You really committed to the bit

I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. And I’m pretty sure I know why.

It all starts with my bed – specifically the lack thereof. Today, not unlike all of last week, consciousness finds me drooling over a piece of foam the exact colour and texture of fried chicken. Probably explains all the human-sized bite marks taken out of its sides, but anyway – it keeps me off the piss-reeking carpet and that’s good enough for me.

Until, I reach beside me to turn off my phone’s alarm and my back signals its discontent with a crack. Not an uncommon pain, but an annoying one nonetheless. However that’s nothing compared to the distress I get from looking around the room.

Everything looks alien to me – the broken armchair in the corner, the burnt down wardrobe by the window, the loose shelves hanging off the bare wall. And sure, I’ve been waking up in a new hellhole every morning. But I’ve always known where I was.

My breath hitches up, only to hitch down the next second. Hanging on the doorknob, I find a note and, when I rush to read it, I’m met with Kisaki’s neat handwriting.

You passed out in the club’s backroom last night. Figured you wouldn’t want your mum to see you like that, so I just brought you to the nearest safehouse. Your bag’s in the kitchen; I left you some train fare on the counter. Please take it easy today. Just because aniki allows you to, doesn’t mean you have to kill yourself.

Oji

Shit. And here I thought I was handling myself pretty well. I sigh, letting the note drop, following its glide with my gaze. Only to not be given any moment to contemplate anything as my phone almost buzzes itself off the ‘mattress’.

Luca (08:02): I’m getting ready to leave

Luca: Remind me again, where were we supposed to meet?

Luca: I only remember Chiba something, but that doesn’t really help when half the stations in the city are called like that

Luca: Also I hope I didn’t wake you up

Luca: And sorry if I did

Luca: And for overtexting

Luca sent you a sticker.

Double shit. I totally forgot that he was coming to help me out today. And how awkward he can be. And how cute that is. Triple shit.

Okay, now’s not the time to overthink this. I’ve got half an hour to freshen up and get ready – and as I glance at my reflection in the glass shards lodged in the floor, I realise that’s nowhere near enough. Still, I gotta make the best of it.

I rush to the kitchen to grab my bag, then dash straight into the bathroom. Thank the lord, the water is running and, peeling off Yui’s sweat-soaked clothes, I jump right into the tub. Only to receive a cold shock as soon as my feet touch the water. But you know what? Screw it. A brisk shower is just what I need to perk me right back up.

A quick scrub later (thanks to yesterday’s Hinata packing a loofah as well as some body wash) and I step out onto the scratchy tiles smelling a lot less like corpse and a lot more like daisies. However, that was barely scratching the surface. There’s so much more to do, so many more steps to take – so why the hell can I not move right now?

Before you say anything, no. It’s not hypothermia, though it’s said that extreme cases can leave you feeling warm, much like I am right now. Because I can’t, for the life of me, remember why I packed this underwear.

The black lace two-piece that Ichika dared me to buy when we went shopping one time. Which was a total waste of my allowance because, back then I thought I’d stick to my sports bras and boy shorts forever. That I’d never need to, let alone want to ever put on lingerie. But now, as I finish fastening the strap and glance in the mirror – I’m not so sure anymore.

Now, I’ll say something weird – I don’t usually feel pretty. Sure, I know my face is round, my skin is smooth and many girls would commit murder for a body like mine. But when you have to hide some of that every day for your own safety, it’s hard not to think of your ‘perks’ as burdens. Hard not to want to show them off sometimes, not to the world, just to someone. A special someone.

And when Luca’s face pops in my head, I know I have to slap my cheeks and carry on before I get any weird thoughts. Especially when the next thing I need to put on is a false baby bump.

Which slots in very nicely under the white maternity dress I borrowed from my mum. Pair that with a button-up cardigan and a little cloche hat and it feels like I’ve just stepped out of the 1930s. Only I don’t look a day older than thirteen. But that can always be fixed with makeup. Dotting some pimples on one cheek, some sun spots on the other and eyelining some crow’s feet and – done!

If I didn’t know it was me under all of this, I wouldn’t recognise myself either. But I guess that’s just one more disguise I could use. Wouldn’t be the first, wouldn’t be the last. A little off-kilter, I text Luca, Chibachuo, then waddle out of the flat towards Chibadera.

The road to the station isn’t long, but it sure feels like it. I’m getting stares from all directions, and while I’m used to the fetishising and lascivious few, the compassionate ones make me a bit queasy. And it only gets worse when I get on the train and an older gentleman offers me his seat. I thank him with a nervous smile and sweat dribbles down my forehead when he smiles back. It doesn’t matter how much you deceive, it never gets easier. And it’s harder still when it comes to –

“There you are,” Luca greets me as soon as I step out onto the platform. “Did I get the time wrong?”

“No,” I mumble, hands resting on my fake stomach. “I just ran a little late. Got a bit sidetracked this morning.”

“I see,” he nods, sizing me up and down, his eyes growing dull.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it’s – you look –”

“Pregnant?” I cut with a hopeful grin.

“I was actually going to say radiant. You really committed to the bit.”

I scoff, amused. Like he’s one to talk with his goofy tube socks and sandals.

“Ditto,” I get up on my tiptoes, struggling to run a hand through that blonde mop of his. “If I squint a little, it’s like your hairline is actually receding.”

“Har-dee-har. I’ll have you know the men in my family are known for their lack of bald spots.”

“Do they also tuck their polo shirts into their jean shorts?”

He smirks and so do I and there is a not too short second in which I see our lips touching right here and now and worry about how much I’ll be blushing when it actually happens if just the thought of it makes me so warm and giddy. But then, he offers me his elbow and the pageantry of reality replaces the purity of imagination.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering me his elbow.

I take a deep breath, “Yeah. Let’s go.” Because this little gesture might not mean anything to him, but it means a lot more than it should to me. Because he’s acting, and I’m not. And the dissonance really hurts.

I like him. I like him a lot. I’ve liked him since the day we met and it’s hard to deny and harder still to let it on. Being honest with your feelings doesn’t really come naturally when you’ve only ever lied to yourself, alongside many others. But, one of these days – one that I hope will come sooner rather than later – maybe I’ll let him know.

Until I get that courage, however, I hope he’ll just let this whole thing go on. The two of us, walking with linked arms, enjoying being a couple if only just in appearance. For now, I’m okay with this.

I wonder if he’s okay too.