#well u fake..................................

"you're being too hard on yourself."

"i'm not being hard enough!" you turn to him, then. you're sat side-by-side on your plush couch, half-sunken in. the remnants of an evening of indulgent takeout are on your coffee table. the moon has risen and some reality show plays on a low hum in the background.

he's already turned to you, arm casually thrown over the back of your couch, behind your head. it's been like that for awhile, probably.

and he is frowning at you. you knew it.

you curl up more effectively on the couch, in on yourself, like being smaller will make your problem feel less awful and your feelings feel less... big.

"he was nice, hyoma." you feel stupid. "like, incredibly nice. picked up the tab for dinner, wasn't weird when i said i don't put out on the first, second, or third date, and was genuinely complimentary and sweet! and yet... i don't know. it didn't feel good."

"that's nothing to beat yourself up about." chigiri has had this conversation with you several times now. you can tell, minutely, that is beginning to frustrate him. "so he was nice. that doesn't mean there's going to be automatic chemistry."

"i don't think there will ever be any." with anyone, you silently add to yourself. you feel sticky and bad in your chest. you flop backwards on the couch, extending your legs with a heaving exhale, the back's of your eyes burning.

your legs extend onto chigiri's lap. he shuffles himself, then your calves, so they're properly places, before resting his arms on them. his thumb rubs little circles on your ankle. it's not the first time you've been in this position-- hardly.

"that's okay, too." chigiri offers. "sounds like the guy was too boring for you."

"maybe..." you sigh. "it's just getting pathetic. every date i go on, i end up like this when it's over."

chigiri doesn't fight you on it. he knows what you are saying is true because he's here after every single weird or shitty date that you have to debrief. he's a good best friend like that.

"there's plenty of other fish in the sea."

"i don't think other people are the problem." you lay your arm over your eyes. "i am, probably."

"don't say that."

"but, it's probably true."

"it's not."

"you don't know that."

"i do, actually," hyoma squeezes your ankle. "you're not the problem. it makes sense that you wouldn't have any deeper feelings— you've been seeing a bunch of lukewarm men who can't do more than provide you basic kindness.

"don't say that," you sit up, pushing yourself up on your arms. "they were nice."

"the bar for you is in hell, and you know it."

touché.

but chigiri— you don't think he gets it. he doesn't understand that there is, probably, something fundamentally wrong with you. you probably got knocked around too much as a kid, yelled at too many times, fucked over in your adolescence enough that romance is off the table for you.

it's hard to think about. it makes you... sad. so fucking sad, it hurts like you're going to die sometimes. because you like the idea of romance. you like how folks talk about that type of love—you think that, maybe, you've experienced some form of it before. but in the present day, it feels far off. like a wire got crossed in your head at some point, and now romance, even potential romance, is a poisoned, uncomfortable thing.

chigiri is watching you still. you sniffle and turn from him, rubbing at your eyes. you don't want to cry about this today. you try to keep your sobbing sessions sequestered to your bedroom, where it feels most safe to just breakdown. you don’t want him to see.

before you can shoo him off, he's dragging you closer, against his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and rubbing over your bicep. the contact is... nice. really nice. you lean into it, resting your cheek against him with a sigh.

chigiri's always doing this kind of thing for you. your friendship is touchy, and you're grateful for it. lord knows you're not staving off touch starvation with a proper relationship or anything.

"i told you," he squeezes. "you're being hard on yourself. these things take time. there's no rush."

you bury your face in his shoulder. "that's not true. everyone hot and decent is gonna be off the market if i take too long to, i don't know, stop being... messed up about it. and like, i don't know what i'm going to do when you finally date someone. i know you have options."

you know that you're pouting. you're being downright petulant. childlike. it is pathetic.

"... yeah. options." chigiri squeezes you.

"don't act like you don't!" you groan. "we go to the bar and you're accosted. by folks of all gender. you could have anyone. you're really beautiful, you know."

you notice him tense, barely. it lasts only a moment before he laugh. "i'm well aware."

"see!" and it's not like you aren't getting chatted up at the bar either. but it's different! chigiri is making the conscious choice not to pursue anyone, whereas you are trying and failing. "what will i do when you get end up on boyfriend island?"

"that won't happen."

"how do you know?"

he shrugs, his hair shifting on his shoulder. you catch the scent of it, floral and a bit spicey from his cologne. he always wears it around you. "i just do."

you don't reply.

this conversation is always a losing battle. and truthfully? you appreciate it. you try not to have too much of a pity party, but occasionally, it happens, and chigiri is nothing if not a supportive best friend. and to be supportive, he never lets you wallow too long. the night will either end with you sleeping side by side in your bed, or he'll drag you out with a few of his teammates to the bar. this evening, you're not picky, but you let yourself ruminate a little longer.

"what if we like," you swallow. "dated.

chigiri inhales, doesn't exhale.

you continue. "like fake dated, but treated it like it was real. then you could see how i am, in fact, broken."

there's a moment of pointed silence. chigiri is probably deciding the best way to scold you. he says your name sharply. a little strained, too, maybe. "... do you really want to do that, just to 'prove' and objectively incorrect point?"

"yes, actually." you sit up, on your knees. you're in each other's space, you notice, maybe a little more than usual. chigiri's eyes are like gemstones, boring into your form, his jaw seems a little tight. you'll have to offer him some pain medicine later. "we already kind of act like we're dating, right? we'll just make it fake official. then, you can see that i’m too messed up to be in a relationship from a firsthand perspective.”

chigiri says nothing for a moment, staring at you. he's not frowning anymore, his expression is blank in an almost eerie way.

it’s probably too much. a bad, insane idea that you’re suggesting at a low point.

"i’m kidding.” you’re lying, but he doesn’t need to know that. you're probably a little toxic. you probably need a good night's sleep and a backrub from chigiri if he'll do that much for you. your face feels warm. "i'm sorry—“

"it's fine." chigiri tilts his head then. there's a glint behind his eyes that's sharper and brighter than you're used to. "and sure, we can 'fake date'. i think that it would be good for both us."

"really?"

"yeah," chigiri leans back against the couch. his eyes flick, examining you from top to bottom. "i think it has the chance for both of us to get our feelings straight and understood."

there's a weird wave of relief.

chigiri is good at this. talking things out, hearing you and responding without sugarcoating anything too much. yeah, fake dating is an insane concept, but chigiri is right, it will help him understand where you're struggling, and maybe you'll come out of it with a better handle on why chigiri isn't dating anyone, despite his potential roster.

"okay," you settle against him. "thank you."

chigiri is quiet beside you for awhile. your attention drifts back to the reality show. some dating game on an island, the next episode has started to play. the running plot and its players are irrelevant. still, you relax into chigiri’s side, so aware of the tension in him still.

he laughs to himself a little later.

“what’s up?” you bump your head into his cheek.

chigiri huns thoughtfully, “i’m thinking about where to take you out tomorrow.”

“… you’re taking me out?”

“we’re fake dating now, right?” chigiri arm has slid around your waist. “i have to be a good fake boyfriend, don’t i?”

that makes sense, you guess. and it’s not even a big deal. you and chigiri go out all the time. for meals, to the cafe, even on little leisure strolls. it’s not… really any different, just because you’re fake dating.

even if it feels that way.

“i suppose, yeah.” you melt into his side, the shape and scent of him. “where are you thinking?”

he rattles off a few spots. a brunch spot across town, a quiet cafe, a bbq place where the whole team usually gets shit faced once a month. they all sound nice, and not too out of the ordinary.

“you pick,” you tell him, half-asleep. it’s gotten late and the drowsiness that follows such intense emotional turmoil has really gripped you. “i trust you.”

he laughs again, good natured and unbothered by your shirking of responsibility. your ear is against his chest and the sound of his laughter bounces around in your skull. it’s a good feeling. you savor it in an indulgently more possessive fashion than normal.

(and— from this vantage, however, you’re entirely unaware of the intense, almost predatory look that chigiri is directing down on you from above. it’s the piercing kind that a big cat has before sinking its teeth into a well-deserved meal.)