Chapter Text
Keiji checked his watch as he hurried down the busy Shimokitazawa street towards the izakaya. He was running fifteen minutes late, and even with a text shot off in desperation, he felt terribly about making his dinner date wait.
Especially given the circumstances around which it had happened.
He sighed and stopped in front of a storefront to check his appearance. His reflection looked as frazzled as he felt: dark curls sticking up every which way, glasses and tie both slightly askew. He frowned and fixed both before rounding the corner to the bar.
A quick peek in the window revealed his friend already there, sitting alone at a booth. Keiji’s heart twisted, and he rushed into the restaurant.
“Bokuto-san!” he called as he entered. “I’m so sorry I’m late!”
Bokuto, although half-shrouded in darkness at first glance, immediately lit up at Keiji’s arrival. He jumped to his feet, a brilliant smile illuminating his handsome face. Golden eyes sparkled at Keiji’s presence, and Keiji felt his heart flutter weakly in his chest.
For ten years, Bokuto and Keiji had been best friends, since their playing days in high school. Keiji had been Bokuto’s friend, confidant, and, as their friends sometimes teased, handler. Even now, there were days and nights where Bokuto would call Keiji distressed, and Keiji would reach through his trove of Bokuto secrets to unlock the one that would bring his best friend back to earth.
However, Keiji would be the first to admit that he loved watching Bokuto soar, more than anything else. It was his favorite pastime, had been all these years. But now, he didn’t get yelled at by their coach for watching Bokuto for too long.
Keiji could look and look, as much and as long as he wanted, and never tire of it.
“Akaashi!” Bokuto held out his arms, and Keiji stepped into them for the briefest of hugs. He couldn’t let himself linger in Bokuto’s arms for too long, or he’d start to get ideas. And for Keiji, ideas involving Bokuto Kōtarō’s Very Sexy Chest and Equally Sexy Arms were always bad, and always ended with Keiji, a glass of whiskey, and his favorite dildo.
Not tonight, not tonight, not…
“How come you were late?” Bokuto asked, settling back into his side of the booth. He poured Keiji a mug of beer, then topped off his own. “I ordered karaage and negamaki so far; they don’t have onigiri here.”
“That’s okay, Bokuto-san,” Keiji replied, taking a sip of his beer. It was cold and crisp and cut right through him. “This is good,” he added, taking another sip. “I needed this.”
“Why?” Bokuto’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, you’re never late for our dinners, Keiji, and your text seemed not like you? So I wondered if…”
Keiji blanched and set his beer down. “I would never stand you up, Bokuto-san,” he answered earnestly. “I was only late because…”
Keiji paused and looked down at his hands, feeling embarrassed. Could he really tell Bokuto what happened?
Bokuto, his best friend, but also, his very straight best friend?
They never really talked about things like this. They never talked about relationships, or sexual attraction, or anything. Keiji knew Bokuto liked women; he assumed Bokuto knew he only liked men.
His crush was undeniably pitiful.
“Akaashi.” Oh, oh no. Bokuto was using the captain’s voice, the one that worked as well as those alpha commands in the werewolf omegaverse novels Kenma kept trying to get him to read. And Bokuto looked just as serious as one of Kenma’s alpha wolves, too: eyebrows knit together, forehead furrowed, plush lips actually turned upside down. He reached forward and grabbed Keiji’s hand. “Why were you so late?”
“There’s—there’s this guy,” Keiji blurted out, unable to stop the words from tumbling off his tongue. He wrenched his hand from Bokuto’s and nearly spilled his beer. “There’s this guy at work and he—he won’t leave me alone. And he wouldn’t let me leave today; he just kept talking and getting close and talking and—”
“Whoa, whoa, ‘Kaashi, slow down!” Bokuto interrupted, waving his hands about. “What do you mean—he won’t leave you alone?”
Akaashi’s mouth opened and closed, and he realized that he didn’t know quite what words to use. The waitress brought karaage and negimaki, and Bokuto ordered another pitcher of beer. “What do you mean?” he repeated after she left. “Are you not doing your job? Or does he want you to do some kind of job? Is it a good job? Or is it something you don’t want to do?”
Keiji sighed. Leave it to Bokuto to not get it immediately. His friend was too good, too pure, to ever imagine the worst.
Keiji loved him, so much.
“Tell me,” Bokuto said then, tearing at the karaage with his teeth. “Why did your coworker make you late?”
Keiji took a sip of his beer, then another, then took a much larger gulp. He wiped his mouth. He was gonna need this.
“A—about a month ago,” Keiji began, “one of the seniors in the company—not my boss, but the same type of position, just in another department—he—he started taking an interest in me.”
Bokuto cocked an eyebrow. “An interest?” he asked. “Like he wants you to edit something for him?”
Keiji sighed. “Not—not quite, Bokuto-san,” he replied. He dropped his head into his hands. “I wish it were that simple, I really do.”
“Akaashi-kun?” The voice calling Keiji’s name was vaguely familiar, but Keiji couldn’t quite place it. He looked up from the photocopier, where he was making copies of the latest storyboards Udai-sensei had sent him, and was greeted by a gentleman, slightly older than Keiji himself. He was handsome enough, Keiji supposed, in the bland sort of generic way salarymen could be handsome, and his face, like his voice, was vaguely familiar.
“Nakajima Ichiro,” he said, bowing slightly. “Associate manager of the juvenile division.”
Ah. That was why he looked familiar. Keiji’s division met with the juvenile division quarterly, usually to discuss sales or cross-promotional concepts.
Was that why Nakajima-san was here?
“Akaashi Keiji,” Keiji replied, briefly dipping his head. “I’m the associate editor for Meteo Attack.”
“Yes, I know who you are,” Nakajima replied, his eyes fixed on Keiji’s face.
“Is there something you need, Nakajima-san?” Keiji asked. He needed to finish his copies and then get them to his team before his afternoon meeting. He didn’t have time to exchange pleasantries.
“In a rush, Akaashi-kun?” Nakajima asked.
“Always, Nakajima-san,” Keiji replied.
”Well, I definitely don’t want to keep our best editor from his work,” Nakajima answered, smiling. “But perhaps you might be willing to join me for a drink after work?”
Ah. So that’s what this was about.
Keiji smiled in what he hoped was a polite manner. “I’m terribly sorry, Nakajima-san,” he said, “but I have to stay late tonight to work with Udai-sensei. I’m sure that Suzuki-bucho will have some edits for us, and we need to get the next chapter ready by Friday.”
”Of course.” Nakajima’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he looked Keiji up and down in a way that made Keiji’s skin crawl. “I forget that the life of a manga editor can be so busy. You’re certainly—” Nakajima stepped a little bit closer, and Keiji could smell his aftershave, “one of our best, Akaashi-kun.”
Unnerved, Keiji dipped his head into a bow and gathered up his copies. “Thank you, Nakajima-san,” he replied. “I hope to continue to do my best to bring Udai-sensei’s vision to life.”
And he scrambled away before Nakajima could say anything more, hoping that would be the end of things.
It wasn’t.
”Akaashi-kun,” Nakajima said one morning in the elevator, standing slightly too close to Keiji for comfort, “I’d like you to join me for lunch today. The juvenile division is looking at several potential new manga, and I’d love to have a practiced hand take a look at the proposals we’ve received.”
”Akaashi-kun.” Another time—in the hallway again as Keiji was pacing outside Udai-sensei’s office, waiting for him to return from his meeting with his assistants so they could go over the outline for the next five chapters. “Have you given any thought to my offer to help out in the juvenile division?”
“Akaashi-kun.” This time—terrifyingly—outside Keiji’s boss’ office. “I was just meeting with Suzuki-kun, and he supports you coming to work with me for a few days. Won’t you please consider it? It would be a step in the right direction, moving you towards another promotion, one that I think you definitely deserve.”
And then, tonight.
”Working late?” Nakajima stood in the doorway of Keiji’s office as Keiji frantically tried to get Udai-sensei’s notes and storyboards in order for their 8am Monday meeting with Suzuki and all the assistants.
“I always work late, Nakajima-san,” Keiji replied wearily. He’d been doing his best to fight off the other man’s advances, but there was only so much he could take.
”If you’d like,” Nakajima said, stepping into the office, “I could take you to dinner when you’re done, perhaps drinks? Just as colleagues, of course.”
”Of course,” Keiji answered, more focused on his work than on the man in his doorway. He heard Nakajima grunt, but when he looked up, he saw that the other man was smiling softly. “Unfortunately,” Keiji added, and Nakajima’s face faltered, just for a moment, “I already have plans tonight.”
”You do?” Nakajima frowned. He stepped closer to Keiji’s desk. He pulled back a chair and sat in it, directly across from Keiji. “Well,” Nakajima purred, “it looks like we’re all alone, and if you finish up your work, perhaps we can get to know each other before you have to go.”
”Oh,” Keiji said, now stacking the papers into piles sorted by chapter and sequence, “I’m sure there are still some people around.”
”I don’t think so,” Nakajima said. He leaned forward in his seat. “I think it’s just you and me.”
“And that’s why I was long,” Keiji said, twisting his fingers in his lap. “I couldn’t get him to go, and when he finally left, I still had to get the proofs done for Udai-sensei’s chapter. And they’re still not finished, so when I get home tonight I’m going to have to—”
“This sounds like harassment, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto frowned. “Can’t you report him to Udai-san? Or to your boss? To someone who can do something?”
Keiji sighed and shook his head. “I just got my promotion,” he told Bokuto. “If I do anything to stir up trouble, it’s going to look bad for me, Udai-sensei, and my boss. I’m just going to have to bear it as best I can until he gets bored and shifts his attention elsewhere.”
“But how long will that take?!” Bokuto’s brow furrowed, and Keiji knew he was concerned. He bit his lip. Dammit! He wished that he didn’t tell Bokuto any of this. The last thing Bokuto needed was to get anxious and worried for him, and that in turn would make Keiji worry more and carry the guilt of putting Bokuto into a funk before his tournament.
Fuck, fuck.
There was no use lying. Not now. Bokuto was too keyed into Keiji’s state of mind and Keiji would never be able to make something up. Bokuto would question him until he cracked.
No, better to be honest. Lay it all out there.
“Hopefully before the company party at the end of the month,” Keiji said. He could feel his frown carving deeper. “I think Nakajima-san and alcohol is probably a bad match.”
“And you think he won’t leave you alone at the party?” Bokuto pressed.
“I don’t think he will,” Keiji worried. He sipped his beer, then took some karaage to munch on.
The company’s annual party was a big deal. Everyone in the company was invited, as were many of the company’s top authors. Udai was giving the manga division’s keynote, and he was already stressed about his talk. Keiji had had to talk him down from the extensive presentation and bulleted list he’d already put together, scrapping most of it for a succinct, yet meaningful, discussion on the importance of manga to literary pop culture.
It was a big night for him, and, by extension, for Keiji.
He couldn't let Nakajima ruin it.
But if the other man spotted him and tried hitting on him, well…
“There’s only one solution to your problem then, Akaashi,” Bokuto said seriously, his thick hands folded around his beer mug.
“And what is that, Bokuto-san?” Keiji asked wearily.
Bokuto grinned. “You need to bring a date!” he exclaimed.
Keiji blinked. “A…a date?”
He was bewildered. A date? Why would he bring a date? What good would that do? Could he even do that? He supposed he was allowed—people brought plus-ones to the party—but Keiji? A date?
“Yeah!” Bokuto lifted his beer mug off the table, took a huge swig, then slammed it back on the table, wiping his mouth.
Keiji swallowed. Hard.
Commissioned Artwork by kalcia
“You need this Kamamada-san—“
“Nakajima-san,” Keiji supplied.
“Whatever.” Bokuto waved his hand. “You need this creep to leave you alone. What better way to do it than to show you’re already taken?”
Keiji gaped for a moment. Taken? Him? Who would ever take him? Want him?
It wasn’t that Keiji was undesirable, he supposed. He had been called handsome, beautiful, even. But work dragged him down, left him haggard and pale. College Keiji was infinitely more appealing than Manga Editor Keiji.
This was a bad idea. Impossible, even.
Keiji shook his head. “I don’t think that would work, Bokuto-san,” he replied, sipping his beer. “Besides, who would want to take me?”
“Me!” Bokuto nearly shouted, and Keiji was so startled, he nearly knocked over his beer, and in catching it, he overturned the basket of karaage.
“Y—you?!” Keiji sputtered, frantically trying to clean up his sloshed beer and set the karaage back. “But, Bokuto-san, you’re—”
“In town for a tournament, and at your service,” Bokuto interjected, helping Keiji clean up.
“But you need to focus on that,” Keiji insisted. He took off his glasses and wiped them, running a hand across his forehead. Was he sweating? He was. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“But I always worry about you, Akaashi,” Bokuto replied seriously. “I think about you all the time! Like…” He cocked his head to the side, and heaven help him, Bokuto looked so cute, Keiji wanted to devour him. “Is Akaashi eating? Is he getting enough sleep? Is he working too many hours? Did he see the new Sonic movie, and what did he think about the ending? Did he read the manga I sent and did he like it? Is he keeping up with his jogging routine or did he drop it because he really needs the extra hour of sleep?” Bokuto grinned at Keiji, whose mouth had dropped open. “Is that bad?” Bokuto asked, his smile curving downwards. “Do I think about you too much? Is that not okay?”
“No!” Keiji blurted out, nearly knocking over his beer again. Bokuto’s hand shot out and steadied the glass the same time as Keiji’s; when their hands touched, a missile of heat fired through Keiji’s body, and he jerked his hand away.
Stupid. He was so stupid!
“That—that is,” Keiji stuttered, adjusting his tie with shaky fingers, “you can think about me however you like, Bokuto-san.”
Preferably writhing and coming apart beneath you, but that’s beside the point.
“Yeah?” Bokuto visibly brightened. He used his napkin to wipe down the sides of Keiji’s glass. “You’re awful jittery tonight, ‘Kaashi,” he commented. “That Kamamita guy got you worked up?”
Keiji let out a shaky sigh. “N—No,” he replied. He took off his glasses, set them on the table, and ran his hands over his face. “It’s just that I—”
He paused. How to tell Bokuto he couldn’t accept his offer, because it was the equivalent of flying too close to the sun? Of pushing the rock almost to the top of the hill?
“I know,” Bokuto said, and Keiji looked up at him, startled.
“You—you do?”
“Sure.” This time, Bokuto smiled, but it was quiet and gentle. “You don’t like to admit things, but you are really worried about this guy, yeah?”
Keiji blinked, Bokuto soft and hazy around the edges. “I—I suppose that I am,” he admitted softly.
“And you don’t like to ask for help.” It was more of a statement rather than a comment.
Wordlessly, Keiji nodded his head in agreement.
“And that’s where I come in!” Bokuto’s grin was brighter. “I’ll take care of those worries for you! You’ll see! I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had! That Kamakita won’t know what’s coming when he sees me!”
Keiji put his glasses on, Bokuto’s earnest face coming back into focus. “Bokuto-san,” he began, “I still don’t think—”
“No thinking!” Bokuto said. He shoved a piece of negimaki in his mouth and downed the rest of his beer. “Just let me handle everything, okay, ‘Kaashi? I promise it’ll all work out in the end.” He checked the time on his phone. “I gotta get back,” he added. “Coach wants to have a quick meeting tonight before practice tomorrow. You’re gonna come, yeah?”
“I—I’ll try,” Keiji told him, mind still reeling from the conversation. “I have to work in the morning and—”
“Aw, ‘Kaashi, it’s Saturday!” Bokuto lamented. “No working on Saturday!”
“But I have to get ahead with that meeting on Monday, Bokuto-san, I can’t just…” Bokuto’s entire demeanor drooped, from his shoulders to his spine and all the way up to his hair. He looked so like a dejected owl, Keiji had to laugh. “Okay,” he acquiesced. “I’ll go into work a little earlier so I’ll be done in time and can make your practice.”
“Huzzah!” Bokuto punched the air, and Keiji giggled. “I’ll see ya tomorrow then, okay?” Bokuto rifled around in his pockets and tossed some yen on the table. “This oughta cover our drinks and food,” he added. “And get yourself a whiskey before you go, ‘Kaashi. You look like you could use it.” Bokuto got to his feet and ruffled Keiji’s hair. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, right…Boyfriend?” He winked, and Keiji, who had been taking a sip of beer, nearly spat it across the table.
“R—right…Boyfriend.”
With a blinding grin and giant wave, Bokuto was gone. Keiji could hear him outside as he was apparently greeted by a fan immediately upon exiting the izakaya, and through the window, he saw Bokuto stopping to sign an autograph and take a selfie with two college-aged boys. He looked so happy, Keiji found himself smiling softly at the scene.
His ‘boyfriend’ always knew how to work the crowd, didn’t he?
Boyfriend…
In a flash, Keiji dropped his forehead to the table and tapped it several times, not caring that his glasses clinked against the hardwood.
Bokuto-san wants to be my fake boyfriend.
He wants to be my fake boyfriend. To help get rid of Nakajima-san.
He wanted to be my fake boyfriend, and it was his idea.
…
And I just agreed to it!
“Fuck,” Keiji muttered, signaling to the waitress so he could, in fact, order a whiskey, “how the fuck am I gonna survive the next month?”