Chapter Text
"We have to do something about this."
This is a box in Izumi's arms, its maroon ribbon tied into a complex multi-layered bow. It looks expensive—it even smells expensive, a soft bouquet of rose and lily. Pinned to it is a card in ivory paper, lines of delicate golden swirls framing the embossed name of its intended receiver.
Takato Tasuku-sama, the kanjis spell out in gold.
Tasuku looks vaguely sick.
"Should we op—" someone says quietly, a half-hearted suggestion.
"No." Tasuku's answer is tense and swift, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "Just—just leave it there. Donate it. Burn it. I don't care, just don't open it."
Izumi places the box down on the table, gingerly, as if the box is about to burst into flames any minute. "We have to do something about this," she repeats, her gaze firm as she addresses everyone in the room. It lands on Tasuku, whose arms are crossed tightly across his chest. Next to him, Tsumugi is patting his shoulder in sympathy.
This box is the latest in a string of gifts addressed to Tasuku, each with the same ivory card. There is no return address, nothing to discern the identity of its sender—except for the fact that she seems to be obsessed with Tasuku.
It started almost innocently, at first. Actors regularly receive fanmails and gifts, and by now everyone in Mankai Company is used to the extravagant gifts that Tasuku gets from his fans, especially the ones who had been his fans when he was still affiliated with Godza. So no one batted an eye when the first gift arrived, filled with expensive chocolate and a leather box of metal cufflinks the shape of a crown. The chocolate, always welcome in a dorm full of teenage boys and one Hyodo Juza, was eaten in record time, the cufflinks stored in a cardboard box in the storage with Tasuku's name on the label.
The next gift arrived three days later, with the same ivory card pinned to it. In it was a bottle of champagne, which everyone agreed was too expensive to waste. Another gift arrived over the weekend, and the next (emerald green silk tie), and the next (leather gloves with hand-stitched initials) and the next (silver tie pin, dotted with a single amethyst).
Tasuku's frown has been getting deeper with each gift, his expression sour. The eight gift was unceremoniously dumped into the storage, unopened, as was the ninth.
The tenth gift is now sitting on the table, its bow trailing down its side in elegant curls.
"This needs to be stopped," Tasuku says, his crossed arms tightening. Tsumugi has started rubbing his upper arms in small circles, as if soothing a small child.
"I can help trace the sender, if you want, make sure she stops doing this," Chikage remarks, a touch too casual, with a shadow of a smirk and a sharp glint in his eyes. Hisoka opens his eyes at that, tilts his head so he can look at Chikage. A few moments pass between them, a silent argument which allows no room for the others to join in, until Chikage huffs softly and Hisoka yawns, blinking lazily before tilting his head away and resumes his nap in Azuma's lap.
"Any idea?" Izumi asks, firmer this time, as if Chikage hadn't spoken.
"What if," Tsumugi starts. His hands are clasped in front of him, his gaze steady. "What if we make the sender think that Tasuku is taken? Surely that would stop them."
"Are you saying he should date someone?"
"No," Tsumugi shakes his head. "He only has to pretend to date someone, for a little while. Just enough for the...secret admirer to back off."
"Don't be absurd." Tasuku turns his head to face Tsumugi. "I don't even like girls."
"I'm not saying it has to be a girlfriend," Tsumugi argues. "It might be better for it not to be a girlfriend, just in case she tries to do something reckless and the situation escalates."
Izumi hums in thought, weighing the situation. "Tsumugi-san has a point," she says at last. "We can consider this a stop-gap measure while we sort this thing out."
The others are murmuring their agreement and Tasuku sighs, throwing his head back in defeat. He can feel a headache coming, one which he has been getting more frequently ever since this whole mess has first started.
"Fine," he concedes. Even he has to admit that having to fake being in a relationship is a much better alternative to getting increasingly extravagant, eerily personal gifts from a faceless obsessed fan three times a week for the unforeseeable future.
Izumi clasps her hands together, relieved that Tasuku, as always, is relatively easy to convince.
"Now, for your partner—"
"I think Tsumugi-san should do it."
It's Banri, looking up from his phone for the first time in the last few minutes. Tasuku and Tsumugi are looking at him with the same questioning look, as if he'd just suggested significant changes to their script the day before their first performance.
"I mean, it seems obvious, doesn't it?" he says, shrugging. His smile, easy and languid, is distinctively fox-like as he continues, "You have known each other for years, and you're close enough friends that I doubt it would raise much suspicion if you two suddenly started dating."
"Listen, Settsu—"
"I agree with Banri," Itaru chimes in, cutting Tasuku's objection short. "If it's Tsumugi, then there is no need for you two and the rest of us to think up some elaborate backstory. It would be much easier for everyone." And then, as if stating something obvious, "The childhood friends route is usually the easiest route to unlock, after all."
"What do you think, Tasuku-san, Tsumugi-san?"
Tsumugi closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths. It's a habit from their high school days, something their theater coach had taught them to help with their nerves before a big performance. "I don't mind," he replies a moment later, smiling. It's his Winter Troupe leader smile, determination spelled in its curve.
When he looks at Tasuku, it is with the look of someone who knows he has already won.
"It would be good acting practice, don't you agree, Tasuku?"
There are logistics to two actors dating, pretense though it might be.
Izumi says they need to announce it, some way or another. Homare suggests they write a poem about it. This idea is immediately shot down—kindly, by Tsumugi; gruffly and with a cross look by Tasuku. Chikage, still a touch too casual, mentions photos and love hotels and tabloids. Tsumugi cranes his neck up to give him a pointed look, smiling beatifically until Chikage laughs and says that he's joking. Citron suggests a blog post announcing their honeymoon in Zahra ("We have the most beautiful summer vanilla!") and pouts when Tsuzuru tells him that Tasuku and Tsumugi are not pretending to be married, there is no room in their budget for a return flight to Zahra, and it's villa, not vanilla, Citron-san.
"What about an Instegram post?"
Kazunari looks the way he looks after he thinks of a particularly brilliant idea for a painting, one that will undoubtedly be displayed in his university's end-of-the-year art exhibition. His eyes are very bright. "It doesn't even have to be something overt, there's no need to make an official announcement—we can post something on our Instegram with Tax and Tsumu-tsumu acting lovey-dovey in the background and let the rumor mill do its job!"
"That's..." Tasuku tries to think of a flaw in Kazunari's plan, finding none. It is certainly the most realistic suggestion they have received by far, one that requires minimal preparation and will, hopefully, result in minimal embarrassment. "That's not a terrible idea."
Tsumugi, whose photos always come out blurry and who barely remembers his Instegram password, also finds himself in agreement. Kazunari would know these things better than he does, he supposes.
"I'll get Omimi, see you guys in the courtyard!" Kazunari grins, rushing up the stairs to fetch their resident photographer.
Tasuku groans, pressing his palms against his eyes until stars spark behind his eyelids. "This is impossible."
"It's not that bad," Tsumugi says, sympathetic. It's a tone Tasuku is familiar with—he would often come home after one of his workshops to find Tsumugi in the lounge, consoling one of the high schoolers after a particularly rough test with the same tone, the same soft eyes. "It's only for a few weeks, and only in public."
"It's not—" Tasuku starts, and stops himself because everything is too much and Tsumugi is simply trying to be supportive because that's how he is, how he has always been. Besides, Tsumugi doesn't know, and Tasuku is not planning to let him.
"It's just acting," Tasuku says, putting an emphasis on every word. He can't tell if it's himself or Tsumugi he's trying to convince.
"Yes, Taa-chan," Tsumugi replies, his tone still sympathetic, his eyes still soft. "It's just acting."
The picture they end up posting, Tasuku loathes to admit, is good . More than good, even. Omi is a brilliant photographer, and even though Tasuku refuses to look at the Instegram post, he had asked Omi to send him a copy through LIME, anyway.
It's a deceptively simple photo, a candid shot of the acting company's members in the courtyard at dusk. And it is candid, for the most part—Sakuya's animated gestures as he gushes about the latest play he watched to Tsuzuru and Muku are genuine, as is Tenma and Guy's discussion about the optimum soil pH for bonsai trees. Misumi, a blur in the corner of the picture, is looking for triangles with the help of a new stray cat he befriended.
Tasuku taps his phone screen, zooming in on the slightly blurry figures sitting on a bench at the back. Omi had told them to act natural, to fill the space with actual conversation, so they did. There was a particularly interesting foreign movie they had watched together the previous week, one Tsumugi loved so much he bought two tickets for another showing and dragged Tasuku to it. Tsumugi did not have to fake the way his eyes lit up as he talked about the clever use of foreshadowing in the beginning of the movie; he did not flinch when Tasuku interlaced their fingers together. Instead he squeezed Tasuku's hand, a gentle pressure against his knuckles, and Tasuku smiled—in spite of himself, in spite of the absurdity of the situation they're in.
Neither of them noticed the sound of the camera's shutter.
"I think we got it," Omi announced, and just like that everyone rushed over to look at the result.
"It's amazing, as expected of Omi-san!"
"This reminds me of the cover art for Your Hand in Mine ~Twinkling Magical Love Story~ !!"
"Their hands are triangles!"
Omi laughed, scratching the back of his neck as if flustered, and extracted himself from the adoring crowd to let Tsumugi and Tasuku look at the picture. "What do you think?" he asked, tilting his camera screen and zooming in, and for a split second Tasuku could feel his breath catching in his throat.
Omi is a very talented photographer, Tasuku knows that much. So it shouldn't be a surprise, really, that he could find the perfect angles to frame the moment and make it seem real. Next to him, Tsumugi hummed his approval.
They looked good together, in that picture.
Tsumugi has a habit of tilting his whole body forward, when he's excited. He was doing it again in the photo, leaning on their interlaced hands when he talked, pressing their arms together. Their faces were inches apart—Tasuku did not remember how his expression came to be, barely even recognized his gaze (warm, too warm) and the subtle quirk of his lips as it stretched into a fond smile at Tsumugi's chattering. And Tsumugi—is a brilliant actor, excelling in impossibly subtle, delicate gestures that set him apart from everyone else. Tasuku knew this, yet it did not stop the loud thrumming of his heart when he looked at Tsumugi, and realized—
Basked in the golden light of sundown, Tsumugi's expression could be mistaken for love.