Chapter Text
The sticky note on Arisu’s monitor is written in Chishiya’s neat, chronically smug handwriting.
Your boss-fight mechanics are still boring. Try again, genius :)
That smiley little face; it taunts him.
Arisu peels it off, crumples it, and sticks a new one on the edge of Chishiya’s dual monitors before the other returns from the break room.
At least my characters have personalities. Yours just stand there looking pretty and dying! :D
It’s the fourteenth note this week. Their shared open-plan floor at Nexus Interactive has become a quiet battlefield of Post-its, sabotaged playtest builds and pointed silences during design meetings. Everyone else has stopped intervening. The interns simply duck whenever the two senior designers pass each other.
Arisu is still muttering under his breath when the clock hits 7, most of the floor has emptied. Chishiya is already shrugging into his coat by the elevators, platinum hair beautifully catching the light like he paid it to. Of course they end up walking the same route toward the station. Of course the sidewalk is narrow enough that their shoulders nearly brush. Arisu keeps three precise centimeters of air between them and pretends he doesn’t notice the faint scent of Chishiya’s expensive cologne.
They’re halfway down the block when the car comes—it suddenly runs the red light, headlights flaring, engine rumbling.
Chishiya is looking at his phone.
Arisu’s body moves before he can even process the thought.
He grabs a fistful of Chishiya’s coat and yanks him backward. Momentum carries them both off the curb.
Chishiya’s head clips the metal lamppost with a dull, sickening thunk.
Arisu’s heart stops.
Chishiya goes limp for one horrible second, eyes fluttering shut. Arisu drops to his knees on the pavement, hands hovering uselessly.
“Chishiya—hey—hey, look at me—”
Chishiya’s lashes lift. His gaze is unfocused, soft in a way Arisu has never seen. Confusion drifts across his face like fog.
Arisu’s brain short-circuits.
He knows what this is.
Head trauma. Loss of consciousness. Every medical drama he’s ever half-watched while eating instant ramen at 2 a.m. floods his mind at once. Amnesia. Temporary retrograde amnesia. The kind where the person forgets the last few years and stares at their own reflection like a stranger. The kind that always, always resets after a dramatic second injury or a true-love kiss.
“Hey—Hey, look at me.” Arisu says, voice cracking just a little. He unthinkingly cups Chishiya’s face with shaking hands, thumbs gentle against cool skin. “Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are?”
Chishiya blinks up at him, slow and dazed. His lips part.
“Who…are you?”
The words are quiet, soft. Almost fragile.
Arisu feels the blood leave his face.
—and then, a slow, terrible, brilliant idea blooms in the back of his mind.
Years of sticky notes. Years of stolen credit in meetings. Years of petty wars. Years of Chishiya’s lazy half-smiles whenever he one-upped him. All of it could be paid back in a single sadistic move if Chishiya truly doesn’t remember who they are to each other.
Arisu’s voice comes out steady, a big smile stretching his lips wide.
“I’m Arisu Ryohei. Your boyfriend.”
Chishiya blinks, slow and owlish.
Arisu leans closer, committing fully to the bit before common sense can catch up. “We’ve been together almost a year. We design games together. You—You call me ‘baby’ when no one’s listening. We’re disgustingly in love.”
Chishiya simply stares at him, lips parted, eyes wide and strangely trusting.
His mind is a mess of medical half-knowledge and pure vengeful glee.
When Chishiya gets his memory back—and he will, because that’s how these things work—he’s going to remember every single soft, humiliating, boyfriend-coded thing Arisu is about to do to him. He’s going to remember being called baby in front of the entire design team. He’s going to remember holding hands. He’s going to remember Arisu looking at him like he’s the center of the universe.
And he’s going to die of secondhand embarrassment.
Perfect.
Chishiya’s head throbs once, sharply, when it connects with the lamppost. The world whites out for a second—just long enough to be annoying—then snaps back into focus.
He takes stock. No double vision. No nausea. Mild headache, nothing more.
He’s fine. Of course he’s fine, he’s had worse hangovers. The car never even touched him. Arisu’s dramatic yank only made him clip the lamppost because Arisu has the spatial awareness of a particularly anxious golden retriever.
But then Arisu’s face does something fascinating.
All the usual irritation drains out of it. Panic floods in. His eyes go wide. His mouth opens and closes. He starts hovering like Chishiya is made of spun sugar and one wrong breath will dissolve him.
Chishiya watches the frantic calculations flicker across Arisu’s face, and then Arisu asks the questions, Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are? Amnesia. Of course. Arisu has always been a little too susceptible to narrative convenience.
A slow, private wave of amusement unspools in Chishiya’s chest.
He could sit up right now, could dryly inform Arisu that the only thing damaged is his dignity. He knows he could end this in five seconds flat. A smirk, a dry nice try and the entire prank collapses.
Instead, he lets his eyes go soft and unfocused, lets his voice drop into something quieter, almost lost. He tilts his head just a little, the way someone does when they’re trying very hard to place a name and failing.
“Who...are you?”
The effect is immediate and delicious. Arisu’s entire expression crumples into pure, unfiltered horror. His hands are warm against Chishiya’s face, careful in a way they’ve never been during their years of verbal sparring. There’s something raw and unguarded in those dark eyes that Chishiya has only ever glimpsed in fragments—usually right before Arisu slammed a wall back up.
And then, Arisu’s whole face changes and he strikes.
“Your boyfriend.”
Chishiya almost ruins everything by laughing.
He keeps his face carefully blank while Arisu continues, voice gaining confidence with every ridiculous detail. Chishiya files every claim away like game design notes, already planning the counter-moves.
He lets his gaze linger on Arisu’s face, lets a tiny, dazed frown form between his brows, and answers in a soft, uncertain voice that he knows will drive the other insane.
“…We are?”
Arisu nods so hard his hair flops. “We are. You just need time. I’ll—I’ll help you remember. Everything.”
Chishiya allows the smallest, most vulnerable smile to curve his mouth.
Inside, he’s already three steps ahead, mapping every possible way to turn this little revenge fantasy into the most exquisite humiliation either of them has ever experienced.
He’ll play along.
He’ll let Arisu spiral. He’ll accept every soft word, every careful touch, every desperate attempt at comfort. And he’ll see exactly how far the proud, sharp-tongued Arisu Ryohei is willing to go when he believes the person he can’t stand has forgotten everything—including how much they are supposed to hate each other.
Chishiya reaches up, slowly, carefully, like someone still testing the edges of a forgotten life, and lets his fingers brush Arisu’s wrist.
“Okay.” He murmurs. “Boyfriend.”
The word tastes like victory.
The game has already begun.
And neither is willing to lose.