Chapter 5

A week passed in bliss. Kichijouji and Masaki went home every day, holed up in one or the other's room for an hour, kissed, and cuddled. Masaki's mother and sisters seemed none the wiser, and Masaki's father worked such long hours that he always came home late in the evening, anyway.

Meanwhile, Kosuke was pleasant and friendly to Kichijouji, but Kosuke and Masaki traded determined looks every time they passed in the hallway.

When Kichijouji showed up for art club that following week, he was more in the mood to paint Masaki than he was to work on still life, but he dutifully sat down and resumed his painting.

"You seem distracted," Kosuke said. "Have you heard about the dance, then?" His still life was coming along beautifully, and it seemed his aesthetic sense didn't stop at bento boxes.

"Dance?" Kichijouji echoed. He lowered his paint brush and thought back to earlier in the day, when a group of his female classmates had clustered together and whispered. One girl had started crying and had run from the room. Another had simply said, 'Well, she knew he'd ask me, instead.'

Kichijouji realized they must have been talking about this dance. "Why? When is it?"

"Next Saturday." Kosuke glanced at Kichijouji and paused in his painting. "I take it that Ichijou hasn't shared this information with you. I can't say I'm surprised. He would never have the nerve to ask you to the dance. The Ten Master Clans are too strict about their eldest sons being heterosexual by nature, and Ichijou would never embarrass his father. But it seems cold, considering it means you'd be watching Ichijou dance with a pretty girl if you did go."

"Don't say 'have the nerve' and 'cold,'" Kichijouji hissed, offended. "You did just say that Masaki is being socially pressured and pressured by his family to be heterosexual and that he's too good of a son to embarrass his father. If you were in Masaki's place, would you really be able to handle it any differently?" He looked away and added another layer of red paint to the apple in the fruit bowl he was working on. "And I don't know what Masaki will do. As you just pointed out, I didn't know about the dance, and we haven't talked about it." In his heart, though, he knew Masaki wouldn't be able to take him to the dance. Mr. Ichijou did love Masaki, and of that there was no doubt. However, that didn't change the fact that Masaki was a political chess piece in a ten-clan-wide battle for advantageous marriages and power balances.

"I apologize for angering you, but my policy is that friends always speak the truth to each other," Kosuke said. "The truth is that Ichijou is a traditionalist. That's who he was raised to be, and that's why his father prizes him. He's the Good Son. I'm trying to steer you away from Ichijou before he breaks your heart." He glanced at Kichijouji with a look of questioning concern. "Or is it already too late?"

Kichijouji fell silent, feeling crushed. He knew Masaki loved him, and he knew that both he and Masaki wanted to spend their lives together. But he also knew that above all, Mr. Ichijou would expect Masaki to marry one of the daughters among the Ten Master Clans and produce heirs who were powerful magicians. The Ichijou family was a powerful family, and they would want to stay a powerful family.

With that weight bearing down on Masaki, what hope did Kichijouji have?

Kichijouji crammed his paint brush into the waiting jar of water and then stared at it. "I can be his lover," he murmured so quietly that none of the other students could hear it over their chatter. "A lot of the men among the top clans take lovers on the side after they're married. Some even have children with their mistresses. It's not odd, you know. The only thing different here is that I'm male. But married men with male lovers still isn't weird—not historically and not now. Just look at the history of the samurai."

"And you'd be satisfied with that?" Kosuke set down his brush and raised an eyebrow, staring at Kichijouji. "I wouldn't be. You shouldn't be. You shouldn't have to settle for living in the shadows. No one will ever acknowledge you as long as you tie yourself to Ichijou. He'll ask you to stay silent, take what he gives you, and be happy with that. But can you be happy? You'll masquerade as his best friend while he marries a woman and has children with her, and you'll be Uncle Shinkuro to the family you should have had, because if Ichijou loved you more than he loves the safety he has right now, he would come out and give his duties over to his sister. He's not an only sibling. He doesn't have to stay in the closet. He just wants to."

Kichijouji lifted his chin and faced Kosuke. "You're asking a lot, you know? Masaki is only thirteen, and every child, no matter how old, wants their parents' approval. If Masaki tries to come out to his parents right now, they'll probably just tell him he's going through a phase and will grow out of it. And even worse, if he says he's in love with me, they'll more than likely send me away. I'll end up at a boarding school on the far side of the country. How can Masaki protect me or make me happy if I'm, say, at a boarding school in Tokyo?"

Kosuke sighed, and his shoulders slumped. "I can't tell you what to do. All I can do is offer you my heart. I love you, Kichijouji. I'd happily take you to the dance as my boyfriend. My parents would adopt you into our fold. We could be married someday if you love me back. I know the Ichijou family found you and rescued you. I'll always be grateful to them. But that doesn't mean that's where you belong. My family is not as wealthy as the Ichijou, but we are well off, and unlike the Ichijou clan, my family would acknowledge you as my husband."

Kichijouji looked away again, staring at his canvas. He could see it all: dancing at various school dances with Kosuke, being taken home for dinner with Kosuke, being "interviewed" as a potential son-in-law by Kosuke's parents, and sitting on a couch holding hands in plain view of Kosuke's parents. The picture was all too clear, even though he had no idea what the parents or house looked like. But he could picture that future: open, obvious, happy, bright.

Then he thought of the Ichijou and their mansion. As nice as Mr. and Mrs. Ichijou were, he couldn't imagine anything except a heterosexual wedding in the garden, with Masaki's bride dressed in the Western-style, white wedding gown—an item still popular in Japan. He imagined babies. And he saw himself exactly as Kosuke described: Uncle Shinkuro. His best hope of really being a member of the Ichijou family would be to propose to one of Masaki's sisters once they came of age.

In front of Kichijouji, the sight of his canvas blurred. Tears burned in his eyes. He stood without a word and swept from the room, heading to the nearest bathroom. What had he been thinking? He had thrown himself into Masaki's arms and shared an intimate moment with him, but what could he really hope for? A lifelong secret lover was his only reasonable option.

And, now that both of his parents had been abruptly killed on the same exact day, Kichijouji knew better than to believe in happy endings.

Kichijouji dashed into the bathroom, which was thankfully empty, and shut himself into a stall so he could sob into his hands.

As part of the Culture Club, it was Masaki's job to help plan the dance, which commemorated one of Japan's World War III magic-based military victories. Akio and Emi were in the club as well.

Akio came back from the bathroom pale-faced, and he pulled Masaki aside.

"What is it? You get a stomach flu?" Masaki asked.

Akio shook his head and whispered, "Kichijouji is in the bathroom crying. He didn't see me. I didn't know what to say. You should talk to him."

"Yeah." Masaki rubbed the back of his head. "You take over for me, okay? I was thinking that we should get the Music Club to pick and contact our DJ for the dance. Suggest that for me, will you?"

"Sure," Akio said.

Masaki left the room and then ran down the hallway to the bathroom. Only one stall was shut, and muffled crying came from it. Anyone who had entered the bathroom had probably been scared away. No one wanted to confront a sobbing person they couldn't see. It was too much like one of those old ghost stories about school bathrooms. "Jouji! Jouji, it's me."

Kichijouji was in far too much pain to do any pretending. He blew his nose on toilet paper, then opened the stall door and stepped out. He stared up at Masaki, unable to speak because more tears were already welling up.

Masaki caught Kichijouji up in his arms and came back into the stall, even though that crowded them. He shut the door and hugged Kichijouji, momentarily lifting Kichijouji off his feet. He pressed kisses to Kichijouji's ear and temple. "I know. I know; the pain comes in waves. I talked to my dad about it. You don't have to pretend like you're not still grieving your parents. You've been really brave just to go to school with me."

At the hug and the two kisses, Kichijouji burst into open sobs, not even trying to quiet himself anymore. He threw his arms around Masaki and clung with all his might. "But it's—but it's not about that!" He paused, wondering for a moment if that were actually true or not. His grief over his parents followed him around like a thundercloud, just waiting to burst. "Rokugo said—he said that no matter how much you love me, you'll never be able to have an open relationship with me, and you'll be forced to marry a woman! He said I deserved more than to spend my life on the sidelines as a male mistress." He buried his face against Masaki's uniform.

"That fucking prick!" Masaki held Kichijouji closely and stroked Kichijouji's hair. "Who does he think he is? We're only thirteen! We have years to think of a solution. How could he ask us to solve that kind of problem right away? All I know is that I love you and I'm not giving you up, and no matter what I'll figure out how to take care of you and honor you. He's got no right to say we won't be happy."

For some reason, hearing Masaki call Kosuke a "fucking prick" instead of just a "prick" made Kichijouji snort with laughter. It broke up his tears. Then Masaki's logic slowly sank in. It was true: they were only thirteen. They had at least five years to figure it out, and depending on how much pressure Mr. Ichijou put on his son to marry young, they might have longer. He peered up at Masaki, blinking his remaining tears away so he could see clearly. "Promise? I don't want to be some—some second-class person in your life. I don't want to be the backup or the sidebar. I don't want to be the person that you come to only when other people aren't good enough or only when you're having a problem. I want to be front and center. I don't have to be more special than everyone else, but I don't want to be less special. I at least want to be tied for first place. I want to matter."

Masaki pressed a kiss to Kichijouji's lips. He stroked Kichijouji's cheek and looked into his boyfriend's eyes. "I grew up in this world Rokugo claims to know so well. He thinks he knows, but he's really still one degree removed. He doesn't fully understand what it's like to grow up in a web of politics, and he thinks like other people think – that secrets are only bad. Secrets can be wonderful, too. But even if you can't see it that way, there are still solutions. Rokugo thinks he's a know-it-all, but he doesn't know that marriages don't have to be important. We could both marry women who don't love us, produce one child a piece, and never go home, signing up for continuous military service instead. That would put us together instead of apart—because I would use my clan's power to ensure it—and the women who would be apart from us would probably be relieved, anyway. Some Master Clan people do that. I don't know if any of them are gay, but they give homes to their wives and then stay away because they each have their own sphere."

"Oh." Kichijouji grew quiet, his gaze falling to Masaki's chest. It was all so different than the middle class life he'd lived. His parents had worked in the same research institute, lived in the same house, slept in the same bed. They'd had their one requisite child, and they'd eaten supper with him every night and taken him to amusement parks and beaches during the summer. They'd teased each other and hugged and kissed each other, even with Kichijouji watching. It had been domestic, connected, and inclusive.

The world Masaki lived in and described was vastly different, with a potential for core family members to occupy separate houses and hardly ever see each other. Duty was upheld, but the real connections might be elsewhere. It seemed so foreign that Kichijouji wondered how Masaki and he were really part of the same country.

Kichijouji realized in that moment that if he hadn't been born a magician—and as the son of magical researchers—the gap between Masaki and himself would have been so huge it could have never been closed. But Kichijouji had been born a magician, and he had straight A's in all his magic classes.

"So your parents are unusual in that they love each other," Kichijouji said, putting the full picture together. He lifted his face. "And you will be unusual in that you love me."

Masaki smiled. "Yes." He kissed Kichijouji again, slowly and deeply. When their kiss ended, he said with a laugh, "Even if we were to live at home most of the time, there's such a thing as a family secret. Apparently Rokugo doesn't have any of those. Just because the rest of the world wouldn't know, it doesn't mean the family wouldn't know. One of the conditions of the marriage could be that my wife understood it's merely political, and we sleep in a separate bedroom or a separate house. She'd be well taken care of and have her own lover, and we'd have each other. People say children can't be happy under those circumstances, but that's silly. As long as everyone agrees they love the child, and the arrangements are consistent, there's no harm done. That's how my dad grew up."

Kichijouji felt so relieved he barely managed to catalogue the information. "All right." He was preoccupied with the tingling kiss he'd just received. It had been nearly as reassuring as all the explanations. "Just kiss me again." He wanted to be pressed close to Masaki's chest and loved on until he felt all the way better.

Masaki blushed and did what was asked of him. He held Kichijouji to his chest tightly and kissed Kichijouji again and again, smoothly melding their lips together and humming in his chest at how good it felt. I'll protect you. I'll make you happy. Happiness looks like all sorts of things.

Kichijouji relaxed in Masaki's arms, feeling warm and safe again. With his parents dead, he found he prized the feelings of warmth and safety above all others—equal only to love. He moaned softly into the kisses and fit his body against Masaki's. He let Masaki kiss him until his head buzzed with arousal and his lips tingled. He let Masaki kiss him until he nearly forgot that they were standing in a bathroom.

Only when he was breathless and had broken a sweat did he finally pull back enough to catch Masaki's gaze. "So, can you find a way to take me to the dance?"

Masaki grimaced sheepishly. "I was going to ask you about that. Are you willing to talk to Emi-chan?"

It took a moment for Kichijouji to figure out what Masaki meant. "You mean tell her we're together?" He considered her squealing reaction to the bento Kosuke had made for him. "Well, yes. But only if you're sure she can keep a secret."

"She'll keep this one, or she'll forfeit her life," Masaki said. "We all have a code: If it's serious, we never tell."

Kichijouji nodded. "Then I'll talk to her."

Masaki arranged for him and Kichijouji to go to Emi's house after the Culture Club got out. Emi introduced them to her parents, who were polite and quiet. Emi then took them up to her room.

"My parents know Masaki-kun would never do anything with me," she said cheerfully as she shut the door. "So I can get away with this." She turned to them. "You said it was serious?"

Masaki nodded. "Code Red." That was their secret phrase for something that had to be absolutely locked down, no matter what. "Jouji and I are going out."

Emi gasped. Then her hands flew to her cheeks, and she let out a long, piercing squee.

Kichijouji blushed hotly. This is embarrassing, but I'm grateful that she likes yaoi so much. That makes this easier. "And since no one can know about this for obvious reasons, we need your help."

Emi tackled each of them in turn with a hug around the shoulders. "I'll do anything!"

Masaki blushed and pushed forward with his plan. "Rokugo thinks he can take Jouji to the dance because I'm too cowardly to go with him. I want to prove Rokugo wrong and give Jouji the night he deserves. The only way I think we can do that is…" He slanted a look at Kichijouji. "If we both take turns being girls. So we need you to use your cosplay skills."

Having not actually known what Masaki had in mind, Kichijouji thought he might faint. "Go as a girl?" The second part of the words hit him. "Both of us? Taking turns?" He squirmed on the inside and felt an even hotter blush creep down his neck. Kichijouji had plenty of self-awareness. He knew that when standing next to Masaki, he looked like he would be the girl of the pair. He was short and small and round-faced. He also blushed easily. But even as effeminate as he knew he looked, he didn't feel feminine. He'd always felt like a boy.

He peered at Emi and braced himself. He was dead certain she was going to go wild dressing him up like a girl.

Emi had a frightening gleam in her eyes, like a cat staring at a feather toy.

"We have to look like regular middle school students," Masaki reminded her.

Emi laughed. Then she laughed again. "Oh, I can do that."

Masaki braced himself.

Emi ran to her wardrobe and threw it open. It was filled with nothing but costumes. Then she tugged a large box out from under her bed, tossed it onto her bed, and opened it. It was filled to the brim with neatly arranged trays of makeup and styling tools. She grinned at them. "What kind of girls do you want to be? Sexy? Slutty? Modest? Nerdy? Moe?"

Kichijouji knew without a doubt that left to her own devices, Emi would make him moe. "Modest," he said. He figured it was useless, though. He was going to end up looking like a poster child for moe.

"Oooh. Okay!" Emi ran to her wardrobe and pulled out a long sleeved white dress with a high collar. The collar and cuffs were lace, the skirt was brocaded with lace, and there were three petticoats. "Try this on! I wore it last year. I think we're the same size." She had no breasts to speak of. "Do you want a long wig or a short wig?"

Kichijouji literally took a step backward. "Too much lace!" He felt the horror bloom through his chest. "I don't want to—I don't want to be a girly girl. Just a—" He failed to find a word for it. He mentally rerouted. "Do you have a qi pao?"

"Sure do." Emi put the white lace dress back and pulled out a green and gold qi pao. "I wore this two years ago to celebrate the rerelease of the Street Fighter franchise. It's Chun Li's new colors."

Kichijouji calmed down considerably at the sight of this dress. It was streamlined and classic. "All right. I'll try that one on." He accepted the dress from her, escaped into the bathroom, and then returned once he'd fought his way into the dress. Until that moment, he hadn't understood how evil zippers could actually be. The zipper on the qi pao went from his tailbone up to the nape of his neck. He felt like he'd become a temporary contortionist just to get it zipped.

Emi pulled him in front of the full length mirror in her bedroom. "What do you think?"

Masaki blushed. It was strange seeing Kichijouji in a dress. He had a round enough face that he made a believable girl, and he couldn't help imagining Chun Li's hair buns on either side of Kichijouji's head. "I think we need a wig to keep people from thinking he's a Chun Li cosplay."

Kichijouji turned from side to side, studying his profile, and even turned around and then glanced over his shoulder. He experienced a bizarre moment in which he simultaneously felt sexy and also wanted to rip off the dress because he really did look like a girl with a stick figure. "Do you have a shoulder-length black wig? Or maybe a long one—like one that would fall all the way down my back?"

"A long straight one." Emi ran to a cabinet and threw it open. There were rows of wigs on mannequin heads. She pulled off one that had been partially folded into a plastic bag because of its length. "These are real hair. I've been getting them as presents and saving up my allowances for them." She crossed the room and helped settle it on Kichijouji's head. "This is my newest one. I just got it over summer break."

Blunt bangs now covered Kichijouji's forehead, and straight black hair fell down to the small of his back.

"That's better," Masaki said.

Kichijouji stared at the mirror. He had only hit puberty one year earlier, and he still looked like the youngest boy in his grade. With the dress and the wig, he absolutely looked like a girl.

Without a single word, Kichijouji turned to face Masaki head-on so Masaki could get the full effect. "Is it . . . good?"

Masaki nodded. He felt it was eerie. "You look like your own sister. You'll need contacts to cover up your eyes. It's easiest to make your eyes brown. That's one of the least thick and oppressive contacts because it's not a bright color."

"Sounds fine."

Emi immediately opened a drawer filled with contact cases. She fished out a pair and handed them over. "I haven't worn these yet. Obviously, you get to keep them, since once you wear them you can't give them back. Be sure to buy contact lens solution, and wash your hands thoroughly before putting them in."

Kichijouji accepted the case and bowed. "Thank you."

Emi beamed. "It's nothing! I love dressing people up." She whirled on Masaki. "Now you, Masaki-kun." She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the wardrobe. "I don't have as much in your size. I cosplayed an evil queen this year. If I take the shoulder armor off, it pretty much looks like a normal dress. Do you want to try that one on? The only other thing I have is a Lolita gothic outfit I made taller so I could wear those insane platform shoes."

Masaki grimaced. "Evil queen or Lolita?"

Kichijouji once again thought he could faint. "Evil queen or Lolita?" he echoed as well. He shook his head vigorously. "Evil queen. Definitely. I already look like someone who could be cast as the shouta character in a movie! The last thing I need is to show up with a Lolita who is five inches taller than I am!"

Masaki flushed.

Emi cackled and somehow managed to persuade Masaki into the slinky floor-length evening gown made of purple silk.

Masaki refused to come out of the bathroom. "I look silly."

"You do not," Emi said, peeking into the bathroom. "If you don't wear the opera gloves, then it doesn't even look like a cosplay."

"It has built in boobs!"

"Of course it does. Evil queens aren't flat-chested. I had to build in boobs."

Masaki slunk out of the bathroom and stood before Kichijouji, pouting. There was a collar, but cut-out shoulders and no sleeves. The false breasts and the tailoring around the top of the skirt created the illusion of a mature female figure. "I look like a high school student."

"You're just an early developer," Emi said.

Kichijouji was experiencing a bizarre moment of visual confusion. "Slap a wig on him. Quick."

Emi pulled Masaki over to her wig cabinet and expertly arranged a blonde wig with the hair twisted into a fancy knot at the nape of the neck. "This is my schoolteacher wig, but I think it works." She turned Masaki around to face Kichijouji. "What do you think now?"

Kichijouji's shoulders sagged with relief. "Much better." In only a year or two, Masaki wouldn't be able to pull it off. But for now, Masaki made a passable girl. It was true, though, that Masaki looked like a first year student in high school, not a junior high student. Kichijouji snickered. "Everyone will be wondering how I managed to nab an 'older woman.'"

Emi laughed.

"Are you sure no one will recognize me?" Masaki asked nervously.

"Not after I put on the contour makeup," Emi said. "I'll show you and Kichijouji right now." She sat Masaki down on her bed and worked for several minutes with her makeup kit. Somehow, when she was done, Masaki had a rounder face and more pronounced, feminine cheekbones. "There." She looked to Kichijouji. "What do you think?"

"I think you'll have to help us the night of the dance," Kichijouji said. "There's no way we can recreate something you've clearly spent years perfecting." He offered Masaki a smile. "You really do look like a girl now." He paused a beat. "I like you much better as a boy, though."

Masaki laughed. "Me, too."

"I'll help you," Emi promised. "We'll meet in secret in the Culture Club room."

Kichijouji smiled. "Thank you. I think this'll be a success."

Discomfort about the setup aside, Kichijouji was looking forward to dancing in Masaki's arms.