barou snaps. He’s starting to turn that deep shade of red again. “I couldn’t even get any of them to talk to me one-on-one, much less hear me out! Besides, what girl is gonna agree to pretend to be my girlfriend and come meet my family?”
“So you thought I was the next best option?” Hyouma demands. “Do I need to repeat that I’m not a girl?”
“Well, you—” Barou falters, then pushes on. “You could probably pass as a girl, don’t you think? Plus, I thought you might consider it more since you’re, y’know… not someone I’d be making a move on normally, so you don’t think I’m doing this for a weird reason.”
Alright, well, that’s surprisingly considerate of him. Hyouma feels kind of stupid now for thinking that Barou might be confessing to him. And he isn’t sure if he should be flattered or offended that Barou thinks he could pass as a girl so easily, but honestly, he’s been mistaken for one more times than he can count, so it’s not like Barou doesn’t have a point there. But none of this means Hyouma wants to do this. Looking like a girl and pretending to be someone’s girlfriend are two completely different things!
“What’s in it for me?” Hyouma says.
“Hah? What do you mean?”
Hyouma just. Looks at him, for a long moment. “You’re really asking me to do this without any plan to compensate me? You think I’m just going to agree to be your fake girlfriend totally for free?”
Barou’s eye twitches. “You want me to pay you for this or something? Like, with money?”
“Well. No,” Hyouma says. “Getting money for this would make it way weirder.” He puts a finger to his chin, thinking, then taps his fist into his open palm. “Oh, I’ve got it. You have to buy me snacks every day after school. How does that sound?”
“Isn’t that basically the same as giving you money?!”
“No way. It’s completely different,” Hyouma insists. “So, what’s it gonna be? You want my help, don’t you?”
Barou stares at him, mouth open. Hyouma has to admit that it’s a little satisfying seeing Barou so thrown off—it’s a nice way of turning the tables on him. For half a second, he thinks Barou is going to tell him to forget it, but then Barou sighs heavily. “Fine, I’ll buy your damn snacks,” he grumbles. “Spoiled brat of a princess.”
“Hey, you shouldn’t say things like that about your girlfriend,” Hyouma chides. “Maybe I’ll end up leaving you for someone who treats me nicer.”
He has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing at the way Barou blushes yet again, muttering for Hyouma to “shut the hell up, donkey” and turning to walk away. This whole fake dating thing might not be so bad, honestly, if teasing Barou gets him those kinds of reactions so easily. But it’s something they’re probably going to have to work on if they want to make a convincing couple.
… Oh, shit, they have to be a convincing couple. Hyouma has absolutely no idea what he’s doing, and he’s willing to bet Barou doesn’t, either. So how the hell are they supposed to do this?
“Barou, wait,” Hyouma calls out, and Barou stops, turning his head to look back at him out of the corner of his eye. “We should exchange contact information, right? Do you have LINE? I’ll give you my ID.” He pulls out his phone, waving it at Barou. “So we can keep in touch and figure out our plan.”
Oddly enough, Barou seems a little hesitant, but it only takes a moment for him to relent, coming back over to Hyouma and getting his own phone out. From there, exchanging IDs is a simple process, and then Barou heads off without another word, leaving Hyouma by himself to try to process what the hell just happened.
He doesn’t have long to contemplate, though, because the end-of-lunch bell chimes mere moments later, sending Hyouma scrambling to get back to his classroom on time.
It really is a shame. He didn’t even have time to finish a chapter of his book.
For the rest of the day, Hyouma finds it exceptionally difficult to focus on his classes. It’s no wonder that he can’t concentrate, with Barou’s baffling proposal echoing in his head over and over, along with his own equally perplexing answer. Why the hell did he agree to do this? It all feels a bit too much like a dream, or a fantasy—like Hyouma’s been dropped right into one of his guilty-pleasure romance novels, except ten times worse, because there isn’t even any actual romance involved.
Before he even realizes it, school is over. Hyouma is about halfway home, wandering off in a daze, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Pulling it out, he’s surprised to see a notification from Barou himself, a short and simple message.
Barou Shouei
Where are you?
Brows furrowing, Hyouma texts him back.
Chigiri Hyouma
walking home, why?
Barou Shouei
You seriously left already? I thought you wanted me to buy you a snack, are you already going back on that?
Oh. That’s right. Hyouma snorts; he wouldn’t have thought of him as the type to remind Hyouma of a promise that Barou himself clearly didn’t want to make. It’s unexpected, and a little amusing.
Chigiri Hyouma
we’ll do it starting tomorrow
but it’s nice to know you’re so committed to compensating me for my time lol
Barou Shouei
Shut up, loser. It’s not like I want to be doing any of this. I’m just making sure you aren’t backing out of our deal.
Honestly, that does make Hyouma wonder just why Barou is going to such lengths to make this fake relationship work. He understands Barou most likely doesn’t want to tell his family that he lied, but why take it to the absolute extreme of fake dating? Why not just fake a breakup, or say his girlfriend isn’t ready to meet the family yet?
Maybe he’ll ask Barou tomorrow. He doesn’t think he has the mental capacity to continue to discuss this today, while everything is so fresh. For now, he sends a final couple of messages.
Chigiri Hyouma
whatever you say, king
you have football practice tomorrow, right? after they let you out, let’s meet at the convenience store near the school and you can fulfill your promise
Barou Shouei
Fine.
You better not be late.
Chigiri Hyouma
i wouldn’t dream of it
Well, that’s that, then. Hyouma pockets his phone again, sighing and turning his gaze up to the fluffy white clouds drifting across the afternoon sky. The warmth of the sun on his face feels nice, but it’s hard to properly enjoy it when his head is spinning with so many thoughts. Where does he even begin to start figuring out how he’s going to pull this off? He doesn’t know the first thing about acting like a girl, and it’s not like he really has any female friends to ask for help.
He could always ask his sister, but that idea is discarded as soon as it comes into his head. It’s not exactly that he and Misako don’t get along, but she’s far too fond of teasing her little brother for Hyouma’s liking—if he tells her about this whole fake dating situation, she’ll never let him live it down. She’ll probably laugh her ass off at him. Not to mention that Misako isn’t really the type of girl Hyouma wants to emulate. She’s just a little too… bubbly. Hyouma doesn’t think he can pull that off.
But maybe she can still be useful, he realizes as he gets home, toeing off his shoes at the door. He doesn’t want to go all out with trying to dress up or anything, lest Barou and his family think he’s trying too hard, but a little makeup might go a long way toward making him look a bit more feminine.
Dressing feminine is another matter entirely, but he can worry about that later. First things first is the makeup. Surely Misako won’t notice if Hyouma borrows some of her makeup to try it on, right? If he’s remembering their schedules right, neither she nor their mother will even be home until later this evening, which gives him plenty of time to practice.
But practice, as it turns out, is easier said than done. Hyouma thought he had fairly steady hands, but nothing is turning out as smooth as he wants it to. The brown shadow he’s smudged on his eyelids, faint as it may be, is nevertheless patchy and uneven; he can’t manage to figure out the mascara at all, his eyes watering every time he tries to brush the wand against his lashes; and the blush on his cheeks is far too bright and circular, making him look borderline clownish.
This is ridiculous. No one is ever going to believe that he’s a girl like this—or maybe they will, but they’ll just think he’s a girl that’s really bad at makeup, which is almost worse.
Whatever. Maybe he just won’t wear makeup to Barou’s family dinner at all, and just hope he can get by on his own natural beauty.
Still, it can’t hurt to finish out his “look”, even if it’ll just make him look even more stupid. Hyouma is hunched over at his desk, dutifully trying to apply this sparkly lip gloss with the aid of the tiny compact mirror he stole out of Misako’s makeup bag, when he hears a sound that fills him with abject terror.
The sound of a key rattling in the front door lock. Followed by the door swinging open and Misako’s cheerful voice calling out, “Yoo-hoo! I’m home!”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Panic immediately sets in. Hyouma accidentally smears lip gloss across his cheek in his haste to re-cap the bottle, and he wipes desperately at it with the back of his hand, but the stuff is sticky as hell, so now he just has lip gloss on the back of his hand as well as his face. Maybe he can make it to the bathroom before Misako inevitably comes to knock on his door.
God, why is she even home so early? Hyouma was supposed to have—he glances desperately at his bedside clock—another hour to himself. Of course she had to come home early today of all days.
“Hyouma? You home yet?” Misako’s voice is getting closer. Frantically, Hyouma starts shoving all the little tubes and palettes he’d laid out on his desk back into Misako’s makeup bag. What if he just doesn’t answer? Will she think he isn’t home?
Alas, no such luck. Only moments later, Misako knocks on his door, and then—barely waiting for a response—turns the handle.
Caught, Hyouma freezes, one metaphorically red hand still buried in the makeup bag, the other gripping it for dear life. Misako stares at him, eyes round, lips parted. Hyouma bets he has a similar expression on his face, except he probably looks a little less shocked and a little more like he’s cringing out of his skin.
The silence feels like it lasts for an eternity, but in reality, it’s probably only about ten seconds or so before Misako breaks it.
“Hyouma…” she says, slowly, deliberately. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”
Oh, Hyouma wants to die.
“No! It’s not—I swear this isn’t what it looks like!”
Misako looks skeptical, like she doesn’t believe him. Which is fair; if Hyouma were her, and he came home to find his sixteen-year-old brother playing with his makeup, he would probably come to some interesting conclusions, too. “You know I’m not going to judge you, Hyouma. Mom and I will support you, whatever you—”
“Please stop talking,” Hyouma begs, his face burning. He’s positive that his cheeks are an even blotchier reddish-pink now, his poorly applied blush mixing with the hot flush of embarrassment. “I can explain.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, because now Misako looks interested, brows arching. The corner of her lips starts to curl upward, a smirk tugging at her mouth as she leans against the doorframe. “Oh, can you, now? Okay, then! Go ahead and tell your nee-chan everything.”
Hyouma was right about one thing. When she hears about Barou’s fake dating plan, Misako laughs so hard she cries.
“He asked you to be his fake girlfriend? And you said yes?!” she wheezes. She’s practically bent double, clutching her stomach and gasping for breath in between peals of raucous laughter.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Hyouma scrubs at his face with one of the makeup wipes she’d given him, scowling. “It’s not that funny.”
Misako cackles, proving him wrong—apparently, to her, it is that funny. Hyouma contemplates killing her and also himself. He settles for continuing to wipe off the makeup, rubbing at his eyes until they sting in an attempt to get the clumpy mascara off his lashes and the skin around his eyes.
“Can you stop laughing?” he bites out. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Misako giggles, wiping tears from her own eyes. She makes an attempt to sober up, even if her magenta eyes are still twinkling as she looks at him. “But seriously, Hyou-chan, are you actually going to go through with this? How well do you even know this guy?”
Hyouma knits his brows, lowering the makeup wipe and looking over at her. “Who, Barou? I’ve known him since last year. He’s on the football team. We’re not close, but I at least trust that he’s not doing this for some kind of weird reason.”
“And you don’t think it’s a prank, either?” Misako prods gently.
“No way.” Hyouma scoffs. Barou is far too serious to even come up with a prank like this, much less actually follow through with it. Besides, he might be a tyrant on the pitch, but when he’s not chasing around a ball with those red eyes blazing bright, ready to trample anyone who gets in his way, he’s not a bad guy. Cranky, meticulous, perfectionistic, imperious—but not bad.
When Hyouma quit football, Barou didn’t mock him the way some of the other players had. That was good enough for Hyouma to stay friends with him.
Misako hums thoughtfully, still looking at Hyouma for a moment longer, but when it becomes clear that Hyouma isn’t backing down, she shrugs. “Alright, I believe you. And, you know, I meant what I said earlier about supporting you.”
Hyouma blinks at her, a small pit of dread forming in his stomach. “What do you mean,” he says, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“I mean that I’m gonna help you!” Misako declares, a grin spreading across her face that to anyone else would look bright and sunny. To Hyouma, it’s pure evil, the menacing smile of the overbearing older sister. “I’ll teach you how to do your makeup right. I’ll even take you shopping!”
It’s not that Hyouma doesn’t like shopping. Or even fashion itself. Dressing well is actually something that can get him pumped up and feeling confident about himself, the same way taking care of his hair does. But the idea of letting Misako take him shopping for girl clothes makes Hyouma’s blood run cold.
“You know, I think I can handle it myself,” he tries, but Misako stops him in his tracks with a single, devastating raised eyebrow—a look he frequently utilizes himself to get people to shut up. It runs in the family, he supposes.
“Nice try, Hyouma. I saw your makeup attempt,” she says, and pats his head. Hyouma scowls, batting her hand away. She laughs. “Come on! It’ll be fun, don’t you think? I promise I won’t embarrass you too much at the store.” Batting her eyelashes at him, she adds, “Please?”
Dammit. Not even Hyouma can resist Misako’s big, sparkly eyes. And try as he might, he can’t pretend that he isn’t grateful for the assistance. He was really starting to feel out of his depth with all this, and having Misako’s help could be just the thing he needs to actually be able to pull this ruse off.
“Fine,” he groans.
“Yay!” Misako cheers, clapping her hands together. “I can’t wait! I’m gonna make you try on so many pretty things. Ah, I’ll go get my purse!”
Hold on, they’re going now? “Wait, nee-chan…” Hyouma starts, but Misako is already darting away toward her room, leaving him dumbfounded and reluctantly resigned to his fate.
Not for the first time, and definitely not the last, Hyouma wonders what the fuck he’s gotten himself into.