Chapter Text
Pick up at 3!
Kei really does frown, then. Two weeks in a row is strange, and he didn’t think that Hitoka had really enjoyed her time at the shopping complexes last week. In fact, he had concluded that day being quite surely of the opinion that they had both found it rather strange and off-putting, and if it wasn’t for Volleyball Barbie and Tadashi’s coincidental presence, they would’ve been at a real loss.
Still, he clicks on the brief attached to the message and it opens with a blips. Cheerful music and pixel confetti sparkle across the projected screen, giving way to elegant cursive script that reads “Tea Party!” In immediate response, his Ken Closet hums warmly, shuddering with effervescent Barbieland magic. Sighing, Kei gets up and gets into position in front of it — feet shoulder width apart, standing straight and tall. A flurry of light descends over him, bubbly and peachy like he’s been doused in champagne sparkles. Whatever he’d been previously wearing vanishes off of his naked doll silhouette, and motes of glitter shimmer onto his torso, arms and legs, weaving into threads and finally manifesting his new set of clothes onto him.
A white shirt and a tie, collar opened loose and artful, and a nice pair of pants and shiny shoes. Kei scowls, fiddling with the buttons and trying to make something more modest of them. As soon as he fits the top two buttons through their respective holes, they pop cheerfully open again.
To be clear, going out with Hitoka is not at all something that he’s unfamiliar with. It’s an extremely frequent part of his life; he accompanies her for every routine event there is where a Ken might be commonplace or recommended. Where things feel odd is that Hitoka is all of a sudden asking him out for… frivolities?
This niggling thought fully emerges to the forefront of his mind when he makes it to the Ken Pick Up for the day. He stares at Hitoka, stunned. In the front seat of her convertible, she’s wearing a bouffant tea-dress, resplendent with ruffles and layers, like icing on a cake. Two silky bolts of fabric drape daintily off her shoulders and end in rich ribbons on either side of her arms in a romantic and princesslike style. Her hands, stretched out in front of her and holding the wheel, are sheathed in bright white gloves, silvery rings glinting over them.
“Hi, Barbie,” Kei intones automatically.
“Hi, Ken!” Hitoka chimes in perfect call-and-response. Kei clambers into the back of the car. He’d ask where they’re going, but it really doesn’t matter.
”We’re going to the Tea Pavilions!” Hitoka calls helpfully over her shoulder. “I bet you were wondering!”
Kei nods, once, enough to constitute a response that Hitoka catches with a perfectly timed glance into the mirror; a cartoonish “ping!” chimes at the same time light glances off of it and winks on the sheet of foil meant to imitate the look of glass.
“I asked Volleyball Barbie and her Ken to join us!” Hitoka reports cheerfully. “They were so nice to us at the mall, so… I thought it would be nice to see them again!”
“…why?” Kei asks flatly. “Do you have an appointment with them for a Barbie Calendar Activity?”
Hitoka shakes her head no, and that’s when Kei notices that the side pieces of her fringe are curled into ringlets, falling bouncily against the apples of her cheeks. He catches himself frowning slightly and quickly smooths out the— he doesn’t have wrinkles, but he smooths out the expression on his face quickly. She looks incredible, she always does, but it’s an unusual look for her.
Kei leans back, letting the wind rustle coolly through his hair as the convertible whizzes through Barbieland. He wills himself to relax. Out of everyone, at least it’s just Tadashi. Hitoka could’ve ended up making friends with any other Barbie, and Kei would’ve had no say in the matter. God forbid it could’ve been any of the other Kens, actually, and this thought is disturbing enough to make the back of his neck prickle—
“He’s nice, he was so helpful, right?” she recalls brightly. Sourness bubbles up like bile in the back of Kei’s throat at the effusive way Hitoka talks about Tadashi.
“What, you think I need a teacher?” Kei asks, voice perfectly flat; plausible deniability for being rude to his Barbie.
Hitoka grips tighter on the steering wheel of her car, the rings on her plastic fingers responsible for the giveaway clatter. “No, you’re a— you’re a fine Ken!” she insists waveringly. “I just…”
She slams on the brakes, having seen an ongoing red light too late, and the car screeches to a halt. Kei jolts forward, smacking his palms on the dashboard for stability. When he looks up, Hitoka is looking at him sternly, her fingers still clutching the wheel. “You liked chatting with him at the mall, right?” she asks, with uncharacteristic force behind the words. It catches Kei off guard.
“Yeah?” Kei offers, trying to inject the honest answer with scoffing disdain. Hitoka stares intensely at him, to the point that he has to actively keep himself from shifting uncomfortably.
“Well, I had fun too,” she finally decides pointedly, and she utters this statement with an almost solemn finality as she pulls her convertible into the parking space at the Pavilions. It’s a gorgeous, expansive leisure space dotted with small pavilions, high and airy, framed by pillars climbing with lush flora and with ornate tables and chairs set up amidst them, heavy stone carved to look light. Pleasure gardens and tennis courts are dotted between the pavilions, and a golf course stretches into the horizon on the far end of the land.
Hitoka parks the car and Kei hops out, dutifully heaving out the gigantic wicker basket that’s miraculously just manifested in the backseat. Meanwhile, Hitoka walks out, lifting her skirt artfully, and reaches into the front of the car to pull out an honest-to-god parasol. It’s a buttery shade of daffodil yellow and fringed in pale pink to match her dress perfectly.
“Why are we doing this?” he asks sharply.
“Well— it’s— nice, isn’t it?” Hitoka fumbles, voice pitching upwards as she struggles with the parasol in her hands, jostling it as she fiddles with its handle. “I think it’s nice that we go out on more— oof!” She accidentally punts herself in the stomach, lips falling into a comical “o” as she winds herself and the puffy tiers of her skirt rustle.
Kei hurriedly snatches the parasol from her before she can do any further damage to herself, clicking it open so that it expands with a sweep.
“Thank you,” Hitoka murmurs, looking mortified by her botched entrance as she receives the accessory back from Kei and swirls it daintily over her shoulder. She sets off ahead of him, making tiny, uniform clacking noises on the plastic pavement as she goes.
The table in their pavilion is already laden with goodies as they ascend the wide, smooth steps leading up to it. Kei sets the wicker basket down and undoes the metal clasp at the centre of it, opening up the top of it to reveal two plush seating cushions which he places down on their seats before pulling a chair out for Hitoka.
“Thanks, Ken!” she says automatically, hiking her skirt up just so in order to take a seat. Predictably, it falls back into order naturally. A sparkle of light gleams of the dishes in front of them, as if reminding them what’s laid out there and signalling that the Tea Party has started.
The sound of cheering voices and the methodical smacking of rackets from the tennis court nearest to them makes Kei’s ears prick.
“Oh, looks like they beat us here!” Hitoka exclaims. Worriedly, she adds, “Do you think they’re annoyed that we came later?”
They don’t look annoyed, Kei thinks sardonically. On the court, Volleyball Barbie moves swiftly and surely, every move powerful but elegant. Her Wike tennis skirt flutters around her strong thighs as she leaps and strikes, her socks and shoes perfectly matching and bearing the two ticks that form a stylised W for Wattel. She’s an incredible feat of branding, and she utterly pummels poor Tadashi, who cheers openly for her every time she scores on him.
They seem to have caught Hitoka’s attention as well. Her elbows are braced on the tablecloth, and she fidgets with the thin edge of the rim of her empty teacup as she stares off the side at the other Barbie and Ken pair.
“They’re having fun,” Kei remarks drolly.
Focus jilted, look of mild panic settles over her eyes as Hitoka’s attention swings rapidly back Kei. Her gaze flickers all over the tea table spread out in front of them before darting anxiously back to him.
She swallows, and reaches daintily out to pick up a pastel-coloured macaron between her perfect fingers. She tries, “These are really lovely, right?”
“…right,” Kei answers.
“You— um,” Hitoka stalls, then starts up again with an effort to her voice that tells Kei that she’s being really brave right then, “You like strawberry, right? When we go for things together, I just noticed! So this time, I… Since I’m asking you to be here with me… It’s the least I could do.”
The admission makes Kei soften. Something that was strung tight in his chest cleaves apart like a thick wedge of butter when he looks a second time at the clear determination on Hitoka’s face as she resolutely holds Kei’s gaze, mouth pressed firmly into a line. She’s gripping her dessert fork upright in her fist like it’s a weapon, the plates of pink tea cakes, macarons, and tarts spread out in front of her like battalions. It’s evident that this is difficult for her, too.
“Yeah,” Kei offers her his peace. “I... Thanks.” He picks up the silvery tongs and chooses a finger sandwich stuffed with cream and strawberries, then follows that up with a small square of cake. Hitoka’s eyes bore into him, watchful and hopeful.
“Wow!” Tadashi yells off to the side. He’s probably just lost a fifth round. “You're so cool, Barbie!”
The familiar words in Tadashi’s mouth make Kei’s lips press downwards. He glances sideways at them when he dips his head to fuss over the arrangement of the desserts on his plate. He’s in time to see Volleyball Barbie reward Tadashi with a big grin. “Thanks, Ken,” she smiles sweetly, shaking her fringe out of her sweatless face. Her cropped hair falls perfectly into place and she turns, spinning on her heel to make a beeline back toward their table. Tadashi scrambles after her, clutching his racket to his chest and looking starry-eyed over the losses he’s won.
“Hi, Barbie!” Volleyball Barbie cheers as she begins to make her way over to them.
“Oh— Hi, Barbie!” Hitoka calls back, leaning out of her seat and waving frantically.
“Hi, Barbie!” Tadashi yells, following his Barbie’s lead.
“Hi Ken!” Hitoka seems panicked at suddenly having to wave at two people and picks up her pace, waving at a borderline crazed speed now.
Still, Tadashi breaks into a big smile at the enthusiastic reciprocation of his gesture. He breaks his focus away from Hitoka after a bit more back-and-forth waving, and his eyes turn to land on Kei instead. His countenance brightens visibly, his posture straightening with confidence and it makes Kei’s heart soar with some sort of pride over the comfort and familiarity that he offers Tadashi.
“Hi, Ken!” Tadashi yells.
Kei can’t help the smile that twitches onto his lips. “Hi, Ken.” He can’t help the warmth that drenches his voice. He leans back into his chair, and breaks himself away from staring to find Hitoka staring at him curiously. Her eyes widen and she looks away quickly with a small sound of embarrassment, blinking in Tadashi’s direction instead as both he and his Barbie descend upon them. Two chairs magically manifest themselves for them right on time for Tadashi to pull one out for Volleyball Barbie, who thanks him gratefully and then wastes no time in politely complimenting Hitoka delightedly on her ensemble.
Kei leans gently towards Tadashi, keeps his mouth just shy of the curve of his ear. It takes all his effort not to brush aside the stray hair there. He nods towards the heavily-laden table. “Which one’s your favourite?” he murmurs lowly instead. “I’ll get it for you.”
“Oh! I, uh, I like them all!” Tadashi answers rapidly. A surprised laugh tumbles from his mouth as he blurts, “I’ve never thought to pick a favourite— ah…” Wide, startled eyes fill Kei’s vision as Tadashi instinctively turns his head to speak to him. Their noses brush. This close, Kei can see that Tadashi’s face is covered in freckles, and little pockmarks besides, and his heart pounds as he files away that observation like it’s a piece of gold.
“Um,” Tadashi says, remembering to blink now, but not pulling away. In fact, he’s gone a little cross-eyed trying to make eye contact with Kei from up this close. “I’m not very picky!”
“Mm.” Kei makes a non-committal sound for the sake of it. He lets his gaze drop down to the lovely curve of Tadashi’s mouth. They don’t actually eat in Barbieland, of course. But Kei imagines that it would be the sweetest thing he’d ever taste.
“He’s right, you know,” Volleyball Barbie’s small, musical laugh rings cheerfully across the table and shatters Kei’s Tadashi-filled tunnel vision as Tadashi turns away from him to gawk at his Barbie. “Ken’s awesome. He always just takes whatever I don’t need off my plate.”
“I like being a helpful Ken,” Tadashi says bashfully.
“And how great you are at helpful,” she affirms him kindly. Tadashi practically glows at the praise.
Beside Volleyball Barbie, Hitoka nods skittishly in agreement. Shyly, she pipes up, adding, “It was super nice of you to help us with my things at the shopping mall!” Tadashi turns to her, and Kei chances a look at his face. If he was glowing before, he’s positively vibrating now, eyes huge in his face and a bright red blush on his cheeks. Across the table, Hitoka makes eye contact with him as she raises her head from the bashful gaze she had trained on the plate in front of her, and lets out an adorable squeak.
It takes everything in him to keep from glaring at Hitoka. It’s a new feeling— Kei has never minded her, and can even say with confidence that he likes his Barbie. But this, her appreciation of Tadashi now that she’s met him, rears a hideous sort of jealous that spreads like a disease through the cavern of his chest. Before, Kei could still have himself believe that Tadashi was all his, when he only spent time with him back at the dormitory, just the two of them. Now, having to witness more of Tadashi’s life— with the certainty that every single day is spent with his Barbie who he so surely adores— is absolute and utter torture.
It is this unfortunate vein of events that is the leading reason why Kei’s head is absolutely pounding by the time it’s all finally over and he stumbles back into the dorm. The room spins hellishly before him as he tries to clamber to his bed, every step loopy and out of depth when the perfectly flat sole of his foot connects to the floor. Teetering dangerously, he falls short of the bed, half-leaning heavily against the wall instead, changing his trajectory and fumbling his way to his bathroom. He collapses to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest, holding himself as he keels over and heaves.
Kei spends his entire evening retching nothing into his bathroom sink. And then, he’s forced to come to the conclusion that he’s absolutely sick with jealousy.
He collapses onto his bed, thoroughly drained and full of nothing but a bitter feeling. Tadashi’s presence had done nothing to salvage a situation in which Tadashi being fawned over and wanted by Barbies whose attentions clearly meant so much to him was the key aggravating factor.
“ ,” Kei curses, then curses again when he realises that it’s not possible to in Barbieland. I shouldn’t even know that word, he realises in frustration. Breathing shallowly, he raises a hand gingerly to his chest and places it over his offending heart. It beats loud and strong, aching where it sits and poisons Kei. “This is all your fault,” Kei mutters.
There’s a gentle, unexpected rapping on his door. Kei stills, the sound thick and stuffy to his spinning head, and does his best to ignore it, hoping whoever it is will just go away. He doesn’t feel good enough to get up, to listen to anything, to move right then.
“Kei…?” Tadashi’s voice lilts soft and unsure into the room. There’s a breath of silence where he presumably opens the door wider, and then he’s kneeling by Kei’s side.
He reaches out waveringly, hand coming into careful contact with Kei’s shoulder. “Are you… are you okay? You’re usually really quiet, but I heard thumping and I got worried.”
“I’m fine,” Kei mutters, biting back a groan as he tries to shift his head to look at Tadashi better and everything swims.
Tadashi snickers. “Sorry for laughing at you when you’re like this,” he says, not sounding very sorry. Kei turns to scowl at him despite the nausea that causes him. But he’s smiling at Kei softly, which makes up for everything instantly. “It’s just… you’re such a cool Ken, all handsome and stoic and it’s just… it’s just me, I’m not your Barbie, so you don’t have to be all cool right now.”
Kei’s stomach flutters in a way that has nothing to do with how ill he’s feeling. Tadashi has no idea what he’s even saying.
Hoarsely, Kei manages, “You think I’m handsome?”
Tadashi tilts his head uncomprehendingly at him. “Of course!” he answers, sounding puzzled. “You’re… a perfect Ken. Of course I think you’re handsome. That’s how— that’s how—“ He pauses here, a look of embarrassment overcoming him before he ducks his head a little, letting his hair fall over his cheeks before he finishes, “That's how we met, right?”
Kei frowns. “You don’t think like that anymore, do you? You don’t think those things about yourself.”
Tadashi looks surprised, and he chews on his lip before levelling Kei with a stern gaze. “Don’t make this about me,” he scolds lightly. “I came here because you’re clearly not well.”
“My hero,” Kei says dryly. He sighs, then turns to Tadashi. Gentler, adds, “Thanks.”
“No problem!” Tadashi’s bright manner returns easily. “I’ll stay here with you if you want to rest. Since I don’t have to sleep.”
Every bit of Kei warms instantly.
Tadashi continues, “I’ll sit right here, in case you need anything!” He’s patting around at the plush carpet underneath Kei’s mattress. “This is comfy enough! Well, it’s the exact same one as the one in my room, but, it feels better! Maybe I’m too used to sleeping on your sofa,” he’s rambling, effusive despite the long day he’s had, clearly trying to bring Kei some cheer.
“Tadashi,” Kei interrupts. Being able to say his name has to be of Kei’s greatest pleasures. It certainly feels like it now, rolling off his tongue in a heavy, honeyed way.
Tadashi pauses mid-ramble, turning wide-eyed to Kei. His expression melts into a smile as soon as their eyes meet. “Sorry, Kei,” he apologises shamelessly. “I must be talking too much.”
“No,” Kei refutes automatically. “I… Thank you. For checking in on me.” This level of sincerity from Kei is rare, but it feels right just then. If he’s been made to realise that Tadashi has a whole world outside of this, then all the more that Kei should privilege this time alone with him.
Tadashi hums his acknowledgement, and they fall into a companionable silence. Kei likes this part of Tadashi too, when he’s low energy and sleepy at the end of the day. You’d never know it from just seeing him doing his activities in the daytime. Kei holds that thought fiercely to his chest as he stares at the back of Tadashi’s head, propped against the side of his mattress. It’s mossy, unruly on the top and altogether comforting. Kei feels his eyes getting heavy, his heart thudding sluggishly as if fuller and content just on its closeness to the object of its affections.
“The next time we go for a tea party, let’s try a bit of everything until we find your favourite,” Kei murmurs.
Tadashi huffs, soft and amused. His little laugh wraps itself around Kei’s heart and squeezes, gentle and flutteringly pleasant, dripping into the warmest feeling and the most adoring thought, you’re my favourite.
When Kei walks into the lobby of the Pink House, Secretary Barbie narrows her eyes at him. She’s got a chic dark bob and a wool-pressed navy suit, red nails, and she calls out firmly to Kei, “Kens can’t see the President without a chaperone Barbie!”
Kei nods. “I’m here for her Secretary,” he assures her quickly. “I’ve already messaged him on his Kenphone, so once he’s here we’ll get out of your hair.”
She frowns. “I’m her Secretary.” Kei frowns in turn, and they both frown at each other for a beat. Then her expression clears. “Ohh,” she says in realisation. “You mean Sexy Secretary Ken.”
The words don’t even process to Kei, the title so comically silly that it washes over him. “What?”
Secretary Barbie raises one kempt brow at him. “Sexy Secretary Ken? You said he, and Kenphone, there’s only one Ken in this building.”
Kei stares, stunned. No way Akiteru’s actual title would be…? He clears his throat politely, trying to look as contrite as possible in the face of Secretary Barbie’s ire, conscious of the fact that he’s already taken up an unusual amount of her time. “Would there happen to be a Secretary Ken, too? One that isn’t Sexy?”
Secretary Barbie tilts her head, looking truly puzzled more than anything as she purses her lips. “Whyever would a Ken be an actual Secretary?” she asks, thinking that thought aloud. She points firmly in the direction of down one of the many hallways. “He’ll be in his Ken Dayroom.”
Kei stares. “Not his office?”
Secretary Barbie gives him a funny look. “Whatever would a Ken need an office for?”
Embarrassment rises in Kei’s chest. “I’ll go now,” he says quickly, not wanting the interaction to go on for a second longer. “Thank you.”
“Sure,” Secretary Barbie says, already turning away from him to rifle through some paperwork that’s undoubtedly far more important than Kei. She shakes her head, waving her hand in front of herself like she’s ushering something unpleasant out of the wind. ”An office… The ideas a Ken will have…”
He does find it soon enough, tucked nondescriptly towards the end of the hallway. The doors are all identical, a clean shade of very light pink and clearly designated, bearing shining nameplates edged with gold. What is presumably Akiteru’s door is the same uniform colour, but missing the nameplate. There is instead a mini whiteboard hanging on the front of it by means of a DIY job. Marker letters simply spelling “KEN” grace the front of it.
Kei hesitates for a second, before steeling himself and rapping twice, neatly, on the door.
“Coming, Barbie!” comes the almost instantaneous response from inside, the voice undoubtedly belonging to Akiteru. The door swings open silently in a fluid arc, revealing Akiteru’s face wearing a pleasant smile that melts a second later into open surprise.
“Sexy Secretary Ken?” Kei asks wryly, dripping with it.
Akiteru flushes. “Look, it’s— it’s an official name, it’s my real title that Wattel assigned to me, so—“ He takes a quick, steadying breath. “Hey, Kei. Come in.”
Kei hesitates for a moment, but then he looks up and sees that Akiteru looks just as nervous. He steels himself mentally and steps into the room, making sure to close the door behind him. He keeps his steps even-paced and his expression blank, giving off no sign of distress or anything at all as he makes his way over to Akiteru’s couch.
“Can I… Can I get you anything?” Akiteru calls over from where he’s busied himself at a refreshments nook in his room, clearly to give Kei the space and time he needs to settle in slowly.
Kei shakes his head. “It’s fine.” It comes out too curt, and Kei winces internally. He tries again, “I’m okay. Just… I wanted to talk to you.”
Akiteru looks at him, weighing the mug in his hand uncertainly. Kei can tell that he hears the effort in Kei’s voice to be cordial.
”Yeah, of course.” Akiteru fills his mug with filtered coffee and begins to move over to Kei. “What did you want to talk about?”
Kei fidgets in his seat, his cold, formal awkwardness with Akiteru the elephant in the room. Akiteru, looking deeply sheepish about it himself, chooses to sit on the opposite side of the low coffee table instead of on the loveseat to Kei’s side.
“How… how have you been?” he tries, a different angle. Exhaustion washes over Kei in waves. He doesn’t think he has it in him to beat around the bush, or to go over everything. It’s hard enough already to think about any of what he’s going through in his own head.
”I’m becoming real,” Kei tells him.
Akiteru’s expression crumples into hurt confusion at the declaration. “Kei…” he says, unsure of where this is going.
Kei sighs. “I’m not mocking you,” he says concisely. “It’s— here, it’s easier if I just show you.”
He reaches over the table between them and closes his grasp around Akiteru’s wrist. He guides Akiteru to feel for his touch point, where his heartbeat pulses faintly. Akiteru glances in confusion at their point of contact, knitting his eyebrows together as he stares. After a few pregnant seconds pass, he raises his eyes to Kei, mouth falling open with the start of a polite enquiry, when realisation suddenly spreads across his entire face and his neck cracks with the speed with which his gaze flies back to Kei’s wrist.
“Is—? You—?”
Kei grabs him, yanks him forward and places his palm tightly over his chest. His heart beats, sure and steady. Pure shock radiates from every feature in Akiteru’s face.
“I’m becoming real,” Kei repeats. He sighs, dropping Akiteru’s arm. It feels like all the fight drains out of him all at once, the anticlimactic ending to a reveal. He sits back on the couch heavily. “Now you know.”
Akiteru’s silence is heavy. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Kei, not daring to look away as if he’s afraid that if he does, Kei might morph and change into something unrecoverable.
“You manage all the Kens,” Kei states that fact desperately. “Have you ever… Has this ever happened before?”
Akiteru hesitates. “Do you have any idea what could’ve caused this?” he ventures.
Kei nods extremely begrudgingly. “I have an idea, at least,” he offers as noncommittally as he can.
“Do you want to tell me?”
Kei hesitates, he really does. His every instinct screams that him that it would be a gigantic weight off his chest if he could begin to explain even a fraction of what’s going on with him to somebody and to have them shoulder that burden with him. But one glance at Akiteru, his perfect blond hair and his perfect outfit, the sure knowledge that he reports to his President Barbie daily, and the dismissive way actual Secretary Barbie had spoken about him. There was no way that Akiteru didn’t know that she felt that way about him.
“I… can’t,” Kei decides painfully.
Akiteru grimaces, but he nods, like he’d expected this. “Whatever you can tell me, then.”
“You already know that I don’t belong,” Kei points out, ignoring the way Akiteru winces heavily at this. “It’s an extension of that. None of this… It doesn’t feel true to me. Real. The things I do with my Barbie.”
”Have you tried?” Akiteru asks beseechingly. That false gold of cheer that Kei hates so much begins to flutter at the edges of his tone. “It seems like you’re getting along with her fine! She seems to treat you as her Ken with no issues.”
“It’s not about her,” Kei argues, old bitterness beginning to bubble up under the surface of his skin. “I’m saying that I’m not liking it.”
”But you’re doing fine!”
”I know I am,” Kei fires back, exasperated. “But I don’t want to do fine. Not at being a Ken.”
Akiteru’s expression is aggravatingly void of recognition. “Come on,” Kei snaps. “Have you ever felt anything for your Barbie? For the President?”
This catches his attention; the other Ken evidently pauses to think very hard about this. For a second, Kei dares to fill up on a bit of hope.
”I feel…” Akiteru says slowly. “I feel like… she’s my boss.”
Kei growls in frustration.
“A really good boss?” Akiteru tries to fix the situation helpfully. “Kei, c’mon— I don’t know where you’re going with this.”
“Don’t you ever want a real job? A real life?”
”This is real, Kei,” Akiteru reasons. Behind is voice is a true, firm conviction.
Kei wheels around, gesturing with his hands for emphasis as he says, voice raising, incredulous, “You’re a sexy secretary!”
”Hey, don’t knock the hustle!” He sighs, and adds under his breath, muttering, “And it’s Sexy Secretary, I can tell you didn’t capitalise… It’s an official title… It’s on my box…”
He looks genuinely crestfallen as he recites this— half to Kei, mostly for himself, and in spite of everything, it does make Kei feel bad to see Akiteru downcast because of him.
“Look. I know that this works well for a lot of Kens,” Kei says. He thinks of Model Ken, the Beach Kens, and even the Olympic Athlete Kens. He thinks especially of Tadashi, beaming and effusive by his Barbie’s side, and tries to work past the sinking feeling in the very pit of his stomach. “But just… not for me, okay? For whatever reason.”
Akiteru looks at him, his expression softening. “Yeah, okay,” he agrees gently. He regards Kei seriously as he purses his lips, then sighs as he continues, “Look… I know we’re both thinking it, so I’ll put it out there. I truthfully don’t know what happens in the Outlands.” He places his hands up in surrender ruefully. “It’s outside of Barbieland, so it’s outside of my scope. I… I know when Ken numbers unequalise, but I don’t actually know anything about, um. Who they are.”
Kei gestures towards the shelves on Akiteru’s walls, some seemingly stacked with documents and binders. There’s even manila folders sitting chicly atop the coffee table they’re seated at. He sweeps one up into his hand and waves it as punctuation to his speech, “Don’t you have any files on which Kens were most recently added to Barbieland? Or something?”
“Kei, be careful with— ah.”
The folder spills open and a multitude of pens flagged with different coloured sticky tape pour out into the floor and table.
“My pen tier list,” Akiteru says dismally.
“What?”
“I dunno, I like stationery, so I’ve been testing out which pens write the best, it’s— it’s not important,” Akiteru shakes his head. “Point is, I’m really, really sorry Kei, but I just… don’t know what happens to Kens when they stop being Kens.”
He takes a breath. Then with some reluctance, he begins to suggest, “If you’re willing to make the journey to the real world to the Wattel headquarters, the board members could set you up with a factory reset.” Akiteru explains, “For Barbies it’s a series of different transport methods across a chain of whimsical collages, but for Kens it’s much more straightforward. I put you in a box with a return address.”
“I don’t want to reset!” Kei snaps, frustrated. “I want him to… I…”
“Him…?” Akiteru prompts.
”I… I love him,” Kei breathes. He sinks into himself, ears ringing. It’s like the whole world pauses to make enough room for the weight of this singular realisation to dawn. It physically hurts, like gnarled branches expanding and tearing through his body to every tip of every finger, aching so deeply that Kei has to clench his fists and grit his teeth against the pain.
“Kei? Kei.”
He only realises that Akiteru is shaking him by the shoulders when his vision starts to blur as his glasses get knocked askew.
“Hey. I think you need this.” Akiteru shuffles backwards awkwardly. Slowly, he extends his arms out beckoningly, and waits with held breath.
Kei exhales in a rush. He leans forward into the hug, and Akiteru wraps his jointed limbs around Kei as best as he can. It’s stiff, but Kei’s heart evidently craves this affection deeply, the way it finally begins to slow to a comforted pace.
After a while of this, Kei begins to feel shame creeping up on his for his pathetic outburst, and even more pathetic sentiment. He makes to pull away, but Akiteru holds him firm. When he feels Kei try to move, he begins speaking instead of letting him go.
“Maybe we don’t know what you are yet, but I know that you’re not frivolous,” Akiteru insists. “And maybe I don’t understand it yet, but I want to help you.”
Pettily, and with the fading residue of anger and hurt in his heart, Kei mumbles, “Like you helped me last time?”
To his surprise, Akiteru only hugs him tighter. “No empty words this time. You’re a good Ken, Kei— or, you’re a good… You're good,” he decides surely. “And you’re not alone, and I’ll help you.”
Kei deflates in his arms; the fight seeping out of him like blood from a wounded animal. A helpless sort of relief takes over instead. Akiteru pulls away first, finally breaking the hug if only so he can hold Kei by the shoulders as he looks him squarely in the face. “I’ve got you this time ,” he promises. He offers Kei a small, wan smile, and it’s more true than any of the other ones from before. “Let’s turn this dayroom into an office, huh?”
“GOOOOD MORNING BOYS!”
Kei is rudely jolted out of his leisure time, which he was spending flipping through picture book on dinosaurs, by the loud boom of Every Girl’s Dream Ken’s voice as it draws rapidly close, then fades out just as quickly. No doubt that he’s making his rounds down the dormitory hallways on a scooter despite the several indoor hazards that that poses.
It’s time for the Wedding. It’s the same one, held every year, for Dream Bride Barbie.
Even though he’s been married for many, many years now, and gets married again at the same ceremony every single year, Ryuu’s enthusiasm for his own wedding never diminishes. Kei supposes that this is the right way for him to be. There’s no doubt that Ryuu is an excellent Wedding Groom Barbie — he’s manly and cool and loves his wife.
Kei tugs his legs further up onto the sofa and tries to refocus on the book, but it’s useless. There’s already clamour and activity rising outside— some scolding voices, others excited and raucous. He can hear Daichi’s commanding tone from the far end of the other side of the hall demanding order, and a yelp as someone probably gets hoisted by their collar. As one of four Ken Career Dolls, Daichi takes his job seriously, but it’s evidently not enough to calm down the hooting and hollering chaos that Ryuu is encouraging from the back of his scooter.
Then, the sound of someone full-on barrelling into his room. A whoop: “I win— GAH!”, and the sound of metal clinking and wobbling dangerously close to Kei’s head, evaporates any chance he still had of a peaceful day. He resolutely refuses to turn his head in the direction of his door.
“Careful, idiot! You’ll knock his weird stuff over!”
Kei inhales one deep, steadying breath before he cracks his eyes open. Staring at the ceiling, he intones stonily, “If I close my eyes, will you guys disappear?”
“Don’t be mean!” Shoyou wails. “We had to get out of the corridor before Yuu got us!”
Kei snaps sharply upright at this name. “He better not have seen you come in here,” he thunders, before getting up off the sofa, muttering darkly all the while. He shoves past Tobio to get the heaviest chair that he has, dragging it to brace against the back of his room door. “If he comes in and makes a mess, I’ll melt all of you into plastic, understand?”
“Chill out,” Tobio grumbles. “This happens every year. We came in here to hide before he even came out of his room.”
“And what’s wrong with either of your own rooms?” Kei snaps back.
“Oh, come on! Everyone knows not to disturb you,” Shoyou protests, making himself at home at the foot of Kei’s bed. “Hey, you’re already dressed!”
Kei grumbles, but he knows that it’s an unwinnable battle. Outside, there’s the loud blare of several air horns as well as the distinct sound of a lot of confetti popping, which means that Ryuu has just exploded out of his room in his wedding groom outfit to a massive round of fanfare.
“The sparklers!” someone yells, followed up rapidly by Daichi’s voice booming, “EVERYONE, OUT!” There’s the powerful sound of a great rush of water, and Kei watches dismally as a puddle begins to pool under his doorway.
“Now we can’t get back to our rooms,” Tobio glowers accusingly at Kei as if it’s his fault that they chose to invade his privacy. “How are we supposed to get into our Tailored Tuxedo Ken suits?”
“We can use Kei’s closet too!” Shoyou insists excitedly, ducking under Kei’s arms to race over to the closet and assuming the stance of legs apart, arms to the side. Shimmering magic wraps around him delicately and then lifts away to reveal him smartly fitted in a suit that’s precisely identical to Kei’s. “Nice! I love my Tailored Tuxedo Ken suit! Tobio, your turn!”
Kei shuts his eyes tiredly and counts up to twenty. At around fifteen, he hears the tinkling sound of magic diminishing for the third time that day, and opens his eyes to see Tobio also in an identical suit.
“Cool,” Tobio says, looking quietly pleased as well.
“Alright, Cranky-Kei-Ken, we can go now, are you happy?” Shoyou asks, sticking his tongue out childishly. Kei rolls his eyes as the other two Kens start to corral each other out of his room and back towards the hallway instead. There’s a smart remark just on the tip of his tongue, but when he steps out on the heels of his arguable friends, everything melts away as soon as he sees Tadashi.
“Kei!” Tadashi starts up into a jog as soon as he spots him. He looks radiant in his suit. This is one of the rare occasions that he gets a hair change for, part of it scooped back into a small ponytail and one side of his bangs pushed up and styled to the side. The curve of his forehead to his ear to his jaw and down his neck is fluid and visible, the galaxy of his freckles on rare, open display. It’s hard to think about Tobio or Shoyou or anything else.
He’s clutching a mop in his hands, sweeping it in the direction of any puddles in his way. When he ghosts the mop vaguely above them, they disappear. With a beam and a flourish, he runs up to Kei’s doorway and the water that was seeping into Kei’s room is sopped away instantly.
“I see they’re keeping you busy this year,” Kei remarks wryly, prying the mop from Tadashi’s hands and bracing it against the wall. He gives him an appraising once-over that’s not at all brisk. “Your bow tie is crooked.”
If Tadashi notices the fondness in the observation, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he exclaims in shock, the top piece of his hair bobbing comically as he looks down at it in dismay.
“I’ve got it.” Kei reaches out and Tadashi falls in easily, tilting his throat back trustingly to let Kei right the angle of his accessory.
The Wedding takes place the exact same way every year: a daytime ceremony followed by a picnic, and then a nighttime party with music, dancing, and fireworks. The only thing that changes are Every Girl’s Dream Ken’s vows— every single year of marriage, of being a wedding groom doll, he only finds more and more new things that he loves about Dream Bride Barbie.
At least, on the walk all the way up to the garden, Kei can pretend that Tadashi is his. They walk comfortably, side by side, Tadashi chattering excitedly about the fireworks show, the picnic, about how happy he is for Ryuu. Possessiveness gnaws at the inside of Kei’s chest, drawing tighter and more insistent the closer and closer they get to the gates where they’ll have to go off to find their Barbies.
By the time the iron wrought gates draw into view, Kei is practically drowning in dread. The gates, gilded in silver and bearing beautiful floral motifs, look like a nothing more than the bars of prison. Ken dolls shouldn’t even have any concept of a prison. Seized by a moment of impulsivity, Kei catches the sleeve of Tadashi’s suit just before he can begin to step towards the garden gate.
“Here.” Kei bends to a nearby bush to swiftly pluck two flowers between his fingers. He shoves one into his breast pocket, and pulls Tadashi close to gently tuck its matching pair into his.
Tadashi pats lovingly over his pocket when Kei has pulled away, feeling over the flower and rubbing delicately at its velvety petals. He glances down at it curiously. “What was that for?”
Kei presses his lips together thinly. “…I can’t do something just because?”
Far from put-off by this dour response, Tadashi gives him a patient look instead. “I guess the wedding cheer can affect even a Ken as cool as you, huh?” he teases.
“There you are!”
Hitoka’s relieved voice rings out. Both Kens turn to look as their Barbies come up to them. Volleyball Barbie has Hitoka in tow, holding her gently by the wrist as she guides them both over.
“Hi Barbie,” Tadashi and Ken greet in tandem. Then, Tadashi makes an additional excited sound in Hitoka’s direction. “Oh, you look pretty! Did Barbie do this?”
”Oh! I— Yeah,” Hitoka replies self-consciously, flushing pink as she looks down at herself. Again, she doesn’t look like her usual self, in an iridescent blue dress that Kei doesn’t think he’s seen her in before. Her cheeks have been lightly dusted rosy red, and shimmer clings to her eyelids. “Barbie suggested that we get ready together.”
”It was really lovely,” Volleyball Barbie says happily.
“I usually… I mean, for the Wedding, I just wear whatever the closet comes with up,” Hitoka stutters, looking frazzled as her eyes shift nervously. “So… Yeah. It was really nice to do something… to try something today.”
“You look really, really nice,” Tadashi promises earnestly, which makes Hitoka look like she wants to fall through the ground with embarrassment as she whispers out a hoarse confirmation of thanks that spikes Kei’s ire straight through its threshold.
“Shall we?”
Everyone’s heads whip over to him and Kei is instantly acutely aware of the sharpness that he’d let slip out into his own tone.
“Let’s!” Volleyball Barbie smooths things over effortlessly, smiling dazzlingly at everyone as she smoothes a stray strand of hair behind Hitoka’s ear reassuringly before confidently pairing up with Tadashi and leading him into the garden.
Tail between his legs, Kei trails over to Hitoka’s side.
“You do… you do look nice,” he professes truthfully as she loops her arm through his. Doubt still clings to her face as she thanks him for this, something unusually cloudy in her expression. But Hitoka has never been a Barbie for crowds, so Kei doesn’t push it any further.
The day ceremony and the picnic pass by in a blur. Before Kei knows it, the sky overhead is dimming and Party Planner Barbie is rushing around in six inch heels and a clipboard, fixing her glasses and changing out tablecloths and chairs and supervising pink cranes that construct a disco dance floor, lights and a DJ booth in record time.
“Congratulations!!”
Everyone cheers loudly as champagne pops, and Dream Bride Barbie sweeps her husband up in her arms and drops him into a dramatic dip. Ryuu’s expression is thoroughly lovestruck, dopey as he gets Kenhandled by his wife. DJ Barbie takes to the stage, all the strobe lights and speakers coming alive as the Barbie Audiovisual Technology & Staging Company take their positions and begin to run the party with pinpoint focus.
“Kei, Kei!”
Tadashi bounds up to him, breathing hard as he crosses the edge of the disco dance floor. Kei is pleased to see that the flower is still in his pocket, albeit slightly rumpled from all the expressions of excitement Tadashi has clearly displayed throughout the day. His bowtie is fully lopsided. Kei wants to nip him on the nose.
Externally, he says blithely, “I don’t dance.” Tadashi’s face falls immediately and he knows that he’d absolutely guessed correct about why the other Ken had come seeking him out. “I don’t really know how.”
“Oh, I’m not ensemble either,” Tadashi laughs. He fidgets with his hands as he explains to Kei, “But it just looks so fun, every year, so I, um. I asked Keiji to teach me the steps.”
He casts his eyes out towards the dance floor, its disco tiles in full swing and flashing in neon purples and pinks as the music plays. Kei watches the colours swim in Tadashi’s eyes and wishes he would drown. Tadashi looks back, peering up at Kei, and scratches the corner of his cheek. “Um,” he offers, “If we… if we stood off to the side a little, we could dance without interrupting the main ensemble’s routine. So, if you wanted me to—“
“Show me,” Kei interrupts. He would do anything to keep the distance this short between them. Anything to keep Tadashi here with him instead of with his Barbie.
Tadashi looks both surprised and pleased, like he can’t believe how easy it was to get this from Kei, but he takes it in stride. “Okay!” he babbles his agreement, reaching out thoughtlessly to take Kei by the sleeve and tugging him along and onto the dance floor. It’s a small act of sureness and Kei likes seeing it in Tadashi, doing something he likes with confidence. It makes Kei feel special, to know that this was something that Tadashi had gone to seek out on his own — learning how to dance from Keiji — for his own enjoyment rather than for his purpose or his Barbie’s enrichment; makes butterflies flutter in his stomach, how Tadashi has him by the wrist and wants to share this with him.
”You look nice,” Kei blurts. The compliment escapes him before he can think better of it. With Tadashi in his arms, his stray piece of hair sticking up helplessly, gorgeously into disarray, his freckles, his face, everything wonderful and familiar, Kei doesn’t think he could’ve ever held it in.
Tadashi beams, “Thanks! It’s the same suit I wear every year! It’s the same one you have! The—“
“—Tailored Tuxedo Ken suit, yeah, I know,” Kei interrupts. Miserably, he begins to rattle off, “The beautifully tailored, single-breasted jacket featuring stylish peak lapels and a single vent. His—“
”—crisp white shirt is worn with a white satin bow tie and a vest!” Tadashi chirps along with him in tandem excitedly. “Yeah!”
”Yeah,” Kei echoes. He exhales a sharp little breath. “I’m saying that the Tailored Tuxedo Ken suit looks nice on you, specifically.”
”Oh,” Tadashi sounds out, mouth in a surprised round around the words. “That’s really nice of you.” He laughs, then, self-conscious as he raises a hand to rub at the back of his head. “I don’t think that’s true, though! I’m not any of the heartthrob-make Kens, just a regular one! But I appreciate you trying to be nice to me!”
Kei chews on the inside of his cheek, annoyed at Tadashi’s dismissal of his compliment given not at all lightly, and in aching sincerity. It stings. Kei suddenly feels deeply irate. “It’s not about your make,” he declares bitingly, uncaring to disguise the sharp edge seeping into his voice as he looks down at the other Ken from under his lashes.
Tadashi’s eyes go round with mild shock, his mouth falling slightly open at the anger suddenly being directed at him. He tries for placating even though he clearly doesn’t understand the implication behind Kei’s annoyance. “I… I’m sorry if I said something annoying, Kei,” he explains himself earnestly, “I like that you said that I look nice, but there’s just no way I look as nice as some of the other Kens.”
The way Tadashi looks at him. His beautiful, earnest, freckled face and his eyes shining with sincerity — the way he continually pushes forward to connect with Kei even when it would be so much easier to withdraw, even when Kei doesn’t deserve it. It makes Kei’s chest constrict painfully.
“Kei?”
Tadashi is tilting his head upwards, wondering why they’ve come to a sudden and total stop. His mouth is parted slightly in confusion, and it would be so easy to close the distance.
Kei’s voice comes out plaintive. “I think,” he confesses, “You’re the nicest-looking Ken there is.”
Tadashi’s eyes widen so much that the stars and the moon and the decorative lights all shine in them. It’s mesmerising, the tilt of his chin as he stares upwards and the way every plane of his face smooths and curves. The one truth that Kei’s newfound heart was born beating with was the certainty that Tadashi was made perfect.
“Kei, you’re so kind to me,” he says finally, and he doesn’t look down or look away in embarrassment or bashfulness. It’s maybe worse, because instead he looks at Kei with all the most starry wonder and sincerity in his eyes, like he truly believes that this confession comes purely from a place of Kei’s innate kindness.
“It’s just true,” Kei mumbles. “And you deserve…” A lump wells up unexpectedly in his throat here.
“Ah, it’s okay,” Tadashi placates quickly, looking both flattered and shyly flustered. “You’ve said a lot of really nice things already.” He begins to pick up their movement again, rocking them gently from side to side.
Kei shakes his head. “Not enough,” he croaks. He bites his mouth shut and swallows thickly, composing himself as he continues to sway with Tadashi. “You deserve to have someone who likes the way you are.”
Tadashi looks perplexed here. “Someone…? Are you talking about my Barbie? Because she’s really nice to me.”
“But do you love her?”
”Kanoka?” Tadashi asks, confused.
“Your Barbie. Yes.”
“Of course! She’s nice to me!” Tadashi promises earnestly, “I get to sit on the opposite end of the couch from her and stand propped against the kitchen counter with a wine glass in my hand when it’s her turn to throw parties! We have matching cowboy hats!”
“That’s not what I mean,” Kei says, frustrated by Tadashi’s eager defense of his Barbie. He deserves more than these shallow affectations of companionship. If he knew everything that Kei wanted with him, would he still be content?
He wants to hold Tadashi’s hands the way he’s seen them do it in the cheesy romance movies they play at Steppin’ Out Barbie’s 1930s drive-in theatre, but he reaches out and their fingers aren’t made for slotting. Their palms clack uselessly against each other and Tadashi just looks at him, confused, and a wave of frustration and longing so great surges in his chest and crashes against the prison of his ribs with such intensity that his throat closes up, and the hot burn of tears stings at his eyes. He shouldn’t be able to breathe or cry.
Tadashi’s gasp is soft and disbelieving, his big eyes round with shock when Kei meets his gaze, shuddering with the effort of his breathing. “Kei? Are your eyes… wet? How—“
He places Tadashi’s hand over his heart.
“You have a heartbeat?” His gasp is soft and wondrous, and it’s a pretty sound coming from his lips. It makes Kei’s chest fill with hope and longing.
“…yeah,” Kei affirms quietly. Tadashi’s hand is so warm, clasped under his own and pressed against his chest. Every thump of Kei’s heartbeat belongs to him. It feels right that he should be holding them like this, in the palm of his hand.
Tadashi stares, transfixed by his hand over Kei’s heart, feeling the throbbing pulse of a heartbeat for the first time.
“Does… does it hurt?” he asks, brow knitted in concern. Tadashi’s hand feels warm over Kei’s shirt, the pressure of his palm achingly tender, and Kei wishes it was even closer, that Tadashi would just reach through Kei’s ribcage and take what’s already his.
“Recently… I… Realised that I like when we hang out in the dormitories,” Kei starts waveringly, treading carefully on his every word.
“I… want to hang out with you all the time,” he confesses. “Not just after we’re done with Ken stuff. I want to go to tea with you, I want to drive around with you, and I want to go shopping and play tennis, all of it. With you.”
Tadashi tilts his head. “But that’s all Barbie stuff.”
“Any stuff,” Kei huffs. “I want to do any stuff, but with you. Not with my— not with my Barbie.”
Tadashi gasps.
“I— I don’t understand,” he says slowly, “You want— all those things… with me?”
”More than anything,” Kei promises, and as he says it aloud the desperation inside of him mounts so sickeningly that it feels like his voice is coming from outside of his body. He wants— he wants more than anything for Tadashi to believe him, to understand. He wants this so much that it feels like nothing else has ever mattered. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything else.”
”I don’t think they make Kens for that,” Tadashi’s voice is rich with genuine confusion, and somehow that hurts so much more than rejection.
“No,” Kei chokes bitterly, “I don’t think they do.”
Tadashi’s face is stupefied even with the harshness in Kei’s voice, unnervingly blank of clarity. In the moment, Kei cannot take his confusion, and the thought of any incoming pity is even worse.
“Listen, I— I have to go,” Kei says abruptly. Alarm surges through Tadashi’s body, and he reaches forward in a knee-jerk action, clearly aware that something isn’t right. Kei shrugs him off and tries to pretend he doesn’t see the hurt look that flashes openly across Tadashi’s face. “I need to find my Barbie,” he spits out brusquely as an excuse, shouldering off Tadashi’s hand and all but running away.
Tadashi doesn’t call after him. Kei doesn’t know if it’s a good or bad thing. His heart pounds in his ears, and he feels wholly unanchored, his face burning and head stuffed with heavy cotton, hands cold and shaking violently. Hot tears burn behind his eyes, searing, and he forces every footstep forward, stumbling and sickened. He doesn’t stop until he’s on the very edge of the Wedding grounds, when the music and voices and laughter are far enough away echoes.
He comes to a stop with a gasp, inhaling clear gulps of cool air greedily as he pants by the darkened shadow of a tall hedge ringing the park. As he bends over, hands on his knees, heaving and trembling from his head to his toes, his lungs start to fill, in, out, in out, repetitive, his heart slowing, his throat swallowing, until he feels like he can breathe again. It’s then that he becomes aware of another presence, the hairs on the back his neck prickling as the sound of thin, brittle sobbing reaches his ears.
Slowly, he raises his head. And the figure before him, haloed by moonlight and cast in the distant backdrop of a gorgeous wedding. Blonde hair. Doll body. Everything in Kei runs cold.
His Barbie. And she looks like she’s melting, the gossamer blue of her dress spilled across the ground and the way her sleeves droop on her slumped shoulders, shaking as she cries.
His pulse all but slams in his temples, thudding and resounding through his brain. That shouldn’t be possible, that should be possible, the thought rings in his ears over and over like a curse. Guilt rips through his gut and he starts forward, fumbling towards his Barbie. Apologies begin to spill from his lips, stricken in his fraught state.
“Hitoka. I’m sorry for being so rude to you, I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll be a better Ken—“
Hitoka hears him. She sniffles, not looking up. ”This isn’t— this isn’t because of you,” she chokes. “It’s— it’s Shimizu.”
”…Dream Bride Barbie?”
Hitoka nods miserably. She doesn’t bother to even attempt to compose herself. Kei realises with a start that her hands are shaking violently as she clutches white-knuckled at the handle of her purse. When she finally raises her chin just a fraction to look at Kei, her face is pale and broken and her eyes red and puffy. She opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it shut as if thinking better of it. She looks searchingly at Kei, and then like a taut line being cut, her whole composure slackens and collapses all at once.
“She’s my favourite Barbie in the world,” she whispers hoarsely. She grips her arms tight around herself, both squeezing the confession out of her body and holding herself so that she won’t break from it. “She’s my favourite anything.”
The pale blue satin of Hitoka’s dress speckles with sudden dark colour and Kei realises with a gut-churning, heart-rending start that Hitoka is crying again, real, shining tears rolling down her perfect cheeks and sinking into her clothes.
She sniffles loudly, rubbing unhappily at her cheeks as she pushes tears off her face with the palms of her hands. Her voice sounds thick with snot. “I’m sorry that I’m telling you all this, but you’re— you’re my Ken, whatever that’s supposed to mean, and there’s just—“ She cuts herself off, mouth crumpling horribly into a miserable expression. She stares down at her feet for a moment, chest heaving with wheezing breaths as she tries to compose herself. When she finally looks up at Kei again, her eyes are wide and wild, wet with tears and swimming brightly with colours that Kei has recognised in his own many, many times before.
“There’s just no one to tell,” her brittle voice shakes, wavers and breaks, and it shatters something inside of Kei along with it. When Kei looks back at his Barbie, it is through his own tears to match the ones that have streaked and dried down her cheeks, where her blush is still perfectly untouched.
He flinches, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, and he barely even processes that he’s spoken when he whispers. “I’m the same.”
What happens next, happens in slow motion — his focus sharpens on Hitoka, like he’s seeing his Barbie again for the first time, and her mouth falls open in understanding, a quiet oh as the clock strikes midnight, and the celebratory fireworks go off. Purple and pink and gold burst behind Kei’s eyes, the sounds a distant blur, and his world tunnels in, and Hitoka asks him what every Ken longs to hear:
“Do you want to come back to my dream house?”