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“Psst, Fang.”
He pretends he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear anything.
Go away, He silently pleads.
“Ohh, Fang,” Gopal drags out his words for the extra dramatic flair, digging his fingers into Fang’s shoulders.
“So, how’s the new thing between you and Boboiboy going?” Fang’s eyes are screwed shut, but he can already tell that the indian boy’s sending an extremely big smile at him.
“We’re doing just fine, thank you,” Fang manages through gritted teeth, coming to a conclusion that he should just get this conversation over with.
He’d suffered the shovel talk from Ying already, along with Yaya’s complete and utter shock, while she’d drawn exactly five dollars from her wallet and dropped it into Ying’s hand.
He really, really did not appreciate that their friends had been betting on their getting together.
Fang felt underprepared for whatever Gopal was going to throw at him next.
“Dey, what’s with that tone?”
Fang cracks open his eyes for a peek, and there Gopal is, nose towards the sky, a disapproving frown on his face, one eyebrow raised.
“Can you just…” Fang sighed, looking down at his unfinished lunch, then to the clock mounted on the pale blue walls, “Make it quick, please.”
Gopal claps his hands together excitedly, overjoyed. “Great! Okay, watch this!”
Saying no less, Gopal raises his hands into something of a gun, shooting a jet of glowy, green light to a few papers.
The ravenette watches the familiar process of molecular substitution, the formerly flat stacks of paper molding and inflating into the shape of, strangely, cooked chicken on a dish.
The dish looks inviting, hot steam escaping it in waves, bathed in cream sauce, with sprinkles of sundried tomato parmesan. There’s the inclusion of what Fang knows, as a decent cooker, the decorative herb — in other words, fresh basil.
Still, as tasty as it seems to be, never judge a book by its cover.
This is what Fang knows from years of experience.
“Why are you trying to feed me your calculus homework, and what does this chicken have to do with anything.” He says, flatly, tone holding no room for jokes.
“Loosen up a bit, you emo,” Gopal swats him across the back. “And this isn't just any chicken!”
Here we go.
“It’s the most iconic recipe in the history of mankind! You see this creamy, dreamy, heaven sent sweetheart?!” He dramatically gestures towards the plate of chicken.
“It’s mankind’s magnum opus. Trust me when I tell you, this ‘Marry Me Chicken’ will seal the deal for you and Boboiboy!”
“Young men like him love chicken!” It’s like Gopal never stops talking.
“And you know this because…?” Fang believes none of it.
“Because I’m also a young man! Take my word for it.”
The one draped head to toe in purple rolls his eyes.
“You’re just a glutton.” Is Fang’s rebuttal against Gopal’s proposal.
“We’re both gluttons, me and him,” Gopal puts a hand on his chest, “glutton brothers in solidarity.” Fang raises a questioning eyebrow at the chicken, silent.
I am so not feeding my boyfriend a bunch of paper and ink.
“I refuse. I’m not giving this to Boboiboy.” It’s just common sense.
“And Boboiboy isn’t a glutton —” He stops in his tracks for a moment, recalling the easy going water element.
Air’s literally a part of my boyfriend. Holy shit, Gopal’s right.
But, I mean, if I feed him this, will he really be happy? It looks super western, and as far as I know, he’s more of a sucker for sweet things like Coco instead of cooked things like these.
Gopal’s creepy smirk grows on his face as he studies the frozen Fang with interest.
“Sooo? What do ya think?”
“Let’s envision it for a moment. You and Boboiboy, sitting down at the fanciest restaurant you’ve ever seen,” Flashes of red velvet draped over tables and polished marble floors enter Fang’s mind.
"You guys are sharing this dish. It’s a symbolism of your love for him, and it also tastes like the aboves too!” Gopal continues.
“Anddd,” Gopal’s tone drops into his mischievous tone that he can recognize as fast as he can summon a shadow tiger.
"Let's also imagine him in a suit," The other boy must enjoy torturing him, because Fang's face turns tomato red in an instant.
"And ohohoho, his suit, is pitch black, glossy," Oh god Fang wishes he would stop putting so much emphasis on that word, "He also has matching gloves that hang just a little low on his wrists."
"He looks handsome. Super handsome!"
Fang's imagination already knows that, thank you very much.
"His hair is also in a different style, ooh, and he doesn't have his cap on!"
Oh boy.
"You should shut up," Fang croaks, finally finding the strength somewhere in him to quit the daydreaming.
"Ehehe," There's a knowing smirk on Gopal's face. "Something finds your fancy, Lance Corp?"
"No. Nope, nothing. Not his, dashing sideswept bangs or his nice suit. I'm not fancying anything, you crazy hag." It sounds more like him trying to convince himself than anything.
Gopal laughs.
"Well, point is," The Indian boy holds up his hands. "You should pamper your boy and put in more effort in wooing him."
"Real talk, he'll probably notice the little details and efforts you put in, and trust me he's going to be charmed."
"You the man, Fang!" Gopal shoots some finger guns at him, and Fang's entire body wretches out of the way, shocked, dodging two rays that would've made him matching with the chicken on his table.
Gopal blinks. "Ehe… Whoops?"
"Whoops." Fang repeats, disbelieving.
"I almost turned into a five star buffet meal and all you say is whoops."
"Okay, counter point," Gopal smirked. "You know what's better than a five star buffet meal?"
"A five star buffet meal shared by Boboiboy and Fang, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"
"How old are you," Fang demands.
"Muah muah muah!" Gopal's high pitched smooching sounds make Fang want to throw himself into a wall.
The shadow manipulator grumbles.
"But, still." He holds up a finger and points at the cream chicken, who is looking more and more appetising by the minute, with only stone cold will holding Fang back from devouring it.
"If I want to feed Boboiboy high class things, I'd rather feed him an actual Marry Me Chicken cooked with proper materials." He narrows his eyes. "...And not paper."
"Hmph!" Gopal clearly does not approve.
"I made this dish specifically with y'all's blooming romance in mind and you don't even look at it."
"How will you know real cooked chicken won't taste the same, or even worse, than mine?!"
Fang huffs, then standing up from his seat. "Because it's common sense."
"And also, blooming romance my ass. You're just trying to get rid of your calculus homework."
Gopal freezes, having enough shame in him to recognize getting caught.
"Okay, fine, I accept defeat!"
"But you're absolutely sure you don't want my ten out of ten, creme de la crème dishhh…?"
Gopal's tone is taunting as he picks up the dish and waves it infront of Fang's mouth. Drool is the thin river that comes from Fangs lips down to his chin as he subconsciously eyes it.
He stays silent for a moment, contemplating.
"...No."
The Indian boy can practically hear the pathetic drum shock sound effect play in his head at the dead answer.
You're no fun, Fang! And here I thought I had you!
I had the entire restaurant date planned out for you two and everything … I've already established myself as the ultimate wingman!
"Okay, I'll propose it another way."
Time to get desperate. I'll have to throw away the restaurant idea.
"I'll teach you how to make one, and you guys can have a cute under the stars while you eat Marry Me Chicken."
Please agree please agree please!
Fang's eyes widen.
"O-Oh." His imagination is running wild again, as is proven by the spreading red across his face.
It's dead silent.
"...Sure, I guess..?"
YES!
Gopal cannot stop himself from exploding with excitement.
"Ohhh, Fanggg! You will not regret this, I promise!" Gopal beams at him.
Two weeks later, and Gopal silently finishes his delicious PBJ sandwich in the trees, watching both the tide of the sea and the couple enjoying their simple date at the beach.
There's no one here, as it's late into the night, except for them two, and the third one they aren't aware of.
Boboiboy happily takes a bite out of the same Marry Me Chicken that Fang and him had painstakingly taken hours to cook, face lighting up into an array of pleased expressions.
"Woah!" Boboiboy laughs. "This tastes great, Fang! Where'd you get it?"
Gopal can identify the pride in Fang's tone as he confidently replies, "Well, actually,"
"It's not store bought. I cooked it."
Even from this distance, he can see the brunettes eyes glow with endearment. "Really, Fang?!"
"I never took you for someone who likes to cook! Am I eating your cooking right now?"
"Uh, yeah." Fang blinks.
"Wow… I'm so lucky to be your boyfriend!" And he savours another spoonful of the dish.
Fang's face flushes a pleased violet at the praise.
"Ahem," He tries to cough off the obvious blush, fixing his crooked glasses. "Well, I knew that.."
Boboiboy's laughter at Fang's embarassment echoes across the beach, before he leans in to kiss the sweet blush off Fang's face.
Mission Wingman Complete.
Gopal pumps a fist in the air.