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“Really?” Dai-chan drawls, raising a skeptical eyebrow and Satsuki feels like slapping him.
“It’s champagne pink! The sales lady said it suits my complexion.” Satsuki gives an experimental twirl in front of the full-length mirror, and okay, maybe Dai-chan has a point. There are frills and lace and even more frills. It’s not so much a dress as it is an amalgamation of ruffled layers arranged vaguely in the shape of (what to an imaginative mind, at any rate, might look like) a dress.
“You look like a cream puff,” Dai-chan says flatly, catching her by the shoulders with his broad hands. He peers over her left one, tugs at the neckline and grimaces. “The imitation-cream kind.”
Satsuki feels totally justified in taking a dainty, completely accidental step backward onto one of Dai-chan’s feet. It’s not like it’s her fault she’s wearing six-inch heels, after all.
--
“It’s for a job interview, not a bar crawl!” Satsuki says crossly, snatching the dress from Dai-chan’s hands before anyone else in the store can see. There are quite a lot of buckles. Also, what appears to be latex inserts. “I won’t submit to being part of one of your bondage fantasies,” Satsuki mutters darkly.
“But it’s got the perfect cleavage-to-skirt-length ratio!” Dai-chan argues. “Besides, it's perfectly acceptable these days. No one said professionalism can’t be sexy.”
“There’s sexy, and then there’s this!” Satsuki says, holding up the dress. She can make out Dai-chan’s bemused features through the flimsy material quite clearly. “I want something that says up-and-coming sports analyst, not adult video idol!
“The sex industry is a perfectly viable career path!” shouts Dai-chan. “Stop imposing your outdated notions on its workers!”
“Then stop trying to dress me like one!” Satsuki shouts back.
Ten minutes and a mortifying security escort later, Dai-chan apologizes by way of muttering, “Wanna go for a cherry sundae?”
--
“Absolutely not!” Dai-chan hisses and pointedly tries to steer her back into the dressing room.
“Don’t be silly, Dai-chan,” Satsuki huffs, ducking underneath one of his arms when he makes another grab at her. “Let me at least see what it looks like!” When she looks in the mirror, Satsuki can scarcely believe her eyes.
“It’s wonderful!” she beams, turning this way and that to admire the way the dress accentuates her hips and bosom. “Don’t you think he’ll love it, Dai-chan?”
“It’s too showy,” says Dai-chan, scowling hard enough to light the far end of the boutique on fire.
“Well,” sniffs Satsuki, “I think Wakamatsu-san will like it.”
“Sure,” mutters Dai-chan, just loud enough for Satsuki to hear. “What man doesn’t love an outfit that screams 'desperate'?”
Tetsu-kun assures her later that evening that slapping Dai-chan had indeed been the right thing to do. In the end though, she doesn’t buy the dress. Satsuki tells herself it’s not because of Dai-chan.
--
“They're an up-and-coming designer brand. Kisecchi swears by them,” Satsuki says skeptically, holding her phone in the crook of her shoulder as she eyes the picture of the – dress? pants suit? combination poncho? – in the fashion catalogue currently laid out on her bed.
“I'm not sure it'll go with my figure though.”
“Send me a pic then, if you're so unsure about it,” Dai-chan mutters, before yawning loudly. He's still jet-lagged from his flight, but he'd picked up on the second ring and Satsuki thinks fondly that it's such a Dai-chain thing to do, lying in bed and going over dress pictures with her the day before an Olympic qualifying game.
“The dress, Satsuki! I meant a picture of the dress!” Dai-chan's voice booms out tinnily from over speaker-phone six minutes later, sounding shrill and strangled.
“Dai-chan, stop screaming,” she complains, holding the phone at arm's length. “You've seen me in my underwear plenty of times!”
“That was when we were kids, Satsuki! The last time I saw you without clothes, we were both five!”
“Yeah, we used to take baths together,” she says, voice warm with nostalgia. From half-way around the world, Dai-chan chokes out another angry growl.
“Just mail me a picture of the goddamn dress so I can tell you not to wear it!” he scolds. Satsuki imagines the bright flush of red that would colour his cheeks even darker than their normal tan and snickers.
“Will do,” she tells him, pulling the catalogue closer once more.
--
“You're sure it's not too much?” Satsuki asks, twirling this way and that, one hand holding her hair up as she critically eyes the semi-sweetheart neckline and low-cut back of the dress in the full-length mirror.
“For the last time, you look great. Stop fussing and put on your make-up, or we're gonna be late,” Dai-chan says flatly. He's not really focused on her though, too preoccupied with trying to tie the bow-tie of his tuxedo and failing miserably.
Satsuki heaves a sigh, and toys nervously with the fine silver necklace clasped about her neck. It'd been a gift from Dai-chan, bought with his first paycheck after he had officially been signed on to the NBA roster.
Suddenly, there's a hand on her shoulder and Satsuki turns to look up at Dai-chan, his bow-tie a hopeless, wrinkled mess and a look of sincere appreciation on his face. She thinks, a little helplessly, that it shouldn't make her heart clench the way it does.
“Hey. You look like a million dollars,” he tells her, his eyes dipping to where her fingers are still clutching at the necklace. There's something warm and familiar in his gaze, and she believes him with her whole heart as his mouth quirks up into a faint smile when he says, “Besides, I don't think Tetsu or Bakagami would really mind you stealing a little of their thunder today.”
“Okay then,” Satsuki says, drawing in a relieved breath and releasing it slowly, before beaming up at Dai-chan. “Let's go crash a wedding.”
--
The rain is pouring down, the heavens having opened up only minutes before, and Satsuki sits, huddled in on herself, wet and miserable like a drowned rat, under the ramshackle awning of a street-side café in Golden Gai.
“S-stupid Dai-chan,” she mutters under her breath, the chatter of her teeth loud in her own ears even over the white noise of fat droplets repeatedly pelting the canvas sheeting above her head.
“I said I'm sorry,” Dai-chan grouses across from her, watching the downpour with a sour expression on his face. “If you hadn't been so set on trying on every last dress, we wouldn't have been caught out. I told you the weather forecast said it was going to rain.”
“Well, it's not my fault you kept vetoing each and every one. You forced my hand,” she snipes back, cupping her hands around the steaming cup of tea in front of her to work some heat back into her cold-stiffened fingers.
There's a short beat of angry silence, and then Dai-chan mumbles into the palm of the hand he's resting his chin on, “None of them looked good on you.”
“You're an idiot,” Satsuki tells him crossly. “You could have said so at the beginning when I first picked them out to try on. You know what works on me and what doesn't.”
Dai-chan doesn't say anything to that, just eyes her sidelong from underneath the furrow of his brows. After a while, he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her. It's waterproof and lined with wool, and infinitely warmer and drier than her own thin coat when Satsuki wraps it around her shoulders.
“You're gonna catch a cold,” he tells her stiffly.
“You can make it up to me by caring for me when I'm sick,” she says, her voice easing into more familiar territory to take on a teasing tone.
“I'm always taking care of you, anyway,” Dai-chan replies without missing a beat before the words seem to register in his mind. He whips his head back to the street, eyes scanning the sidewalk and the people ambling there to avoid looking at her.
Satsuki tells herself the flush of heat in her cheeks is from the warmth of his jacket, and not Dai-chan's words.
She's not fooling anybody, least of all herself.
--
For once, Dai-chan is completely and utterly speechless, eyes skimming over her like the hop-skip of a little bird, taking in the dress, her hair, everything.
Satsuki's not sure if its a good thing or not, so she clears her throat and ducks her head, looking off into the middle distance when she asks, “What do you think?”
Dai-chan's still just staring at her, looking more and more dumbfounded by the second, and really Satsuki thinks, this was a terrible idea, maybe they should've waited longer –
“You're perfect,” Dai-chan says on an exhale that sounds like he's had the wind knocked out of him, and her eyes dart back to his still-stricken face, wide and surprised.
It's like it's his first time seeing her (and in a way, it is), and Satsuki blushes, feels the rush of heat sitting high and warm in the apples of her cheeks. Dai-chan himself cuts a dashing figure in a bespoke suit, the deep blue of his waistcoat highlighting the colour of his eyes, and Satsuki is so hopelessly gone on him she feels like melting into a puddle on the chancel floor.
“I love you,” she tells him, soft and quiet and true.
“I know,” he replies, a laugh caught in his voice because of course he does, before taking her hand and turning towards where the priest is looking expectantly at both of them.
--
“No,” Dai-chan says.
“Dai-chan,” Satsuki wheedles, tugging at his arm. “Don't you think it'll look good on me?” She pouts a little for dramatic effect and smooths her hands down her sides suggestively.
They both know the dress in the window display wouldn't just look good on her, it'd look amazing - but Satsuki enjoys the little game of cat and mouse, likes the fact that she knows Dai-chan's imagining her in (and out) of the rich, sheer fabric and risque cut. The only thing that's more enjoyable is knowing that if it weren't for the insanely outrageous price-tag, Dai-chan would have been in the store and paying for it already.
“No,” he says, more adamantly, colour suffusing his face.
Satsuki stands up on her tiptoes, and even then she only reaches Dai-chan's shoulder when she stage whispers, “I can wear it out of the shop, and when we get home, you can help me take it off.”
Dai-chan makes a sound in the back of his throat, half-way between a moan and a growl.
“Fine, but don't blame me if I tear it when we get home. I'm not gonna get you another one. I may be able to afford shit like this now, but if you keep this up, I'll be a beggar by the time I'm forty.”
“Aw, Dai-chan,” Satsuki says with a grin that feels like it'll split her face in half, “I'd still love you even if you were destitute.”
Dai-chan rolls his eyes and reaches up to scrub a hand down his face. “You're lucky I feel as strongly about you as I do. C'mon then, before I change my mind.”
Satsuki follows him into the shop, her hand clasped in his, laughing as she goes.