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dulcesiabits · 5 months

Text

stars you only see during the day.

summary: reo mikage needs a date for his parties, and you need something to do during the summer. What could possibly go wrong when you both enter a contractual relationship?

notes: 11k words, fic, author's notes, fake dating, trying to capture goofy summer fun romcom vibes

Swanky parties like this are so not your style.

Lavishly dressed guests buzz in little groups, sporting designer handbags and miles of silk that cost more than your entire house. Tropical fishes swim in tranquility through the glass tanks of the walls, which cast blue light over the white tablecloths and platters of prime cut roasts and elaborately crafted desserts dusted in gold dust.

Honestly, you wouldn’t normally have been allowed into a place like this; the security guards would have taken one look at your sneakers and chain store jeans and told you to go home. But you’re not here as a guest. No, your sister has hooked you up with a gig as a caterer, so you’re actually one of the invisible waitstaff in a stiff black vest and white collared shirt, drifting amongst the crowd, serving rich people their fancy little foods.

“It pays well,” your sister had pronounced, batting her eyelashes at you. “Come on. You’re always strapped for cash. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“And if it’s so good, why aren’t you going?” you had asked her dryly.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have the time. Otherwise I’d be hustling with you. Come on, do it for me! It’ll be fun! The place will be nice, promise!”

Nice is an understatement for how decadent the place is. If you were to break something here, you think your family would be in debt for the next seven generations over. But since you’re captive to your need for money, you try to skirt past the pricer decorations.

Still. Your sister is right in that this is a simple, and more importantly, well-paying, gig. Get in, walk around aimlessly with a platter in your hand, and get out. That’s all you were looking forward to, really: the paycheck at the end of this. You vaguely recognize some of the guests– probably from the news or on social media, A-list celebrities and trust fund babies– but you don’t care enough to take a closer look.

It’s been a few hours into your shift, and your arm is starting to cramp from carrying around a silver plate for most of the evening. The little shrimp on your plate are dwindling, and you rotate around the room slowly one last time to tempt people to grab your food. Then, you can take a break and put up your feet, and maybe sneak a little bit of the fancy food to try yourself; after all, you heard that some of the ingredients were imported straight from Europe.

You pass by a pack of guests knotted together near a table, and one of them bumps into you with enough force to make you stumble, some youngish looking man in a white suit and slicked-back bleached hair. He barely spares you a glance.

“Watch where you’re going or I’ll get you kicked out,” he snarls.

“Right. Sorry, sir,” you say blandly, fighting back the urge to strangle him and ask “who the hell do you think you are?” Your sister has warned you to stay out of trouble, after all.

“Don’t bother the waitstaff, Takei-san,” someone says just as Takei sneers, opening his mouth to berate you some more, probably. He looks the type. But Takei’s head swivels back around so fast it makes you dizzy. You crane your head, just in time to catch the owner of the voice: a boy with a flute of fizzy water in his hand. He’s cute, with uneven bangs and a dove gray suit, and probably around your age, if not a little older.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mikage-san,” Takei simpers. “Ah, but we have more important matters to discuss, don’t we? What do you think about meeting my sister? She’s lovely, and she’s around your age. Just say the word, and I can arrange a meeting!”

Mikage? Is that the boy’s name? It’s familiar. You’ve seen it on social media a few times; maybe this boy is a lot more famous than you thought. He’s a corporate heir, if you remember correctly. Mikage catches your eye and inclines his head, as if to say you were free to go.

“I would have to think about it, Takei-san,” Mikage replies, turning back to Takei. If there’s one thing you can pride yourself on, it’s how to read people, and there’s plenty to dissect from Mikage’s tense body posture. There’s a smile on his face, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, he looks a little bored, underneath that veneer of politeness. Bored, and strangely vacant, as if the uppercrust of Japan’s society weren’t more interesting than the blades of grass outside of his window.

Normally, you would shrug, go “that sucks for him,” and run back to the break room as soon as you could. The problems of fancy rich boys aren’t really your business. But it’s been a long night, and you’re a little antsy (your troublemaking instinct, as your sister calls it). That, and maybe you’ve watched too many romcoms and dramas with your sister recently, too, because he’s cute. And, well, you should at least try to help out the guy who helped you, right? Tic for tat, and all that, even if it was a small thing on his part.

But none of your justifications to yourself really matter, because you’re already sliding your way into the crowd until you’re at Mikage’s elbow, saying, “sir?”

He inclines his head at you without really looking at you. “Yes?”

“There’s someone looking for you,” you say blandly. “They were impatient. It seemed important.”

“Hm? Did they tell you their name?” Mikage asks.

“Didn’t quite catch it, but it’s urgent,” you stress.

Mikage’s eyes widen, just slightly, and you can see the puzzle pieces coming together in his head. He must have picked up on what you were doing, because he nods gravely, and says, “I should head over, then. It’s probably Yasuhiro-san. Can’t keep a board member waiting.”

“Ah, but Mikage-san–” Takei’s mouth is slightly slack, and he glares at you when you catch his eye. What did you even do to him? Is he mad that you’re taking Mikage’s attention off of him?

“I should go.” Mikage extracts himself from the crowd, who all groan in disappointment. As the two of you leave, you make sure to subtly dig the heel of your shoe onto Takei’s foot, who yelps.

“What the– Did you just step on– Hey! Stop!”

But you’re speeding off with Mikage at your side, and you try not to grin when you imagine Takei’s red, angry face.

Mikage snorts, but when you glance at him, he’s passed it off as a cough, turning his face into the crook of his elbow. “You’re a bit clumsy, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say primly, and this time, Mikage doesn’t hide his laugh. To keep up your ruse, you lead Mikage into a hallway, where rows of imported European impressionist art stretch along the walls, your footsteps sinking into the plush burgundy carpet.

“So… I have to be honest,” you say. “There isn’t someone asking for your presence. I made it up to get you out of there. Surprise!” You wave your hands.

Mikage crosses his arms. “So why did you do that, then?”

“You helped me, so I helped you,” you say simply. “Besides, you looked bored.”

In the darkness, Mikage is reduced to shadowy shapes, but you can still feel the force of his gaze, like a lighthouse cutting through the darkness. He’s appraising you, and it sends tingles down your spine.

“Huh.” That’s all Mikage says, and you wonder if you passed whatever mental evaluation he was doing.

The platter is still in your hands, and there’s still a few shrimp left, so you grab one and shove it into your mouth. You chew, savoring the freshness, and the tangy sauce it’s coated in.

Wait. It’d be rude to just eat in front of someone, without even asking if they’re hungry. You offer Mikage the plate. “Want one?”

“S… sure,” he says, carefully plucking a shrimp between his thumb and forefinger, before placing it on his tongue. The two of you pass the platter back and forth between each other until it’s empty.

“That was good!” You stretch your arms over your head. “I wanted to try at least some of the food at this party before I went home. There’s nothing else really going for this place. No offense,” you add.

“None taken. You’re… huh.”

“Weird? Bold?” you supplement. “I’ve heard it all.”

“No, I was going to say you’re interesting,” Mikage says quickly.

You roll your eyes. “Interesting? Like a dog?”

“I would say you remind me more of a hamster,” Mikage says.

“A hamster? Really? What if I bit you right now?”

“I’m not sure you could do much to me.”

“I wouldn’t want to damage my teeth, anyways,” you quip. The noise of the party leaks into the hallway, and you glance back through the door. “I should get back. I don’t want to give anyone an excuse to dock my pay.”

Before you can move a step, Mikage holds out a hand. He takes a breath, as if coming to some sort of internal decision. “Wait. What if… I hired you for something else?”

“For… what?”

“What if I hired you to stand around and talk to me?”

You take a step back. “Um… I’m a first year in high school, just so you know. I don’t want to do anything weird.”

“Wh– No!” Mikage says, his veneer of poise sliding right off and shattering onto the floor. “I didn’t mean it like that! I’m not asking you to– I just– I’m only a second year!” he adds.

“Takei did offer to introduce you to his sister back there,” you say wryly, jerking your thumb towards the party. “And, like, I don’t know much about your life, but if you’re desperate enough for company, there’s dating apps. Just… uh… hang in there.”

Mikage runs a hand along his face. “I’m not desperate. I’m the most popular guy in my class, just so you know.”

“Okay…”

“I wanted to ask if you would date me,” he says, “Fake date me. Because people like Takei keep trying to jump down my back and draw me into political marriages. We can draw up a contract to make it official,” he adds hastily. “I just need someone to come with me to parties like this as my partner.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you’re interesting,” he says simply. “Besides… you would get to eat as much shrimp as you want. Without having to sneak them off of plates.”

“I don’t know,” you say coyly, looking down at your fingers. “I don’t really like doing boring things.”

“It won’t be boring.” Mikage takes a step towards you, confidence in his face, a hand on his chest. “I’ll ensure everyday is fun for you.”

You can already imagine what your sister will say when you tell her what happened today. No doubt she and your older brother would both groan at your carelessness. What if this is some sort of prank, or fancy trick? Oh well! You’ll just have to take your chances.

You stick out your hand. Mikage takes it without hesitation. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal. But if it’s boring, then I’m going to leave you, Mikage,” you warn.

“Hah. You’ll never have a reason to,” Mikage says confidently. “But call me Reo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “We just met, and you want me to call you by your first name? Moving fast, are we?”

“I’m going to be your fake boyfriend,” Mikage says. “Don’t tell me you’re already getting cold feet.”

“Not at all. You can call me by my first name too, Reo,” you emphasize. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Reo smiles, squeezing your hand once before firmly shaking it. “Likewise, partner.”

Well. This certainly isn’t what you expected to get up to when your sister offered you the job, and there are a thousand ways this could blow up in your face. What if Reo is actually a bad person, and tried to sell your organs? Or his mother threw money at you and told you to leave her son because you aren’t good enough for him, just like in every drama you’ve seen?

But this is the most exhilarating opportunity you’ve been offered in a long while. Exciting experiences, and fun opportunities: you’ve always been the first to jump onto those. Besides, Reo is cute, and this deal will definitely be a good story to tell your friends about later. There’s no way this could go wrong.

—

You’re usually never up before 10am, but somehow, at 8am a few days after the party you worked at, you find yourself at a little cafe in Shibuya, blinking blearily in the pale light. Reo, sitting across from you, has a cup of coffee steaming at his elbow, and you privately curse his poise and his nice polo and slacks. How dare he look so put together, especially when you just threw on some clothes from your floor.

“So,” you say, propping your elbows on the table, your cheek pressed against your hand, “What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait for a more decent hour to call me?”

Reo raises an eyebrow. “This is a decent hour. But I wanted to discuss the terms of our contract.”

You stare at him blankly. He snaps his fingers. “Remember? Our deal?”

“Right.” You yawn, and Reo pushes his cup of coffee towards you.

“I haven’t drank any of it yet,” he says. “Have some.”

“So no indirect kiss for me?” you tease, but take a tentative sip of the brew. You wrinkle your nose; it’s bitter and dark, and it stings your mouth as it goes down. “You didn’t put cream in this.”

“I like the way coffee tastes naturally. Besides, the coffee they brew here is through a special drip pour method, to allow the beans to retain maximum flavor…” You take another sip as Reo rambles, and shudder. Well, you were definitely more awake now.

“So, what is this about a contract?” you say.

“I want us to establish some ground rules for our deal, just so we’re both clear on the expectations and procedures for what we’re about to undertake,” Reo begins. He slides a packet of paper across the table, the kind that’s made with cardstock, thick and creamy. It’s neatly formatted, but your eyes glaze at the professional tone and the dry language of the text.

“All right, hit me with it, rich boy,” you say, slouching back in your chair.

“Well, I wanted to establish a basic time frame for our operation, as well as some ground rules, and cover some of the various scenarios you might encounter–” You put up a hand, and Reo pauses.

“Do you have a pen?” you say bluntly.

Reo fishes out a fountain pen from his bag. “I do, but why do you–”

You flip over the packet to the blank backside, and write down a number one. “So! I think it’s really nice of you to get this entire thing prepared for us, but this is too much. We’re high schoolers, and your rules are 15 pages long. Why don’t we make this easier on ourselves?”

Reo purses his lips. “I guess. For the sake of fairness, it’s probably better if we come up with rules together.”

“Great! So, rule number one. We’re going to be fake dating until you stop needing a date to your parties. That’s probably going to be when summer ends, so that’s when our contract ends. Rule number two. I’ll go with you to all your fancy parties, but you have to help me with, like, etiquette and clothes and what to say. I’ll just be your eye candy. Which I absolutely excel at, by the way. Rule number three. I’ll go to as many parties as you want, but you need to give me at least two days’ warning in advance. I have my own life, you know.” You scribble as you talk, and Reo nods at each of your rules. When you pause, you look up to see Reo with furrowed eyebrows.

“Add another rule,” Reo says seriously. “No falling for each other.”

You burst out laughing, dropping the pen in surprise. A few early morning workers stare at you as they walk past, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. “Seriously? Do you think this is a drama?”

“It’s a necessary precaution,” he insists, but his ears are red. “I just want to make it absolutely clear: this is all for show.”

You snort, but move to jot down the rule anyways. “No offense, but you’re not my type at all. That’s not going to be an issue. You’re kinda full of yourself, huh?”

“I’m not! I’m just saying with my specs, it wouldn’t be weird if you–” Reo falters at your pointed stare. “Listen. I’m used to all sorts of people coming up to me. It doesn’t hurt to be careful, okay?”

“Maybe you’re scared of falling for me, Reo,” you say, leaning forward and batting your eyelashes at him. “I understand, though. I’m pretty cute.”

Reo purses his lips. “And no offense to you, but you’re also not my type at all. I prefer people who are more mature.”

You throw your hands up in mock offense. “Wow! Only five minutes since our fake relationship began, and you’re already hurting my feelings.”

“My apology, baby,” Reo says in a cloying tone. “How on earth shall I make it up to you?”

You shudder. “For starters, don’t call me baby ever again. Ick.”

“I don’t–” Reo begins indignantly, but you quickly scribble your signature under your list of rules, before thrusting the paper at him. “What?”

“Sign your name,” you say, “So it’s official. Isn’t that how you business types like to do things?”

“We’re minors. Our signatures don’t count. But if you insist,” Reo says, signing his name with an elegant scrawl.

“Perfect! Now that we’re officially dating, what do we do?” you say.

“What about a date? A practice one,” Reo says hastily. A pity, because now you can’t tease him about how enamored he is with you. “It’ll be easier to act like a couple at parties if we’re more familiar with each other.”

“All right. Come pick me up in two days, then. And at noon,” you add, “Because I don’t want to do an early morning date.”

“What about right now?” Reo protests.

You throw him a withering stare. “First, I’m not dressed for the part. Second, neither of us are prepared. And third, what did I just say about early morning dates? We need a bit of planning time, rich boy, because dates are serious business.”

Reo holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. I got it. I’ll run our plans with you by tomorrow, at the latest. Sounds good?”

You smile. “Great! Sounds like you’ve already got being a good boyfriend down pat. See you in two days, boyfriend.”

—

If there’s one thing Reo is, he’s meticulous. After you part ways, you exchange phone numbers, and true to his word, he blows up your phone with a detailed plan of your first date. He’s so overzealous in planning that you remind him it’s just a practice date, and that it’s better to keep things casual, rather than the boating-fancy restaurant-live musicians extravaganza he has planned.

Two days later, when you ascend from the subway steps into the sticky summer heat and walk a few blocks until the concrete turns to greenery, you find Reo waiting at a nearby park, sunglasses on his face and a wicker basket under his arm.

“Welcome,” Reo says, making a half-bow. “I hope you’re ready for the date of a lifetime.”

“I’m giving you three stars of five,” you say.

“Wh– We haven’t gone on it yet! How can you rate me that low?”

“Two out of five,” you say. “Just for talking back to me and questioning my review.”

“Let’s just hurry up and go,” Reo grumbles.

The two of you glide alongside blossoming trees, white flowers perfuming the air, and cross a stone bridge stretched invitingly along a river. The water rushes cold and clear across gray stones, a weeping willow trailing its graceful limbs on the opposite bank.

When you reach a narrow glade, Reo gallantly unfurls a blanket and spreads it along the grass. From the wicker basket emerges a rainbow of sandwiches, freshly cut fruit slices, and a thermos of tea.

He pours you a cup, and you take a sip as Reo settles down with a sandwich.

“You went through a lot of trouble to set up this contractual date,” you say, picking up a slice of skewered mango. “What’s the point? Couldn’t you just hire someone else?”

“Do you think I could set up an ad, announcing to the world that the Mikage heir is looking for a partner?” he says dryly. “Any of the other people I could have asked run in my parents’ business circle, too, so it wouldn’t have been convenient for me. And I’m not risking my own social standing at school by asking a girl from there. That leaves you.”

You twirl the mango around. “What if I was, like, a bad person, though? And I leaked your personal information or something?”

“I ran a background check on you. You came up clean.”

“What? Hey! That’s not fair. I didn’t get to run one on you,” you protest.

“I’m someone in the public eye,” he says. “Anything you want to know about me, you can look up online.”

To be fair, you had googled his name when you got home after your morning meeting, and scrolled through his various public social media accounts. Not that he needed to know that. Wait, maybe he already did, if he ran a background check on you. Did he have access to your internet history? Okay. Maybe it’s better to stop thinking about that before you drive yourself insane.

“But that’s not the same as getting to know you. The person Mikage Reo is in public, and the person he is in private are two different people. Tell me something juicy. Like, why don’t you just reject any proposals thrown your way instead of getting a fake partner?” you say.

Reo spreads his hands. “Social maneuvering. It’s better to ward off people from sending proposals to me in the first place than it is to reject each and every person who approaches me.”

“Sure. That makes sense. So… then… Haven’t you ever been in love before?”

“What sort of question is that?” he says.

“I’m trying to get to know you,” you declare, “And I’m curious. You can ask me a question like that, too, if you want.”

“I can answer your question. It’s fine.” Reo pours himself a cup of tea. “Being in love… I haven’t. Not yet. I’ve never been interested in romance. Why, have you?”

“I wouldn’t call it love, but I did date a boy back in middle school. Not because I really liked him, but because he thought I was cute, and I liked him well enough as a friend. Didn’t last too long, though. Your turn for a question,” you add.

Reo takes a sip. “Well, I was wondering… do you have any hobbies?”

“That’s a pretty simple question. But I like scrapbooking and volleyball. I like making memories, and I like sports.”

Reo leans forward, a keen interest in his eyes. “Do you like football, then? I run the school’s football club.”

“I’ve only ever played a little with my older brother. He’s the bigger fan,” you admit. “Do you want to play a game one day? I bet I could demolish you.”

“Hah. As if. I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t regret it later,” you warn, and he laughs. “What do you even like about football?”

“I want to win the world cup,” he says simply. “It’s my dream.” His eyes are reflective, and there’s an edge of seriousness to his tone, an intensity he’s never had before.

You pick up a cucumber sandwich, taking an experimental bite. “When you do, give me an autograph. I can sell it for a million yen.”

“No jokes? I thought you would tell me it’s silly.”

“Well, it sounds like it’s important to you. I’m not going to make fun of something you care about,” you say, amused, shoving the rest of the sandwich into your mouth.

Reo scratches the back of his neck, though there’s a pleased, cat-like smile curling on his face. “Thanks. Do you have a dream?”

“I don’t know if it counts, but I just want to have fun. I want to see new places, and to meet new people, and to experience all sorts of fun things. Isn’t that enough?”

Reo picks up another sandwich, handing it to you, which you demolish in one bite. “I think it is,” he says. “It sounds like you.”

You lick the crumbs off your lips. Reo is a lot more… different, than you thought a corporate heir would be. But it’s nice that it’s easy being with him. Easy, and fun. “I should thank you, actually. This contract is pretty exciting. I’ve never done anything like it before. Thank you, Reo.”

“I don’t know if this is something you should thank me for. But you’re welcome. Thanks for agreeing to go along with me,” he says.

You smile at him, sunshine warm on your shoulders. “So, when’s the first party, boyfriend? I’m pretty excited for it already.”

“Straight to business, huh? Well, it’s in a few days. I’ll text you more details later, and I’ll come pick you up. But hey, before that…” Reo offers you his hand. “Do you want to take a walk? Weather’s nice.”

“Oh! Make sure the car you come in to pick me up is real fancy, okay? My family’s going to be home, and I want to rub it in my brother’s face,” you muse.

“That’s easy. Who do you think I am?”

You don’t hesitate as you slip your hand into his. His grip is soft but strong, and when he pulls you up, for a second, all you can see is Reo, outlined by the glow of the sun.

—

When the sleek black car pulls up to the entrance of your house a few days later, your older siblings are crowded around the window, peeking through the curtains to catch the first glimpse of your date. Your sister whistles, while your brother’s jaw drops.

“What is this?” he says. “What–”

“It’s my date,” you say smugly.

“Your date? Someone wants to go out with you?”

You smack him on the shoulder. “Yeah, unlike you!”

“Does he have money?” your sister asks. “Because good going. Make sure you milk him for what he’s worth.”

“I just– what the hell? No way you got a date before me. And not in that– that car!” your brother complains, rubbing his shoulder, but you’re already skipping out the door.

“Great work, boyfriend,” you say to Reo, blowing him a faux kiss. He’s waiting for you outside the car, already dressed in a navy blue suit.

Reo has an irritating little smirk on his face. “What can I say? My wonderful partner told me to bring a fancy car, and I just had a hard time choosing which one.”

He pulls open the side door for you with an exaggerated flourish, and you slide in. The seats are smooth leather, and the AC is cranked to a cool temperature. There’s more than enough room for a dozen other people, and there’s a mini fridge in the corner that, when you open, is stuffed full of drinks. The windows are tinted, but that doesn’t stop you from rolling it down to wave at your flabbergasted brother before you go, your sister the only one to wave back.

“What do you want me to do at the party?” you say, settling into the supple leather.

“Just stick by my side,” Reo says. “And try not to offend anyone.”

“Done, and done,” you say, throwing him finger guns.

After half an hour, you and Reo chatting to pass the time, the limo pulls to a smooth stop at the end of a gravel-lined driveway. It’s lucky that Reo is the one who helped to choose and sent an outfit to you prior to the party, because all the other guests lounging in the gardens or spilling out the wide open doors are dressed to the nines. You don’t even want to think about the costs of some of those clothes. The inside of the venue is sparkling so brightly that you almost can’t make out any of the decorations; it’s just gold on top of gold on top of gold, but there is, luckily for you, a buffet table in the corner.

As soon as the two of you step foot through the door, you’re swarmed by a pack of guests with glittery smiles. Reo swiftly takes your elbow, pulling you closer to him, and you discretely loop your arm around his.

“Who is this, Mikage-san?” someone says. An actress, you’re sure. Is she eying you with… envy? Okay, that is weird. Wow. You’re pretty sure she’s been nominated for several different awards.

“They’re my date for the night,” he says smoothly.

“How sweet!” the actress says, and after giving you one more side-eye, turns her attention back to Reo.

The rest of the night goes mostly like that, actually. People are curious about you– watching you with a mix of jealousy, judgment and disdain in their eyes– before marking you off as a non-threat and turning back to Reo. It’s exhausting, frankly. How does he deal with it? You’re no chump when it comes to social situations, but this is on a different level. All the fake smiles, the pointed lines, the constant appraising. It’s like being under an endless spotlight; everyone is waiting for you to slip up, just once, to tear you down.

When you glance at Reo, his eyes are distant again, just like they were at that first party. It’s not the Reo you’ve come to know, the Reo who teased you at the picnic and talked about his dreams.

“Cheer up, boyfriend,” you whisper in his ear, resting your hands on his shoulder to speak solely to him. “I think they’re serving shrimp tonight.”

“Oh, your favorite. This time, you don’t need to hide in a hallway to eat them,” Reo whispers back, the ice in his face cracking to reveal a genuine smile. “Let’s go get some.”

After waving off his admirers, the two of you head to the buffet, where you immediately pick up a plate and begin piling up food. Reo wanders off to grab the two of you some drinks.

“Hah? It’s you. They really just let anyone in,” you hear a sneer when you’re halfway through picking up a little chocolate pastry. You glance up, to see a man with slicked back, bleached hair glowering at you, disturbing your little food paradise. Hm? He looks somewhat familiar.

“Who’re you?” you ask, plopping the first pastry on your plate, and grabbing a second pastry just to be safe. Maybe Reo will want one.

“You really don’t remember?” he hisses.

“Huh?”

“You stepped on my foot at a party!” he whispers furiously.

“You were being rude,” you say tartly. That’s enough food. You try to step past him, but Takei jostles you with his shoulder, forcing you back in front of him.

“You were just a server. How the hell did you get in here?”

What the hell? Did Takei think he’s all that, with his self-satisfied smirk and crossed arms?

“I’m on a date, actually,” you say pleasantly. “I was invited here.”

“Hah? Who would be crazy enough to invite you? If you’re lying, then I’m going to get you kicked out of here, just you–”

“Hi, Reo!” you say loudly, cutting Takei off, waving at Reo, who, with perfect timing, has shown up with two sparkling peach-colored drinks in hand.

“Hm? Takei-san, when did you get here?” Reo says.

“Ah– Mikage-san–” Takei’s face pales as he looks from you to Reo, and back to you. “Is… is this person… your date…?”

“Yes,” Reo says, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.

You bat your eyelashes at Takei, who looks like he wants to melt into the floor. For good measure, you turn to Reo with a fake little pout. “Reo, I think Takei-san was just saying something about only someone crazy would invite me here. How funny, don’t you think?”

“Very funny,” Reo says coolly. “But I think it’d be best not to make jokes like that about my date, don’t you think, Takei-san?”

“Right– of course– my apologies, Mikage-san,” Takei stammers. “I, ah, I would never think of… I won’t do it again.”

You pluck one of the pastries off your plate and offer it to Takei, who takes it with a twitching eye. “Enjoy the party, Takei-san,” you say in a syrupy sweet voice, watching as Takei stumbles off.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you elbow Reo. “Nicely done, boyfriend,” you say.

“Takei has always been like that, but you shouldn’t have to put up with it,” Reo says. “Did he bother you?”

“Not too much!”

“I see.” Reo hands you a drink, but there’s a tiny frown twisting at the corners of his mouth as he watches Takei go.

There’s no more incidents after that, thankfully, but there’s a pensive look on Reo’s face that he can’t quite wipe off. What is he thinking? Should you ask? It’s not until the limo pulls up that Reo finally speaks to you.

“I’m sorry Takei was rude to you,” he says.

“It’s okay! It’s not your fault. Unless… you hired him to get on my nerves?” you tease, gravel crunching underfoot.

Reo looks uncharacteristically chagrined as he helps you into the car. “Why would I do that? Still, I put you in that situation, so… what can I do for you as an apology?”

You pretend to purse your lips in thought, tapping your finger against your chin. It’s cute how seriously he takes everything. “Well, Reo, have you ever heard of a little thing called grocery shopping?”

His eyebrows float upwards. “I’m not that out of touch. I do know what grocery shopping is. Do you think I was raised in an ivory tower?”

You grin. “Oh, we’ll see about that, Reo. Come pick me up on Saturday. 9am. Be sure to dress casually.”

—

Just as promised, Reo shows up outside your house at 9am sharp, dressed in a casual button up rolled up to his elbows and pressed slacks. He’s even smart enough to replace the usual limo with a more middle-class car, though it’s as sleek and polished as if it was bought fresh off the lot… which, now that you’re thinking about it, maybe it was.

You snort as you size Reo up, flicking a glance up and down. You’re dressed much more casually, in shorts and flip-flops, and the tote bag you always bring to hold your groceries. “Slacks, Reo? Really?”

He holds up his hands in defense, a golden watch gleaming on his wrist. “What? You said dress casual. So I did.”

You roll your eyes, and when Reo opens the car door for you, you shut it. “That’s like business casual at best. You don’t have jeans? Sweats? You look like you’re taking a break from an office job.”

“Hey. I can’t help it if my standards are higher than other people.” Reo puts his hands in his pockets as you stride confidently down the pavement, and he falls into step beside you. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you grocery shopping,” you say expertly.

“... And you don’t want to drive there?”

“Most people do not drive the car to get groceries, rich boy. There’s a little thing called public transportation, you know. You’re going to learn to do it the old-fashioned pedestrian way.”

“Rich boy…” he mutters. “Can’t you just call me by my name? We are technically dating, you know?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Exactly. We’re technically dating, so I’m just giving you an affectionate nickname.”

At this, he laughs ruefully. “Affectionate, huh?”

Maybe you’ve been a little too mean to him. You are fond of Reo, even if he makes it a little too easy to tease him. At the next opportunity, you casually loop your arm around his. Reo falters, but doesn’t break step, before pulling you closer. He smells pleasant, a warm citrusy scent, and he’s careful to match his pace to yours so neither of you pull too far ahead or behind.

Without turning to him, you say, “I am affectionate, you know. I know how to spoil my boyfriend.”

“Really, now? Looks like I lucked out by asking you out.” There’s a genuine warmth in Reo’s voice that spills a sunset in your chest. It’s almost like he really likes you, and you’re really dating— but the contract. Don’t forget. You can’t let yourself get too carried away. This is a business deal, nothing more. Also, he would be so obnoxious if he knew how much his words affected you, considering all the crap you said about him not being your type. Still, the traitorous glow in your heart doesn’t go away, no matter how much you try to clamp down and extinguish it.

The market is surprisingly crowded when the two of you arrive. You pick up a basket as Reo stands at the entrance, drinking in the rows of cardboard boxes and tin containers and fresh produce, the housewives strolling down the aisles with children in their carts, the scuffed floor and the gleaming lights.

“We don’t have all day,” you tease. “Come on, Reo. Are you scared?”

“I’m not. It’s just… different,” he says. His eyes are still roaming the store, and you loop your arm around his again. Reo lets you pull him along without stumbling a step.

“It’s better to experience it in person,” you affirm, dragging him to the vegetables. “Help me pick some out.”

Reo’s hands hover a row of brown yams, dirt still clinging to their fuzzy roots. He picks one up for you, and you place a hand on his wrist. “What? Is it not good enough?” he asks.

“You need to put them in a plastic bag first,” you say, pointing to a dispenser roll at the end of the aisle. “You can’t just put the vegetables in the basket!”

Reo sighs in a long suffering way, but leaves and returns with a plastic bag, which you shake open and he drops several yams in, after careful consideration of their size and form.

“Good job, Reo,” you cheer.

“What can I say? I’m a natural,” he says smugly, and you bump him with your hip.

Reo follows you around the grocery store, shadowing your steps like a baby chick. You choose several more vegetables, before moving to the meat aisle and examining the frozen, plastic wrapped cuts. Reo peers over your shoulder as you point at the different cuts of meat, so close that you can feel his warmth despite the chill of the coolers, his breath brushing your cheek every time he talks.

“Which one do you want?” you ask. Normally, you wouldn’t find his closeness a big deal. You’re used to skinship with your friends and family, and Reo is your boyfriend, albeit in name only. But something about his presence makes you feel hyper-aware of his every move. Not that you could ever let him know that.

“What do you think is best?” he muses.

“You can choose,” you say.

“What about that one?” Reo points to a hunk of pork, and you drop it into your basket.

“Sounds good,” you say, quickly moving away from the frozen meat, but the memory of Reo’s warmth isn’t as easy to shake off.

You skim through the aisles of dry goods, picking up items that you remember were running low in your kitchen pantry. Reo follows, and he pauses in front of a row of glass bottles.

“There are so many different brands of soy sauce,” he says. “The chef usually just gets the highest quality brand.”

“Show-off,” you say.

“Hey! I’ll send you some, too!”

It’s not until you’re in front of the snacks that you stop, and spread your arms, as if presenting the rarest of delicacies. “All right, Reo. In exchange for your cooperation for today, you can choose one snack.”

“One snack,” he repeats.

“Yup! That’s what my mom used to say when we went grocery shopping. So I’m extending the honor to you. I’ll pay for anything you choose,” you emphasize. “So choose wisely!”

Reo’s hand skims over the row of snack boxes. “Which one would you recommend?”

“The chocolate mushrooms,” you say immediately. “I got them all the time as a kid, and my sister and I used to fight over who got to eat them, since our mom wouldn’t buy more than one box.”

Reo neatly slides out a yellow box with dancing chocolate mushrooms. “Then this is the one I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“My partner recommended them,” he says primly. “Why not?”

It’s only until you’ve paid for everything, stringing plastic bags alongside your arms (Reo valiantly offers to take a few after failing to persuade you to let him pay for the groceries with his card), that you can slide out Reo’s snack and proffer it to him.

“Thank you, my lovely assistant,” you say, “For braving the perils of the grocery store for me.”

“It was fun. I’ll come with you again, if you want.” He rips open the box, then offers it to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Take some.”

“But it’s your reward,” you protest.

Reo snorts, then shakes out a single chocolate mushroom onto his palm, pinching the biscuit stem between his forefinger and thumb, holding it in front of your mouth. “It’s my reward, so I can do whatever I want with it. And I want to give some to you.”

Without hesitation, you open your mouth, and Reo throws the mushroom in. A familiar chocolatey flavor spreads inside your mouth. Somehow, it tastes sweeter than it usually does.

—

Over the next few weeks, you and Reo settle into a comfortable rhythm. He comes to pick you up every evening, though your brother still has a habit of pressing his face to the living room window to ogle Reo’s various cars. Most of the time, your job at parties is just standing by Reo’s side, occasionally intercepting when someone asks him an uncomfortable question and pulling him away. People tend to ignore you, too, treating you as Reo’s tagalong– which, to be fair, you are. Still, any insults are soothed over by the delicious food you pile up high on your plate, though Reo will steal a bite or two if you’re not careful, despite you pestering him to grab his own plate.

Sometimes, you and Reo exchange glances out of the corner of your eye when someone says something particularly weird. It’s startling how fast you’ve learned to read him and pick up on every little change in his expression. He’s emotional and expressive, and though he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, his moods are still easy to read. He’s a little petty, sometimes, and he holds an assured view of his own success. But he’s easy to tease. You like him, a lot more than you want to admit.

However, one particular party in August shatters the routine you and Reo have set.

For one, this party is held in a mansion, a multitiered decadent cake of a building, with famous paintings and expensive statues dripping from every corner. Hell, the guest list is more famous than you’re used to: celebrity actors and prestigious families from old money, and bodyguards hovering at every angle. Even you can feel the oppressive atmosphere, as much as you try to joke it away.

“Be right back,” Reo says, sighing. He flicks his head at an old man trying to catch his gaze. “One of my father’s board associates.”

“Make sure to bring me a plate of food,” you tease.

“Right. Otherwise, you might go so hungry you’ll start nibbling on me.”

You glower at him, and Reo sticks out his tongue at you, before a professional expression rolls down his face, like a shutter slamming closed.

You don’t have much time to spend alone, though. Because just as Reo steps away, a couple draws closer to you, clad with matching crimson jewelry, and with a posture so uptight and rigid you wonder if they would topple to the floor if someone were to bump into them. It’s uncanny timing, as if they were waiting for Reo to leave, but you smile politely.

Neither attempt to smile back at you. The couple’s eyes gleam like the sheen of a shark’s. Ah. They’re looking for trouble. There’s nothing to protect you from their sharp toothed smiles and narrowed gazes. Reo has vanished out of sight, and no one else seems particularly interested in your predicament.

“So, you’re Mikage-san’s date?” the woman asks politely. “How… quaint.”

“Yes,” the man butts in. “He rarely brings anyone to dinner with him, in all the time we’ve known him, and his parents.”

“My endless charm must have captivated him,” you joke, but the couple only raises their eyebrows.

“Hm. Well, it’s just strange that he would take a liking to… you,” the woman sniffs. “What family are you from?”

“I… My family? Well, I don’t think you would have heard of them.”

“I see,” the man says, with enough disdain that it shreds your bravado to pieces. “I’m not surprised you approached Mikage-san, then. Flies are always attracted to honey, eh? What I’m curious about is how on earth you managed to sink your hooks into him.”

“My hooks?” you say. “Well, no hooks were involved. We just hit it off, and–”

“No need to lie,” the woman intones. “It’s quite unbecoming, though I understand that people of your class can’t help themselves. No manners. No grace. To think Mikage-san would pass up an engagement with our child to chase after… you.”

“Ma’am, I think there must be some kind of mistake,” you begin, but then falter. They were still watching you with keen interest, and your chest tightens. They want you to slip up so they could twist whatever you say and humiliate you, like cats toying with a mouse.

More than that, whatever you say could be used against Reo. What was their relationship with him? It sounds like they’ve known him for a long time. Were they people he couldn’t risk offending? These people aren’t like Takei, a bumbling man trying to suck up to people wealthier than him. You could snark back, consequences be damned, but what if that hurt Reo somehow?

“What mistake are we making?” the woman prompts. “Do tell me.”

You select your words delicately, like you’re stringing pearls along a necklace. “Mikage Reo is a wonderful person. He’s a partner far better than I deserve, and I know this. And he’s cleverer than you give him credit for. I don’t think he would fall for cheap tricks or flirtations. No matter who I am, or what you think of me, I would like it if you didn’t imply that Mikage Reo is any less than what he is.”

The couple pales suddenly. Did your speech have such an effect on them? But a hand lands on your shoulder, and Reo’s voice echoes from behind you. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I need to discuss something with my date.”

“Of course, Mikage-san,” the man stammers, all of his previous aggression gone. “By all means.”

There’s an uncharacteristically tight set to Reo’s jaw as he guides you to a balcony, arm pressed protectively around your waist. It’s not until there’s a layer of glass doors and gauzy curtains between you two and the rest of the party that he whirls around, eyes turbulent. His arm hasn’t moved an inch from your side.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he grits out. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Oh, you know. I love when people are rude to me.”

“Stop joking around,” Reo says softly. “I’m serious, okay? You just– You could have said something! You’re my date. No one would… I could have said something. If you wanted me to.”

You let out a long sigh. Reo’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, and you impatiently shrug it off. Reo stares at the spot where his arm had once rested, as if not being able to touch you is the worst thing in the world. The fact that he’s sad for your sake– for you, his partner, his fake partner– makes you upset in ways you can’t begin to articulate. It was fine before. It was fun before, to mess around, to play in a world that isn’t really yours. Whatever you have isn’t real, so why does he act like it is? You even promised not to fall for each other. He was the one who suggested that clause.

“Are they people I can afford to offend?” you say tartly. “What sort of relationship do you have with them?”

“I would have covered anything you did–” Reo begins, but you shake your head.

“That isn’t the question. Are they people I could offend to afford? Are they people you need a good relationship with?”

Reo turns his head, and you have your answer.

“I’m not playing the same game as you, Reo,” you say. “This is your world. I’m just a regular person, and I don’t have family or connections or wealth to protect me. All I have is you, and conversely, anything I do can be reflected back on you. If I act out, then they would use me as an excuse to talk badly about you. I didn’t… want that.”

“So it was because of me?” Reo whispers. “ That you had put up with all of that?”

“I didn’t do it just for you,” you say hastily, “So don’t feel bad, okay? I was also looking out for myself, too. Come on, Reo, don’t make that face–” But before you can crack a joke to lighten the atmosphere, Reo pulls you into his arms.

For a few seconds, all you’re aware of is his cologne, some sort of calm, gentle fragrance, and his arms pressed tightly around you, as if he could shelter you from the world by pulling you as close to his body as he could. His hands, resting assuredly on your back. His chin, dipping into the crook of your shoulder. “Wh– What are you trying to pull, Reo?” you squeak, all witty comebacks and jokes fleeing from your head at his touch.

Reo pulls back, just enough so you can see his face, but his hands are still on your shoulders. And– Reo, confident, clever, level-headed Reo– doesn’t look like a self-assured CEO heir or your usual partner in crime. He looks exhausted. Sad. In a way that someone as beautiful as Reo should never look. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“Don’t apologize,” you say gently. You lightly tap his chest with your fist. “Come on. You didn’t do anything wrong. You weren’t the one who insulted me, right?”

“No, I am in the wrong,” Reo says, and before you can move your hand away, Reo cups his hand over your fist, keeping it trapped against his chest. “I thought I could protect you, but that wasn’t what happened. You were the one protecting me.”

“Don’t be so self-deprecating. You’ve helped me a lot,” you scold. “Mikage Reo, we’re partners.”

“Right. Right, partners. We’re partners.” His lips curve into a smile, like the first rays of dawn breaking over the horizon. Reo is so unfairly beautiful, and why does he look especially beautiful when he’s looking at you?

This is dangerous territory. The world is shifting beneath your feet, and you don’t know if you’ll like where you’ll end up when it stops moving. You open your mouth and hastily add, “Because of the contract, you know? We made a promise.”

“The contract. Off course. We did make an agreement,” Reo says, but the warmth in his smile has burnt out, and no longer reaches his eyes.

“Right.” You shiver, and without a word, Reo shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. “Reo, you don’t have to…”

“It’s chilly during the summer,” Reo says simply. “I can’t have my… partner getting a cold. Let’s just call it a night.”

You crumple the silky fabric of his suit. It’s still warm from Reo’s body heat. “But the party–”

“Forget about it. You’ve already done your part. Just get some rest, okay? I’ll send you home.”

Reo ushers you through the party, warding off guests with a perfectly placed “my partner isn’t feeling well” and a pleasant smile– his business smile, nothing like the ones he shows you– and then you’re in Reo’s limousine. The two of you are silent on the way back. The streetlight flashes stripes of golden light across his face, but you still can’t tell what he’s thinking. For your part, outside of these quick glances at Reo, you stare out the window, at the lights of the city smearing across the glass.

When you stop by your house, it’s Reo who runs over to hold open your door and to offer you his hand as you step out. His hand lingers for a second longer than it has to before he pulls away.

“Have a good night,” Reo says.

“You, too. Wait, don’t you need your jacket back?” you ask, as Reo turns to go.

“No. You look nice in it. Just give it back to me next time.”

You open your mouth to make a joke about footing the bill, and how you don’t think you could afford the cleaning fees for his name brand clothing– but something in Reo’s gaze makes you bite your tongue. Instead, you wave. The last glance you have of Reo is of his silhouette, leaning against the car door, carefully watching you enter your house before he gets into his car and drives away.

—

For the next week, you keep staring at your phone, waiting for it to buzz. But there’s nothing but radio silence from Reo.

You’ve never felt more restless. Why hasn’t he called you? What do you do? Should you contact him first? Was he mad at you? He was definitely mad at you. You hurt him somehow, with your big mouth. But what were you to each other, really? Strangers? Not really. Friends, maybe. A couple? Definitely not. Somehow, your relationship has slipped out of the neat boundaries you’ve set at the beginning of the summer. It’s uncontainable, something formless and vague, neat labels sliding neatly off of it.

This was supposed to be a relationship of convenience, just a summer fling at most. Two strangers, helping each other out. There was a clear expiration date. Did you have any right to push him? To call him? To mend this?

You just wanted to have fun. Fun wasn’t supposed to come back and bite you in the ass like this. Fun wasn’t supposed to lead to either of you getting hurt. Fun wasn’t supposed to be Reo looking at you like that, like he… cared about you, more than he had to. It was supposed to be easy. Why wasn’t it easy?

He was the one who said that you weren’t his type. To be fair, he wasn’t really your type either. He wasn’t, but… his smile. His teasing words. His hug, tight and desperate, as if he never wanted to let you go. You said you weren’t going to fall for each other. You weren’t supposed to. You aren’t supposed to like him, not in this way. It was even in the stupid contract.

You pace around the living room, thoughts spiraling unendingly in your head, wearing a hole in the carpet as your siblings stare at you, unimpressed.

“Can you stop? I’m getting dizzy,” your brother complains.

Your sister slaps him on the arm. “Stop it. Their boy toy ghosted them, so now they’re sad. Let them mourn.”

“Eh? How’s that my business? Just call him, dork,” your brother commands. “Or show up at his house with flowers or something. Just stop moping.”

“You are so tactless. What the hell is–”

You skirt out of the living room, your siblings’ voices trailing behind you as they bicker. It’s not as if Reo needs to text you. It’s not a big deal. He could just be busy. It’s not as if you’re really his partner or something. You’re just– some person he hired for the summer. That’s all your relationship is. You can’t get disappointed now, not when you drew the line in the sand first.

You sigh, falling into a crouch, staring morosely at your phone screen– before it lights up with an incoming call, and you press answer so fast there’s no time for the ringtone to go off.

“Reo?” you breathe.

“Hi.”

“I thought you were dead! Why didn’t you call me? Or text? I mean, I know you’re busy as a corporate heir, but–”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Are you free right now?”

“Yes? Why?”

“Can you come outside?”

“Uh, yeah. But why didn’t you just text me if you were coming to visit?”

“I wanted to hear your voice.” A pause. “Just forget I said that, okay? See you soon.”

Your heart pounds as you stare at the disconnected call, before you dash up the stairs to check your appearance in the mirror and maybe change to a cuter outfit. A few seconds later, you’re out the door, shoes still half on, and sprinting right into Reo, his car pulled right up to the curb.

“What’s up? Is there a party you want to talk about?” you say, breathless.

Reo opens his mouth, closes it, and then fumbles for the handle of the car door. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” he says, avoiding your eyes.

“Sure,” you say easily. You can sense more than see your brother and sister pressing nosily against the window. No doubt they’d pester you about what was going on when you got home.

The car ride is tense. Reo doesn’t talk to you, and instead stares outside the window the whole time. Is he steeling himself up for something? He glances at you occasionally, then glances away. You circle the same block twice before you impatiently ask the driver to simply drop you off at a random street.

The heat is like a heavy blanket over the city, the perfect embodiment of summer. Somehow, you end up in a nice little plaza. There’s a fountain gurgling behind you, and children playing in the shade under the trees. People stream by, and it’s only you and Reo who are frozen in place.

“What is it that you called me for?” you say.

“What?”

“You have something to say, right?”

Reo looks uneasily out at the sea of people under the blistering sun. “Let’s end our contract,” he says quietly.

You must have misheard. The heat is warping the air in front of your eyes. “Why? There’s still a few weeks left, right?”

“I’m terminating it early.”

“You can’t decide that on your own,” you say indignantly, but your hands are clammy. Your voice comes out reedy and thin, even to your own ears.

“It was going to end eventually. Ending it a few weeks early is no big deal,” he says curtly.

“Why now, though? Is it because of what happened at the last party?” you break in. “That’s no big deal. I can handle people like that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he snaps.

“Huh?”

Reo runs a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t have to put up with people like that.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says. “I don’t like– I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“But–!”

“And you’re just doing this for fun, right? It’s not like you have to go with me. If it stops being fun… if it starts making more trouble for you than what it’s worth… you should just leave. It’s like you said,” he says. “This is a contractual relationship.”

What can you say? You and Reo are just… what, exactly? Strangers in a business relationship? Friends, who only came together out of a twisted coincidence? He wasn’t your real boyfriend. You were just acting in a play, and at some point, the curtains had to fall.

“I won’t bother you with something like this again. Just… consider our agreement over, okay? You don’t have to pretend to be my partner anymore.”

He turns, and overwhelming desperation seizes you. If you let him go now, something will change forever, and you’ll never see him again. You’re certain of it. Reo is doing this out of consideration for you. It’s a kindness on his part, but you hate it. You hate it so much you can barely breathe.

“Wait!” He stops. All you can see is his back. What can you say? What sort of joke, or clever remark? What easy thing can repair your relationship? Nothing comes to mind. There’s nothing left, nothing but the truth. “I… I like being with you, Reo. I know I said I want to do whatever is fun, but… the most fun I’ve ever had is by your side. So don’t just… don’t just say it’s over. Was it not fun for you?”

You take a step closer towards him. He doesn’t back away. Another step. All you can hear is the gurgling of the fountain now, and all you can see is Reo. Reo, as beautiful as the sun.

His ears are red. Reo finally turns towards you, averting his gaze from yours, his hand covering his mouth. “Of course I like being with you. I just can’t be your fake boyfriend. I can’t do that anymore. I’ve already broken the contract. I… About you, I…”

Call it fate, or a coincidence. But at that moment, a passerby bumps into you, causing you to stumble. You yelp, your knees hitting the edge of the fountain, and Reo, alarmed, tries to grab you– you only manage to grasp his arm before you tumble over. Reo goes down with you. A wave of water splashes over the fountain as you flail, you and Reo fumbling for purchase. The two of you end up more soaked with every attempt to straighten yourselves, and it’s all just so ridiculous.

Laughter bubbles up out of you, and you can’t stop, even though everyone is staring at the two of you. You’re drenched, water streaming down your face, dripping from your clothes. Maybe this is what your hoodie feels like when you run it through the washing machine.

Reo lies beneath you in a pool of fountain water, your arms on either side of his torso. You’re sheltered in the circle of his open legs. His hair is plastered to his face, his expensive cotton shirt clinging to his body, and you carefully tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, but it’s all in vain.

“I can’t believe this,” you snicker. “Imagine the headlines. Mikage heir, found diving in a Tokyo fountain!”

“Oh, shut it,” he mutters, but you only laugh harder.

Suddenly, his hand cups your face, a tentative gesture. His thumb is so close to your lips. If he moves an inch, he’d brush them. Your laugh quiets. “What’s wrong, Reo?” you say, but your heart is pounding like a flock of birds lifting up in flight.

“You’re beautiful,” he says simply, as if it’s the only truth in the world. “Tell me if you don’t want this.” He’s face to face with you now, and you’re acutely aware of the way his gaze lingers on your lips. “Tell me if you don’t want me. Push me away right now.”

Oh, to hell with it. You lean forward and crash your lips onto his, urgently gripping his face with both your hands. It’s a terrible first kiss. There’s the taste of rusty water, and he’s slack at first, awkward, as you try to move against his lips. But then Reo circles his arms around your waist and pulls you closer, and now he’s kissing you back. He breaks apart only to connect again, desperate as if this is his one and only chance. Like stars colliding, all you can think of is this. Of him. Of the summer heat, lingering even when you part.

“Reo. I like you,” you say, simply. “I want to date you. For real, this time. No contracts, or anything. Even though I’m not your type, apparently.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “Forget about my type, or the contract. I don’t care anymore. I like you, too. I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“If you liked me, then why did you ignore me for a week?” you say indignantly.

“I was… I was nervous, okay? I mean, you shouldn’t have said our relationship was just a contract! I thought you didn’t like me!”

“Sorry, sorry. Both of us messed up, huh?” you ask. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Yeah, I can think of a few ways,” Reo mumbles.

He leans forward to kiss you again, and– “Hey! What are you kids doing in that fountain?! That’s public property!” A policeman yells.

Oh, shit. You totally forgot you were still in public, in the middle of a fountain. But there’s no time to think. Reo grabs your hand, and the two of you scramble up, splashing water everywhere as you jump out of the fountain and run down the streets. Everyone is staring at you, but who cares? Summer is almost over, and you deserve to have some fun with your boyfriend.

#liya writes #blue lock #mikage reo #reo mikage #blue lock x reader #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #blue lock reo #bllk #x reader #bllk x reader #3rd entry for my bllk seasonal shoujo fic!!#longest one ive ever posted. reo im going to kill u for making me write so much

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