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Eita is making his morning protein shake, bags sitting beneath his eyes, and grumbling about something inane when he makes the biggest mistake of his year.
It’s a dark morning— the sun won’t rise for another hour, at this time of year, and it leaves a dark and heavy atmosphere weighing down on the kitchen. He thinks about turning the fairy lights on— his sisters would like seeing them if they wake up sometime soon— but ultimately decides against it.
He takes a long, considering sip of his shake, face scrunching up a little at the unmixed powder that lays against his tongue. He shakes the bottle a little more, frowning as he turns, then yelps.
“You’re up early,” says Mom, who is eyeing him suspiciously. “What happened to wanting rest?”
“Restless,” Eita mutters in response, eyebrows furrowed. “Gonna go on a run.”
As expected, Mom makes a face, as if she’d expected for him to sit around the kitchen doing nothing for the next few hours making small talk.
“Grandma keeps messaging me, by the way,” she says offhandedly, opening the fridge. “She wants you to pick soon.”
“I don’t want any of them.”
“At least choose one. You know how I feel about it, Eita.” Mom grimaces. “I don’t like it either. The only advice I can give you is that you pick out the one you think is nicest, talk to her a little, and if there’s really no interest then you can tell your grandma that it wouldn’t work out.”
Eita feels his skin itch.
“How long do I have? Three months?”
A laugh. “Not anymore. Your cousin’s wedding is scheduled for next month. They’ll expect you to bring a date for them to nitpick at.”
Eita has a very nice immediate family, he likes to think. He loves his parents, his siblings, and he’ll even send a few nice texts to his cousins every once in a while. But his extended family is horrifically irritating— they’re strict and traditional and they’ve got some strange complex about keeping the bloodline successful. Hence the book.
His grandparents are successful business owners, his aunts and uncles various kinds of entrepreneurs and whatnot. Even his parents; Eita’s father is a music producer, and his mother is a prolific actress. It’s a looming shadow of expectation that’s hard to live up to, even as Eita puts his all into the things he is passionate about.
He knows he’s not as academic as his cousin— the bride-to-be— who happens to be some sort of scientist who’s doing her PhD in some super niche topic like the climate’s effect on the production of bumblebee honey and how it’s affecting the ecosystem. He has no idea if that even made sense in his head, but it sounds like the type of thing she’d do. It’s definitely something about bees.
Eita knows, too, that he doesn’t see much of a future for himself in volleyball. He loves the sport— adores the game and his team and the exhilarating rush of adrenaline that courses through his veins when he gets a service ace. The uproarious cheer of the purple-clad crowd, unanimously chanting his name. It’s one hell of an ego boost, if nothing else, and Eita likes it.
But he can’t imagine himself doing that for a living. He’s not pro material the way Wakatoshi is. In fact, Eita can’t really imagine Wakatoshi doing anything but volleyball.
He knows that he wants to continue with music; it’s what he really lives for, in the end— the clash of drums and electric scream of a guitar. Music is his little bit of fantasy, where he can conjure magic between his fingers with just a strum of his bass guitar. It’s a compelling thing. Something that makes people look.
Eita has lived for so long chasing others that it’s nice to have them turn to face him.
He’s grateful to have his family, who are wealthy enough to give him the opportunity to pursue what he actually wants to do. He doesn’t really want to end up rotting in a corporate office, lamenting his musical dream that he’d sacrificed for the sake of money. That’s not something he’ll ever be forced into.
But he knows that his grandparents are going to expect something concrete. He can’t afford to slack off.
The book is full, page-to-page, of girls his age with hefty amounts of connections and cash. There’s student council presidents and private school choir members, girls who have published research in science and historical papers, heirs to large companies and aspiring engineers.
That doesn’t make me feel inferior at all, Eita thinks. How do they even get time to do all that?
Eita doesn’t even know how all this info made it into the book, but he’s not one to question his scheming grandmother’s methods. He’s a bit too scared of her to ever do that.
When he gets back from his morning run, tossing his jacket somewhere close to the peg it should be on (much to his mom’s displeasure), he flicks through the book once more. He idly acknowledges the various pretty faces, stares dubiously at long lists of achievements, before he mournfully slams it shut.
If he picks one of these, he’ll need to actually go through with it until after the wedding, or else everyone will know he was totally leading the poor girl on for the sake of appearances. He values his reputation as a nice person more than his dreamed up reputation as a soon-to-be successful man.
“None of them?” Mom asks sympathetically.
“None.”
“Is there no one at school you can bring? Anyone you’ve been talking to recently who won’t mind entertaining your aunts and uncles for a night?”
Eita frowns.
“One of my friends?” he asks, just to clarify. “I guess so.”
A pause.
“Does it have to be a girl?”
Mom laughs and playfully slaps him upside the head. “It can be whatever you want. Grandma won’t care whether you’re straight or gay— just whether you’re making money or not.”
Great, Eita thinks sarcastically. I’ll have to find someone who isn’t clinging onto their place on the team by the seat of their pants, then.
Of course, his teammates will be the best option. They’re the least likely to embarrass him (save for, say, Satori, who would take great pleasure in telling Eita’s family about his embarrassing moments) and most likely to know stuff about him that others wouldn’t. It’d be more convincing that way.
But who would be the best choice?
He thinks of Wakatoshi first; he’s a prospecting pro athlete with a big reputation attached to his name. He’s on the national under-19s team and the Ushijima family probably (definitely) has connections to the Semi family in some way, if Wakatoshi’s brief mentions of his own grandmother suggests anything.
But Wakatoshi is also helplessly honest, very direct. Eita doesn’t think he’d keep up a romantic facade very well, though he doesn’t blame him for it. That’s just not the type of guy Wakatoshi is.
He discards Satori immediately. As much as Eita loves him, he’s the worst person he could possibly show his grandparents. He’s also the worst person for Eita to owe. He considers Hayato in the same light— great guy, but can be quite cruel when it comes to cashing in favours. (Hayato also knows a little too much about Eita’s private life and he is not interested in letting his family know about the Orange Soda Incident, thank you very much.)
Reon would probably decline since he has a girlfriend, but he’s still a good option if Eita explains that it’s just pretend, and a way to get around his family… Reon is a good student and, if Eita remembers correctly, is aiming to do something sensible in college alongside maybe, maybe going pro. He’d be good!
Of all the third years that he’s close to, Reon is kind of the only option Eita has. Of the second years, he’s only really talked to Kawanishi once and—
And he hasn’t really talked to Shirabu since second year. As friends, at least. There’s always tension between them now.
Eita dwells on it for a long while, absently doing his chores and helping his little sister dress up for whatever birthday party she was going to. He agonises over his pile of homework which makes no sense (what does his teacher expect him to do? This is practically in another language!) and eventually goes to bed.
It’s on the precipice of sleep that Eita remembers to message Reon. He grumbles, typing out the texts with one hand through bleary eyes, sends a brief explanation, and falls asleep.
Semi Eita 11:32pm
Hey, can you do me a favour?
Semi Eita 11:32pm
My cousin’s getting married in like a month and I kind of really need a date for my family to pick apart and you were the best option I could think of. No worries if you can’t though.
Semi Eita 11:33pm
It’s like, just for the wedding.
Shirabu Kenjirou 11:40pm
Fine.
It’s safe to say that Eita freaks out in the morning.
What the hell? How did I send that to him? I haven’t texted Shirabu since, like, May! And it was an awkward birthday wish!
There’s no way his contact would've been high up enough for Eita to accidentally click on it!
He stares at his phone blankly, horrified as he reads the fateful four letter word.
Fine.
Eita hadn’t meant to send that to Shirabu, but Shirabu had agreed. He had reason to think Reon would decline, so—
Wasn’t Shirabu his only option now? He’d already agreed…
Semi Eita 7:20am
You’re sure?
Shirabu Kenjirou 7:21am
Yes.
Semi Eita 7:21am
I’ll let you know the details later then. Do u need a suit?
Shirabu Kenjirou 7:22am
No.
Eita can’t help but think that this is going to be a very difficult month.
The next few weeks pass as normal. He doesn’t talk to Shirabu at school, save for a few passing words during training. He has a stilted conversation over text with him once in a while, exchanging little bits of information.
In the end, Shirabu begrudgingly agrees to be Eita’s fake-boyfriend.
Win! For now, at least. He needs to convince his family next.
Shirabu, to his credit, is a rather good sport about it all. He’s not a cheerful victim by any means, but he accepts his role and organises his schedule to work around Eita’s wedding.
“You got a date?” Mom asks.
“Yeah.”
“Teammate?”
“Mn. His name’s Shirabu.”
Mom sends him a raised eyebrow, recognising the name, then smirks at him. “You’d better start acting more familiar, Eita, or you’ll fool no one. Get into the habit.”
And that’s how Eita finds himself awkwardly attempting to act lovey-dovey with Shirabu Kenjirou in public, much to the younger boy’s displeasure.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, pulling him aside into an empty classroom.
“I told you over text! You agreed! We’ve gotta act more— oh, I don’t know,” Eita groans, his face flaming. “Listen, Granny’s the equivalent of a modern-day mastermind and she’ll sniff a fake out immediately. We’ve gotta be as natural as possible!”
“You don’t have to do PDA,” Shirabu says, his cheeks growing pink. “Have you ever seen an actual couple doing that? No one wants that sort of dog food shoved in their face.”
Well, sue him. Eita isn’t exactly an expert in relationships, unlike Shirabu, apparently. “How are we meant to practice, then?”
“In private?” Shirabu looks incredulous, as if Eita is mentally challenged. “Not in public. Anything but public.”
Eita frowns, thinking hard. He looks away from Shirabu’s unfairly pretty face with his arms folded.
“Let’s go on a date, then.”
“What?”
Before Eita can begin to defend himself— it’s only fake! It’s just for the act!— he finds himself staring wordlessly at the flustered expression spreading across Shirabu’s face.
Shirabu’s golden eyes meet his, a mix of confusion and hesitance weighing in his irises.
“Fine,” he says, rushed. He makes to leave.
“Huh? You’re good with it?”
“I said fine. It’s just for your cousin’s wedding, right?”
His hand hesitates, hovering above the door handle.
“Right?”
“Right,” Eita says, his heart racing. “Yeah, it’s just for the wedding.”
Shirabu doesn’t look back at him when he leaves the classroom. Eita leans against the wall with his blood pounding against his temples, breath shaky.
Eita, unlike his not-boyfriend, likes things that are exciting and fun. He knows that Shirabu would probably storm off if he brought him to something loud and ‘scary’, so a concert or party is out of the question, and he eventually lands on the idea to take his underclassman to an escape room.
Shirabu Kenjirou 7:32pm
You’re so strange.
Shirabu Kenjirou 7:32pm
That’s fine with me. What time?
In Eita’s mind, an escape room is the ultimate date idea! It gives him the chance to prove that he’s capable of taking control in a stressful situation, demonstrates his quick thinking skills and allows him to impress his date. It’s great.
(His mind’s eye gives him a vision of himself carrying Shirabu out of a smoking room like a damsel-in-distress. He waves away the thought. Shirabu would rather strangle him.)
The date itself actually goes pretty well, in Eita’s humble opinion. It doesn’t go as planned, though— Shirabu is the one who ends up deciphering most of the clues, and Eita stares at his arguably perfect side profile with an empty head as the other boy mutters his way through an explanation.
They’re both working under a time limit. Eita goes searching for possible clues, is the one who inputs the codes, and offers a high five after every successful section of the room.
Shirabu pieces the story together with a small, barely-perceptible smile.
They get stuck on the final part, the room dark and tight. The lighting is horribly ominous, the timer on the wall counting down with big red numbers, and Eita frantically searches the whole section and all the papers they’ve collected for possible clues. There’s a code to let them through the exit, but—
Shirabu is breathing with purpose, as if it’s taking conscious thought to keep him breathing evenly.
“You okay?” Eita asks.
“I’m fine.”
Fine. Shirabu seems to like that word. He's never good, never bad. Always fine. It’s never a yes or a no. Just fine.
Shirabu’s eyebrows are furrowed, his golden eyes narrowed with concentration as he sifts through the papers— files that pertain to whatever the story of the room had been. His bangs fall into his face, lips moving silently as he works through what he knows and tries to find a suitable conclusion.
The clock is ticking. The time runs steadily, down and down and down.
Eita reaches up slowly, his fingers just slightly brushing the side of Shirabu’s head. He catches little strands of copper hair, soft beneath his touch.
Shirabu’s head snaps up, staring at him with wide eyes, as Eita swipes his hand across the wall behind his head.
A part of the perceived wallpaper peels back. There’s numbers printed across the underside.
“I thought it’d be too obvious,” Eita admits, grinning. “The files say that there’s stuff in the walls.”
It seems to take great effort for Shirabu to tear his eyes away.
“I thought that was their pathetic attempt at being scary,” Shirabu says, though his voice is a little choked.
The timer beeps.
They have twenty seconds left.
Eita pulls his hand away (what an awkward position to have been in) and makes for the door. Shirabu reads the code out for him.
Five seconds.
Four.
Three.
Eita grabs Shirabu’s hand, pulling him forward as the door swings open.
Two.
Shirabu stumbles.
One.
They both cross the threshold with hardly a moment to spare.
Eita is silent, breathing heavily.
Shirabu blinks rapidly, as if seeing Eita for the first time in his life, then huffs a laugh.
And another.
And Eita watches, a little enraptured, as Shirabu starts to laugh at him. His eyes are glittering, curved into crescents, and his hand comes up to cover his smile. Eita feels his body move on its own, catching the boy’s wrist.
“Uh,” Eita says intelligently. He’s never seen Shirabu’s face do that before. Never heard his voice stutter in such a melody.
Then he starts laughing too.
They look like a pair of idiots, snorting and snickering at each other, hanging onto each other’s arms like they’re the only things keeping them upright.
“You moron,” Shirabu gasps, shoving him. “I nearly fell!”
“Not my fault you can’t walk, Kenjirou.”
“You dragged me!”
“Should’ve started running! Where’s your sense of urgency, huh? What if we failed? We’d be stuck in the room forever with the evil murder man.”
Shirabu is laughing again, though he’s trying (and failing) to stifle it.
(He never noticed that Semi called him Kenjirou at that moment. He doesn’t quite remember when Semi started calling him by his first name. He doesn’t acknowledge it, even though the sound of it has his cheeks burning.)
(Kenjirou also doesn’t tell his not-boyfriend that he forgot it wasn’t a real date.)
Eita forgets too.
It’s difficult, remembering— it’s just so easy to slip his hand into Kenjirou’s, jabbing at him playfully about his ice-cold fingers. Kenjirou, in a fit of revenge, presses said ice-cold fingers to Eita’s cheek.
When Mom asks, Eita talks about Kenjirou this, my boyfriend that, doesn’t he look cute here and everyone’s gonna love him.
Eita forgets, and every time he remembers it’s like a stabbing in his chest.
The wedding comes by faster than expected. A month is really such a short time, and Eita finds that he aches.
He doesn’t want to go back to awkward tension and texts only on birthdays. Eita is actually pretty committed! His phone background is a candid of his technically-not-boyfriend. His phone background!
If Eita has to change it after the wedding, he might just throw up from shame!
Kenjirou 4:40pm
Eita
Kenjirou 4:41pm
Are you picking me up?
Semi Eita 4:42pm
Yeah I’ll be there in half an hour
Kenjirou 4:42pm
Alright.
Kenjirou looks gorgeous, Eita thinks absently as they step out of the car and into the light.
The sun is setting already, with Kenjirou’s face turning a little pink in the prickly cold. He grumbles, one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around Eita’s (not because he wanted to or anything— Eita just runs warm, so he’s Kenjirou’s personal-but-not-in-that-way heater).
The waiting is the most agonising part, Eita thinks. The church is suitably packed, bridesmaids and groomsmen littered around as the procession is yet to start. He has no idea where his little sister is, as she’s a flower girl, and Eita fears she’s already tossed out half of the petals they had in stock.
His hands are trembling. Kenjirou’s fingers intertwine with his from where they sit, a grounding and comforting presence.
The actual ceremony goes well. He’s glad, but that’s not what Eita was terrified of. That’s not the reason Eita is fake-dating Kenjirou. He feels nothing but happiness and pride when he sees his older cousin, beautiful and reverent in her joy, clad in a huge white dress.
No— the thing that strikes the fear of God into Eita’s heart is the pin-straight back of his grandmother who sits in the pew in front of him.
Even her hairstyle looks strict! Eita mourns mentally, squeezing his (not) boyfriend’s hand. If I get caught, we’re both dead!
Kenjirou is a totally suitable candidate for Eita’s future, Granny! Please spare him the life ending questions, thank you very much.
He has extremely good grades, is part of the student council, volunteers— he’s really very suitable and Eita would really prefer it if Kenjirou came out of this night alive. (And maybe willing to continue not-dating.)
Kenjirou, in full Shirabu Kenjirou-fashion, is a model guest. He’s polite and graciously partakes in small talk following the ceremony, refers to Eita as his partner when asked (and doesn’t that do a funny thing to the older setter’s heart?) and smiles courteously at poor jokes.
It’s then that Eita realises that he has made a grave mistake.
He doesn’t realise that he really does like-like Kenjirou here. No. His realisation is that he has completely forgotten to follow up on his question of what Kenjirou intends to do after high school.
He’d asked it before, a couple weeks ago after training, but Kenjirou had avoided the question as if unsure. Kenjirou could not tell Eita’s grandmother that he didn’t know what to do in the future.
There were two possible outcomes to that conversation.
One: Eita’s grandmother shoves Kenjirou in a rocket launcher and explodes him for daring to set foot on the land of her precious granddaughter’s location of matrimony. She tells Eita, wading in his river of tears, that there is no room for undecided, visionless fools in this family.
Two: Kenjirou, who is well-liked by the end of the night, is invited to work for Eita’s grandparents’ company.
The second, somehow, is the worst option! Kenjirou will become an evil, stuck up businessman with zero empathy or regard for human life!
“Sorry, Kenjirou,” Eita whispers tragically. “To die is a better option.”
Kenjirou sends him a quizzical look, but doesn’t question him. Such a cute underclassman, not investigating Eita’s silent mental breakdown. He really does make things a lot easier.
It is almost seven o’clock at night, the reception lit up with twinkling fairy lights in a cool ocean blue, when Granny strides her way over.
She really does look like an unbeatable antagonist, thinks Eita, who is going through a bit of a crisis. Kenjirou, I think she has too much HP for you to face her right now. Please retreat.
Kenjirou does not retreat.
The questions start slowly, a gentle lure into a false sense of security. Granny smiles, ushering the two boys to sit down at their table and have something to eat— “Eita, dear, you really are far too skinny.”— and circles them like a predator locked onto its prey.
“You must be the boyfriend that Eita’s talked so much about,” she says warmly, the first hit.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kenjirou says in his best indulgent customer service voice. “My name is Shirabu Kenjirou. I’m grateful to have been given the chance to meet you.”
Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think? Eita doesn’t say, because he’s too busy trying not to combust.
“Younger?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m seventeen.”
“Ah, you’re still in high school. I still remember my high school days,” she reminisces, sighing. “I met your grandfather there,” she directs this towards Eita, “in debate club.”
Of course you did debate! Why wouldn’t you do debate? Who’s surprised? Not me!
Kenjirou perks up. “I did debate club in my first year.”
“You didn’t keep up with it?”
“Ah, I had to drop it for student council.”
This sparks something in Granny’s eyes. “You’re in the volleyball club, aren’t you? An athlete?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
What else? Eita cries. That’s plenty!
“Eco committee,” Kenjirou says, though it’s hesitant. Eita’s pretty sure that it’s part of his role in the council, so he’s grasping at straws a little here. He’s doing very well though, faced by the beast.
“Oh, lovely! Kimiko did eco committee,” Granny informs them sagely, indicating the mass of white in the distance which is probably Eita’s tryhard scientist cousin (who is also the newlywed). “Is Kenjirou interested in science?”
“Eita tells me that he’s good at just about everything,” comes Mom’s voice from the heavens (which happens to be behind him). “Though I can’t tell you how much of that is hearsay.”
They both speak at once.
“All of it,” Kenjirou says.
“None of it,” refutes Eita, who is a very good, very encouraging (not) boyfriend. “What the hell do you mean, all of it? You just showed off all your extracurriculars!”
“No one’s good at everything. There are things I still need to work on.”
Not in front of my grandmother, there aren’t! Go back to showing off!
“There are lots of things that I still don’t know,” Kenjirou admits, looking horribly vulnerable for a moment. “I’ve learned that and I’m trying to internalise it. I’ve found that the more knowledge I have, the more I understand how much I don’t know.”
Granny blinks slowly at him, a single sharp eyebrow raised. Mom pats Kenjirou on the head, a little tentative, like he’s some sort of exotic animal.
“Does Kenjirou play any instruments? Eita’s family is very music-oriented.”
Eita doesn’t know this one. He thinks that Kenjirou would’ve mentioned it.
Now that he thinks about it, Kenjirou knows much more about his personal life than he knows about Kenjirou’s. He’s never even met the other boy’s family.
Not that it matters, he forces himself to think, jaw clenched.
A little traitorous voice in the very back of his mind says, oh, but it does. It does to you. None of this is fake to you, is it?
“I play the piano.”
“Grade?”
“Six.”
“Are you part of the school orchestra?”
“No,” he says, and Eita feels a little part of himself die, because that’s the first of Granny’s questions that Kenjirou has seemed to say the wrong answer to. “It’s more of a hobby. I play for my little brother’s auditions when he has them, though.”
“Little actor?”
“Quite. He seems to think so, anyway.”
Eita stifles a snort.
“Kenjirou must understand that his partner’s family is quite strict,” Granny intones, smiling. “But that is not to say that we are heartless. Do you have a career in mind? You’re still young— it’s quite alright if the answer is no.”
DO NOT SAY NO.
Kenjirou is silent for a long while. The silence is not aimless— Eita knows him well enough to see the thoughts flashing through his mind reflected in those golden eyes.
He looks around. Notices that there are significantly more people than he remembers there being on this table. His family is so nosy— can’t they leave Kenjirou alone whilst he’s being interrogated?
There’s an uncertainty to Kenjirou’s movements, fidgeting, and Eita reaches out to hold his hand. Their fingers interlock. Kenjirou is grounded by his touch.
“I want to be a doctor,” Kenjirou says, and his face softens with surprise.
Eita thinks that it’s the first time he’s ever said that out loud. Maybe he’s surprised that he worked up the courage.
Maybe he’s surprised that he told Eita’s family before his own.
Granny’s head tilts like a bird’s. She smiles, though it is more genuine than the past few.
“That’s a difficult path. Is this something Kenjirou wants, or something he believes he can do?”
“I’m capable,” Kenjirou says simply, with certainty. “But I don’t think capability is the only thing I have to consider for a job like that. I want to help people. I can’t save everyone, but I can at least learn to make them feel listened to and understood. I want to be a relief on the worst day of another person’s life.”
Ugh. Eita melts a bit.
Kenjirou has avoided the question of his career since Eita asked him it, and he’d simply thought the younger boy was just unsure. It was normal to not know at that age, right?
Maybe Kenjirou had been too afraid to tell Eita what he really wanted. Maybe the vulnerability was too much for him to handle.
The questions grow more relaxed after that. Eita’s grandmother likes his boyfriend.
That’s good.
That’s… that’s good.
It’s really just too bad that Kenjirou isn’t really his boyfriend.
“Thank you,” Eita murmurs, draping his blazer around a sleepy Kenjirou. “For this. You know you didn’t have to.”
“You chose me,” he says quietly, eyelashes fluttering, lids weighed by exhaustion. “It’s fine.”
Fine. Always fine.
“You said I was the best option you could think of.”
Oh.
Eita’s throat feels thick.
“I—” he hesitates. “I actually meant to send that text to Reon.”
Silence.
Kenjirou’s eyes are open. Suns slide towards him, burning, screaming.
“Oh.”
“I thought you’d never say yes,” Eita is quick to recoil. “I didn’t think— I—”
“I thought that you thought I was good.” Kenjirou looks down, but he isn’t angry. He’s not even upset. He just looks resigned. “I thought that I was the one you wanted. For this.”
For this stupid, stupid fake date.
“It wasn’t a mistake to me,” Eita says. “It was the best thing that could’ve happened.”
“I forgot.”
“Huh?”
“I forgot that it wasn’t real sometimes. It felt cruel, but I figured that you didn’t mean for it to be that way. It was just…”
Kenjirou trails off, pressing his fingertips together.
“It’s fine,” he says, like always. Even though it isn’t fine. Even though Eita is choking back words that he’s desperate to say but doesn’t know how. “It was just for tonight.”
“Kenjirou—”
But Kenjirou gets up, passing Eita his blazer back, and he smiles politely. “I can call a taxi. You don’t have to drive me home.”
What? What is going on right now? You can’t just drop a confession on him then leave! You can’t confess and break up at the same time!
“Uh,” is what he says instead, because Eita seems to have lost his articulation skills.
But Kenjirou is gone.
“Uh oh,” sings a voice. “You really messed that one up.”
You! You villain! Schemer! Eita is about to throttle this old woman, except he can’t because he kind of loves her and is also terrified of her.
“Go after him,” says Granny, sipping at her wine. “You love him, no? I can’t lose my future doctor grandson.”
“Seriously?”
“Go!”
Eita goes.
Kenjirou stands outside in the cold, his ears pink and his breath visible. He is expressionless, watching the cars go past.
It’s a nice night. Lots of stars out. He hasn’t seen those in a while.
“Kenjirou,” Eita— Semi calls, but Kenjirou ignores him. He has to.
His heart thunders but he has long since learned to stifle the storm lest the lightning set his blood aflame with anger; with indignation; with humiliation.
“Kenjirou,” he says again. Semi says his name and it sends his heart beating again, and can it just stop for once?
Not completely. But just be calm for a little while. Kenjirou wants to go home.
Semi takes his wrist, warm palms against icy skin. “Kenjirou, listen. I don’t— I forgot too, okay? I liked it. Fake-dating. Dating. Whatever.” He’s stumbling. He can’t speak properly— but what if Kenjirou misunderstands? “I like you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Oh,” Kenjirou says. “Fine.”
“Always fine with you,” Eita grumbles, squeezing his hand. “I like you.”
“I like you,” echoes Kenjirou, then his face lights up with a furious blush and he rips his hand away as if scalded. “You idiot! You could’ve said that to begin with before I stormed off!”
“I didn’t know you were gonna storm off! Could you not tell? I don’t think the whole ‘I told my mom everything about you and also you’re my phone background and you look really pretty all the time and we went on like twelve dates in the span of a month’ was very fake.”
“How was I supposed to know?”
“Well,” Eita searches frantically for an answer. “You’re smart, aren’t you?”
“Not like that. Not even a genius would be able to decipher whatever mixed signals you were trying to give. Why’d you tell me that it was an accident then?”
“I really did mean to send it to Reon.” Semi snorts, looking up. “He’d definitely have said no, though, even if he’d have felt bad about it. But I didn’t want to keep it from you. I’d feel guilty.”
Kenjirou stares at him, his cheeks still reddened. Whether from blush or the biting wind, Eita was unsure, but it made him look cute, so he couldn’t really complain.
“You’re stupid,” he mumbles, eyes trained on the floor. “Sorry. I overreacted.”
Eita brushes a lock of hair out of his not-boyfriend’s face. “You’re good. You’re fine, or however you’d say it.”
“I don’t sound like that.”
“You do. I can’t believe you were jealous of Reon.”
“I was not.”
“I’m going to tell him.”
“You are not.”
“I really am.”
“I’ll tell your grandma about the Orange Soda Incident.”
Eita shuts his mouth.
“Well,” he says slowly. “That wouldn’t be a very nice, loving boyfriend thing to do, would it?”
Kenjirou’s eyebrows furrow, then he feels a slight smile pull at his lips. “What, are you asking me out?”
“I asked you out a month ago.”
“No you didn’t. You asked me out just now. I’ll consider it,” he says, “as long as you don’t lie to Ohira-san.”
“Who’s lying? I’d only be telling the truth. My boyfriend’s jealous of Reon over a text he never received.”
Kenjirou’s scowl is a pretty thing. “My boyfriend’s grandmother is about to hear about an incredibly interesting little incident.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
The stars glitter in the night, as if laughing, and the two boys laugh too. It’s a nice night. A good night.
A fine night.
(Eita’s entire family gets to hear the story of the Orange Soda Incident. He stews in shame for the rest of the reception as Kenjirou feeds him cake as an apology.)
(Kenjirou would be a very good doctor, Eita thinks, because he’s so quick to bring comfort and relief to what might just be the worst day of his life.)