Date Evening

Much to Akira’s surprise, the social lemming creaked her door open for him.

It only took, what, thirty more seconds?

“Can you… stay outside for just a little while longer?” Hayami squeaked. “I-I need to clean up. And why are you dressed up like this anyway?”

“I read in a book that people are more willing to engage with people they find familiar. Ergo, Count Lucien was the obvious choice.”

“U-Ugh…”

Akira sighed. “Look. A time-poor, eternally busy gentleman comes over to show you the world, and you treat him like an unwanted—”

He stopped mid-sentence. Hayami saw the color drain from his face.

The leather-gloved hand resting on the doorframe tightened, creaking audibly.

“...Hayami.”

“W-What? What is it?”

“There is… something touching my boot.”

“I-I am sorry. It’s probably just—”

“AHH!”

He lunged forward. Hayami couldn’t even process that kind of sound coming out of a so-called ‘idol.’

A wall of black trench coat and expensive cologne crashed into her. He pushed past, forcing her to stumble back into the entryway as he practically threw himself inside.

“Would you please close it already?!"

“Can you calm down?" she said exasperatedly as she locked the door. "The w-walls in this place are paper-thin. Y-You are g-going to get me in trouble!” 

“Calm down?!” he half-whispered through his teeth. “A bug of demonic origin ran up my leg and touched my lotus silk outfit! I… the thought!”

He leaned down to dust off the affected area.

“I am almost tempted to cancel the lessons because there’s something more pertinent at hand!” he declared. “Firstly, by starting the help Hayami-get-out-of-this-shithole fund—it will take twelve hours to crowdfund on HelpMeOut, tops!”

“H-Heh. You sound like my social worker.”

“What’s a social worker?”

“Oh my god, just take off your shoes.”

Much like the streets, and the stairway, and the hallway, there wasn’t much to like at all regarding the decor of Hayami’s apartment.

It was remarkably bare, given the eccentricity of her character.

“You could have asked me to drive you back.”

Hayami spun around, crossing her arms in a vehement ‘X’.

“A-And look like a pompous, arrogant ass like you? Nuh uh! No way!”

Akira didn't laugh this time. “A pompous ass could also… help you, you know.”

He gestured vaguely at the place.

“I am not letting you pay for me,” she said firmly.

Hayami stood by the sink as she grabbed a glass.

“I am not going to carry financial baggage between you and me, no matter what you say,” she said. “I will deal with this on my own.”

“What if I said that money was no object?”

“I will say the same thing.”

“But…” He frowned, scanning the room again. “Surely a part-time job isn't enough to afford rent and tuition.”

She was not about to tell him about her scholarship potentially getting revoked. In that alternate universe, she got the distinct feeling that Akira wouldn’t let her have a choice in the matter.

“Where are your parents?” Akira asked.

Hayami flinched.

“They left when I turned eighteen.”

“You mean they moved?”

She turned on the tap to fill a glass of water, refusing to look at him.

Akira winced. “...Right?”

“They signed the guarantor papers; all council-approved. They have their own lives in Tokyo. I have mine.”

“That’s…”

“I don’t want to talk about me anymore.”

She slammed the glass of water down on the counter a little too hard. Water sloshed over the rim.

“Understood." The playfulness was gone from his voice.

For a moment, they existed in a lull of silence. 

It only lasted for a few seconds.

“Then let’s talk about me,” Akira said, turning on his heel to strike a pose, “and this fabulous coat I am wearing.”

Hayami blinked, the emotional whiplash making her dizzy. “Yeah, that. So why did you decide this was n-necessary, again? Won’t the paparazzi stalk you? What if they find out?”

“They already are stalking me,” he scoffed. “My thinking was that if I looked less like a ‘Real Person’ and more like a ‘Fake Person,’ you’d start treating me normally. Plus, it looked too good not to be used outside the commercials I filmed with it.”

“You think I will improve my s-social skills by talking to a real-life version of a 2D man.”

She didn’t phrase it as a question.

“That’s the gist of it.”

Hayami groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I am done for…”

“My dear, you are missing the point,” Akira sighed, stepping closer. “The fact you think my method of expression is embarrassing says it all.”

“What isn’t there to be embarrassed of?” she mumbled through her fingers. “Y-You’d play games like Kindred Temptations to fill a g-gaping void in your life. You’d play it to not feel lonely… i-it’s pathetic.”

“You need to view your hobbies less like a burden and more like a passion. In other words… you don’t believe your interests are worthy of respect because you feel you aren’t worthy of respect.”

She looked up, wholly unconvinced.

“Look,” Akira said. “Take Takashi Wataru.”

Akira leaned back against her dining table, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Goddamnit, he looked good doing that.

“Uhh… oh, the J-pop idol? He’s a legend,” Hayami realized.

“He’s also known for his incessant frequenting of maid cafes. He has a Platinum Membership at ‘Meow-Meow Paradise.’”

“So?” Hayami frowned. “A-At least he accomplished something. He’s earned the right to be eccentric. He’s free to ogle at as many scantily clad maids as he—”

“Hayami!”

Akira moved. He didn't sprint, but he crossed the room in two long strides.

He grabbed her by the shoulders. It forced her to stop fidgeting. It forced her to look at him.

“Stop it. Why do you insist on presenting this… this caricature of yourself? This person who isn't allowed to have joy?”

He shook her, just a little.

“You think Wataru deserves respect because he’s a successful idol? Hayami, look at where you are.”

He gestured around the bare apartment with his chin.

“You are eighteen. You live alone. You probably pay rent since your parents aren’t around. Most kids would just go into the foster system, but you stayed. And though I can never understand why, against all odds, you’re still here. You’re still here.”

He leaned down.

“You have accomplished plenty already, so give yourself some grace.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Inside her chest, the sensation was different—this wasn't the soft ache of yearning anymore.

Akira must have felt the shift too, because he blinked and cleared his throat. Slowly, that sly smile of his crept back onto his face.

‘My god,’ Hayami realized. ‘I’ve known him for all of two days, and I already know his tell. Wait, which meant—’

“Time to raid your room.”

Hayami’s eyes widened.

“W-Wait, I never said yes! I r-respect myself enough to say ‘no’ to that, at least!!”

“You have to be good at something. And clearly, you need someone else to point out the thing you’re good at since you can’t see it yourself.”

“Oh, yeah? What do you think I’m good at, Mr. Psychologist?

“One, you dress as good as 50% as me in-game, which may as well be a 100% improvement over everybody else.”

“You need to shut up.”

Without further ado, he opened the bedroom door.

“Ah… there the real Hayami!”

Unlike the rest of Hayami’s apartment, her room may as well be a dollhouse in comparison. The tasteful decor… the carefully placed figurines of Kindred men… the posters that lined the walls… it pained more than a mere fan of the Kindred franchise.

“This…” Akira began. “This is a shrine.”

“F-Feel free to make fun of me, if you like. I’ve given up.”

Taking this as permission, he made a beeline straight for the wardrobe. He threw the doors open, expecting to find the costumes of a queen.

His face fell.

“Beige. Grey. Slightly darker grey. ” He flicked through the hangers with disdain. “Stuff you’d get on a dropshipping site. It doesn’t inspire the eyes at all. I suppose I shouldn’t have put too much stock in—”

A glimmer caught his eye.

It came from a plastic storage box shoved violently underneath the hanging clothes.

“Well, lookey here…”

Hayami paled. “No!”

Akira ignored her. He crouched down, unlatched the lid, and pulled out the top item.

It was an off-shoulder sweater with intricate, hand-stitched lace detailing along the neckline.

He held it up against the drab school uniform hanging above it.

“Just checking,” he murmured, looking at her. “These belong to the same person, right?”

“Give it back!”

He didn't. He dug deeper. His gloved hand brushed past fabric and hit something hard. A leather-bound book.

He pulled it out.

“What the…”

He flipped it open.

It was a portfolio. Pages upon pages of character designs—both male, female, or otherwise. The colors rhymed, the proportions made sense, the silhouettes were striking… nothing clashed, yet each was a kaleidoscope of the senses.

It was the work of someone who understood how clothing created character.

“Hayami…”

“Drop. It.”

Akira looked back. Hayami was shaking. She’d gotten pale.

Akira looked from the book to the girl.

He slowly closed the book and set it down.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked softly.

“No.”

“Okay. If that’s the case… then what will it take to get you to acknowledge that what I just saw was incredible? What must I do to get you to realize you have talent?”

Hayami stared at the arrogant, perfect, beautiful man who had broken into her house.

Before she could think of a response, Akira snapped his fingers. “I have an idea.”

He walked over to the open box before unceremoniously tipping it over.

“I’ll prove your designs are not mere quackery. I need something difficult.”

“Wait, stop!” Hayami yelped, scrambling forward. “That’s the reject pile!”

“Perfect. Let’s see why you rejected them.”

He dug past the sensible sweaters and the unfinished scarves. Suddenly, his hand paused.

He pulled out a mass of white frills and black lace.

“No,” Hayami whispered, the blood draining from her face. “Not that. Anything but that.”

Akira held it up to the light.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “A maid apron, but the waist-to-shoulder ratio is… broad. You drafted this for a male physique?”

“Give it back!”

“No.” Akira stepped out of her reach. “If you can tailor this ridiculous thing to sit correctly on a man’s frame without buckling, it proves to me you can tailor anything.”

Before she could tackle him, he snatched the apron and the headband.

With the confidence of a man dressing for the Met Gala, he tied the frilled apron right over his black leather and crimson silk. He placed the lace headband perfectly over his styled hair.

It was a bizarre, high-fashion mix of Vampire Lord and French Maid.

It should have looked ridiculous.

But then, Akira moved.

He adjusted the waist tie, tightening it until the fabric snapped taut against his torso. He smoothed the frills down his leather-clad thighs.

“Look at the line, Hayami,” he commanded. “Look at how the bodice sits. A poorly-made costume would buckle at the ribs. This follows my muscles thoughtfully.”

He tilted his chin down, looking at her through his lashes. He placed one hand on his hip and one finger to his lips. He twisted his torso, accentuating his slender waist, making the fabric she had painstakingly stitched stretch perfectly over his lats without tearing.

“Your order, Master?” he purred.

Hayami stopped breathing.

He didn't mean it. She knew he didn't mean it. To him, it was a way to test the "character" of the outfit—whether it was working as intended.

But the way he did it probably awakened something in her…

“See?” he continued. “I am posing like how a maid would, able to move without flaw or awkwardness. Do you understand how hard that is to accomplish?”

Hayami didn’t respond.

“Hayami?” Akira frowned. “Why are you vibrating? I can take the headband off if the lace is clashing with the leather.”

Hayami let out a high-pitched squeak.

“The lace… is not the problem,” she whispered.

“But did that make you feel more confident in your ability? That you’re worthy of respect?”

Hayami reflected for a moment. Then, she let out a solemn smile. “I… I guess so.”

“I’m glad.”

BZZT! BZZT!

The buzzing came from his pocket.

“Ah, crap. Sorry, if you will excuse me.”

She heard angry shouting.

“I understand my move to a whole ‘nother school was risky, but—”

She heard more angry shouting.

“Look, I came here for a reason, it was to protect my reputation. It was a calculated risk.”

With a look, he clicked the speaker button on his phone.

“DON’T PLAY DUMB WITH ME!”

Hayami jumped in terror.

“You have an army of lawyers at your beck and call, built for moments precisely like this! You think I don’t know what this is? A power move, huh?”

“Oh, boy, here we go…” Akira moaned.

“I bust my ass day and night trying to make your image flawless and untouched, and the second you slip out of my sight, you go behind my back! My livelihood depends on you!”

“You are eating into my break time, Ito-san.”

“Yeah? Well, stay on the line for thirty seconds more. I want to say something to that girl of yours.”

Hayami paled. “H-Huh?”

“A lot of careers are staked on his success, girl. If he falls, so will we. In an already oversaturated industry, this could be our death-knell. So if he falls out of favor of the public eye, and we find you have anything to do with it? Best believe a lot of influential people will direct their anger squarely at you.”

“The gestapo act is getting real boring,” Akira simply replied. “Goodbye.”

“Make the right choice, Hayami—”

Akira hung up.

"Sorry about that," he said, wiping his forehead.

“Is e-everything going OK on y-your end?” Hayami asked. 

“H-Huh? Oh. Yeah. It’s going swell. Just swell." He paused, turning to look at her. "For a girl who just got threatened, you seem rather unfazed."

"I've d-dealt with worse."

For a moment, Akira just stared at her. Then, he reached up and untied the lace headband. Soon, the apron. 

In seconds, Maid Akira was gone.

“I gotta bounce.”

She followed Akira to the genkan. He stepped into his expensive shoes, buttoned his trench coat, and placed his hand on the doorknob.

Then, he paused.

“...Thank you,” he said suddenly.

“Huh?”

“For letting me visit your house. It’s the…” He trailed off. For some reason, he started to smile. “It’s the first time I've ever done something like this.”

“It’s fine,” she smiled, and for the first time, it wasn't a nervous smile. “You can come back anytime. Uh, if you e-ever decide it was n-necessary, obviously.”

He stared at her for a second too long, then giving a weird look at nothing in particular.

“You haven’t passed my lesson yet.”

“W-Wait… huh?!”

Akira opened the door and slipped out into the rain.

Hayami attempted to follow him. “What did you mean by that?!”

But it was useless. 

She wasn’t dressed for the wet at all. Additionally, she wasn’t ready for a round two of getting absolutely soaked.

So, she closed the door. She could still hear his heavy footsteps fade down the hallway.

Sighing, Hayami leaned against it. Despite the danger of his boss ruining her life… “Why, oh, why… am I actually looking forward to his next crazy plan…?”