Chapter Text
It is when Iroha opens her mailbox for the first time in six months that she finds her life in absolute shambles.
Amongst the many fliers about overpriced burgers and pizzas, she spots not one, but two expensive looking envelopes with silk ribbons and wax seal of white and maroon respectively. She flips the one with the white seal to find a name printed in elegant cursive—For Iroha.
All of a sudden, she’s made acutely aware of her brother’s wedding coming up in less than a month. Iroha pushes her mailbox door shut with a jarring bang and barely refrains from smashing her head against the metal surface, because she knows what’s in the envelope with the red seal.
Iroha stares at it like it might bite her.
She doesn’t open it, just stands there in the cramped hallway of her apartment building, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and a couple of grocery bags digging uncomfortably into her wrist. The weight of the envelope feels disproportionate, like it’s made of lead instead of cardstock.
“Nope,” she mutters to absolutely no one.
As if denial has ever worked for her.
She tucks the white-sealed envelope under her arm and walks back to her apartment, keys jingling too loudly in the quiet corridor. Once inside, she kicks the door shut and drops everything onto the kitchen counter with more force than necessary.
Her phone buzzes. She ignores it.
Instead, she opens the white envelope first, because at least this one is meant for her. Inside is exactly what she expects—heavy paper, impressive font, her brother’s name next to his fiancée’s. She skims past the venue and the dress coded to find a line on the corner of the card.
Plus one included.
Her stomach drops so low she doubts she’ll pick it up again.
Slowly, she reaches for the maroon-sealed envelope, breaking the wax with a quiet crack. Inside is a single card.
And Guest.
That’s it, no name, just the expectation.
Iroha lets out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She finds the nearest chair to sink into, her mind racing backwards through the past six months like a crime scene reconstruction. The break up, the way she never corrected her mom when she asked how’s your girlfriend doing?
“Fuck,” she whispers.
Because now she has exactly three options, all of them horrendous.
Show up alone and endure her mother’s forensic interrogation. Or, confess everything and be emotionally flayed alive. Or, find a girlfriend in less than a month.
Somewhere in the building, a door slams. So life goes on, and the universe remains cruelly indifferent.
“Oh fuck.”
Iroha is a little too desperate to care about mortification of any sorts because clearly asking her best friend for help had been a terrible idea.
“Oh hell naw,” Roka says dryly as she sips on her matcha latte, her gaze casual and amused as if Iroha isn’t going through what must be the most catastrophic moment of her life.
She pulls a grimace out of the tiniest tinge of disappointment rising up in her chest. Not that Roka is a bad friend or anything, just that she went into this conversation expecting at least some pity or comfort, because that’s usually what friends are for.
But a flat out hell no reminds her that she’s almost out of options and she’s kind of completely, royally fucked.
Iroha lets out a long, miserable groan, earning a snicker from across the table. Her groan promptly turns into a snort.
“So you think this is funny.”
“I just think you fuck up too much,” Roka shrugs. She’s chewing on the straw now. “I also think you rely too much on your friends to bail you out of trouble. See how helpless you feel after I said no? Remember that feeling forever.”
“This isn’t even my fault!” Iroha gestures wildly, almost knocking over her iced coffee that is still untouched. This garners her a few curious stares from students walking past their table, but Iroha couldn’t give two flying shits about their opinions right now.
“It kind of is, though,” says Roka.
This, Iroha finds the need to argue.
“How? My brother sent out that wedding invitation months and months ago. Then my ex and I broke up. But again, it’s been months. I didn’t remember shit until I checked my mailbox yesterday.”
Now that she’s said it out loud, she figures it is possible that this could all have been avoided. It would mean admitting defeat, which is highly embarrassing, not when Roka is looking at her like she’s a five-month old fetus and not a grown, functioning adult.
“Then why didn’t you tell your family about the break up when it happened?”
Iroha makes a face at the mere suggestion of opening up to her mother. Really, Roka should know better.
She sighs. “You don’t get it, they would drill me with so many questions. I hate my mom knowing stuff about me, so I kinda acted like we were still together to avoid confrontation—you know, when she texts me to ask about how things are going, I always tell her it’s peachy! we love each other!”
“God, you’re an idiot,” Roka sets down her drink, leaning forward so she can take a better look at the frown slowly forming between Iroha’s eyebrows. “I’d say check your mailbox more often but you’re so hopeless I’m afraid the only way out for you is changing your ways in life. In other words, a lobotomy.”
“Thanks, glad that I have a friend who finds little amusement in my bleakest moments,” Iroha deadpans.
“The one and only,” Roka has the audacity to look proud, so Iroha makes a mental note to rethink their friendship when all of this is over. “Jokes aside, you could just explain to them what really happened? Little bit of integrity goes a long way.”
“That integrity will be my thirteenth reason,” Iroha takes a swig of iced coffee, wishing it was tequila instead. “My mom will cook me on the grill and feed me to the dogs if she ever finds out I’ve been lying to her this whole time.”
Roka hums, tapping a long, thoughtful finger on the table. Seems like the initial shock from the news drop is gone, because Roka is actually thinking now, without laughing or throwing an insult or two into the conversation. She comes up with: “I guess you could ask Mami. She’ll say yes, I think.”
Never mind.
Iroha’s frown deepens. “You cannot be serious, she has a boyfriend. I’m not about to ruin that for her.”
“Okay well, beggars can’t be choosers, Iroha.”
“Why can’t you do it?” At this point, Iroha is begging, pleading for some kind of assistance from the lord himself. Sadly, it goes unanswered.
“Your mom knows me,” Roka stares at her incredulously. “We’ve been friends since middle school.”
“So? Friends can fall in love with each other too.”
“Oh I’m sure, I just don’t like the idea of having to fake date and be all touchy with my best friend of ten years, especially not in front of her mom who I see at least twice a week.”
“Okay, ouch,” Iroha has a hand on her chest, feigning hurt the best she can and choosing to ignore the fact that Roka is making a good point. There’s no way they could’ve kept their relationship a secret for longer than, say, two weeks if they were actually dating.
Her hawk of a mother would’ve clocked it right away.
“Listen, I can’t do it mainly because the wedding day clashes with my trip to Europe. Like I physically cannot be of any help,” Roka supplies. At least she has the decency to look guilty now, guilty that she can’t be the number one friend who’s willing to make great sacrifices for poor Iroha.
Then the weight of the situation fully sinks in, and suddenly it feels ten times harder to breathe.
“Oh god,” Iroha chokes out, both hands rubbing on her face. “Oh god, I’m so fucked.”
“Let me look through Instagram,” Roka suggests this as she fishes out her phone, fingers already busy with purpose. “Maybe we can find a potential candidate there.”
Which sounds really fucking stupid, but Iroha’s not one to let go of alternatives.
After fifteen minutes of profile stalking, the tiny ignition of hope dies out and Iroha’s left with scraps of her dignity in the gutters because hell, she’d considered asking Noi for help when they scrolled past his profile on her following list. That’s how she knows the world is ending.
“This ain’t gonna work,” Iroha deflates so quickly she forgets what it’s like to have a spine. “I’m better off going on Tinder, surely there’s someone—”
“What about her?” Roka cuts her off.
“Huh?” Iroha leans further into the table to see whose profile Roka had landed on. It’s not someone she immediately recognizes. “Who?”
“Her,” Roka repeats, as if that’s supposed to clear up the misty fog which is Iroha’s brain. “Look up, dumbass.”
So Iroha looks up, sees that Roka’s attention is no longer on the phone and is pointing at something near the west entrance of the building. Students are trudging in and out in quick, urgent paces, making it hard to focus on a specific face.
To make things easier, Roka stands up.
“Kaguya!” She yells, waving a hand over her head. “Over here!”
Among the sea of people stands a girl with shockingly blonde hair, eyes wide and searching for whoever just called out for her. It takes her a few more seconds to spot them, and that’s when Iroha finally recognizes her.
Kaguya saunters up to their table, one hand on the strap of her backpack. Iroha notes that she’s visibly grown a couple more inches since grade twelve.
“Wow, never thought I would run into you guys here,” she says with a chirp to her voice. This part remains unchanged.
“Holy shit, I haven’t seen you since prom,” Roka says. “I didn’t know you even go here.”
“Me neither, I honestly didn’t think anyone from our high school would go here, so this is a pleasant surprise,” Kaguya lets out a breathy chuckle, and locks eyes with Iroha. “Yo.”
They were never close. Ever.
They share the kind of relationship in which they know the existence of one another and that’s about it. Iroha briefly recalls Kaguya being in the same calculus class and wonders how they never got around talking to each other.
This really isn’t the time to rekindle their non-existent friendship but Kaguya is all bright and smiling and it’d be rude to walk away from that. So Iroha manages a, “Yo.”
And then, remembering the predicament she’s in, she sighs heavily.
Kaguya raises an eyebrow, looking at Roka now. “What’s up with her?”
“She’s trying to keep her life in precise order,” Roka provides helpfully before remembering the whole point of having Kaguya over. “Actually, no, she’s in deep, deep shit. Which is why—” She pulls back the vacant chair next to her. “Here, give me your bag and sit down with us.”
Iroha shakes her head nervously. The last thing she needs is an extra person making fun of the burning hell she’s currently in, although Kaguya doesn’t seem like the type. “You really don’t have to, I’m sure you have better things to do, like classes, labs, life.”
“Oh I’m done for the day, I was actually just gonna grab a coffee before going home,” Kaguya replies, and Iroha groans internally.
Roka gathers both her hands into a loud, cheerful clap. “That’s perfect then! Come, join us.”
Somehow, Iroha finds herself caught within the most ridiculous, almost laughable circumstance of the century not even Einstein can explain it. She watches in horror as Kaguya settles comfortably next to Roka like they’re old friends reuniting after the war. They’re not.
“I have two very important questions to ask you,” Roka starts, her expression firm and serious except Iroha knows it’s all for show. “And if you’re willing to answer them, Iroha will pay for your coffee.”
Iroha sputters into her coffee. “What.”
“Okay?” Kaguya threads carefully, unsure of which direction this is heading towards. “I mean I’d like to think I’m an open book.”
Roka nods twice. “Cool, are you single?”
“Oh my god—” Iroha sputters for the second time in a row, hissing to Roka with a weak glare. “Context, Roka, give her context.”
Kaguya raises an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be one of the questions?”
“Yes,” Roka smiles kindly. “Iroha will give context after we get these two questions out of the way.”
Iroha wants to scream at Roka to stop speaking on her behalf, because god knows what kind of halfassed bullshit she has sitting on the tip of her tongue, making decisions for Iroha like this is all just a cutscene in a video game. To be fair, Roka probably would’ve navigated her life better if she were the one in control of her life choices from the get go.
Kaguya, to her credit, doesn’t look freaked out. If anything, she looks amused, mouth tugged into something curious, eyes flicking between the two of them like she’s stumbled into a live performance.
“Yes, I’m single,” Kaguya answers easily.
Iroha squeezes her eyes shut. If she pretends hard enough, maybe the universe will fold in on itself and spare her this humiliation.
Roka beams. “Excellent. Second question: would you hypothetically be willing to fake-date someone for exactly one wedding?”
Iroha’s eyes snap open. “Roka.”
Kaguya blinks. Once. Twice. “That escalated fast.”
Roka continues on. “No emotional labour required. Free food, good booze, possibly mild lying to parents. Very low chance of long-term consequences.”
“That is a lie,” Iroha croaks. “That is several lies.”
Kaguya leans back in her chair, crossing her arms, studying Iroha now instead of Roka. Not unkindly, or judgementally, just assessing. It makes Iroha acutely aware of her posture, the way she’s clutching her cup like a sore loser.
“So this is about you,” Kaguya says. “Wedding plus-one crisis.”
“I didn’t even know you could tell that from what she said,” Iroha mutters.
Roka gestures at her like a proud presenter. “Exhibit A.”
A beat of silence takes over them. Students pass by, someone laughs too loudly near the counter, and the espresso machine hisses like it’s mocking her.
Kaguya hums, thoughtful. “When’s the wedding?”
“No,” Iroha says immediately. “No, you don’t have to—”
“Second week of May,” Roka answers over her. “Two weeks, out of town. Big family and a very nosy mother.”
Iroha shoots her a look. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Immensely.”
Kaguya doesn’t answer right away. She taps a finger against her arm, gaze drifting to the window, then back to Iroha. “You know, I’ve never been to a wedding with a girlfriend.”
Iroha’s brain short-circuits. “I—huh?”
“I mean,” Kaguya continues, shrugging. “I don’t have a girlfriend. But hypothetically, sounds kind of fun. Only if you’re okay with it, I don’t want to make things worse.”
That’s the problem. Iroha doesn’t know how things could possibly get worse. Her mom interrogating her at dinner, her aunts whispering, her brother’s disappointed sigh. All of it flashes through her mind in rapid succession, followed by the image of showing up alone, exposed and explanations demanded.
Yeah, no.
“It would really just be pretending,” she says. “Saying we met at school. No weird stuff, you can bail whenever.”
At this, Kaguya laughs. “Iroha, if I agree to this, I’m committing to the bit.”
“Yes!” Roka slams her hands on the table. “You’re the fucking goat, Kaguya.”
Iroha groans for the twentieth time today, dropping her forehead into her palms. “I actually can’t believe this is happening.”
“Text me the details, we’ll do a trial run or something,” says Kaguya. Iroha doesn’t even have the opportunity to ask what kind of trial run Kaguya is referring to before she’s handing over her phone for Kaguya to key her number in. She hits the save contact button, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “And hey, I’m a very convincing girlfriend.”
Iroha looks up just in time to see the most earnest, genuine pair of eyes she’s ever met.
She’s officially fucked.