A/N: One of the hardest sections of Komatta Toki for me followed the car accident in Volume 13, when Kiyomine very clearly chooses his sister Ayako over Takara, and leaves their relationship visibly scarred. I wished that there had been more consequences for Kiyomine's outburst, and that Takara had been able to lean on his friends, specifically Reiichi and Yoshiya, to get comfort after this betrayal.
With some prompting from a friend, I've decided to take up a multi-chapter project for Komatta Toki set after Volume 13, sort of a "what if" where Takara's father does go back to Africa and he turns to Reiichi and Yoshiya for comfort after Kiyomine's harsh words. Not totally sure how long it will be, but nine or so chapters at least, possibly with additional interludes afterward.
Note: Mostly a friendship story focused on Takara, Reiichi, and Yoshiya, with some light Kiyomine x Takara and Yoshiya x Reiichi pre-slash hints.
Extra Note on this Chapter: In this chapter, I have made a few changes from the Takara character in the manga. I know that in the manga, Takara's girlfriends picked out his clothes, but for a richer character, I've decided to make his cute fashion/style choices more intentional. I understand this is different from the explanation of his fashion given in the manga, but I think this way is more fun and adds more character.
Chapter Four
Admittedly Reiichi had instigated the whole thing himself, but even he had to concede the game had gotten a little out of hand. Still, as he lounged on the settee in the private dressing room, twirling a complimentary flute of Lauquen Artes mineral water and considering the rack of blouses and chiffon dresses the attendant had just wheeled in, he had to conclude that his logic had been irrefutable on one point: Fujishima was remarkably well suited to women's clothing.
It had all started when Fujishima stepped out of the bathroom after breakfast and Reiichi, glancing up at him, nearly choked on the last mouthful of his exceptional and vastly underappreciated Turkish coffee. In the night's confusion, he'd entirely forgotten that Fujishima had been moving back into the dorms yesterday before he was whisked off to the hospital; the baggy baseball T-shirt and ratty jeans he'd donned were fine for unpacking boxes and fighting with your irascible roommate, but they were certainly no good for shopping—at least not the kind of shopping Reiichi had in mind. He could hear Yoshiya on the phone in the other room, arranging a town car to take them around Daikanyama for the day, and in his absence Reiichi was struck by an excellent idea—a bit too excellent, it had turned out.
With a rustle of fabric and clink of buckles, Fujishima emerged from behind the screen and moved to study himself in the three-panel mirror, pivoting on one foot to consider his audience over his shoulder. "Okay—what do you think about this one, Reiichi-sempai?" he asked.
Appraising the younger boy in his layered V- and scoop-necked T-shirts and cutoff khakis, one leg rolled artfully higher than the other, Reiichi thought he might have a future as a spread designer for Teen Vogue. But Fujishima could be unpredictable sometimes about what he considered insults, so he chose a less ambiguous compliment.
"You look adorable. Another perfect collaboration," Reiichi assured him, raising his flute in a toast.
It was something he'd noticed since day one: Fujishima's natural preference for clothes that made him look ridiculously cute. Reiichi had an impeccable sense of style himself, of course, but his fell along very different lines—the Kashiwagi aesthetic tended toward suave and sultry, not graphic tees and skinny jeans and three-quarter-sleeve jackets with flowers embroidered on the pockets, somewhere between tomboy and teen idol panache.
Reiichi had already had his fun; he had sent eight or nine outfits along with the attendant to be boxed and was draped across the settee in the clothes he'd chosen for the rest of the day, black slacks with a burgundy silk shirt and silver-blue ascot tucked into the collar. Yoshiya had given him a look when he commandeered a fedora from the hat rack in the previous store, but Yoshiya had never really understood the value of accessorizing anyway—unlike Fujishima, who had hooked his thumb into one of the two studded belts he'd looped around his waist and was pouting at the image in the mirror, unknowingly completing the teen model look.
"I don't know. It might be too derivative. I'm not sure the collars really work together." Fujishima twisted to consider himself from a few more angles—including the back, Reiichi noticed—and then glanced at the door to the fitting room, his eyebrows drawn together. "When's Okuno-sempai coming back?"
Reiichi was deeply offended that Fujishima seemed to trust Yoshiya's judgment—Yoshiya, who insisted on burying his perfectly stunning form under the ugliest business classic, CFO-on-a-golf-course striped button-downs he could find—over that of the person in Dior, but he tried not to show it. Maybe it had something to do with Fujishima's target audience. "He should be back soon. He said something about getting a coffee after he gave our things to the attendant." From the line wrapped around the second-floor coffee shop when they'd first entered the towering department store, Reiichi had a feeling it would take Yoshiya at least another fifteen minutes, but that was probably exactly what he'd intended—that persistent vein had been throbbing in Yoshiya's forehead ever since Fujishima met him in the living room in an outfit borrowed from his little sister's closet.
The thing was, Reiichi had a theory that Fujishima didn't mind wearing girls' clothes, didn't even mind how good he looked in them—it was being teased about it that got his fur all up. And so, the angel on his shoulder being otherwise engaged at that critical moment in the kitchen, he'd told Fujishima to wait while he grabbed him some loaner clothes, and just conveniently forgot to mention that he was off to fink a couple items from Sawa's room. Like all members of the Okuno clan, Sawa was pretty tall and broad-shouldered, especially for a twelve-year-old girl—luckily, Fujishima was perfectly pocket-sized for a sixteen-year-old boy, and the intersection of the two, as he'd predicted, had been flawless. Fujishima had taken the bait without so much as a suspicious glance, and by the time Yoshiya got off the phone, Reiichi had already applauded Fujishima into an off-the-shoulder crop top with bell sleeves and a pair of short overalls, the look completed by a distressed pair of black leggings.
It's January, had been Yoshiya's pedantic complaint—as if there weren't a beautiful red pea coat in the closet to finish off the ensemble. Whatever else he thought he had kept to himself, though Reiichi could see the muscle in his jaw twitching all the way to the town car.
It wasn't until they reached the first store and got liberally spritzed by the girl at the perfume counter that Reiichi considered that perhaps his plan had worked too well. Still, he was having far too much fun to throw a spanner in the works by coming clean now—and as long as Fujishima kept finding things he liked, what was the harm? So they both smelled rather strongly of night-blooming jasmine. Yoshiya had slipped out of bed that morning still smelling like brown sugar.
Fujishima gave a last runway twirl and then turned to the racks of clothes. "Hmm. Well, I guess I'll try one more thing. There was this shirt I liked…" He dug through the cacophony of chiffon and sloping sleeves with gusto, the clatter of sliding hangers broken only when he paused to peer around one end of the rack. "They brought us a lot of dresses this time, Reiichi-sempai. They must be getting us confused with some other fitting room."
"Hard to imagine another explanation," Reiichi agreed, hiding his smile with the glass flute until Fujishima was safely back behind the screen. Privately, he thought the dresses spoke to desperation on the part of the fitting room attendant, who must have been confused why none of her suggestions for cute shift and A-line dresses had yet made it into the yes pile. A joke best swallowed with a sip of sparkling water—he had a feeling Fujishima wouldn't appreciate it.
Still, Reiichi found himself smiling, the expression tugging at his cheeks a little more than usual. It was hard not to smile when he'd had such a fun morning, riding tantivy all through the upscale shopping district with Fujishima in tow, laughing and having a good time—and Reiichi was finding that as much as he enjoyed being spoiled himself, it was almost as enjoyable to spoil someone else, something he'd never gotten much chance at growing up, since Tsukasa was always a little sourpuss and Kiyomine all but incapable of having a good time. He wondered if he could convince Fujishima to become his permanent shopping buddy. Yoshiya was a fine escort for most things, but as far as shopping went, he lacked enthusiasm, not to mention original thought—his ability to walk into five stores and find the exact same polo in shades of the same color was impressive, maybe, but it certainly wasn't very interesting. Nor had it escaped Reiichi that they were all wearing variations on the same blue-striped shirt at the breakfast table that morning, like a lazy Sunday edition of Who Wore It Better. (He was voting for Fujishima.)
The joke was on Yoshiya today, though: Reiichi knew all his measurements by heart, and he'd arranged for a few sleek dress shirts and silk ties to slip unseen into the bags—just the things he knew would look utterly devastating. Reiichi shot himself a devilish smile in the mirror. If Yoshiya didn't like them, well…that was too bad. Kashiwagis didn't do returns, or receipts.
Speaking of returns…where had Yoshiya gotten off to? Reiichi glanced at the door and then at the racks again, his eyes drawn to the explosion of patterns and satin among the dresses. It was a shame, really, that there was no way of getting Fujishima to try on one or two—the attendant had a good eye, and Reiichi remembered how excellent he'd looked dolled up as Beauty for the Miss Contest. Of course, Yoshiya would never approve of goading Fujishima into cross-dressing…but then again, Yoshiya wasn't here. Reiichi recognized this moment immediately—the moment when he could do the right thing or the fun thing. He cocked an ear toward the devil on his shoulder, pondering his options as Fujishima stepped out from behind the screen once more.
"Last one," Fujishima declared. "What do you think?"
Reiichi grinned, loving the sailor-style collar and the way the tee didn't quite meet up with tan capris decorated with drawstrings and buckles at the knees. "I think that's the best one yet. We'll tell the attendant to cut the tags off—you're wearing that for the rest of the day."
Fujishima brightened, tugging on the brim of his canvas pageboy hat. "Really? I liked it, too. You're not just jerking me around, right?"
"Me? I wouldn't do that," Reiichi protested, knowing very well that he would, just not about this. "If Yoshiya were here, he'd agree." He glanced once more toward the silent door—then he made up his mind and got to his feet, leaving his fedora behind on the couch. "Hey, Fujishima…I have a really fun idea."
"What kind of idea?" Fujishima asked, looking wary already. Reiichi tried to keep his smile under wraps.
"Just a joke we could play on Yoshiya. I guarantee you, he'll never see it coming."
Yoshiya didn't see it coming. And when he slipped into the dressing room to find Reiichi in a shimmering silver sheath dress and Fujishima decked out in punk princess lace, both of them strutting toward him in Divine, drag-queen-of-the-century style, he stepped back so hard he slammed his head into the doorframe. Reiichi felt a little bad about the blow to the back of the head, but the huge, ugly coffee stain down the front of an uglier green striped shirt was a godsend—just the excuse he needed to get Yoshiya into that white silk shirt and wine-red tie he'd matched to his own outfit. And if Yoshiya's expression was a little pinched in the self-timed pictures of the three of them, Reiichi and Fujishima hanging off his arms, well, it was hardly noticeable when he otherwise looked so good.
Reiichi was sure he'd be laughing soon enough.