EVERYTHING OTHER THAN DATING!
Zhao Yufan is deeply in love with you. There are two problems with this: A, you have no idea, and B, you probably don’t feel the same way, considering the fact you keep asking him to be your fake boyfriend for… free stuff.
best friend!james x fem!reader. 3k words. fake dating. friends to lovers. crack. fluff.
notes: fanzai (凡仔 If You Care) is just a generic cutesy nickname for yufan. Your dream ring has diamonds in it for plot reasons Sorry if it doesn’t apply to you. Theyre spiritually lab grown ok. eva says i need to put serious emphasis on the fact that this is a crackfic. please suspend your disbelief when you read this. everyone is a little insane. EDIT I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THIS EARLY UM 😑😑😑
There is a reservation for two at luxury, Michelin-starred restaurant Bergamot for 7pm. There is only one person at the reservation for two at luxury, Michelin-starred restaurant Bergamot by 8:30pm.
It's you. And you're dressed to the nines, a wave of flowing silk straight off some magazine cover, and apathetically staring into the distance. A platter of barely touched cheese and cured meats sits in between you and your currently non-existent guest.
He should be here anytime soon. Maybe about-
“Babe, I'm so sorry,” Yufan shouts from the doorway, sickeningly handsome in a navy suit and tie, hair artfully dishevelled like he's run across half a block for you, or maybe even like another woman has pulled manicured fingers through it in a stroke of heated passion, “I forgot about tonight!”
“Oh my god, James,” you scream, throwing your silver cutlery to the side in an awful clatter, “you can't do anything. Anything! Not only did you forget our anniversary, but now you've forgotten my birthday? What kind of a boyfriend even are you?”
“I was busy with work,” Yufan wails back, “and you know that! When we started dating, I told you so many times-”
“Work?! You never said anything about work! You said I'd always come first. And now you're putting- putting- Tiffany at HR in front of me? Don't think I missed the way you looked at her. I knew I couldn't trust you, you lying piece of-”
“Miss,” the restaurant’s sacrifice for the day – this poor young waiter – stutters, interrupting you mid-rant, “could you please keep it down? Our other patrons are-”
The entire restaurant is staring openly at you now. You barrel onwards uncaringly, stomping up to a frozen Yufan and gripping his full Windsor knot furiously. “And not even a gift? Not even a bouquet? Not even a single flower? Were you just expecting me to pay for everything? I can't believe-”
“Miss,” the waiter says more desperately. “Please. Would you like to choose something on the menu? We'd be more than happy to make it for you now.”
“Now?” you spit out in a tone that suggests a great grievance with this notion. “If I have to spend one more minute in this repugnant creature’s presence, I'll-”
“Would having it to go suit you better?” interjects the waiter as a last resort, looking like he's going to burst into tears and quit the gastronomical industry.
A long, terrible beat passes.
“To go,” you repeat slowly, releasing your hold on Yufan, savouring these words of victory on your tongue. “Hm. Tell me more.”
—
Free food is the best food. Free food from rich, fancy, billionaire-owned establishments is even better.
“Nice work,” you tell Yufan, munching away on some perfectly sautéed broccolini. You've discarded your feet-killing stilettos somewhere near the front door, changed into pajamas, and stripped your full face of makeup. “Looked the part too.”
“I do look pretty good in formal,” Yufan agrees, still in his pressed suit, as he reaches over for the bread, “but you did all the work. I just showed up like an idiot.”
“I mean, that was the whole point,” you say in between bites of tarte tatin. “Fanzai, if you ever do this for real to anyone, I'm personally killing you.”
Yufan lets out a hyena-like laugh. “You won't need to worry about that.”
You two continue to enjoy your spoils of war to the background of some pirated Marvel movie, because secretly, food with Yufan is the best food of all time, and it's not even close.
—
Yufan has made many bad decisions in his life before. The first one he remembers was back when he was 8 and he accidentally lost his DS with his nearly completed play through of Pokemon Diamond. Many tears were shed. Another one was when he bit into a really spicy chili and he couldn't taste anything for the rest of the day. Many tears were also shed, mainly because he thought he’d permanently lost his sense of taste.
But by far, the worst decision he’s ever made is agreeing to fake date his best friend who he’s kind of maybe secretly in love with for… freebies. He’d shed tears, but every time you even briefly acknowledge his existence, he’s mentally giggling like he’s besotted, which he is, so he supposes it checks out. The main issue, though, is the fact that this is actively preventing him from making a proper move. Even seeing your phones next to each other on the table is distracting him. One day, he’ll do it-
Next to him, you’re downing the rest of the still water you managed to extort from the restaurant. Maybe the day is today. Okay. This is his chance!
“We should make a pact to get married by 36,” he casually (he hopes that it sounds casual, anyway) says.
“Why?” you ask slowly, which isn’t a very good sign, but then you continue. “Oh, lower tax…. you make a point… but realistically by then, you would've found your future spouse.”
There is no way you, the subject of his secret desires of parenting a dog with – he’s been thinking about rescuing a greyhound recently, because he watched a documentary about greyhound racing and got sad – just told him that. “Maybe even earlier. You never know.”
“Zhao Yufan, are you hiding secrets from me?” Yes. I like you. Wait, no, I love you. “Have you found the love of your life and not told me?” Yes. She’s talking to me right now. “As your best friend” – okay, you did not need to actively acknowledge that – “I'm deeply hurt.”
But first, he has to address this grievous violation of convention. “Zhao Yufan? Who's that?”
You huff out angrily. Yufan has to suppress very severe cuteness aggression. “Fanzai, then. I didn’t realise it was so serious.”
“Of course it’s serious,” he tells you, biting back a grin.
“Do you know what’s even more serious?” you say. “You proposing to me tomorrow. I think we’ll get a gift box or something at Cartier.”
The ring box burning a hole through his closet has probably just started a house fire. “Propose? The stakes are getting higher,” he says instead of acknowledging the fact he doesn’t need to go looking for some faux ring.
“Don't worry,” you shrug, getting up to clear away the takeaway containers. “You know it's for show, anyway.”
Because that’s all it probably is to you – a show. Yufan blinks thrice, fighting the way his eyes are burning, and silently goes to find a cloth to wipe down your table with. It doesn’t work, but you don’t notice, and that’s good enough for him.
—
You have made many bad decisions in your life before. Asking your best friend that you’re in love with to fake date you has to be up there. To be fair, though, you have no idea how to breach a conversation admitting anything, and you completely doubt he even likes you like that, so you’ll take whatever you can get. Even if it means he thinks you’re a total cheapskate. Even if it means public humiliation. On a Saturday morning. At Cartier.
Yufan’s already standing off to the side, wearing a breezy linen shirt and beige chinos. It’s deeply evocative of an emotionally unavailable expat who most definitely has a side chick but is rich enough for you to politely pretend nothing is going on – that is, exactly what you envisioned in your mind. You look down. He’s even got loafers on. God.
“Hi,” you tell him. “The plan is we go in, I ask to look at the earrings, I’ll say something like can I get it, and then you’re like of course but then stand up and monologue. Got it?”
“Got it,” Yufan says, and you pass him your rip off Louis Vuitton clutch, which coincidentally is a perfect match for his outfit, to carry. As you two approach the front door, Yufan whips his phone out and pulls up some stock market app. You nod approvingly. Appropriately detached.
“Welcome to Cartier,” a sales assistant says, hair pulled into a slick bun. “Are you looking for anything in particular today?”
“Yes,” you sweetly say. “I’m looking to get a new pair of earrings. Something that’ll turn heads, preferably.”
“Of course,” sales assistant Mia, according to her name tag, says. “What sort of metal do you prefer? White gold, yellow gold, rose gold, silver…?”
You tell her the option that looks the worst on you. Mia grimaces a bit because she most definitely knows it too, but leads you over to a display, adjacent to another couple parsing through the gaudiest jewellery arrangement. Whatever. You take a seat and boredly scan through the options.
The far right one is atrocious. It’s perfect. It’s the one.
“Pumpkinboo,” you simper to Yufan, who’s still faithfully glued to his ichimoku clouds, “can you pretty please get me these earrings?”
“Of course,” he says, before tossing his phone aside and standing up dramatically. It’s showtime. “But first… my love, my pookie bear, my sunshine gumdrop Hermes Birkin, I must tell you something. From the day I met you when you were in high school, scrubbing the floors of my fourth multi-million holiday home, I knew you were the one for me.
“Even through the ups and downs, even though you caught me sleeping with my second cousin once removed and set my 1 of 1 Bugatti on fire, your devotion and commitment to our love has truly inspired me. You’re the only woman who has consistently stood beside me. I can’t wait until you quit your job so you’re entirely financially dependent on me and spend all day in my double locked penthouse where you just act as the second pot plant in foyer 3. Will you do the great honour of marrying me?”
You gasp. Then hold your hand demurely over your mouth. Then start bursting into very fake, very overwrought tears. “Oh my god!” You accidentally poke yourself in the eye, so the tears are now actually real. “Of course I will, sugarplum honeybun sweetkins!”
Yufan gets a look in his eye that says he’s come up with something genuinely diabolical, before dramatically sweeping you into his chest. “I’m so glad you agreed, because now you’ll take the news that I burnt your passport so you can never leave better!”
Your sales assistant doesn’t even look fazed by whatever just unfolded, instead emotionlessly congratulating you and walking away – presumably for the promised free goods. This does not say positive things about their usual clientele. You’re surprised by how she hadn’t caught onto the fact that Yufan still hasn’t pulled out the ring yet, since you’re kind of just hanging out in his arms, head firmly against some thick gold chain.
“The ring,” you hiss out under your breath, and Yufan immediately fumbles for this velvet ring box. Sure. Then he opens it.
And why the hell is it literally your dream ring? No. Your Dream Ring, with capitals for emphasis. What the hell. You stifle your surprise by letting out this awful little giggle so insufferable that Yufan can’t suppress a highly judgemental side eye. He still puts the ring on. You’re ill. You’re so ill. How did he know?
It’s probably fake though. No, it’s definitely fake. If this is real- no, you can’t think of that possibility.
“Um,” this grating voice cuts in. “Excuse me?”
You and Yufan whip your heads in sync to face the speaker. It’s the couple from earlier. What does she want with you?
“You literally ruined my moment!” she screams. “I was going to get proposed to. I was going to have the romantic speech. I was going to say yes and smooch my man!”
Her man in question looks like he’s… looking at a trading portfolio. People like this genuinely, unironically exist? God. Someone give Mia a raise now.
Clearly you’ve spent too much time being shocked and staring at her, because this girl continues screaming like she’s being paid for it. “It’s all your fault! Your ugly ring’s fake anyway!”
You suppose she isn’t wrong about the fake part, but-
“Butler!” she shrilly declares. She has a butler? Are you joking? You exchange baffled looks with Yufan. “Bring out the diamond tester!”
As if on cue, this tired middle-aged guy emerges, producing a case. In it, this drill looking thing. Oh shit. You scramble up and frantically stare down Yufan, but he gives you this deliberately placid look. It’ll be fine. Yeah, well. It’ll be fine once you get yourselves kicked out for being frauds!
The butler apologetically comes over and sticks his little device into your ring. You close your eyes fatalistically. Yep. It was nice knowing everyone. It was worth being fake proposed to. At least you got to lay in Yufan’s arms for a while. Then you open your eyes, also fatalistically, because you’ve decided that you want to witness your death.
But instead of turning red, the tester lights up green. Positive for a diamond.
You stare at your ring. Then you stare at Yufan, who is deliberately avoiding eye contact. Then you stare at the butler, who has immediately made himself scarce. Then you stare at the boyfriend, who is still on his phone. Then you stare at the other girl, whose mouth is wide open in shock. Consider her your spirit animal!
As if sensing the incredibly joyous and excited mood, Mia decides now is a good time to come back, holding two Cartier branded bags. She takes in the entire situation and makes a very firm decision to kick you and Yufan out of the store. Thank you Mia. You didn’t even get a chance to say anything, but at least you got your freebies!
And at least now you have the opportunity to interrogate Yufan, cornering him off to the side of the footpath and next to this flower stand. “So why is this” – you gesture vaguely at your ring – “REAL?”
“Uh,” Yufan intelligently says. “Um. Well. Er.”
You give him a minute. “Yep. Go on. Any time now.”
“I mean. But like. What if you hate me,” Yufan continues.
Yeah, he doesn’t deserve a proper response to that. Instead, you just emotionlessly stare at him. Why would you do that?
Yufan gets the memo. “Okay. I…”
Silence.
“You…” you prompt.
“I…” he says.
“You…” you prompt. Again.
Yufan sighs as if he’s giving up. “I literally can’t tell-”
“Hey guys,” someone interrupts cheerfully, delaying Yufan from your wrath. “What's up?”
You look up. It’s Ahn Keonho, one of Yufan’s best friends, sunnily smiling and toting grocery bags in both hands. You’re about to respond, when he makes a noise that sounds uncannily like a fire alarm shrieking out for a new battery, before dropping his groceries and pointing at the ring on your finger.
“HOLY SHIT?” he screeches. “James! I never thought you'd actually do it! Congratulations!”
Now why did he say that like he was expecting it to happen? No way he actually thinks you and Yufan-
“Yep. I knew you two were dating,” Keonho excitedly carries on. “Seonghyeon owes me 50000 won now. Thanks for making it super obvious that you like each other!”
Suddenly finding his voice, Yufan yells out in horror. “DON’T LISTEN TO HIM.”
Keonho offendedly matches his volume. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘DON’T LISTEN TO ME’. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH WHINING WE HAD TO GO THROUGH. ‘GUYS SHE’S SO PRETTY TODA-’”
“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!!!” Yufan yelps, covering his own ears but still stalking up to Keonho, a la lion hunting gazelle.
Damn. Ignoring the half of your brain screaming “HE LIKES ME?” and the adrenaline-enhanced pounding of your heart, you slowly approach the duo, feeling a little like the waiter you were yelling at the other day. “Ladies. This is a public environment.”
Yufan immediately backs down. “I'm sorry.”
“Dibs being a groomsman, by the way,” Keonho acquiesces, but probably only because Yufan just surrendered. Goal achieved (chaos caused), he picks up his groceries again and heads off whistling, except he can't whistle, so it's more like aggressive blowing. It sounds suspiciously like Careless Whisper. Never mind, it absolutely is Careless Whisper.
“So,” you say to Yufan once Keonho has disappeared into the crowd.
“So,” he says, “I'm. Kind of maybe secretly in love with you?”
“So,” you say. “It’s your lucky day. I am too.”
“Cool,” he says, looking not very cool. “Wanna. Wanna go out?”
“I thought we just got engaged,” you say, half joking, except Yufan flicks through about fifteen different expressions of shock and joy and excitement and more shock, and okay, it's not a joke anymore.
“That works too,” he eventually says once his facial expressions have calmed down.
“Great,” you say. “Can’t wait to get married.”
“Oh, did you two just get engaged?” the florist next to you asks, who's clearly only been paying attention to the tail end of your conversation. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” you say as they pull together an elaborate display of flowers for you two. This is so bizarre. Getting freebies legitimately now. Who would’ve known this would’ve ever happened? Next to you, Yufan still looks like he’s processing the fact that he’s just jumped the best friends stage to the intending to be married stage. His dimples are showing from trying not to smile.
“You're both very lucky.” The florist hands you this huge bouquet, and you look to Yufan for his response.
“Yeah,” he replies this time, intertwining your fingers with his, warm and grounding. “The luckiest.”
You've made many bad decisions in your life before. Showing up to Cartier and accidentally angering a real-life kids movie villain definitely counts, but for whatever it’s worth – loving Zhao Yufan is not one of them. The free stuff is just an added bonus.
