Chapter Text
“Kannonzaka, are you listening?”
It’s a pointed question, pushing through heavy fog until his face snaps to attention, head lifting with a heavy, sleep dusted gaze that focuses into view. Doppo only watches, slack jawed, trying to grasp at straws and stray words for context clues.
Because no, he wasn’t listening.
In the break room Doppo has a tendency to shut himself down; put the world on mute so that he can drift and hover just over the cusp of sleep for the duration of the thirty minute reprieve. There’s a light chatter around him, as there always is, but only now does he realize he’s been written in as part of the conversation. Doppo nods, suddenly, quickly—the result of him still not knowing what’s going on—until he’s finally replying, faking understanding, “Yes—sorry. I was listening.”
“Right. Then what do you think?” His coworker raises a brow, taking a slow sip of coffee in front of him—because maybe it’s obvious that he’s lying. Regardless, Doppo curses him in the back of his mind, half-paranoid he’s being messed with.
Doppo lies through his teeth, takes a shot in the dark, and feigns a slight, nervous smile, “I think it sounds… great.”
His coworker lets out a surprised huff of breath, and the rest still listening ripple with quiet surprise as well. He’s convinced he hears someone muffle their laughter. “So you’re really gonna do it?”
“O-of course,” he’s too agreeable for his own good, even when he has no idea what’s actually being agreed upon.
He’s not losing it, there is a laugh this time, objectively quiet but overwhelmingly present in his ear. His eyes dart with an edge of panic around the room. Doppo realizes too late that he could have spared himself the embarrassment by being honest, No, I wasn’t listening. Why would I be listening? It’s my break—I’m not being paid to listen right now, just leave me alone.
But the metaphorical shovel is already in hand, and Doppo is on the clock. “What?”
There’s a dismissive, “No, no, it’s nothing, really. Surprising, I guess?” and with that the huddle of employees starts to disperse. Doppo sighs, standing up behind the rest. He’s still frowning—fixated on the laugh, on the mystery of his own agreement.
His co-worker’s voice catches him mid-step to clarify, “I know we’re encouraged to bring a date to this thing. I just wouldn’t have bothered, personally.”
He freezes.
“Besides—I didn’t know you were with anybody, Kannonzaka.”
Everyone filters out, talking among themselves; Doppo stares ahead blankly, questioning the past two minutes. He considers himself never really having received the time of day from anyone at work—it’s realistic to imagine and comfort himself that his news of his false romance will go undiscussed. This isn’t really optimism—it only makes sense.
It’s fine.
After all, nothing about him sticks out, and the past several years have been a careful cultivation of privacy.
He sits at his desk, nervously clicking his keyboard, eyes glazing over. It’s fine, he reminds himself, -nobody cares.
Someone hovers over, suddenly, leaning in too close. Doppo notes the smile—which looks gratingly smug—and feels an instant distaste at the sight of his boss.
He straightens his posture, sucking in a tight breath. Look alive, he steadies himself. This will be over in a second—
“So, Kannonzaki. I heard you’ve got someone at home. Convinced someone to date you, eh?”
Something small and rational speaks up in the back of his mind, pleading and begging, just be honest. You’re single. Painfully single. Doppo scratches at his desk, maintains eye contact through sheer force of willpower. But any effort to play at rationality is whisked away by hair trigger panic; he feels himself deflating as he responds.
“Y-yes, sir. I—But that’s not my name—” he blurts out, mouth hanging open.
Manager’s face flickers with impatience. Doppo clears his throat, nodding ahead of his reply.
“Yes. Yes,” and with a mumble, “Sorry.”
He slaps the surface of his desk with a burst of laughter, leaving Doppo startled and fighting not to jump out of his chair when the sound cracks through the air. “Good to hear. Bring her by this weekend—the work party is officially mandatory for you, Kannonzaki. I need to see this to believe it.”
He croaks out, “Yes. Of course, sir. I’ll make sure—”
But he’s cut off, the other man already disinterested in what he has to say, waving him off as he walks away.
Doppo hears him laughing as he leaves. He lays his head flat on his desk.
He’s out of breath, entering the host club, strangling his tie a little looser as he stumbles forward. Each step is an effort to find a little more balance—but each one is in vain. Doppo is a mess—chest heaving a little too heavy, breathing a little too quick, exhaustion apparent because he definitely went at the speed of a brisk walk the entire way here. The fact that he’s out of shape is—well, there are more important things to fret over.
The glitz and glamour of the building doesn’t fit him—or rather, he doesn’t fit it, sticking out like a sore thumb, but the receptionist at the door recognizes him instantly, smiling widely at his appearance.
“Kannonzaka-san! How nice to see you. Perhaps you’re finally here to entertain yourself? We’d be very grateful to have you, of course!”
She’s quick to try the sell, but Doppo doesn’t bite, as per usual.
“I need to see him. Right now— Hifumi—” he’s shaking his head, then nodding, a bag of mixed signals. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t actually afford to— er—,” he finally stops himself from going any further, settling after an awkward pause. “I’m sorry, really. Please tell him I’m here, if you can.”
The hostess gives him a careful once over, smile fading once she realizes they’ll be making no money off him, despite his insistent request to visit their most popular host. He can’t blame her, really.
“I can look for him, if it’s an emergency...” she forces another pleasant expression. “Just wait here,” she says, carefully stepping away.
In the time he’s left to wait he takes a seat on a cushioned couch, barely letting his back rest against the throw pillows behind him. He’s far too uncomfortable to kick back and relax, even if it’s just a moment. Too preoccupied with the situation he’s gotten himself into, mind caught on a rocky loop, thinking about how he’ll definitely have to quit his job to save face, how it’s his fault, always his fault but this time it is definitely his fault; about how he was destined to go out one way or another from the company, his manager laughing in his face, so why not adhere to the most embarrassing scenario possible and bring in his non-existent love life—
“Doppo?”
He’s leaned over, elbows resting against his knees, face buried in his hands, and when he looks up he sees Hifumi standing over him, puzzled expression with the receptionist of the club trailing behind him.
“Are you sure he’ll be fine—” Hifumi turns to her though, quickly working up a smile that could send anyone off orbit. “He’s fine, I assure you. That you worry so much show you’re as kind as you are beautiful. Thank you for bringing me to him so quickly, kitten. I’m in your debt.”
Doppo holds back the urge to roll his eyes. The receptionist gives a flighty laugh, biting her lip, pleasantly surprised by the response. She nods once, twice, and smiles at Hifumi, “I’ll cover for you as long as I can. Don’t worry. I’m sure you can make it up to your guests, anyways.” Hifumi winks, she laughs again; Doppo sighs.
Hifumi holds a hand out for Doppo, courteous as ever, but he stands without it, too hyper aware of the sweat on his palms to take the gesture on good faith. “Can we talk alone?” He tries not to glance at the receptionist and the other people that trickle into the club. “Please,” he adds, a little more strained.
He receives a smile for his troubles, but unlike other people it doesn’t send him careening into helplessness. He’s had a solid twenty years (give or take) to build immunity to Hifumi’s charm. “You’re very polite today, Doppo,” he teases, but begins to take a step forward, motioning for him to follow. “Of course,” Hifumi says. “I know a place we can speak in private. Follow me.”
They slip past tables of occupied hosts and their guests, men entertaining a variety of women who are left blushing and delighted by throngs of subtle and not so subtle compliments, tall flutes of golden, bubbly champagne, and the holes surely being burned into their pockets. They attract the occasional glance, Hifumi is popular after all, but they push through, uninterrupted, until Doppo is lead into the back of the building.
Here he can still pick up the sounds of the busy chatting, laughing, and music, but the area is strikingly plain compared to the rest of the club. It stands mostly untouched, save for the occasional stray host rushing through. There’s a long couch to lounge on, a storage room closet behind them, and a single table with empty glasses and ash trays laying on top of it. Hifumi takes a seat first, patting the cushion next to him once he settles. Doppo follows, taking his place next to him, remarkably more relaxed than he was just a few minutes prior.
“So,” starts Hifumi. It comes after an awkward peel of silence. Maybe he’d been expecting Doppo to explain first, but he’s stuck in his silence, unsure of how to go about the topic that’s so heavy on his mind.
“Did something happen at work?”
“Yes.” His reply is the most honest he’s been in—his eyes wander to a clock hanging over their heads—four hours, and it comes out as miserable as he feels. Hifumi smiles a bit, concern tracing his features. “Well, that’s not surprising.”
That strikes up a glare from Doppo, with Hifumi quickly clarifying, “No, no! I only mean—well, you are here. You tend to go home and pass out as soon as the day’s done, that’s all.” Doppo thinks longingly of his of his unmade bed; his most dependable comfort in life.
“Well?”
And Doppo echoes him, “Well,” feeling embarrassment crawling back up the nape of his neck. “I made a stupid mistake, and when I tell you you’ll probably laugh, but that’s fine. It’s laughable.”
Hifumi tries to encourage him, handling the pessimism in stride, “Laugh? I won’t laugh at you Doppo, not when you’re clearly upset. I promise!”
Doppo scrutinizes him, eyes narrow, sizing him up. It’s not as if he won’t tell him—that’s why he’s here after all.
“Everyone at work thinks I’m dating someone, because I lied.”
Hifumi stares at him, expression now frozen in time.
“I lied, on accident. But it was just a small lie, sort of, so I thought it would pass over. But then my manager told me I have to bring whoever I’m dating to the office party this weekend, and that it’s now mandatory that I show up. Then he laughed at me, because he must obviously pity whoever’s dating me, and who can blame him, really, I’d want to laugh too. And now he’ll never respect me—well, really, he’ll just respect me even less, maybe enough to even fire me, so I have to quit before this weekend and find another way to live my life.”
He thinks briefly of Mad Trigger Crew’s Riou—maybe he, too, could take up a living in the wilderness.
Suddenly Hifumi stands, pulling Doppo up off of his feet and dragging him along. He can’t even react to the suddenness of it—he only trips forward, nearly falling into Hifumi. They navigate a few steps back to the storage closet. Hifumi quickly grabs at the handle, throwing the door open, before he pushes Doppo inside, stuffing himself inside as well while he brings the door shut behind his back.
When the door closes they’re abruptly trapped in the dark, chest to chest, with Doppo painfully leaning back into the leg of a chair that juts out from behind him. He tries to protest, nearly cursing out loud, but Hifumi is wrangling with—something—and Doppo is cut off by a layer of clothing suddenly being thrown into his face.
He scoffs, at a loss, annoyed, snapping, “Are you stripping!? Have you lost your mind, Hifumi!?”
No reply—not yet. First he feels Hifumi’s arm weasel up past his face, his fingers aimlessly grabbing at the air until there’s a small click and a low lit light humming above their heads.
“What—” Doppo tries to start again, scandalized and confused all the same, mouth hanging open. Until he realizes Hifumi is jacketless—that he’s actually holding said jacket crumpled in his hands, after managing to have peeled it off of his face. “What are you doing—”
Hifumi cuts him off with a laugh. A brilliant, loud, steal the air from your lungs laugh that refuses to let Doppo get another word in. He thinks that surely, surely, someone can hear them in here, and that maybe, just maybe, whoever it is that finds them will do him a favor and kill the both of them for making such a disturbance.
No such luck. Hifumi laughs until tears start to brim out from the corners of his eyes, and Doppo watches him through it, glowering through the yellow light.
“Are you done?”
“I just—I can’t believe—”
“I should take your jacket and throw it into whatever fire they have going in the kitchen.”
“Wait—No! Doppo! I—” But he’s laughing again, his hands reaching up, attaching to Doppo’s shoulders to keep him in place and lean against him all in the same, locking movement. “How do you—accidentally—” it’s a fight to get the words out, apparently, but Hifumi manages to stifle the rest of his amusement.
“Okay, okay. I’m done! I’m sorry, really!”
“I hate you.”
“You can’t blame me for laughing! You even said so!”
“I—” Doppo frowns. “Yeah, I guess.”
Hifumi smiles, pleased with himself. “Perfect. Now we can solve your little, um… problem.” He squeezes Doppo’s shoulders with his fingers, shaking him gently in the process. “You won’t have to quit your job, stupid! You’re just being dramatic.”
“Shut u—” But Hifumi is suddenly hushing him dramatically, going as far as to press a finger against his lips. Doppo goes quiet, frowning against the index finger now on his mouth. “Nope. New rule: no more speaking unless it’s an idea. We’ll figure this out!”
Doppo stares at him.
“Together!”
He replies, voice muffled, resigned. “Fine.”
Hifumi is smiling again, letting his hand fall to his side as he tosses his hair out of his face, leaning in a little closer. “There’s a reason you came here! You thought I could help you? How?”
“Like I know. It’s not like I really have anywhere else to go.”
Hifumi only nods, “True, true. I am your only friend.” Doppo scowls. “But if you were wanting to just complain you could have gone to Jakurai. He’s your doctor, he’s pretty much paid for that!”
Doppo finds himself increasingly aggravated by how perceptive Hifumi is—more so than himself, at least. He’d definitely only been half aware that he was actually on his way to the host club while he was on his way to the host club. To that fact he nods, replying, “You’re right, maybe, but that doesn’t mean you have a solution. It just means I could have been stupid enough to think that you do.”
Hifumi scoffs, offended. He leans back, hand against his chest. “Don’t be mean. I’m helping!” He manages a pout that has Doppo reeling, leaning back even further into the chair legs already prodding uncomfortably his back. “You’ll see!”
“Okay—okay,” he finally admits, “You’re helping.” And with an awkward grunt tagged onto the end, “Thanks.”
Hifumi doesn’t say you’re welcome; he only replies with an overly pleased humming. But as for an actual solution to his problem, Doppo draws blank after blank after blank, only managing to think of the most straightforward of idea at first.
“I… I don’t know. We could try to find someone I could actually date? You know plenty of people.”
“Oh, Doppo. We can’t do that much that fast.”
“Wh—What are you implying?”
“Oh… do I need to say it?”
Doppo pauses. “No.”
They’re back to silence again, uncomfortably shifting around each other every so often in the tight space. Doppo mutters under his breath, “Do we really have to stay in here?” But then Hifumi is suddenly struck by genius, or so he would make it seem, gasping out loud, “Oh— oh! Oh! I’ve got it!”
Doppo is slow to reply, doing so cautiously. The look in Hifumi’s eye suddenly has a devious glint; something that clearly asks for trouble, even when it’s only between the two of them. “... What?”
“I’ll do it. I’ll date you!”
“I’ll be your fake boyfriend! Take me to work!”
The following sequence of events are a little dizzying in how quickly it all happens. Doppo feels his face light up red—it is instantaneous, unexplainable, infuriating—with Hifumi smiling wider at the sight of his embarrassment. “Doppo, you’re blushing. Come on, it’s not like I’m really asking you out—”
Until he’s suddenly moving, pushing forward, stuffing Hifumi’s jacket over his face, muffling the surprised, “Doppo!?”
He reaches around, takes the handle to shake and twist it impatiently, come on, come on, come on, until it finally lets the door fall open. Hifumi is still blinded, standing in the closet with his jacket draped over his head, whining loudly, most certainly pouting, “Doppo, come on—” but Doppo slams the door shut, breathing out a long, relieved breath.
It’s not that he would have murdered Hifumi, if he had been left standing there with him. He worries a little more for his own well being, a lack of oxygen and pride; Doppo feels himself running on thin ice, his anxiety now heavy enough to form cracks in said ice.
“Uh, Kannonzaka-san?”
This last of his pride goes up in smoke.
The receptionist from the front of the club stands at the doorway into the back, so do at least five other hosts. Some have clearly been laughing, biting their lips, trying to stuff away the smiles on their faces. Others look more curious.
“Is everything—”
“It’s fine!” He all but yelps. If he was red before, he’s paled over now. “Sorry, I’m sorry! It’s fine, we were just talking!”
“In the storage closet?”
“Yes, the closet. It’s—Nevermind.” He rushes forward, disrupting the small crowd to rush past them. “I’m sorry, so sorry.” Head ducked down, he lets his hair fall over his face and tries to avoid being seen with all eyes on him. “I’ll show myself out.”
When he’s made it to the front door, slipping out as fast as he can manage, he can hear Hifumi still calling his name.
Outside the sun is going down, the sky dimming into a warm orange that hums against the city’s outline. The air has cooled but the sidewalk is busy, littered with passerbys ready to enjoy their night out. Doppo wrings his wrists, pulls his tie a little looser again, eventually feeling himself calm down over yet another embarrassing hurdle for the day.
The door is opening behind him again, and he stumbles out of the way to let whoever’s coming through pass by—but instead there’s a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back with an impatient tug.
“You’re awfully fast for someone who sits at a desk nine hours a day.”
Hifumi’s close. Too close. Doppo takes a step backwards, but the grip on his shoulder is steadfast, still attached. He huffs impatiently and tries not to make eye contact, eyeing the long sleeve of Hifumi’s coat that’s now wrinkled from Doppo keeping it balled up in his hands.
“You need to calm down. I don’t even understand what the problem was!”
“The—” for a moment all he has is an incredulous scoff, filling the air. “You really think I’d let you come to work and embarrass me?”
“Hey,” Hifumi says with a smile. “I’m offering to help. Hear me out, please.” Doppo watches warily as Hifumi lets him go, likely only because he no longer looks like taking off in a dead sprint down the sidewalk. “I said before—it’s not like I’m proposing we really be together. Only fake it for the one night.” He shines that typical Hifumi smile, but it’s a little more reserved now. Doppo knows it’s tailor made, designed to real him in.
“How bad can it be?”
“Funny, very funny. I can imagine just how bad it can be. Astronomically bad, universally bad, you getting me fired from my job bad—”
“To be fair,” Hifumi interrupts, unbothered. “You apparently risk getting fired regardless. Your words, not mine. Besides, I’m great boyfriend, fake or not.”
That shuts Doppo up—for a moment anyways. He tries to talk, but he preemptively imagines Hifumi shutting him down with more good excuses that he can’t actually dispute. But—there’s no way he can be considering this idea, not really.
He tries reasoning with himself.
There’s absolutely no way he should, would, could say yes to this. Seriously, he tells himself.
Don’t.
“You,” he starts, but Hifumi is grinning widely. An expression unbecoming of a host, he imagines. “You,” he starts again, a little more forceful. He jabs a finger into Hifumi’s chest, poking hard with every word that comes out, trying to drive the point home as best as he can.
“You cannot mess this up.”
Hifumi reigns in any laughter, instead reaching for Doppo’s hand when his finger is still pushing into his chest, taking it before he can snatch it back. He dips forward in a small bow, eyes half lidded, slight smile on his lips.
A careful, chaste kiss is pressed to the back of his hand.
Doppo feels himself going red yet again, burning with intense embarrassment that flashes from his neck to his cheeks in an instant. He’s too stunned to actually be annoyed. Twenty years, give or take, to get used to Hifumi’s incessant winking and flirting, but never anything quite like this. Regardless, Hifumi maintains his stance as the epitome of well mannered, enough that Doppo nearly believes in the act, in spite of his horror—or, well—whatever it is that causes him to be this embarrassed.
He relinquishes his grasp on his hand, letting it fall uselessly to Doppo’s side.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Doppo feels his stomach sink.
Shit.
The next few days are a relief—sort of.
Yes, Doppo still hates his job; yes, his manager’s face sends him reeling every time he side eyes him passing by, consistently picking up on comments of, “Can’t wait to see that date, Kannonzaki,” but compared to his erratic prior Monday the subtle jabs and quiet build of dread towards the weekend is something he can at least endure.
Of course, there’s still Hifumi.
Who springs himself into Doppo’s room while he’s hunched quietly over his laptop, working from home.
Note: trying to work from home, dealing with the extra work pawned off to him by his boss. He types with a bitter edge in his fingers; his stupid, shitty, lazy, boss that doesn’t actually know his real name.
Three cans of coffee deep into the night and dozing off over his keyboard, eyes closing, relaxed breathing that slows by the second—that’s when the door slams open. Doppo jumps in his seat, an arm swinging out and nearly knocking his laptop onto the floor.
Hifumi’s voice quickly shreds any remaining silence to bits, ringing loudly through the air, “Doppooooooo.” He draws the whine out while Doppo desperately gets his things back in order, splayed out fingers trying to straighten papers into semi-neat piles.
“Wake up—geez! Seriously? It’s not that late! Did you even eat?”
Doppo opens his mouth to reply; Hifumi cuts him off preemptively. “Coffee doesn’t count. Especially from a can.”
With that he throws a large pile of clothing onto Doppo’s bed, who watches helplessly from his desk, weakly protesting, “Hifumi, I sleep there.”
Hifumi responds by throwing himself into the mattress as well.
Doppo can hear his voice muffled against the mix of blankets and clothing, “I don’t know what I should wear.”
He snorts, looking back at his laptop screen. “And you think I’d be able to help you with that?”
“You have to.”
“I don’t have to do anything.”
“Come on!” He sits up with a huff. “I’m doing you such a huuuuge favor; you can’t even do this one thing for me?”
“Since when have you wanted my fashion advice?” Doppo says it flatly, already back to typing, albeit slowly. This type of back and forth—Hifumi whining, Doppo half ignoring him—isn’t unusual between them. If there’s anything that Doppo has going for him, it’s that he’s mastered the art of multitasking while Hifumi speaks.
“Doppoooooooooo...” he’s stretching himself out over his bed, making himself a little too at home, from what Doppo can see out of the corner of his eye.
He sighs, finally pushing the laptop away, pulling the screen half shut. He stares blankly at Hifumi, who looks back pitifully from across the room.
“What about something blue? You look—” and he pauses to admit this, taking a quick second to decide if he’ll regret saying so or not, “— You look nice in blue, I guess. Light blue...” His voice trails off for lack of confidence in his answer. True, Hifumi looks good in blue—light blue—but it’s also true that he looks good in just about anything, really.
An objective fact, Doppo tries to convince himself. Not just an opinion.
Hifumi raises a brow, pushing himself up so that he’s finally sat up properly, facing Doppo. He looks at the pile of clothing dumped on the bed, and Doppo starts to feel paranoid, as if he’s failed some sort of test in the art of being Hifumi’s fake boyfriend.
And then suddenly, simply, with an instantaneous smile, “Okay! I can find something blue. Light blue.”
Doppo breathes a sigh of relief, pulling his laptop back towards him. “I still don’t know why you want my help, but sure. You’re welcome.”
“Mhm,” says Hifumi, absentmindedly. He stands while Doppo is speaking, picking through tops, tossing some aside, disinterested, keeping some hanging off of his arms for further vetting. “It’s for tomorrow night.”
“By the way—we’re going out tomorrow night. Wear something nice!”
Doppo blinks, slowly, “The office party isn’t for another week.”
“And?”
“And—” He feels his brain begin to short circuit, shaking his head as a result. “And—why would we be going out?”
“Practice!”
“Practice…”
Hifumi sighs, obviously impatient, but then he puts his hands in the air, shirts in hand now dangling overhead. He poses as if presenting an idea even better than what they’ve already worked themselves into. “It’s a fake date, dummy!”
Doppo shuts his laptop, a gentle click as the top folds down. He stares hard pressed at literally anything else in the room aside from Hifumi—empty can of coffee, discarded papers, his own pile of crumpled clothing that rests in the corner of his room. Hifumi stays standing, posing, waiting for a response.
“Why,” says Doppo, carefully, “would we do that?”
In refusing to look at Hifumi he’s finally mastered the art of not blushing around him instantaneously every time the concept of dating—however fake it may be—is brought up.
It works like a charm.
“Because—if we show up to your office thing or whatever together and you can’t even look at me, like you aren’t right now, then literally nobody is going to believe we’re together! It’s practice. Fake practice.”
Doppo tries to defend himself, gaze suddenly forced to snap onto Hifumi, but he finds himself stammering, fighting to stand ground. “I—I can look at you, of course I can look at you—”
“You’re blushing!” Hifumi winks.
Doppo groans and buries his face in his hands.
When he hears Hifumi’s voice again it’s suddenly much closer, almost next to his ear. He looks up to see him hovering overhead, leaned over. “We just need to figure out… our rhythm! What makes us look real! Like—maybe this whole blushing constantly and not making eye contact thing can work, I mean, look at me—”
“Hifumi,” Doppo warns.
“—but that can’t be all there is to us, you know?”
“There’s no way this can actually run as deep as you say it does.”
“What!? Of course it does! People are going to be paying attention to you, Doppo—to us! They’re going to want to know about us, they’re bound to ask questions!” Doppo pushes his palm into Hifumi’s face—trying to shove him back—but Hifumi continues to make his point. “When was the last time you even went on an actual date!?”
He thinks back to his last year of university. A single outing with a girl he thought he might have been interested in—until he realized thirty minutes into dinner that he was never actually going to hold an interest in girls at all.
He had escaped during a bathroom break. The two of them never spoke again afterwards.
“That— that doesn’t matter,” he stammers it out a little quickly.
“Sure, Hifumi doesn’t sound convinced. “But I’m just trying to help you! Again!”
“I think you’re trying to kill me.”
“Never!” Hifumi cries out a little too dramatically.
“Yeah,” it’s Doppo’s turn to sound skeptical. “Sure.”
A beat later and Doppo is betraying his sense of self preservation for the second time this week. He tries to comfort himself: Hifumi is probably, unfortunately, right—again.
“Do I have to pay?”
Hifumi beams, clapping his hands together. “Of course! And since it’s a date, it has to be something good—nothing cheap!”
Doppo sighs.
Before they go out Doppo changes out of his trademark business suit and tie.
The trade off is a form fitting gray T-shirt, an accentuating black jacket, and pair of jeans—all taken from the back of his closet where they had been long forgotten. The look is nothing that would make him stand out, though it’s surprising to see him changing his clothes at all.
Hifumi leaves the outfit for him to find when he comes home that night, neatly laid out on his bed (that’s also been cleaned up), with an accommodating note.
can’t wait for tonight :)
wear this or else!!!
it’s a date. NOT work! ☆
He folds the note into his pocket with a tired laugh caught in the back of his throat. Fair enough.
Hifumi’s date night of choice is an evening spent out at an amusement park. The concept of which helps Doppo reign in his nervousness—given they’ve made plenty of trips to their share of theme parks—there’s no reason for this to stray off beat from the past.
He’s thinking of those past trips on the way there. Long, uncomfortable days under the sun made a little more bearable by Hifumi’s company, a cool drink shared between them in the shade; the two of them making futile attempts to win carnival prizes from the booth after booth.
Once, Hifumi had managed to win before. A small, embarrassing mascot—round and cutesy—pink blush on its cheeks to sit underneath its wide eyes. He had handed it off to Doppo and grinned proudly, “You’re welcome!”
Thinking about it now, he realizes it still sits on the shelf in his room, years later.
Simple as the memories may be, Doppo feels a certain nostalgia flood his senses. It’s a surprisingly sweet feeling, warm and light and pleasant—he hopes this might be the same.
If only for the simplicity, at least.
One train ride later and he finds himself standing underneath the flashing neon lights of the amusement park. Screams of laughter and adrenaline drift high into the air, just above the louder sounds of fast moving rides and annoyingly joyful music. Doppo looks out of place, tired and lonely against the backdrop of constantly moving bodies. Heavy eyes scan the area for a familiar mop of blonde hair; a surprising lack of patience (helped by the exhaustion of the work day) begins to edge him into considering going home if he doesn’t find Hifumi soon.
An arm suddenly loops through his unexpectedly, pulling him close. He feels his side collide with Hifumi’s as he stumbles and hears him laughing. “I took the night off for this, you know. Not an easy thing to do and now I owe a few favors, especially since I’m not working the weekend either, but...”
Doppo looks at him, frown already taking hold; he shrugs helplessly, trying to sound blameless. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
Hifumi gives him a once over, suddenly smiling. “I know. You look nice.”
He tries his best to take the conversation in stride; it feels half natural, half not, but he manages, even when his tongue feels like deadweight. “Did you forget you picked this outfit out for me?”
“You’re the one wearing it, not me,” Hifumi runs a hand down Doppo’s arm, sounding amused “ I’m glad I have such a good eye, though.”
“And you...” Doppo isn’t surprised to see Hifumi wearing his host jacket. But a bright blue top changes things considerably. The neckline plunges into a v-shape, the sleeves are cuffed up to look a little more casual. “You look good, too,” he’s slow to admit it.
“Careful,” says Hifumi, beginning to pull him along. “You’ll make me blush if you keep on like that. We’re faking, remember?”
He tries to swing a kick out at Hifumi’s leg while they walk.
Their fake date goes over so smoothly that Doppo almost forgets they’re faking. They spend the night dividing up tickets and deciding what rides to use them on, overeating and splitting drinks; laughing at the snapshots taken of them on the steep drops of every roller coaster.
He expects awkward pauses and hesitation, Hifumi having to guide him every step of the way. But they keep equal stride with one another, with minimal stumbling along the way on Doppo’s end.
Every so often he’s reminded of the context: when Hifumi takes his hand in his, lacing their fingers together, or when he wraps his arms around him from behind, casually draped over him from behind. The scent of his cologne hangs around him, even when Hifumi pulls away; gazes and touches linger—brushing fingers and bumping shoulders. Handfuls of gently pressed moments tucked away underneath the rush of the park, with Hifumi egging them on.
“You’re really a natural at this,” he points out, still holding Doppo’s hand.
Doppo focuses too much on the way Hifumi slides his index finger against his own, and it’s—annoying, confusing, infuriating, he can’t settle on just one word—how much the intimacy sends him off center. He feels doubt linger in his chest, strong enough that he’s not able to figure out a reply as fast as he’d like to. He recognizes the familiarity in their softness—and it blindsides him.
“Not really,” he manages. “This is all you.”
“It takes two. And you aren’t running away. I’m proud of you.”
“Maybe I’m too tired to bother tonight.”
“So if I start calling you kitten—”
“Don’t.”
They save the ferris wheel for last.
He hands off the last of their tickets to the ride operator while Hifumi climbs into the compartment first. The gate shuts behind him with a creaking swing and Doppo clings to the bars once he’s inside, waiting for the rocking of the basket to slow.
He watches Hifumi peel his jacket off, blinking slowly, swallowing down the nervous lump in his throat. Hifumi, who laughs once he’s draped over his arm, “We didn’t have to ride this! I know you hate this thing.”
“Then why did you suggest it?” He tries to look at Hifumi—only Hifumi—and not the background behind him that he’s pretty sure is spinning.
“Doppo, we’re still on the ground,” he teases.
“This is fine. It’s fine. I’m fine—”
The ride moves and Doppo feels every bone in his body go rigid.
“Shit—”
Hifumi grins and leans back to watch him squirm. He looks nothing but comfortable as they dangle a hundred feet in the air and move too fast, at risk of potentially dying at any second because of a loose screw or a rusty bar or the wind picking up too fast when they reach the peak of the wheel—
The weight of the cart suddenly tips over, leaning heavy on Doppo’s end—the reason why isn’t totally clear, as his eyes are shut tight, but he comes to a quick conclusion: he’s going to die.
An arm slips around him and his eyes fly open. “Hifumi—”
“We’re fine! Look!”
“You’re going to kill us—”
“You’re being a baby. Look—hey! Look at me, seriously.”
Hifumi’s hand reaches up, taking Doppo’s chin between his fingers and turning his head to face him.
“Focus on me, instead.”
Doppo sucks in a sharp breath.
Hifumi is leaned in close, close enough to—
No. Definitely no.
No, no, no, no.
But he’s framed by the light of the city and the park, leaned in close enough to trigger an impulsive reaction that would reap plenty of consequences afterwards. Leaned in close enough that their breath mingles together, that Doppo feels his heart stuck in his throat, that he forgets about the uncomfortable sway of the Ferris Wheel, even as they pause at the top.
“See,” Hifumi lets go of his face, sliding his hand down to his shoulder.
“You really shouldn’t force yourself to do things like this—being agreeable all the time? It’s not healthy. You get yourself into too much trouble over it.”
Doppo can’t bring himself to look away.
“We’re fine—promise! Just give it a second and we’ll be back on the ground.” Then he laughs, “You’re so not allowed to call me a bad friend after this week.”
He nods, “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t!”
When they’re back on the ground, the ride operator gives them a tired look. “You’re not supposed to sit on the same side. It’s a safety hazard.”
Hifumi waves him off, Doppo stays bowed over, apologizing quietly as they exit the ride quickly.
It’s late enough now that the air is cooler, but summer keeps them warm despite the night. Hifumi pulls the jacket back on before the merge into the crowd of strangers and their arms link up again.
“I think we’re ready for the weekend now.”
Doppo gives a strained laugh.
And in his mind he’s back on that ferris wheel, leaned in—thinking of kissing Hifumi, lingering on the curve of his lips, the warmth of his breath. Thinking of how different this moment right now would be if he had actually done it. Wondering if he would still even have a friend, let alone anything further than that.
No, he convinces himself. Life doesn’t work out that conveniently—not for you.
The lights had framed his face when they were up in the sky; made him glow with even more intensity than he does by himself. Because yes, Hifumi is like the light—that much is obvious; it has always been obvious. Hifumi has been there to clear the gray that hangs so heavy over his own life, breaking through clouds and helping Doppo when he doesn’t ask for it.
Hifumi, Hifumi, Hifumi—his eyes, his mouth, his hand holding his, fingers intertwined.
Twenty-nine years old and Doppo suddenly realizes he has feelings for his best friend.
His only friend.
Shit.