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Furihata stood in front of the boutique window, hesitating. The blouse he was eyeing was soft cream with delicate embroidery along the sleeves—nothing too loud, but still a little... prettier than usual. He wasn’t sure why he was drawn to it.
He stepped inside.
As he browsed, a familiar voice chimed in from behind, “Furihata?”
Furihata turned and blinked in surprise. “Takao?”
Takao grinned, holding a bold, floral button-up shirt against his chest. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Me neither,” Furihata chuckled nervously, eyes flicking down to the shirt Takao had chosen. “That’s… loud.”
“Exactly,” Takao said with a smirking evil. “I need a good shirt to look devastatingly stunning when Midorima finally breaks up with me.”
Furihata gawked. “What?! You’re… breaking up?”
“Nah,” Takao shrugged. “Not yet anyway. But hey, you never know, right? Gotta plan ahead. Might as well look hot when it happens. Leave a lasting impression.”
Furihata grimaced. “That’s kind of… dark.”
“It’s realistic,” Takao quipped, then nudged him. “You should get one too. A nice ‘breakup outfit’ You’re dating Akashi, right?”
Furihata blinked, flustered. “I—I don’t need one! We’re not breaking up.”
Takao tilted his head, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Sure, sure. But no one plans to break up. It just happens. And Akashi? C’mon. He’s the emperor of unpredictability. One day it’s poetry and roses, the next it’s strategy and silence.”
Furihata opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.
Takao continued, voice softening just a little, but his inner self is laughing manically. “Look, it’s not about him. It’s about you. You deserve to be loved by yourself too. If things ever go south, wouldn’t you want him to at least remember you looking amazing? You’re not a sad story, Furihata. You’re a damn painting.”
Furihata laughed nervously. “That’s so cheesy.”
“But I’m right.” Takao winked. “Come on.”
And for some reason—maybe the way Takao said it with such conviction, or maybe the sudden flicker of doubt in his own heart—Furihata found himself back at the rack, fingers brushing over the soft crimson blazer and then he found himself matching it with a white strips shirt. It felt like a quiet goodbye to something he didn’t understand yet.
Furihata clutched the shopping bag in his hands as he walked home.
Akashi was… everything. Brilliant, composed, intense. He had the kind of presence that filled every corner of a room. People followed him without question, admired him without hesitation. And Furihata—he wasn’t any of those things.
He wasn’t particularly talented, or striking, or clever. He didn’t turn heads or draw attention. He was the quiet one. The easy-to-overlook one. The one who felt more like a pause between heartbeats than the heart itself.
What did someone like Akashi even see in someone like him?
It didn’t make sense. It never had.
Sure, Akashi said he loved him. And Furihata believed it—most of the time. But what if that love faded? What if one day, Akashi simply… woke up and realized that Furihata wasn’t enough?
There were so many people out there—talented, graceful, confident. People who spoke Akashi’s language. People who didn’t stumble or worry or second-guess everything. People who weren’t plain. People who weren’t him.
Furihata swallowed the lump rising in his throat.
The outfit wasn’t just a silly “breakup shirt” anymore. It had become something else—something symbolic. If they ever broke up, at least he would have worn something beautiful. At least Akashi might remember him looking a little less forgettable.
He laughed at how pathetic he sounds, but it was also honest.
No one was certain about the future. And the thought of Akashi leaving, choosing someone better, someone brighter, was beginning to feel less like a nightmare and more like an eventuality.
Furihata walked the rest of the way in silence, the weight of his doubts heavier than the bag in his hands.
Akashi greeted him at the door, his red eyes softening as he leaned in to press a kiss to Furihata’s cheek but Furihata didn’t react and looked down. “You’re late. Did you find what you were looking for?” Akashi asked.
Furihata hesitated, bag clutched tightly in his hand as he walked pass him. “Yeah. I… I bought an outfit...”
And Furihata, lips moving before his brain could stop him
“For when we break up.”
Silence.
Akashi blinked once. Twice. His reaction was unreadable.
“You—what?”
Furihata turned red, eyes wide. “I—I didn’t mean—I mean, I don’t want us to break up! Takao said—he made it sound like a good idea and I—I don’t know!”
Akashi stared at him for a beat longer, then gently took the bag from his hands and set it aside.
“You thought about us breaking up?” he asked, voice calm, but a little too irritated and there was a hit of dissapointment.
“I didn’t! Not until he mentioned…... I mean at least I want you to remember me looking nice....cause it will last, will it?”
Akashi exhaled. “Kouki.”
“I know it sounds stupid—”
“It’s not stupid,” Akashi interrupted, stepping closer. “But it’s also not true. If I wanted ‘better,’ I would have never chased after you. You think I fell for you because you were flashy?”
“I mean… maybe? You're you.”
Akashi lifted Furihata’s chin gently. “I love you. You. The one who tries too hard. The one who worries. The one who listens. The one who stays. I chose you with all the certainty I have in me.”
Furihata blinked quickly, his voice small. “Even if I’m boring?”
“Especially if you’re boring,” Akashi said with a rare, amused smile. “You calm the storm in me. Why would I let go of that?”
There was silence, but it was the kind that felt safe.
Akashi took the shopping bag from where he had placed it and turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Furihata asked, his voice laced with confusion.
Akashi didn’t look back. “I’m returning it. You don’t need this.”
Furihata’s eyes widened. He rushed forward and snatched the bag out of Akashi’s hands. “No!”
Akashi blinked at the sudden reaction. Furihata’s grip on the bag was tight, his voice soft but firm as he added, “The outfit looks… really nice. I might use it someday. We don’t know what’ll happen in the future. Besides… it was expensive.”
For a long moment, Akashi simply stared at him, silent. Then, his expression softened—something unreadable flickering in his eyes—before a quiet, amused chuckle escaped his lips.
“I see,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “In that case, I’d very much like to see this so-called ‘breakup outfit.’” His gaze sharpened just a little. “I should be emotionally prepared… should that fantasy ever come true.”
Furihata groaned, dragging a hand over his face in embarrassment. “Please don’t make this worse…”
But Akashi wasn’t done.
He stepped closer, gently pulling Furihata’s hand away from his face—and then without warning, began showering his cheeks, his forehead, and finally his lips with playful yet possessive kisses.
Furihata squirmed, flustered. “S-Sei—!”
Akashi only smirked, his voice low as he murmured by his ear, “Remind me to thank Takao later… in a way that will haunt him forever.”
Furihata froze.
There was no escape.
The Next Day
A dramatic whoosh of fire erupted in Akashi’s courtyard.
“You won’t need this.” Akashi said furiously, Furihata was still sleeping oblivious about the situation.
He pulled out his phone, dialed, and waited.
Takao answered with his usual energy. “Akashi! Wow, didn’t expect a call—what’s up?”
“Takao,” Akashi said evenly, “I assume you remember mocking Kouki yesterday. filling Kouki’s head with insecurities for your amusement. Or do you only speak without thinking? ”
“I was joking!” Takao yelped. “It was sarcasm! I didn't think he'd actually believe me! Oh my God please spare me.”
Akashi stared into the flames. “It’s about to meet an early cremation.”
“Wait—what?! No, no, no, hold on!” Takao’s voice shot up several octaves. “That thing was just high fashion—pure emotion! Don’t kill it! I swear I was just joking with Furihata, I’ll talk to him personally! Apologize! Clarify! Grovel if I have to!”
Akashi raised an eyebrow. “You will.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“Too late.”
“MIDORIMAAAAA—!”
In the background, Midorima’s exasperated voice came through. “What did you do this time?”
“I may have emotionally damaged Furihata with light sarcasm!”
Midorima sighed heavily. “Why do I even speak to you in public…”
Takao put Akashi on speaker so that his boyfriend can negotiate with Akashi.
The weight of his disappointment somehow audible. “Every time you speak, I lose a bit of my will to live.” He hissed at Takao
Akashi tilted his head thoughtfully, tone cool and casual as he added, “Shintarou, you should consider preparing a widow’s outfit. As your boyfriend is about to meet his end.”
Takao audibly choked. “I’m too pretty to die!”
Akashi hung up without another word.
Akashi stepped into the house, quietly closing the door behind him. The scent of smoke still faintly clung to his coat, though he didn’t seem to notice—or care.
Furihata was curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie, his eyes sleepy and half-lidded. He let out a soft yawn as Akashi entered, stretching lazily. “Mmm… hey. Welcome back. I thought I smelled something burning…?”
Akashi didn’t miss a beat.
“I burned the breakup outfit.”
Furihata blinked, slow. “You what—?”
“You don’t need it,” Akashi said, walking over with that unreadable expression. “Because I’ve decided I’m going to marry you.”
Furihata stared.
Akashi continued flatly, as if stating the weather. “Right now, actually. That way, you’ll never have to wonder if I’ll leave you. Problem solved.”
“W-What?” Furihata’s voice cracked.
Akashi leaned in closer, brushing Furihata’s bangs out of his eyes. “And to ensure full emotional security… I’ll impregnate you. Tonight. That way you’ll be mine in every imaginable way.”
Furihata’s face drained of all color. “I—wha—you—huh???”
He sat frozen on the couch, eyes wide, skin pale, lips parted in utter horror. No words came out. Not even a protest. Just static.