Chapter Text
Tsuzuku watched from the sofa as the last of his guests passed around a bottle of cupcake vodka. The crowd that had swarmed his place earlier in the evening had thinned to just Koichi, Uri, Akkey and Aryu. And, of course, the girl that Aryu had brought. She had stopped drinking already, so she waved the vodka away when Koichi offered it and laughed when he shrugged and dramatically tipped back the bottle to finish it off himself. Tsuzuku supposed she probably didn’t know them well enough to want to drink after everyone anyway; she’d never even met most of them before that day. Even he mostly knew her as just the shopgirl at a place where he occasionally bought jewelry, but he had talked to her quite a bit when she was a guest at Aryu’s parties. She was easy for him to talk to, more so than most girls, and he had found himself thinking of her as a friend despite their short acquaintance.
When Aryu had asked for the okay to bring her, he’d wondered if that meant they were an item, but Aryu had laughed off his teases and said she ‘just wasn’t his type of girl’. He supposed that must be true, since while she had arrived with Aryu, she’d spent most of the night talking to him instead. They had talked about Banksy and which live houses were their favorite, amused at how the evaluation of a venue could differ so dramatically based on which side of the rail you were on. They had talked about tattoos as well, and she had taken his wrist and turned it over to examine his work. Then she had pulled up her sweater to show him the slightly embarrassing one on her stomach and he had begun to get the uncomfortable feeling he was being flirted with.
He was tempted to make Aryu deal with it, to get him to relay a subtle message before things got awkward. But he wasn’t even sure he was reading her right. He certainly didn’t want to be the one to make things awkward if it was innocent, if it was just twenty years of socialization that had left her unashamed to lift her shirt in public. After all, that same past was, he thought, part of what made her so likeable; that easy, comfortable way she fit in with a crowd of guys.
In a crowd of effeminate visual kei musicians she could almost blend right in; pink hair, pierced lip and plenty of tattoos. Tall and deep voiced too- but there was still the curve of her breasts under her sweater, no matter how small they were. And tonight, when everyone had been dressed down and barefaced, she stood out in a studded skirt and heavy eyeshadow. Definitely a girl. He hated being hit on by a girl, it was always a game of Russian roulette every time he rejected one- someday he’d say too much, be too honest in his refusal; someone would put things together and he’d be outed on Tanuki within the hour. He hoped he was wrong about her intentions, but if he was wrong about being wrong then he at least hoped she wasn’t the type to do that to him.
The vodka bottle was soon empty on the coffee table, and Akkey’s attention was waning. He leaned back against the ottoman for a moment before for standing and stretching. “I should head out. I’ve gotta open at nine tomorrow,” he announced, patting his pockets to be sure he had his keys and phone before holding out a hand to Tsuzuku.
“See you, then. Let yourself out?” He clasped the offered hand in a lazy not-quite-handshake.
“Yeah,” it was Uri who answered instead of Akkey, “I’m going too. Some of us have real jobs you know.” She punctuated her taunt with a gentle kick to Koichi’s stomach once she stood up beside him.
“Hey, hey, I have a real job. I’m twitter-famous. Maybe I’ll go too.” Koichi got up, bracing himself with a hand on top of Tsuzuku’s head when he stumbled a little, tipsy. Of all the attendees, he had been by far the most enthusiastic about the concept of cupcake vodka.
“You sure you should let him go?” Aryu had made no move to leave, finishing a cigarette from his place closest to the open balcony door. He and his plus-one were watching closely as Koichi meandered after the others out to the foyer.
“Eh,” Tsuzuku shrugged, “nine out of ten chance he gets distracted before he makes it to the front door. You guys staying for a while?”
Aryu shrugged, noncommittal, but the girl leaned forward, palms flat on the coffee table, and answered, “I thought we were going to play Tekken! Unless you’re afraid I’ll humiliate you…”
They had said something about that earlier in the night, hadn’t they? And he certainly couldn’t let her get away with saying that in front of Aryu, who was now grinning smugly at him. So he got up from the sofa, pointing a menacing finger at her with what he hoped was a serious face, and went to turn the console on.
On the other side of the wall, he could hear his guests departing, heavy boots clunking on the tile of the genkan and Koichi opening the hall closet to get his jacket. When the front door opened and Uri called out ‘goodbye’, everyone in the living room answered her in chorus with their host. The front door slammed and he sat down on the floor beside his friend and passed her a controller just as Koichi wandered back into the room.
“Look what I found,” he sang, throwing a black feather boa dramatically around his shoulders.
Tsuzuku shot Aryu a ‘told you so’ look as Koichi struck a pose right in front of the TV. He couldn’t be annoyed though, because the girl beside him was laughing hard at his bandmate’s drunken voguing, a hand over her crooked smile. Koichi finished with a bow, then unwound the boa, draped it over her shoulders and went to flop unceremoniously face-down on the sofa.
Tsuzuku turned to look at him and saw that Koichi had his eyes closed already. He’d sleep it off for a while, as usual, and then hopefully get his ass out of the apartment before the last train. Tsuzuku felt the end of the boa slap his cheek and turned back around to see the shopgirl waving it teasingly at him.
“Who wore it better?” She posed, with less confidence and flair than Koichi had.
“Me, of course,” he bragged, trying to steer the conversation away from that minefield of flirtation. “That’s from an old costume of mine.”
“Jeez, you really know how to flatter a lady, huh?” She pouted.
Aryu erupted into laughter at that. “Honey, you don’t want to hear him try to flatter you. He is not a suave man.”
“Fuck you, I can be suave.” He sat up straight and composed himself, running a hand through his hair showily, “You look very beautiful tonight. You hair is very… much pinker that Koichi’s?” Well, he had tried- she was pretty in her way, but it wasn’t easy to figure out which things girls actually liked being complimented on and which would get you slapped.
“Told you he’s awful. But at least he didn’t tell you you looked like a sexier Boy George.”
“And I told you that Ryoga made that story up and to stop repeating it.” He picked a lighter up off the table and threw it at Aryu. They were both still laughing at him but he nudged her with his elbow and set to work picking his fighter. “Okay, pretty lady, prepared to get your ass kicked?”
---
An hour later found them tied, six to six, and her complaining about him being a sore loser. He had wheedled he for another chance after each loss, as Koichi slept soundly through all her good-natured shit-talking and Aryu laughed at them.
“C’mon, best seven out of thirteen.”
She relented, rolling her eyes as she pushed her hair back behind her shoulders, and they began again as Aryu walked out onto the balcony. Tsuzuku tried not to let the movement distract him, tried to focus on the game- after twelve rounds he should have had a better idea how she going to play. But he got his ass handed to him anyway.
“Aaah,” he put the controlled down and flopped onto his back, defeated. He rolled his head to the side to look out onto the balcony and got a good view of her thigh instead. There was definitely a tattoo there too. He looked away quickly. “You going back with Aryu? I think he’s getting bored.”
“Nah, he can make it home without my help. I’m still having fun. Unless that’s your subtle way of trying to get rid of me? Are you bored? You can just tell me.” She fiddled idly with the cord of the controller as she spoke.
“No, no. Best eight out of fifteen?” He answered without thinking it through, because at that moment everything seemed good between them, and he had no desire to send her home when he could listen to her laugh and curse enthusiastically instead.
“Can’t you just admit that you want to keep playing without being so hypercompetitive? If Aryu leaves you don’t have to worry about being humiliated in front of him,” she goaded.
The other vocalist leaned back into the light of the living room when he heard his name, “You talking about me?”
“Uh huh,” she answered easily, “if you’re bored you can leave without me, you know.”
“Well, I guess know now. You don’t need a referee?” When his friend shook her head he began to gather up his things. He was glad to see her getting along so well with the other guys; it was nice to have such a chill crowd of friends. When he said goodbye and got only a distracted grunt from Tsuzuku in return, he left them to their heated game. In the kitchen, he quietly rummaged in his friend’s purse until he was sure her phone was charged and she had money for a cab home, then did his best to put everything back where he had found it. She hated being mothered like that, but if he was careful, she’d never even notice. He closed the closet that Koichi had left open before slipping out the front door.
Tsuzuku had decided; next time he had a party, he’d definitely have to invite her. He’d have to get her number. He was having fun, even if he was losing more and more badly. A few more games in, she slapped him on the leg for pouting and told him she could beat him even playing as Panda. He stopped trying to keep score after she did. When Koichi finally sat up from the sofa and asked the time, she used his momentary distraction to throw his fighter across the arena with one swipe of her paw.
“Fuck!”
“Fuck o’clock?” Koichi mumbled. “Seriously, have I missed the train or not?
“Uh, it’s twelve thirty-ish. Twelve thirty three. Think you can make it?” He realized his mistake just as soon as the words were out of his mouth. If Koichi left he’d be alone with her, and that just seemed like a risk he didn’t want to take. He’d already made the mistake of letting his best chance at avoiding awkwardness escape with Aryu, so he hurried to add, “You can just crash here, don’t worry about it.”
“No, I gotta try to make it. My cats need me.” Koichi was already hurrying to get his jacket. Tsuzuku followed him out, hoping to see him stumble so he’d have an excuse to make him stay put for his own safety. But the bassist had developed an amazing tolerance for alcohol and he was jogging down the stairs confidently before Tsuzuku had time to fabricate another excuse. He watched Koichi’s bright yellow pompom hat disappear into the night, leaving him completely without reinforcements.
Well then. He was on his own. He’d just have to hope he was wrong about the vibes he’d gotten from her. It wasn’t like he was an expert on girls and what they actually wanted anyway. He could just hurry her out now and hopefully avoid finding out one way or the other. Sometimes denial really was the best available way to handle a situation, right? He sighed and headed back to the living room, where he found her scrolling through the character selection menu idly. “You’re going to miss the train if you aren’t careful.”
“You kicking me out?” She smiled, then looked a little embarrassed as she admitted, “Actually I should have left by midnight to make it. I could get the first train still, but I’d end up stranded at the transfer station by the time I got there.” She laughed awkwardly as she put the controller on the table and stood. “I can take a taxi though.” She grabbed the empty bottle off the table as she walked past him into the kitchen. When he followed, he saw her drop it in the recycling before pouring herself a glass of water.
He’d been too into the game to realize while it was happening, but somehow she had managed to sneak her way into being the last one there. He should never have let that happen. He couldn’t tell if it had been on purpose, if she had really sounded a little disappointed when she said she’d call a taxi or if that was just his imagination. He had a sneaking feeling that she had hoped he’d ask her to stay over. What was he going to do about this? It was making him nervous.
He would have gotten her a cold water out of the fridge if she had asked, but she had helped herself just like the rest of his friends would have. She certainly had a way of making herself at home, of weaseling her way further into his life. He watched as she quickly finished the glass of tap water, Adam’s apple bobbing. For a girl, she was actually pretty hot; nice tattoos, bony shoulders, narrow hips and… everything else that she made no secret of. He could almost see it working. If she had been a guy, she would have been his type. But she wasn’t, and he felt a bit disgusted at himself for thinking about her that way, fixating on things he had no business thinking about.
But it was hard to stop. She was making it hard, swishing the end of the boa idly as she leaned against the counter and made no move to call a taxi. He had to say something before she embarrassed herself in front of him, and risked ruining the comfortable friendship between them. But before he could speak, she beat him to it.
“Your friends are all really nice. Aryu said I’d like them, so I guess I have to admit that he was right for once.”
“Don’t tell him that though. And are you really going to still like Uri after she stuck ice down the back of your shirt?”
He was trying to keep the conversation light, but she was twisting a strand of dark pink hair nervously, self-conscious. She took a deep breath before replying, and he knew there was no getting out of this.
“Well, you’re nice anyway. I still like you.”
It was time for Tsuzuku to play that dangerous game of evasion and rejection. The worst thing was, this time he couldn’t just lie and say she wasn’t his type- he couldn’t stand the thought of saying that to someone as nice as her. And besides, it wasn’t entirely true. He’d already fawned over her tattoos and called her pretty and she’d see right through the lie. He was slow to come up with a response, both his usual excuses and his usual repulsion toward girls unavailable to help him. He sat down on the edge of the kitchen table, knowing that she already knew that he had understood her. He’d lost his chance to play it off as though he hadn’t realized what she meant. He took a moment, quietly to trying to figure out how to reject someone who he’d come to see as so deeply human. Was she the type who would take it harshly, or would she laugh it off?
But it seemed she hadn’t recognized his discomfort, had taken his hesitation to mean something else. She crossed the kitchen to stand before him, traced a finger lightly over the bones of his kneecap where his jeans were torn. “Come on, I’m not asking you to marry me or anything.”
He looked up at her. She was still smiling, but trying to keep her lips closed over her jagged teeth. She looked a little different from what he was used to when he saw her behind the register at work; no lipstick or blue lenses, the little scar of an old piercing on her cheek visible at this distance. In this lighting, illuminated from behind by the fluorescent bulb above the sink, the shadowy outline of her waist showed through the fine knit of her oversized sweater. He was fighting the temptation to smile back at her, and maybe he wasn’t doing a very good job because she continued, “I thought you wanted to see the rest of my tattoos…”
“Yes, but…” She had seemed confident that she was going to get what she was after, and he watched her face fall as she realized he wasn’t going for it.
“But?”
It was hard to put up a fight when he was beginning not to want to turn her down- or at least not to want her to be turned down. It bothered him to see her smile wilt like that. If it had been another guy doing this, he would have wanted to rough him up, make him see the error of his ways. But he was the one doing it, so one way or the other, he’d probably be beating himself up over it for days. He forged on.
“But, it’s not a good idea.”
The last of the flirtyness went out of her, smile stiffening into a grimace and she stepped away from him and began, “It’s because I have a cock right? I kinda thought you seemed like the typed who might be okay with that but-”
He had to cut her off then, the truth spilling forth by way of apology. He might be digging his own grave, but he couldn’t let her think that of him; couldn’t let her think that he hated who she was and risk never seeing her smile at him over the rim of a glass at another party. Maybe it was mostly selfish, but he was scrabbling to avoid hurting her as well.
“That’s not it! It’s got nothing to do with that.”
“You don’t have to lie.” She was unwinding the boa, laying it over the back of the chair. He realized she was getting ready to leave.
“I’m not lying, look, please-“
“What is it then? Because you liked me just fine right up until I suggest fucking, right?” She was seething, voice still quiet but raging underneath, dangerous.
“I just don’t like girls. I do like you, but I’m gay!” Well, now the truth was out. But what else could he have said, faced with all her anger and disgust? Things were spiraling out of control, worse that he had imagined. “I’m gay, okay.”
He might jerk off to transgirl porn on occasion, but this was a whole other matter. She was his friend and she was all too real, living a reality just as emotionally complex as his own, even if he only got the slightest glimpses at it. She could do better than a guy who only liked her because of her cock. He wanted her to get what she wanted, but not with a creep like him. She deserved better than that.
He watched her expression cycle through surprise, disappointment, skepticism. She seemed at first unwilling to believe him, staring him down, red splotches raising on her cheeks and chest. She wasn’t ready to let this fight go yet.
“So what then? You like cock, don’t you? But you don’t like me?”
“No, I… I like you just fine. But you wouldn’t... But do you really want to sleep with someone who’s only interested because you…” He was trying to say what he really meant, without having to actually say it. “Isn’t that a little insulting?”
“Better a guy who I know only likes me for my cock than a guy who’s disgusted when he finds out,” she snapped when she caught his meaning.
There was a vulnerability there, a raw wound. He knew from the way she said it that she’d had some bad experiences. This wasn’t hypothetical. She seemed ready to lecture him on just how hard it could be, but he was already well aware. Thinking about it just made him feel more strangely guilty than ever.
“I know,” he sighed, running his hands over his eyes in exhaustion. “I know.”
And he did. He knew exactly the kind of things men could say, words like a kick in the ribs, had overheard things that made him sick to think about. He drew his hands over his face again, a brief dark reprieve from her challenging gaze. Then he held out his hands to her, palms up- supplication, surrender, apology? He wasn’t sure what he was doing. But when she hesitantly stepped forward after a long tense moment, he drew her into a hug.
Her posture was still stiff, her face hidden, but after a minute she spoke again, “I’ve been avoiding guys for so long because I get so mad at myself every time I get rejected, but I was so sure that you were interested, and…”
He hadn’t meant to dredge up all this hurt. He had been trying to be honest with her because he knew she deserved that much, at least. But now she was sniffling quietly against his shoulder, furious with herself for crying about this.
After a long moment, his hands rubbing slow circles on her shoulders, she managed in a surprisingly steady voice, “I’m sick of going home with some asshole who has to close his eyes to keep it up. I just want some attention from a guy who actually likes me as I am.”
“I know,” Tsuzuku sighed again. He had never expected to find himself in this deep, her honesty breaking down his resolve. After all, his reasons had been well intentioned, but all wrong to begin with. He’d been fucking continuously up all night. He held her until his legs began to go numb, silently wondering what she was thinking as he slowly brushed his fingers though the ends of her bleach-frayed hair. Had she changed her mind about him, had their almost-but-not-quite fight ruined the mood? Or had his stubborn, idiotic refusal simply brought up too many bitter feelings for her?
But when he laid his cheek against her hair he felt her nuzzle back, lean her weight against him more. And when he pushed back her bangs and brushed his lips against her forehead, she sniffled again, stepped back to wipe tears from red eyes, smiled her crooked smile and said, “Okay. Let’s go back and try that again.”
There was still a pressure in his chest, an empathetic hurt, a guilt. But as she splashed cold water from the kitchen sink over her face, washed salt away, he tried to give her what she was asking for- to place himself back half an hour ago, to pretend he hadn’t seen her cry. Maybe this had been a necessary step for them to understand each other, but maybe they could go back to another point now, try a different way.
She shut off the water and turned toward him again, smoothing down her skirt. Fidgeting, a deep breath, then she leaned against the counter and looked at him, almost herself again, if a little more careful. Behind her brave expression, there was a strength that he knew he was going to let overwhelm him.
“I like myself just fine as I am, you know. Most days anyway. So if you do too, just fucking kiss me or something.”