Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time we met was in elementary school.

We grew up in the same town, afterall. Inaba was small, and there were only a handful of schools in the area, so we were bound to meet at one of them eventually. I’m happy, though, that we met when we did.

You fell off the slide. You and I were about 9 at the time, so you cried a bunch. The other kids had gone home, and we were the only ones left waiting to be picked up. I took you to the nurse’s office to get a bandaid, and I kissed it better. 

You told me your name. I told you mine as well.

“Shirogane Nobuyuki,” You told me, all professional-like.

“Kujikawa Rise,” I said. You smiled and tried to pronounce it back to me, but you struggled with my last name. “Koo-jee-kaw-wah,” I said again.

“Koo-jee-kaw-wah,” you said back to me. “Kujikawa! Kujikawa Rise!”

I remember clapping when you got it right. “That’s it! And your name is Nobuyuki Shirogane!”

You were grumpy when I got yours right on the first try.

I don’t know if I was proud that I got it right. It didn’t feel right.

We became close friends. We didn’t hang out much outside of school, but we’d always play together at recess and lunch break. 

After elementary, we went to middle school together for a year. We went to a sleepover one time, I don’t remember whose it was, but it was one of the only times I saw you outside of school. You were a Shirogane, after all. You had a detective’s duty to live up to.

“Let’s play spin the bottle!” One of the girls said. Everyone gathered around in a circle, and you sat across from me. One of the boys landed on me, and when we kissed, I wimped out and kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t mind, but the other girls there made fun of me for it. Then it was my turn, and I landed on you.

Your lips were really chapped, but it felt… nice. The other girls let out oohs and ahhs, and some of the guys laughed.

Then it was your turn, and you landed on one of the boys. You shifted, as if getting ready, but the boys just looked at you weirdly. “What are you doing, Shirogane-san? We’re both boys!” 

You ran away after that. 

I found you sitting in the backyard. You were dipping your hand in the pool, making gentle ripples. I sat down next to you and asked, “Are you okay, Nobuyuki?”

“P-please call me Shirogane-san,” you replied. I simply nodded. I didn’t want to be rude, after all. 

Silence filled the space between us for a few moments. Everyone else was still playing games inside, but I didn’t really care. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Have you ever felt like you were born in the wrong body?” You said to me. Your voice sounded cracked, like the strings in your vocal cords were detuned and snapping. 

“I haven’t,” I answered. “Have you?”

And you nodded. “I sometimes feel… like I should actually be a girl. But all the detective books have boys in them, so… I don’t know.” You turned to me. “If I was a girl, do you think they’d let me be a detective still?”

I giggled, and looking back, it was the most terrible thing to laugh at. “Well, I don’t know! I don’t think girls can be detectives.” An outdated view, but I’d been raised on them. My parents were as old fashioned as it got.

You didn’t say anything after that.

(I don’t blame you.)

We didn’t meet again for a long time. I became an idol, and you became a junior detective. We both transferred out of Inaba. I think you moved to Hokkaido, but I ended up going to Tokyo. You and I made the news around the same time; I released my first album, you solved your first big case. 

And then we were interviewed by the same talk show host two years later, a kind man named Shinichi Yoshizawa. It was a really bizarre experience, seeing someone I hadn’t seen for almost a year in such a place. Actually, it was just weird seeing someone I knew to begin with. I’m sure it was the same for you, considering our lives as celebrities.

(I sing and dance, you solve crime, same thing.)

It wasn’t a very graceful reunion. We just happened to bump into each other in the hallway, and you recognized me before I recognized you.

“Kujikawa-san? Is that you?”

I looked at you curiously before it clicked in my head. “Oh my gosh! Nobuyuki-kun! Wait, sorry, Shirogane-san! It’s been so long!” And then I pulled you into a hug like it had been a decade and we were forty-four, when we were thirty years younger and it had only been two. Still, two years is a long time for a middle schooler. I released three albums in that time, can you blame me?

You bowed your head curtly, and spoke stiffly. “Actually, I should tell you something: I’m using the name Naoto now.”

“Naoto? Why is that?” I asked you. 

You adjusted your cross-tie before you answered. “Nobody knows how to say Nobuyuki, so I wanted to shorten it. My late grandmother’s name was Naoto, and she was by far the most exceptional Shirogane to exist, so I took after her.”

My lips fell into an ‘o’ at your explanation. “Wow, so honorable! Naoto is a very handsome name.”

(And it was. Well, it still is. It’s the name you chose, after all.)

Something felt off to me at the time, like you were hiding something else, but my manager called after me and I had to chase after him to get ready to go on stage. I gave you a quick hug, told you I missed you, and promised— hoped that we’d meet again some day.

You gave me a quick nod at that.

And then I went on stage. Well, it was less of a stage and more of a set of risers in a studio, but they called it the stage and so will I. Shinichi was very kind, asking questions about my most recent album, my plans for touring, and what life as an idol was like. I told him kindly:

“This album was something I’ve been dreaming of writing, ever since I was young. My friend when I was a kid, when I told them I wanted to be an idol, they told me something.”

(“Shirogane-san, what do you want to be when you grow up?”)

(“I want to be a detective like my parents. What about you?”)

(“I want to be an idol. I want to sing and dance, and make people smile.”)

“They told me, ‘so long as you make just one person smile, even if it’s just me, it will all be worth it.’ Isn’t that sweet?”

The audience let out an adoring aww , and applauded the story. Shinichi didn’t press any further, and we went into a tangent about my tour and life as an idol. I thought it was strange, since all the media wanted to hear about my personal life and people from my past, but it made sense afterwards.

My manager pulled me aside during the break. “That was a great story you made up, Risette!” he said. His face had a grossly energetic smile, a smile I’d never seen him wear before. It looked forced.

And I told him, quite frankly, “It wasn’t made up. It was real. That story was about a real person, Inoue-san.”

“Sure, listen,” and his face fell out of the forced smile as he whispered in my ear, “you can’t go saying things like that as an idol. People will talk, say you have some secret boyfriend behind the scenes, and that will make us look bad.”

“Wh-why?”

He stood up and stepped back, patting my hair. “You’ll understand in due time. Now let’s go.” And he walked away. 

I stood there a moment in disbelief, thinking about what he said. I didn’t get it at the time, but someone explained it to me later.

Idols weren’t allowed to date.

Or more specifically, idols weren’t allowed to fall in love .

And something about that stung .

As I was leaving the studio, I saw you again. You were talking to someone professional-looking, but turned your head to see me as I approached. The smile on your face was refreshing, a genuine smile as opposed to the false ones from Shinichi and Inoue I’d just had to look at for longer than I liked. 

“Kujikawa-san. You really… killed it , out there.”

I couldn’t resist. I burst out laughing in your face at your remark, and I felt a little bit bad because it was clear you’d tried so hard to make it sound cute and I was laughing at you. Your face even fell a little bit, which made me feel worse.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just really funny when you try to use slang. It kills your super serious macho vibe you’ve got.” I shot you a soft smile, hoping it would reassure you, and said, “I think it’s cute, though.”

Inoue’s voice rang down the hall with a hearty, “Risette!”

And I yelled back, “Coming, Inoue-san!” 

I pulled you into another hug, tighter and warmer and a little bit longer, long enough for you to hug me back. 

And I kissed you on the cheek.

I don’t know why I did it at the time, to be honest. It just felt right, and I’d seen on TV that it was a thing friends do for each other. And when I stepped away, your cheeks were dusted pink, and your lips were curled into a small little ‘o’. 

I giggled to myself. “See ya later, Naoto-kun,” I said before rushing off.

“G-goodbye, Kujikawa-san. I’ll try to be in touch.”

The smile on your face was adorable.

It was only after the fact I realized we didn’t have each other’s numbers. I was on the flight out of Tokyo and to Hokkaido for my next interview when the thought occurred to me, and I absolutely beat myself up over it.

We didn’t see each other for almost another year after that. It was honestly pure luck that I decided to take a hiatus in Inaba, and you happened to be called in for a police case.

But… it didn’t feel like luck, at first.

“How are you feeling, Kujikawa-san?” You asked me, all business, after I’d just been rescued from a TV world by a group of teenagers.

I didn’t answer. So much had happened in the last few days; being kidnapped, shoved into an alternate dimension, forced to confront aspects of myself I never wanted to think about (let alone in front of people), there was just… so much.

And… I wished I could trust you with it all, but you were nothing short of a stranger to me at this point. You came into my store and didn’t even call me by my first name, you didn’t even ask how I had been since we last saw each other. You just asked me what you needed to know for the case. We weren’t friends as far as you were concerned.

So, instead of saying what you wanted to hear, I just said, “I’m fine, Shirogane-san. Please leave me be.”

And you didn’t even emote when you walked out the door. You just said, “Thank you for your time, Kujikawa-san.”

Time flew by like a whirlwind. Summer break was spent chasing after Morooka’s killer, followed by a very awkward trip to Tatsumi Port Island (where I, apparently, got myself, Yukiko, and Teddie drunk on placebo alone), and then chasing after your dumb ass in the TV world. 

You just had to get yourself kidnapped, didn’t you?

Kanji was so visibly worried and I wanted, desperately, to tell him it would be okay. I want to tell him that it would be fine, that it would be just like every other time. All business, keep it focused, play it straight. We’d come after you, and we’d rescue you like normal.

And we did. It went smoothly enough, with Souji-senpai leading the charge cutting down any shadow in his way. Kanji and Chie did the same, with Teddie, Yosuke, and Yukiko providing support. 

(Kanji was really pissed in your dungeon, let me tell you.)

Afterwards though… wasn’t as clean cut.

I took you home with Yukiko, but about halfway back to your apartment, I told Yukiko we’d be fine alone. She had an inn to get back to, after all.

The walk was quiet. You weren’t particularly conscious, so it made sense. Awakening to a Persona is absolutely exhausting. I took you up the elevator, letting you hang off my shoulder like a black-out drunk, and waddled to your apartment.

You fished your keys from your pocket and stumbled inside, dropping yourself on the couch.

“Do you want some tea? Coffee, maybe? Food?” I asked you. 

You were silent for a moment, but came back with, “There’s instant ramen in the cupboard. That’s probably all you’ll be able to cook before I pass out.”

The instant ramen cooked in debilitating silence. I’m sure you had your own reasons for being quiet, but a part of me wishes you’d said something, anything. But instead, you left me with my thoughts, and what a whirlwind they were.

(“Though I will one day change from a child to an adult…”)

(“You have no objections, do you? ‘Naoto’ Shirogane?”)

(“I will never change from a woman to a man…”)

(“‘Naoto’, such a cool and manly name!”)

(“Do you not like being a girl?”)

(“My sex doesn’t fit my ideal image of a detective.”)

I sat down across from you on the floor and placed two bowls of generic yen-shop ramen on the table. You were staring at your phone, the bright screen lighting up your face in the dark before I reached over and turned on a lamp. You slid off the couch and onto the floor.

“Thank you, Kujik—”

“What was all that back there?”

You looked at me like I’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. I knew I was good at reading emotions, but under the late night lamplight, I second guessed myself before you said, “What are you talking about?” with a tone that essentially said, “Are you stupid?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself from screaming. “Your shadow… it said, ‘crossing the barrier between the sexes,’ like you wanted to be a man but you were born a girl. What the hell does that mean?”

You paused for a moment, looking completely emotionless as you searched for some bullshit answer. “My shadow must have been a representation of my internal distortion. I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself I’m not a girl, that it must have manifested that.”

I took a bite of my ramen. For yen-shop ramen, it wasn’t too bad, but that wasn’t the point. I chewed angrily, and somehow you managed to be completely oblivious.

“I know it must have been confusing for you guys.”

I found myself standing up. 

“But I assure you,”

I stepped around the table.

“I am—”

And I slapped you across the face.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Naoto-kun?” I felt myself scream. “Why did you pretend, all this time? I would have changed if you just… just said something!” 

“Rise…” you murmured.

I tried to force back tears. “How long?”

“Huh?”

“How long has this been happening?”

You looked away from me. “It’s been happening since I was a kid. I thought that… I thought I wanted to be a girl, but all the detective novels were written with men, so I repressed that as hard as I could and just…”

“…you lied?”

Your eyes softened. You looked like you wanted to tell me you weren’t lying, like you wanted to pretend it wasn’t a big deal that you’d spent the entirety of our friendship, our youth, pretending to be someone you’re not, but instead you said softly, “Yeah. I lied.”

My knees hit the carpet as I fell next to you. “Naoto-kun… no, Naoto-chan… why didn’t you tell me?”

You said in so many words what I already knew. The moment the words left my mouth, I knew what you’d say.

(“If I was a girl, do you think they’d let me be a detective still?”)

(“Well, I don’t know! I don’t think girls can be detectives.”)

“Naoto-chan, I’m… I’m so sorry.” I held your hands in my own. “I wish, so badly, that I knew. I…” My eyes fell to my knees.

“Rise-san,” you brushed my hair from my face, “It’s okay. I promise.” You wore a smile that felt so kind, so warm, and so delicate. Somehow, you managed to smile like everything was fine, like for the last few years you hadn’t been pretending to be a boy. 

(Like I hadn’t hurt you believing it.)

“And, uh… Naoto-kun is still fine,” you said meekly. The smile on your face shifted to something more nervous. 

“Are you sure? Isn’t ‘kun’ supposed to be a boy’s honorific?” 

“Yeah but…” You fidgeted with your hands, running them over each other, clasping and unclasping them repeatedly. “I got used to it, you know? It would be a little weird if you started calling me ‘Naoto-chan’ all of a sudden, right?”

“Well…” I thought for a moment. “Okay. If you insist.” 

And then I grabbed your hands in my own, and held them firmly. “But. If it starts to make you uncomfortable, you tell me right away. Got it?”

You let out a small chuckle. “Got it, Rise-san.”

I kissed your forehead then. I hugged you close to my chest, holding you tightly. “I missed you, you know.”

I felt your breathing soften against my neck when you replied. “I missed you too. Thank you, for letting me be myself again.”

I giggled. “As if I’d have you any other way.”

(“Naoto’s a really pretty name, by the way,” I said later that night, but you’d already fallen asleep.)

Things were nice for a bit. You and I, we hung out more. We went to Okina City and Shirichi Beach, watched movies and sunsets, got lunch together. We became close again. It was refreshing, having a close friend again. Kanji tagged along pretty often, but I treasured the times we had alone more for some reason. 

And I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but he really had it for you. You were oblivious, but he was so obsessed with you. He kept talking about how cool you were whenever you weren’t there. I’m pretty sure he asked Teddie for advice to ask you out, but that’s between him and the bear.

If he did get advice, it must have worked, because I saw you guys arm in arm a few weeks later.

The case was solved. Adachi was behind bars, Marie was rescued from the Hollow Forest, and everything was pretty okay after that. But… something in my gut felt empty. Sure, you and I still had our little dates and all, but you and Kanji hung out more. I felt a little bit jealous, I think I can say that now. 

It’s probably why I fell for Souji-senpai, honestly.

I’m gonna be completely honest with you, that guy is a complete dork. He actually said, and I quote, “I look sexier when I’m soaked,” to me. While we were walking to school. It was creepy as hell, and yet.

God, and yet. It was so bizarre, dating him. I knew he had it bad for Yosuke, but I was feeling particularly bitter about you having all your time taken up by Kanji that I tried to pretend it didn’t happen.

And, you know, given the history of our friendship, you think I’d have learned to avoid parties with you.

However, it was Souji-senpai’s going-away party, so we had to make it something big. We held it at the Amagi Inn, had soda and snacks, all the stuff. I even tried to convince Yosuke to snag some alcohol, but he wouldn’t dare. He said we were too young, but I think he’s just a prude.

It was a nice party though! We played board games, told dumb stories, got our asses kicked by the Yosuke-Chie tag-team in Smash Bros— it was the perfect coming of age story.

And of course, that led to—

“Who wants to play seven minutes in heaven ?” Teddie asked, singing the word ‘heaven’ at the end to make it sound more appealing. I think he was either bored of getting his ass handed to him in Smash Bros, or he was getting jealous of Yukiko flirting with Chie all night and wanted some of her to himself. 

Whatever the case was, for some reason, it was pretty unanimous. You and Kanji seemed a little off-put by it, but it seemed like a fun little thing we could play between rounds of Mario Party. 

Teddie was obviously the first to spin and landed on Yosuke. I wasn’t really paying attention, but I’m pretty sure they just played Go Fish. Yosuke came out looking bored and spun the bottle, landing on Souji.

I pulled Souji aside before he could go and whispered in his ear, “I know you’re into him. Don’t worry, go have your fun.”

He looked a little bit confused, and I worried that I was wrong, but he came back with, “Are you sure? You’re not, like, jealous or anything?”

I giggled at it. “Nah, I think it’s pretty mutual that this relationship is just to make someone else jealous.” I gave eyes at you and Kanji, who were too busy not paying attention to each other, and Souji chuckled.

“I see, I see… well, maybe you’ll land on ‘em. Who knows?”

I patted him on the back and he went into the closet with Yosuke (fitting) and definitely did not play Go Fish.

The two came out fifteen minutes later looking like they’d just discovered their sexualities, Souji spun and landed on Yukiko, and then it was their turn.

I pulled Yosuke aside after and asked him how it was.

“Wh-what are you talking about? W-we just talked, that’s all,” he stammered like a complete liar. 

I laughed in his face. “Yosuke, I know you’re into him. It’s okay.”

“I-I’m not, I—”

I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. If I couldn’t do this for you back then, I was going to make sure to do it for everyone else that needed it. I took a slow breath, locking eyes with him, and said, “It’s okay, Yosuke. I support you.”

He took his turn, a slow deep breath, and responded, “Are you sure? He’s… kind of your boyfriend.”

“Are you kidding?” I chuckled. “I’m pretty sure he was just dating me to make you jealous.”

His face turned an interesting shade of pink, and I was tempted to take a picture of it for my cover artist to sample for the next album. “And you’re okay with that?”

I looked over at you, in a spirited conversation with Kanji about the psychology of cannibals, and smiled. “Yeah, it’s pretty mutual. I think we should probably break up, though.”

“That might be for the best,” I heard behind me. Souji sat down on my left, which is to say, Yosuke’s right, placing an arm over the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t think my conscience can handle it.”

The three of us laughed.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay, Yosuke?” Souji asked. 

His face turned a darker shade of pink. His eyes shifted around the room, to Yukiko spinning the bottle and watching it land on Chie’s name, to you and Kanji in the corner, antagonizing Teddie, and he said, “I think it’ll be okay. This crowd is alright.”

(Yukiko and Chie also did not play Go Fish. Nobody was at all surprised by this revelation.)

Chie landed on me, and the two of us pretty much just talked about kung fu movies. She’d taken me to see one in Okina and it was actually really good. So good, in fact, that she loaned me the series and I finished them all in a week. She talked about how hot the love interest girl was, and how much she wanted to be like her.

Since apparently it was my night to just confront everybody about their secret gay relationships, I cut her off with, “Yeah, she should have totally ended up with the villain girl from the second movie. Those two had serious chemistry.”

“I know, right? They totally strai— wait, what? You… you think she’s gay?”

Shock for Chie’s very upfront nature about this revelation aside, “Well duh, she spends the entire fourth movie flirting with her, plus that spinoff special? It was so coded. Honestly, they’re really cute!”

Chie looked nervous, and I knew I’d messed up. “Rise, that’s a kinda m-messed up thing to joke about, you know?” 

“Shit, no, Chie, I’m not—”

“I can’t believe you, Rise. I thought you’d at least be an ally, but you just had to pull that stunt.” Her eyebrows furrowed, and fury was in her eyes. I had to resist giving her major props for how well she’d stood up for herself, and for resisting screaming at me, instead speaking in a low whisper.

I swallowed the pride and grabbed her hands. “Chie, I’m—” 

I’m…? 

“I’m—”

I froze.

“You’re…? Rise, spit it out.”

I thought this would be easy.

“Look, if you’re sorry, it shouldn’t be—”

“No! Wait, yes, but I’m also—”

Gay . I’m gay. Come on, just fucking say it, I’m a massive dyke.

“Also what?”

Say it!

“Rise?”

I can’t.

“Dude, just say it. It can’t be that hard.”

But if I can’t… 

Alternatives. B-Sides. I can find another way to say it.

“I know you and Yukiko are a thing and I really support you for it,” I blurted out.

Chie’s eyes widened. Apparently, she didn’t think they were as obvious as they were. It was cute, really, but now wasn’t the time for that.

“Wh-what? But we’re—”

“Look, I know you might think you have to keep it a secret, but you don’t. Everyone here will support you. There isn’t a single straight person at this party, except maybe Teddie, but that’s pretty up in the air.” Her eyes softened, and I knew I needed to capitalize on this. “And… that includes me. I’m…”

A lesbian . 

Why can’t I say it?

It was so easy for everyone else to come to terms with it. Why can’t I?

My child, you need not fear.

The voice in my head, one I’d heard countless times, came to me, and the world fell away.

These souls have seen you bared open, and they still love you.

But what if they won’t? What if I say it and they change their minds?

Why would they?

(“I think it’ll be okay. This crowd is alright.”)

They have proven already they share that fate with you.

Kouzeon…

(“Thank you, for letting me be myself again.”)

Your bonds have trusted you, and you in turn should trust them.

You’re right. Thank you, Kouzeon.

Do not thank me, child. Thank your bonds, your friends, for loving you.

Time resumed. Well, resumed wasn’t really the right word, it was more like it accelerated. Like it had slowed down to a crawl for the moments Kouzeon spoke and the world had fallen away, and now her presence had retreated to the back of my mind and time restored itself to normal speed, with the world pulling itself back into view.

“Rise?”

“I’m a lesbian, Chie-senpai.”

It was like, at that instant, a weight fell from my shoulders. Like I had been wearing a vest made of lead and copper, and I had just finally unzipped it and let it fall to the floor. Air filled my lungs, and my head felt cool, refreshed.

“O-oh. I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

I gripped her hands tighter. “It’s okay, Chie-senpai. I understand.”

She pulled me into a tight hug, and all of me wanted to cry into her shoulder. To let loose all of the tears I’d bottled up over the years of having to pretend. I don’t even know when I started to pretend, when I started liking girls more…

(“I sometimes feel… like I should actually be a girl.”)

But do I need to?

Chie pulled me off the floor, and we exited the closet together. She had a confident smile on her face, and a light in her eyes that made my heart warm, but none of my people-reading skills could have prepared me for—

“I have an announcement to make! I, Chie Satonaka, am gay as fuck!”

The room’s heads all turned to her. Teddie, Kanji, and you, looking a little bit confused. Yosuke and Souji, looking absurdly proud. Yukiko, who couldn’t see anyone else’s expressions, looking absolutely mortified for her life, like she’d just been outed at the Vatican. Marie (wait, when did she get here?), looking at her fucking notebook and not paying attention to anything around her which shouldn’t have been a surprise but god dammit Marie this was a moment—

The room was uncomfortably quiet for a moment. Chie’s eyes fell ever so slightly in that instant between disbelief and the cycle of grief.

And then Yosuke stood up, with a stupid smile on his face, and said, “I, Yosuke Hanamura, am also gay as hell!”

Chie smiled.

“I, Souji Seta, am a raging bisexual!”

She smiled really wide.

“I, Yukiko Amagi, am so very in love with women!” 

Her joy lit up the room.

“The name’s Kanji Tatsumi, and I guess… I’m bisexual?”

Her smile was radiating, and I couldn’t help but feel nothing less than pure pride.

“I’m Teddie, and I love love!”

Pride . I’d heard it before, used to refer to gatherings for queer people. I’d heard my manager yelling about how someone tried to book us for a pride festival in Toronto, and he thought it was utterly ridiculous. I didn’t understand it at the time, but now?

In a room of all my friends, all of them coming out to one another, I understood.

“I’m Rise Kujikawa, and I’m one hell of a lesbian!”

“I am Naoto Shirogane, and I am a trans woman.”

My eyes fell onto yours. Your eyes were soft, relieved, happy. You were unchained, free. The room fell back into amicable chaos, but all I could hear was my own pulse. 

Your lips moved. I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but it was probably because you weren’t speaking.

“Thank you,” you mouthed. And you smiled.

Your smile was so pretty.

The rest of the noise crashed back into me as Chie placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, it’s your turn!”

“R-right.” I sat down and held the bottle, looking at the names on the different ripped up pieces of paper. They were all bordering on chick scratch, barely legible in Teddie’s handwriting, but I could just make them out.

I spun. I didn’t really know who I wanted it to land on, honestly. After that moment, of everyone coming out to each other, I could go in there with anyone and I wouldn’t care. I’d probably just talk their ear off about how I finally realized I liked girls, and they’d listen and they’d tell me ‘god, wow, same,’ or ‘mood but for boys.’

I opened my eyes— I hadn’t even realized they’d shut, and looked down at the bottle, and where it was pointed.

‘Naoto Shirogane, the Detective Prince’.

And I looked up at you. 

The rest of the world continued to spin around us, but I was stuck staring right at you. Your deep, dark, blue eyes hiding mysteries of the world. Your messy blue hair, framing your face in perfect androgyny. Your cheeks, lightly dusted with blush and a bit of freckles. Your lips, soft and pink and not chapped, somehow. 

(Is that a chapstick in your pocket or were you happy to see me?)

You stared back at me and pointed a finger to your chest, and I nodded lightly. I had to support myself with the wall to stand, but I pulled myself off the ground and made my way over to the closet, dropping myself on the floor. You came in a second after me, sliding the closet shut gently and sitting across from me, legs crossed and cheeks dusted pink.

“So, uh…” Honestly, did I have any plans for if this happened? “How’s… how’s Kanji?”

“We broke up,” you answered curtly. “He was dating me primarily because I was particularly androgynous, and it allowed him to come to proper terms with his bisexuality, but beyond that we had no chemistry. It was completely mutual.” You assured me like I was worried you’d broken his heart or something.

(To be frank, I was, just a little bit.)

“I see,” I mumbled. “Well, I’m glad you two are still happy.” 

Awkward tension hung over the pair of us like mistletoe. Your eyes wouldn’t meet mine, nervous rather than afraid or angry. You were blushing, only a little bit, but it was still noticeable under the dim lighting of the closet space.

Honestly, how fitting of everyone to go into this closet and come out only a few minutes later, ready to admit to their feelings.

Except me, apparently.

“So… you and Chie?”

I looked at you like you were stupid. You were, but I wanted to clarify that point. “No, she’s very into Yukiko. You didn’t hear it? While they were in here?”

“I was on the other side of the room,” you stated. Duh. “And I admit, I wasn’t particularly listening to the happenings in what I assumed was a private space.”

“Sorry, Naoto-kun, but I’m just nosy as hell.”

You giggled at that, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little myself. The tension slowly faded away as we talked about vaguely nothing in particular. I don’t even remember, honestly, what we were talking about. I just remember you smiling every time your eyes met mine.

“Forgive me for asking, but… is there anyone you like?” You asked me. It was refreshing to see you in the party spirit rather than being your all-business self, or as much in the party spirit as you could get. Your unique take on it all, the way you acted in these moments, trying to be just a little bit less pretentious and dumb yourself down a little bit more for the rest of us… well, it was addicting to say the least.

And I found myself saying, “I do,” in response to your question. “Do you?”

You smiled, and your eyes didn’t meet mine. “I do, yes. I’m… not sure if it’s the same kind of like, but… I’d be willing to find out.”

And the only thought in my mind was a simple one.

Fuck it. What have I got to lose?

I leaned forward and kissed you. It was nothing like any other time, being rough and a little desperate and drunk off the atmosphere, but all that mattered to me was you. I heard you hit the wall of the closet, and I felt your hands gripping my shirt for stability, and I felt you push back against me, a similar type of desperate.

Clarity. That’s the best way to describe what I felt. It was like my senses were dulled for so long, and then suddenly cleared and opened. When someone says, ‘this opened my third eye,’ I never understood. But now, I can at least relate a little bit.

You pulled away first, which is to say you pushed me away just a little bit. Your breathing was heavy, as was mine. Your eyes were lidded, and your voice was low as you said, “Wow.”

I giggled. “Sorry, I should have asked.”

“You’re forgiven, don’t worry,” you reassured me with a slight chuckle. Your cheeks turned a darker shade of pink, almost indecipherable under the dim light. “I… I’m embarrassed to initiate things like this, so I was trying to send you subtle signals. I’m glad you picked up on them.”

I fell backwards a little bit in slight disbelief. “You… were sending signals?”

“Why else would I mention Kanji and I broke up?”

“ That was your signal?! ” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Your concept of signals is ridiculous, Naoto-kun.”

You gave me a sly smirk. “Well, I suppose you’ll have to teach me…”

“What are you, drunk? This is the least pretentious and composed you’ve ever been.” 

It had been meant as a joke; the energy could have easily dulled your senses, made you more forward, whatever. But, you frowned at the question. “I… was under the impression there was alcohol in the punch.”

I couldn’t even laugh. “No, Yosuke didn’t want to bring any.”

You looked away with a frown, and I immediately knew what was up. “Naoto… are you drunk off of a placebo ?”

The frown on your lips shifted to an awkward smile. “I suppose that I am. Is… is this what you felt like at Club Escapade?” You let out a little giggle, which was honestly so adorable it almost distracted me from the question you’d asked.

“I mean, maybe? Is your form of drunk just being a little bit looser around the collar?”

“I’ve never been drunk, so I wouldn’t know.”

I gave you a look. “Except for now, apparently.”

“…does it count if it’s only a placebo?”

And then, we both laughed. This entire situation was so ridiculous and bewildering, it was a miracle it hadn’t happened sooner. I fell into you, laughing so hard I couldn’t hold my head up, and you held me a little bit closer.

The laughter soon fell away, and we were left sitting in the closet, you holding my head close to your chest. It was nice, soft, warm, refreshing. Even if you were a little bit drunk, even if that drunk had been on fucking fruit punch that Yosuke bought from Junes for ¥450, it was still nice.

And then someone knocked on the closet and ruined the moment. 

“Hey lovebirds? What are you doing in there? Did you fall asleep?”

I groaned. “Fuck off, Yukiko, you and Chie were in here for fifteen minutes!”

You giggled, and looked at me with a softness I’d never seen you wear before.

Honestly, for a night of firsts, it wasn’t a bad one. I know those coming of age novels and movies usually have scenes like this end badly; someone pulls up some blackmail of the love interest, or it turns out the love interest is cheating on the protagonist, or something particularly unlucky happens to progress the plot via angst. But here, now, and even until the end of the evening when we left the closet and you fell asleep on my lap while I kicked ass in Mario Kart, nothing bad could have possibly ruined things for me.

It was honestly, and I’m being completely real here, the best party one could have.

Unfortunately, I don’t think the same could be said for you, since I woke up with a barrage of apologies. It was especially strange considering they were all properly spelled, something I’d never seen you do in the history of our not actually that long text relationship.

NS: I’m so sorry
NS: I’m so so sorry
NS: I don’t know what got into me last night
NS: If I made you uncomfortable at all I deeply apologize and it will never happen again
NS: I must have been drunk because I do not remember much of the night except that I kissed you more than once and again I am so sorry that I lost my control like that

It was kinda cute, watching you play damage control like that. I was about to reply too, but then my grandmother called me downstairs for breakfast. I supposed I wouldn’t have to make you wait much longer to tell you it’s all good, right?

And then you didn’t even show up at school.

“Is Naoto-kun not here, Kanji?”

“Nah, apparently she came down with something this morning. Some stomach bug is what she told me.”

“... huh.”

So after school, I called you. Twice. Three times. You didn’t pick up, and I was starting to get worried you’d done something stupid. You weren’t exactly spectacular with your social skills, something I’d learned very young, so it wasn’t out of the question. I spent the entire walk to your apartment thinking to myself all of the stupid things you could have done.

I just hoped you hadn’t left the country by the time I entered your apartment building.

“Good afternoon, Kujikawa-san,” the concierge said. “I assume you’re here for Shirogane-san, is that correct?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she hasn’t been answering her phone, and some stuff happened last night, so I wanted to make sure she didn’t do something stupid. Is… is she here?”

He gave me a smile (not a customer service one, thank god) and said, “I’ll let her know you’re on your way up.”

“Thanks.”

I didn’t even make it to the elevator before I heard my name being called back at me. I rushed back to the concierge, his phone in his hand.

“Sorry, she uh… she doesn’t want to see you right now.”

“Of course,” I sighed. You can be really stupid, you know Naoto? “Any reason why?”

He put his phone up to his ear and passed along the question before replying, “She… won’t say.”

I stepped forward, closer to the desk. “Is it okay if I talk to her?”

He silently nodded and handed me the phone. I put the phone to my ear, took a deep breath, and said quietly, “Naoto?”

“Kujikawa-san, I—” you sounded terrible, like you’d been awake all night and then some. “I don’t… I don’t want to see you right now. I don’t think I can look you in the eye after what happened last night, after… what I did.”

I could feel a part of my heart cracking, the sound of your exhausted voice and your guilt ripping at my heartstrings. “Naoto, please, just let me come upstairs. We can talk this out.”

I really didn’t want to handle all of this over the phone. I didn’t know what kind of condition you’d be in, but I really just wanted to give you a hug and tell you, “It’s okay.”

You sighed into the receiver, a shaky breath that sounded so anxious and afraid. “P-pass the phone back to Kogami-san, please.”

I handed the phone back to the concierge. I couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he gave me a silent thumbs up and gestured back over to the elevator. 

Thank you, Naoto , I thought to myself.

The elevator ride up became more and more stifling with every floor. It felt like, with every passing stop, I was being pushed through another layer of guilt, of anxiety, and of nervousness. The closer to your 27th floor apartment I got, the deeper into the pool of anxiousness I swam. But I took a breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it go. 

(“Rise-san, are you okay?”)

(“N-no, I- I can’t breathe, I—”)

In…

(“Yes you can, you can. Breathe with me, okay?”)

(“Naoto, I—”)

Hold…

(“Rise.”)

(“It’s okay.”)

And let go.

(“Okay.”)

Ding!

“Twenty-seventh floor.”

The doors opened and I stepped into the hallway. Every step I took felt rough, heavy, like I was stepping through mud. But I kept going, because my friend— because you were alone, and I needed to assure you it was okay. It was alright.

I stepped in front of your door, unit number 2704, all the way near the very end of the hall, and rapped my knuckles on the metal. A few seconds passed, and I thought for a brief moment you weren’t going to answer the door, that you were going to hide in your room and not face this, when finally the door creaked open.

“Kujikawa-san.”

“You look terrible, Naoto.”

“... thanks.”

You opened the door a little more and I stepped inside. The apartment was dark, aside from a light down the hallway coming from your bedroom. Your hair was a mess, that I could tell from when you opened the door, but you were wearing wrinkled featherman pyjamas that clung to your body as if—

“You just got out of bed, didn’t you?”

You looked at me, sleep and sourness in your eyes. “Did you come here to scold me for my sleeping habits, Kujikawa-san?”

I giggled to myself. It was probably a little mean, but you would have rationalized it as the body’s natural response to relieving immense stress by creating something humorous to distract the mind.

(Or something like that. You were always cute when you talked science, it was a shame I wasn’t smart enough to follow along.)

“Sorry, but no,” I replied. “I came here to do this.”

And before you could stop me, I pulled you into a hug. I held my arms tightly around your back, trying to squeeze the anxiety out of you. 

(“Your hugs are really tight, Kujikawa-san.”)

(“Oh! Sorry! I’ll hug lighter then!”)

(“No… it’s okay. I like tight hugs.”)

I let go after a beat and stepped back. Your eyes had a little bit more light to them, but they were still fairly dim and wouldn’t meet my own.

“Naoto-kun, you don’t need to worry about last night. It’s ok—”

You cut me off with a shout, “But I kissed you, Kujikawa-san! I… I kissed you.”

“And I’m telling you,” I whispered, taking your hands in mine, “It’s okay.”

“But,” you pulled your hands away, wiping a tear from your eye. “But it’s not. I… I didn’t ask, I forced you, I pressured you into whatever sick primal desires took over me last night. I can’t possibly forgive myself!” 

You stepped back. I kicked off my shoes and stepped closer. “Naoto, I promise. I wasn’t uncomfortable at all.”

“But I used you.” Your voice had a growl, and it finally occurred to me what was going on in your head.

(“What was yours like?”)

(“It was a strip club.”)

(“A-a strip club? Why?”)

(“When I first became an idol, everyone always talked about me online.”)

“Naoto…”

(“They talked about things they wanted to do to me.”)

“You are nothing like them.”

I felt my eyebrows furrow. I felt something welling up inside of me, something angry and bitter. I stepped forwards, and you took another step back.

“Yes I am! ” You yelled. “I’m just like those… those freaks that try to get up your skirt. I’m a monster .”

I grabbed your hands. I held them tighter, and I looked you directly in the eye as I said, “You’re not a monster, Naoto. You didn’t do a single thing wrong last night, and it’s cruel to watch you do this to yourself.” I felt tears welling up behind my eyes, but I didn’t care, not when you were clearly hurting more than me.

“But… but I forced you to—”

“You didn’t force me to do anything, Naoto!” I screamed. “I kissed you! If anyone is the monster here, it’s me!”

Your eyes softened a bit more, the emotions behind them turning from rage and self-loathing to confusion. “But… that makes no sense. You’re an idol, you can’t…” 

“I can’t what, kiss people?”

“Yes!” You stepped back. “Idols aren’t allowed to fall in love, they’re not allowed to date, or even really be seeing anyone on the side, and they’re especially not allowed to ki—”

I stepped forwards and did just that: I kissed you. I held your cheeks in my hands, feeling the warmth spread through them as you began to blush. I pushed myself up on my toes, just a bit, matching your height. I relished in your softness, your kindness that was buried under layers upon layers of strife. I snaked my arms around your neck, chipping away at the layers, digging out your kindness. I tangled my fingers in your hair, I pushed against you just a little more, my lips moved with yours, I held you until the world stopped turning.

And then I finally, after a moment that lasted forever, stepped back.

“Sorry, I just got tired of your bullshit,” I said with a chuckle. “I know I said last time that I’d ask, but… I just really wanted you to shut up.”

Your fingers touched your lips. You looked away, processing everything that happened. I rocked on the balls of my feet, waiting for you to finish thinking, for you to speak.

And then you said, “Thank you.”

And I couldn’t quite repress my giggle in time before I said, “For what?”

And your lips curled into a smile. It was small, soft, delicate, but it was pure, happy, kind. “For showing me how stupid I was being.”

“You accepted that pretty quickly.”

You let out a light chuckle. “Yeah…” Silence fell between the pair of us. Your hand held your wrist nervously, I continued to rock on the balls of my feet, and then you asked:

“So… what now?”

And I answered.

“Now… Inoue-san is going to kill me.”

“Do you intend to tell him?” You looked at me with hints of curiosity behind your eyes, but more so was confusion, like you were asking me, ‘why would you even tell him?’

I pressed a finger to my chin. “Of course not, but he’s not an idiot. He can tell when I’m into someone.”

“Rise,” you said rather seriously. “I couldn’t tell when you were into me.”

“And you’re an idiot, what’s your point?” I said without any hesitation. You looked at me like you hadn’t expected that course of events. “What did you expect me to say?”

“... Not that, I suppose. But… could he tell when you and Souji-senpai were dating?” You asked. 

I sat on the couch, my knees falling into each other as nervousness raked its way up my body with the recollection. “I… He and I weren’t talking while all that was happening.”

You sat next to me, and you held my hand gently in yours. “So he didn’t know?”

“Well… he came to town looking for me, and I happened to be with Souji-senpai at the time, so…” I let out a sigh. “I kind of told him I was going to marry Souji?”

And you let out a laugh, rough and hysterical. I couldn’t help but giggle along for the moment, before you caught your breath and said, “And how did he react?”

I twirled my thumbs around each other as I replied. “He just accepted it. But I also told him I was quitting for good, and I said some pretty nasty things, so…” 

You wrapped an arm around my shoulder and pulled me in close, lightly brushing my hair with your fingers. “It sounds like he really cares for you,” you said, “I can’t imagine he’ll have many problems with you being in a relationship.”

Instinctively, I nuzzled closer into you. “Thanks, Naoto-kun.” A brief moment passed, and a soft chuckle escaped my lips. “A relationship, huh? Does that make you my girlfriend?”

And you turned bright red in an instant. “W-well… if that’s, um… what you want. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

I leaned up and pressed my lips to yours, a gentle reminder of my feelings, of my trust, of my affection, before I broke away and said, “I think I’d like that, Naoto. Besides, who wouldn’t want to date a girl as cute as you?”

I felt your heart kicking into high gear in your chest as you replied, “Y-you think I’m cute?”

“Duh.” I nuzzled as close as I could into your shoulder. “The cutest,” I replied sleepily.

The moment we spent cuddling on your couch in the dark, with me falling asleep on your shoulder, was a moment I would cherish forever. The beginnings of something new, a turning point in the lives of Teen Idol Risette and Detective Prince Naoto Shirogane, though neither of us knew it yet.

We were too busy just appreciating each other’s warmth to really focus on the rest of our lives.

Life seemed to move fast beyond that, and with life came plenty of kisses. We shared some in either of our bedrooms, or on your couch watching shitty rom-coms. Some of them we shared a bit more publicly, alongside the Samegawa or after you’d dropped me off at home. A few were even shared in a Yasogami High School supply closet during the culture festival in our second year. You like to pretend I initiated that makeout session, but I remember the look in your eyes.

You and I were walking through the Yasogami halls, hand in hand. It was the first time we’d ever held hands in public, and goddamn did you look cute as hell the way you blushed.

“Are you sure, Rise?” You’d ask. “Your reputation, you know?”

I’d laugh at that. “Naoto, my reputation is in the garbage. Who cares if two girls hold hands?” And I’d kiss you on the cheek and say, “That’s a little bit more risque, though.”

You’d blush, a violent scarlet every time I flirted with you in anywhere more public than a locked closet in a locked bedroom in a locked apartment, all soundproofed. It’s always, always adorable. Just the way you react to basic affection is really cute, which makes me want to spoil you rotten with it.

And you’d give me a look, and you’d say, “Can we go somewhere more private?” And you’d try to hide the fire in your eyes, the greediness for more, but it was so obvious to me. Maybe to the half dozen other people in the hallway was it subtle, bordering on unnoticeable, but to me it was crystal clear.

Maybe I’m tunnel-visioned.

But still, I said, “What, you don’t want to enjoy the culture festival a bit longer?”

But still, you said, “Well I do, but… I want to spend a little bit more time with you.” 

But still, I sighed, and said, “Lead the way, my dear prince.” 

(You did confirm that calling you my prince was still something you were comfortable with. I’d asked you numerous times, and you’d always said it was okay. And by the blush that appeared, deepened on your cheeks that time, I’d say it was doing its job well.)

And honestly, what could possibly be more romantic than you dragging me along to the west wing staircase and pulling me into the supply closet under the stairs? You even used your student council powers and opened it with a key, rather than picking the lock like a normal horny teenager. I suppressed the urge to beg you to turn to delinquency, since you being oh so responsible may or may not have really done it for me.

(I really am a bad influence, aren’t I?)

And okay, maybe you had a point when you said I was the one who initiated it. I did kiss you first, after all. You were standing around looking sheepish, looking lost. Obviously you’d never made out in a supply closet, so I guess I had to show the ropes.

However, you did push me up against the wall, and unless there was a third person there groping me, it was your hands on my boobs and my neck. For someone who’d had exactly zero experience in the joys of groping your teenage love while making out in a supply closet, you weren’t too bad.

“Am I doing this right?” You asked me, voice super husky and low to avoid being heard by the nobody loitering around outside.

I shrugged sarcastically. “You could be doing better,” I answered. I grabbed your hand and directed it to my butt, and the look on your face was priceless . 

“A-are you sure?” You asked me, so innocently, so sweetly. “I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable, you know.” It was cute how much you cared about me, how unwilling you were to do anything you thought might hurt me.

However, “I’m not so delicate, Naoto. I know how to say no,” I whispered, my voice low and seductive. “You can let go a little. I promise, you won’t hurt me.” It sounded better in my head, but apparently it sounded pretty good out of it too because your eyes lit right up.

Your lips met mine again, and your hand directed itself to my butt again. You bit my lip, pressed a knee between my thighs, kissed my neck and my throat and my cheeks and my collarbone, leaving marks and bruises all to say, ‘you’re mine’. A small part of me worried, only slightly, that I might have made a mistake in unhinging this side of Naoto Shirogane, but the rest of me, the me that was in a supply closet, the me whose girlfriend’s knee was between her thighs, the me whose hands were currently groping her girlfriend’s ass and breasts and neck and shoulder blades… that me was all for it.

Thank god I chose to wear a hoodie that day, because there was no way the hickeys you left me with were going to be hidden by the school’s uniform. 

But the nervous look on your face as we exited the closet, worried your collar wouldn’t hide the few marks I left you with, that almost made me want to drag you right back into the closet and start over.

Summer turned to fall, and fall turned to winter, and the world became quiet for a time. It had been a year since we caught Adachi, plus a little bit.

It was a quiet evening, and we sat on a bench at the top of the hill overlooking Inaba. We were holding hands, our gloves between our palms, and my touque-covered head rested on your jacketed shoulder. Our breaths fogged the air, a quiet reminder of how it was we came to be… whatever it is you’d call our relationship. Girlfriends? Partners? I remember Souji-senpai saying something about our arcanas, so… Lovers, probably.

Fortunate Lovers. Has a funny little ring to it.

“You know, the world is supposed to end tomorrow,” you told me. “According to the Mayans, the world is said to end on the 21st of December this year.”

I giggled softly, too cold to fall into hysterics. “You know, Naoto, you have a habit of being weirdly profound sometimes.”

And you chuckled back. “Would you really consider that profound?” You turned your head as I lifted mine, our gazes meeting in the middle. “It’s just a statement of fact, really. It’s not as though I said something particularly poe—”

You went silent as my lips met yours. You froze a moment, not from the cold, before your gloved hand met my rosy cheek. And ever fleeting it was, I pulled away. 

“Sorry, I like you better when you shut up,” I remarked teasingly.

A scarlet hue coated your cheeks and your ears (though really, in the December cold, could you call it a blush?) and I fell just a little bit further in love with you.

And instead of saying something bizarrely profound again, or nipping back at my teasing with embarrassed defenses, you said to me, “I love you so much, Rise Kujikawa.”

“I love you too, Naoto Shirogane.”

You kissed me one more time, your lips soft and warm against the chilling air, before you said, “I’m so glad, every day, to be with you, as…” you trailed off, eyes falling to the side as you searched for the words. “I’m not entirely sure what the word is.”

“I don’t care what we are, so long as I can keep kissing you like this,” I said back.

And you answered me, “I don’t care either, because I’m just lucky to be near you like this.”

Yeah. Fortunate lovers fit.

(“Didn’t Souji-senpai say we had like… arcanas or something?”)

(“I believe I recall mine being Fortune and yours being The Lovers .”)

(“Oh, how fitting.”)

And it all, this relationship, lovership, partnership, whatever, was really, really nice. Of course, sometimes it was a little rocky. We were both celebrities, after all; classmates couldn’t help but gossip as we walked the hallways holding hands. 

But I wanted to stay in Inaba and graduate before I would go back to my music full time (I still practiced though!), and you wanted to keep working on your detective cases, which meant we were separate pretty often. Not too often, but enough that it sometimes felt more like a long distance relationship.

You weren’t even out of town, really, since you worked in Okina City, but when you were working a tricky case, you often missed school. You would be unavailable to hang out, go on little dates, the whole shebang, because you had your head in the zone and needed to focus. Of course, you would call. The phone calls were really nice, I promise. I still have the recording of one I made when you were particularly sleepy and your voice was cute and you called me precious. But it really made it all feel like you were worlds away, and it was scary.

And I knew you cared about your job. It was important to you, a legacy you’d been granted the right to uphold, one you wanted to uphold. It had been your dream to become a detective, and working your dream job wasn’t something I could take away from you.

But something about you started to feel particularly distant once we’d started our third year. The fire in your eyes died just a little bit each time I saw you. The stretches we were apart started to feel longer and longer, even if they were actually shorter, and I hated the idea that you hated me. I had the keys to your apartment, a gift you’d given me the third or fourth or fifteenth time I’d slept over our first month of senior year, so I tried to rationalize that hatred was out of the question.

You still slept in the same bed with me when I stayed over. You still made joyous conversation when we ate our shitty takeout curry for dinner, you still looked at me with an unrivaled smile, with happiness in your eyes, and you still told me one night,

“I’m honestly the luckiest person alive to be with you.”

And I told you back,

“I suppose that’s why you’re my Fortune Girl , huh?”

But I woke up before you one morning, and your pillow was tear stained. I didn’t want to ask, because I was afraid it might be a case you wanted to forget. Or maybe even a nightmare.

(I should have realized sooner, when you’d left your laptop open while you went to the bathroom and I saw your search.)

(‘Showing results for: Can lesbians love transgender women?’)

I was still thinking about it while I sat on your couch one night. I’d made it there before you, but you texted me that it was okay for me to let myself in and you’d be here soon. And then your keys hit the counter with a dull metallic ring, rousing me from my thoughts. I peered over the edge of the couch to the door, seeing you taking off your coat, your boots, your gloves. You gave me a wave, and I gave one back, and when you walked into the room proper…

You didn’t kiss me.

“Something’s been eating at you, hasn’t it?” I asked tersely. You looked at me, eyes just slightly too wide for it to be anything other than surprise. 

You sighed. “Yeah, this case—”

“Don’t lie to me, Naoto.” My voice hit the notes of anger, and I took a breath. I wasn’t angry, I was scared—scared I was going to lose you, scared something was hurting you, scared of… well. There’s a lot to be scared of when you date a detective.

So I continued, softer, “You’ve been avoiding me. Is everything alright?”

You didn’t move for a moment. You were silent, the room was silent, even your breathing went still. And then you ran a hand through your hair and said, “No. It’s… it’s not.” You looked over at me, and with a slight hesitation, you said, “I’m scared of what you think of me, Rise.”

I blinked, and inched closer to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Naoto, what do you mean? I love you, you know that.”

Your shoulder stiffened at the contact, and you stared at the floor. “But you could love someone else more, someone that’s—” You stopped. Your breathing, as much as you tried to hide it, went shaky. Your hands were shaking too, clasping at each other and at the fabric of your pants and of your sleeves. And you said to me, “I’m scared I’m not good enough for you.”

Temptation to remind you that you were fluttered under the surface, but I pushed it away. It wouldn’t help, so instead I asked you, “Why wouldn’t you be?” A subtle insistence that you were, and that to think otherwise is a fool’s gambit.

“I…” You closed your eyes. “You’re a lesbian, Rise, and I…” A solemn tear ran down your left cheek. “And I’m scared I’m not enough of a woman for you.”

And, as much as I hated the thought, it didn’t surprise me. Sure, my breathing might have hitched a little, and I might have flinched when you said it, and it wasn’t really out of surprise; it was out of the realization that, what I’d known deep down all along, ended up being true.

I’d been told by someone that dating a trans girl makes you a fake lesbian, or it makes you a gay man, or something stupid and ridiculous, and I hoped— hoped you wouldn’t have to hear the same rhetoric, hoped you would be smart enough to ignore it, you wouldn’t believe it, you’d have faith in me, that I loved you enough that it would be a stupid thought and should be thrown in the garbage and burned while we kissed under the warmth of the smoldering bonfire.

And yet.

“Naoto… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” You asked, and your eyes didn’t meet mine, but I could still see; they were bloodshot, wet, desperate, confused, pained. They hurt. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

So many things , I thought. So many stupid things.  

(“I sometimes feel… like I should actually be a girl.”)

But it all started somewhere,

(“I don’t think girls can be detectives.”)

didn’t it?

And I didn’t cry. I tried so hard, not to cry. Tears may have fallen from my eyes, run down my cheeks, and stain my jeans, but I didn’t cry . I turned your face towards me again, my hand gently pulling at your chin, and I kissed you. I kissed you softly, no lust, no desire, no desperation or lewd intentions. And I pulled away shortly after and said, “I’m sorry I let you believe you weren’t good enough.”

And I kissed your cheek, and I said, “You’ve always been good enough.”

Your neck. “You’re beautiful, and kind,” your throat, “and so damn clever.” I looked up at you, I lightly moved you onto your back and climbed on top of you, and I pulled at the buttons of your shirt collar, a silent plea for permission, and you nodded meekly. And I kissed the top of your chest as I unbuttoned, and I whispered, “you’re the most incredible girl I’ve ever met in my life.”

And I kept going. I kissed my way over your skin; your shoulders, your hands, your chest, your breasts, your stomach, your cheeks, your forehead, all of it, and I told you, every single time, “I love you,” because every single time it was true. I loved you so much, Naoto Shirogane, and I felt terrible you couldn’t believe that.

And my hands met your belt, gently unbuckling, and I looked into your eyes and said, “I love you, Naoto Shirogane. I have loved you for a long time, and I want to show you that I love you. I want to prove to you that you are, without a doubt, the most incredible girl I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything or anyone.” And I leaned close, kissing your lips again, and whispered, “Will you let me prove it to you?”

And you nodded. 

And I kissed you again, slowly removing your clothing more and more. I peeled my own from my skin as I continued. I kissed you gently once my shirt was over my head, lifting your back gently to pull your shirt from under you. And I pulled away and I looked down at you, and I said, “You’re beautiful.”

“You should trade places with me, you’re way prettier.”

“Hmm…” And I leaned down, and I kissed you again, and I whispered in your ear, “Enough people tell me I’m pretty, darling. Tonight, this is about you.” 

I felt you up and down in my hands, I made you make sounds I’d never have believed you could make; and I made you feel good. 

And the rest of the night became a haze of bodies, of sounds, of skin, and of affection. It became laughter as we fell off the couch, taking way too long to make it to the bedroom because you kept kissing me, making the bed make a terrible sound as I pulled you down onto it with me, and ignoring it because that was a problem our future selves could fix and right now we were a little busy.

It became the first time I’d ever heard you say my name with such desperation. And the second, and the third, and as many as I could get away with. And it was the first I’d said yours in the same way.

And I know, because our high school experience was one hell of a mess, it wasn’t either of our firsts. It probably wasn’t your second, and it wasn’t my third, but for the first time with each other, it set a high bar to clear.

And I was really glad neither of us had anything the next day.

“Inoue-san, I have to tell you something.”

It’d been eating at me more and more after that—keeping this all a secret. You said it was fine, that it was okay if only we and the Investigation Team knew, but eventually it hit a breaking point after graduation when my songs became more forward.

“What is it, Kujikawa-san?” My manager replied. His face showed genuine curiosity and concern. I thought of him as family, and it was clear in his expression that he thought of me the same. 

(Didn’t make things easier, though.)

“I… I don’t know about this new song.” My reply was meek, since I didn’t want to give everything away if I could. Even while keeping secrets from Inoue hurt, my body still fought for it. 

I followed up my point with something simple: “It feels a bit too… lovey, you know?” And it was true. The subject of the song was an enigmatic boy, someone mysterious and strong and kind and the lyrics were about how I wanted to chase him to the end of the world. And you know, maybe I could have gotten over that if it weren’t for the fact that the word ‘boy’ pops up almost seventeen times in the whole track.

Singing it ripped at me emotionally. It tore me up inside, not just because I was singing love songs about someone that wasn’t you, but because the lyrics were so specific that it was a boy I was chasing. It was a ridiculous feeling, but it felt like our writing team was spitting in your face. They didn’t even know you existed, but… still.

With a slight incredulous chuckle, Inoue replied, “Lovey? Well of course! It’s a pop song!”

I sighed, and wrought my brain for anything I could say that would keep it subtle. “It just feels a little too… you know. Desperate, I guess? Something about the lyrics bothers me.” (Desperate wasn’t the right word, but Inoue didn’t need to know that.)

My phone buzzed in my lap. I peeked at the message, seeing it was from you.

NS: AM OUTSIDE
NS: WNT 2 GO 4 COFFEE?

Trying to keep my phone hidden from Inoue, I shot off a simple reply.

RK: Sure! Just wrapping things up :P

“Who are you texting?” The painfully curious Inoue asked.

“My girlfriend—”

Shit.

“My uh… my friend! She just happens to be a girl!” I tried to save face. I couldn’t see the look in his eyes, and I couldn’t stand to imagine what kind of judgement might be passing through them.

“Girlfriend?” He asked, definitely not falling for my fibs.

Still, I pushed for them. “Y-yeah! Girl-space-friend! Friend that is a girl!” I looked away from my phone and into his eyes. They were distraught, and it terrified me that he might not be accepting. 

The sigh that followed didn’t help my fear. “Kujikawa-san, listen. It’s… it’s okay if you’re a lesbian, but…” He scratched the back of his neck and broke eye-contact. “You can’t tell anyone else, okay? The higher-ups won’t like it.”

And he didn’t say it, but I knew exactly what he meant by his words. The nervousness in his voice, the shakiness of his retinas, the slight bead of sweat along his brow, and the tinges of genuine support that were drowned with concern.

All of it said: “We can’t have a lesbian idol.”

And my inner voice spoke up, and said back, “Fuck being afraid.”

“Why not?” I asked. I could feel the fire in my throat and in my eyes as I glared at Inoue, a man that I considered almost like a father to me, with the sharpest of daggers. “What’s wrong with that?”

The beads of sweat became drops. “W-well, you know… our reputation would tank, right? I-I-If people found out…”

I wasn’t even thinking anymore. I just shouted, “So you’re saying I have to pretend to be straight if I want to be an idol?”

Inoue stammered out a noise of confirmation, but the moment he did I could see he regretted it. It didn’t matter, anyways. I had already stood up and stormed out of the office, my bag on my shoulder and my un-styled hair flowing behind me. I could hear Inoue chasing after me, but I kept walking.

You were leaning against your bike when I came out. You heard the door open and looked up, standing up and walking towards me, eyes shifting between me and the pathetic man tailing me.

(How the tables have turned, huh?)

And I kissed you, hard. It was angry, it was aggressive, and it was definitely not good, but I needed to prove a point. After I pulled away, not taking in your completely bewildered expression, I whipped my gaze over to Inoue.

“I’m not going to hide who I am anymore, Inoue-san. I am Rise Kujikawa, and I will love whoever the fuck I want!” Heads began to turn as I screamed, but all I could think was, let them . I don’t care anymore what people think. I’m going to be me, and that’s it.

I turned to you and gave you a look, signaling to get on the bike. I pulled your spare helmet from the caddy and tucked it on my head, clipping the strap below my chin, and ignored Inoue’s cries of my name as you drove away.

“Can I ask what happened?” You said quietly over the bustle of the city streets. I’d been staring into my coffee, lightly stirring it over and over again as I processed everything that happened. I didn’t look up as I relayed it all back to you, until the very end when I saw your soft concerned smile beside me.

“Rise, I… I don’t know what to really say,” You answered. “But… I support you. I hope you know that.”

I sighed. “Yeah, it just… it kinda sucks, you know?” Your gaze didn’t shift, though you raised an eyebrow slightly as if to say, ‘elaborate?’

“I feel like I’m letting down my fans if I do this. I don’t… I don’t want to just throw away everything I’ve worked so hard for, but I also don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not… you know?” 

It was ridiculous to ask if you understood what I meant. We’d all been through it, having to look at ourselves, our distorted reflections, and confront them. 

“I do,” you said, and I knew what you meant before I’d even asked, but you continued to speak. “Everyone I work with still thinks of me as a boy, and I must admit, it’s incredibly irritating.”

An idea popped into my head. “Have you considered pronoun pins?”

You looked to me, and then back to the Okina City skyline from the bench we’d seated ourselves on. “Perhaps, though I doubt they’d even be respected,” you answered. “Some of my colleagues have noted that I look more and more like a girl, which is definitely my intention, but I wish it wasn’t so…” you paused to search for the word, and then your expression turned dark as you said, “I wish it wasn’t so mocking .”

I lightly pulled your hand into my own, and dropped my head onto your shoulder. “Apparently one of the producers has a lesbian daughter,” I said softly, “and he loves her a lot, but the other guys make fun of him for it when he’s not around and it just… it sucks.”

“You can’t be even a little bit different in this world, can you?” 

I closed my eyes while the light of the setting sun washed over us. “Yeah… I hate it.”

A press of your lips touched my scalp, before you answered, “I hate it too, Rise. But we’ll get through it together, right?”

And I squeezed your hand tighter, “Right.”

Even after we’d made it back to my grandmother’s home, you still held onto my hand. I was shaking, but you held tightly, rested your head on my shoulder, and silently reassured me it would all be okay as the dial tone flooded my other ear.

“Kujikawa-san?”

“Inoue-san, I…” You squeezed my hand tighter as I trailed off, another silent reassurance. “I want to apologize for—”

“No, no, I should be the one to apologize,” Inoue spoke. “You confided in me with something important and all I could think about was what the higher-ups would think. I’m sorry.”

A tear streamed down my face, and I felt my throat close up, but I kept going. “I’m sorry too, for storming out on you, and screaming at you. But…” 

“But?”

(I felt myself freeze up, as time slowed for an instant.

(“I am Rise Kujikawa, and I will love whoever the fuck I want!”)

(“I’m Rise Kujikawa, and I am one hell of a lesbian!”)

Anxious thoughts swirled through my mind. It had been so easy before, so why wasn’t it now?

(“I am Naoto Shirogane, and I am a trans woman.”)

Your words hit me again.

(“Thank you, for letting me be myself again.”)

You weren’t strong either, were you?

(“Actually, I should tell you something: I’m using the name Naoto now.”)

It must have been terrifying for you as well, but,

(“I sometimes feel… like I should actually be a girl.”)

You still did it. You still told me, our friends, and decided every time to be yourself, even if the world wouldn’t accept you for it.

You nuzzled further into my shoulder, reminding me it was okay. I was still scared, my hands were still shaking, and my heart was still racing miles a minute, but I knew that… I knew that it would be fine. As long as I had you with me, I could do anything.)

“But I won’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I stand firmly by that.”

A beat of silence, what felt more like an eternity than the three seconds it really lasted, hung tensely over the room before Inoue spoke again. “I understand, Kujikawa-san. I would hate for you to have to pretend any further that you are someone you aren’t.”

I sighed, and let out a quiet thank you before Inoue continued. “Would you like me to speak with the higher-ups and our writing team?”

Before I answered, I looked to you. I looked to your blue hair, your blue shirt, and your blue eyes, a color I’d never really considered to be appealing before I met you. And I knew, right then, that this was what I wanted to do.

“Actually, I would like to cancel the upcoming singles.”

“C-cancel?”

“Yes, I…” Your quiet smile urged me on, “I have my own album idea in mind.”

“O-oh?”

“It’s called Sapphire .”

The conversation ended about as would be expected: we agreed to do the current singles for an EP, and then start work on Sapphire after the tour for it. 

(I mean, I was turning 19 tomorrow; I should be writing my own songs.)

And then you kissed me, a lot .

“Rise, I’m so proud of you.” Your voice was sultry, and I immediately knew where it was going as you pressed your lips to mine, and trailed down past my throat and to my collarbone. 

A small part of me wanted to resist, knowing that my grandmother was home, but when you got like this there was nothing I wanted to do more than let you take over.

Your hands weren’t shaky when you unbuttoned my shirt, when you unclipped my bra, when you lazily tossed it all to the floor. Your voice didn’t sutter even a little as you whispered, “may I?” before you did anything further. 

Quite unlike the shakiness of my own voice as I muttered back, “Please, Naoto.”

And since we started dating, we’d had sex a few times. Sometimes it was nice, sometimes it was a little bit awkward and messy. But nothing we’d done before compared to the feeling of your fingers between my legs, your lips on my chest and my throat, and the gentle way you held me as you made me scream your name. 

(Thank god my grandmother had interrupted us minutes before it got spicy to say she was going to go get groceries.)

And later that night, after we’d given each other too many climaxes to count, under the light of fairy lights and the sounds of quiet acoustic guitar echoed from the speaker on my desk, you spoke up.

“Hey, it’s almost midnight.” Your voice was soft and gravelly. You’d dropped the more feminine voice you’d normally use in favour of a voice that skirted the lines between masculine and feminine, somehow retaining pure androgyny.

(“Your voice is beautiful, Naoto.”)

Even now, it was still beautiful.

“So it is,” I replied, gazing at the red glow of the clock on my desk. 

(“Your voice is heavenly, forged by powerful fae.”)

(“Who said you could be so poetic? Now I feel bad…”)

“I can’t help but feel so lucky, you know?” 

I sat up a bit to look down at you. Your hair was disheveled to all hell, but it still managed to look good. 

(Maybe I was just that in love with you, that you couldn’t possibly appear anything less than beautiful to me.)

“What do you mean?” I asked.

You looked back at me, pulling yourself off of my chest and leaning on your elbow. “I just… Had I not had you guys, I don’t know if I’d ever had been able to admit to myself that I’m a girl.” I worried for a moment, but your lips curled into a small smile. “Even now, I still have some trouble accepting it, but… I know you guys still care about me.”

“Naoto…”

“Especially you, Rise,” you said. Your eyes, a beautiful sapphire, the thing that made me start writing the album I pitched to Inoue earlier that evening, met mine. They were filled to the brim with love, appreciation, and gratitude, as you said, “I’m just so fucking lucky to have you.”

And I felt so bad, but I couldn’t help myself from laughing just a little bit as I said, “Is that the first time you’ve ever sworn?”

And you giggled back to me, “I think it is. I don’t know if I like it or not.”

A moment passed as we caught our breaths, and you looked softly into my eyes. And then you kissed me again, the last of who knows how many times that night. And as the clock struck midnight behind you, you pulled away and whispered.

“Happy birthday, Rise.”

(“I’m getting called for a case in Tokyo.”)

(“Naoto, that’s great!”)

(“I… I want you to come with me.”)

Moving to Tokyo so soon after our graduation was definitely stressful. My grandmother, and just about every adult I’ve met, said that most people tend to stay living at home until around 22. 

We were 19. Of course, we were celebrities , but we were still only 19.

“I know I’ve stayed in lavish places, but this place is still amazing,” I gasped as we saw the flat for the first time. It was fully furnished, which was definitely something scary for our wallets, but seeing as we were still teenagers… We didn’t have much choice but to go for the furnishing.

(Neither of us knew how to furniture shop, after all.)

“It’s definitely worth the cost, I’ll say that much,” you commented. We both gazed, starstruck, around the flat. It was small, only a single bedroom, but the aesthetics were something straight out of a film set in New York. It was a beautiful brick walled studio apartment peering over the Ichigaya streets, and the neon glow of the street signs lit up the apartment through the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. It was incredibly rustic, and even though there were boxes littering the entryway and nothing on any of the shelves, it already felt like home.

(For ¥90,000 a month, it better be homey.)

We began to unpack, and by the time the sun set, everything felt much cozier. Books lined the shelves, a mix of law textbooks, detective novels, and trashy shoujo manga. Posters and picture frames were added to the walls. The fireplace was lit up, and the pair of us sat curled up in a blanket in front of it.

There wasn’t a TV yet, but considering the history, I don’t think we needed one.

“This is a really big step for us, you know,” I said. “I honestly didn’t think we’d make it this far to move in together.”

“Please, we both know it was only a matter of time before you ended up moving back here for music,” you replied. “I just… I wanted to save costs by moving in together. That’s all.”

Your voice stayed steady, but the pink hues on your cheeks betrayed you. “Naoto, you were afraid of missing me, weren’t you?” I teased.

The pink hues became pink ink as you blushed even harder at the remark, shouting back, “W-what? I wasn’t—”

But you were quickly silenced as my lips met yours. It was brief before I pulled away. “I would miss you too, it’s okay.”

(“Rise-chan! Why are you shouting?”)

(“Naoto wants me to move with her to Tokyo!”)

(“Oh! That’s wonderful, dear! It’s so nice to have such a good friend at your age.”)

(“Grandma, um… she’s actually… my girlfriend.”)

(“Oh? Well, that’s wonderful too! I suppose that would explain the red marks on your neck every time she visits, then.”)

(“Grandma!!”)

The idea of life with you might have been scary at first. Had you told me when we first met that we’d end up falling in love and moving to the big city, I wouldn’t have ever believed you. Had you told me that in high school, during the Midnight Channel murders, or even after we’d started dating, I would have called you crazy, but it would have also scared the shit out of me. 

And yet, here we are. Curled up in front of a fireplace, under a roof we can call our own. There’s no need to worry about my grandma walking in on me putting hickeys on your neck, or having to make sure not to use too much hot water in the old apartment building you lived in back in Inaba. Here, we could be ourselves, and we could be with each other.

Of course, I was still a musician, and you were still a detective, so things were still busy as all hell. I poured myself into my music, writing and rewriting and correcting the first album I’d ever write for myself, while you took on case after case, cracking murders and burglaries and becoming the Detective Prince again. 

Things were hectic, but we made it work. We’d video chat whenever I was on tour, or when you had to stay late at work. I learned how to make you your favourite coffee for the late nights at your desk, and you made me my favourite tea for the early mornings at the studio. 

You’d still go with me whenever I had to get blood tests for my regular checkups, because I was scared of needles, and I still helped you on the occasional case when you were stumped and needed someone to unpack it all at. 

We took care of each other, even when we were busy as all hell and couldn’t see much of each other, and that’s why I kept falling in love with you.

“Rise?”

It was an early Sunday morning when you said my name in a way you hadn’t said it in a long time. It was nervous, little bits of fear interspersed with anxiety and dread. I stood up and approached you, taking your hands in mine, and asked you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you said, still nervous, but I could tell you were being honest. “I just… can you come with me to the clinic today?”

“Why?” 

You shook your head, and your lips curled into a smile. The nervousness was still behind your eyes, but a new courage swam over it. “It’s a surprise,” you said to me.

So I smiled back, and agreed. You drove us to a small clinic in a sleepy little alleyway in Yongen-Jaya. The clinic seemed shady at first, but upon entering and seeing the (very pretty) doctor, I felt a little bit less nervous.

“Shirogane-san, I’m glad you could make it,” the doctor spoke. Her voice was just as pretty as she was, and I felt just a little bit guilty as my heart swooned for her while I held my girlfriend’s hand. “And this is…?”

The doctor gestured to me, and you smiled. “It’s my girlfriend, Rise Kujikawa. She’s here for moral support. If that’s okay, Takemi-san?”

Takemi smiled. “Of course. Not a big fan of needles, are you?”

“Not really, no.”

Takemi led the pair of us into the examination room, instructing you to take a seat on the bench before she walked out for a moment. The room fell quiet, the only sound being instrumental music quietly pouring through the walls. 

“So… what’s about to happen?”

You smiled. “It’s a blood test… I’m going to be going on hormones.”

“Hormones?” My voice shot up, both in pitch and volume, and was probably audible from the cafe down the road. “What for?”

“I’m going to hopefully be prescribed two milligrams of Estradiol, and fifty milligrams of Spironolactone, each day,” you said, rather calmly. I gave you a confused look, before you rephrased: “Testosterone blockers, and estrogen.”

Wait.

Everything slowly clicked into place. Puzzle pieces fit together in my mind, the gears audibly whirring, as I pieced together—

“Like trans hormones?!”

And your laugh filled the room, a sound of pure happiness, accented with tears welling in your eyes and your beautiful smile, as you answered, “Yes, they’re going to help me become me.”

And the rest of that moment blurred, but I know I hugged you so tight, felt so so much pride for you, and happiness for you. Excitement burnt at my lungs, and I just wanted to scream, because I was so happy for you.

I know you must have felt the same, because you hugged me back the same way. 

“You two alright?” The doctor’s voice pierced the room’s silence. 

I separated myself from you as you answered, “Yeah, we’re alright. I just told her what’s going on.”

Takemi’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought you’d told her—”

“I didn’t tell her I was going to be transitioning, Takemi-san,” you corrected, “But I’ve been out of the closet since my first year of high school.”

Takemi’s expression shifted to one more content. “I see. Well, I assure you, Kujikawa-san: this procedure is safe. We’ve discussed this for a long time, and she has told me this is something she’s wanted for years. Is that accurate?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she’s…”

(“I’m just so tired of this stupid body!”)

“She’s wanted this a long time.”

(There were frequent nights that I would come home, both in Inaba and in Ichigaya, and find you in tears. 

I’d hold you close and pet your hair, and wish with everything I had that I could help you, because I couldn’t possibly imagine what you felt.

“I hate this,” you cried into my shoulder one night. “I hate feeling like this. I hate this… this stupid body.”

You wouldn’t often reciprocate the hugs when you were like this, but I still was there anyways. We’d found silent ways to communicate what we needed, simple touches as requests.

I’d poke your shin with my toe, and that meant, “Would you like me to hold you?”

And sometimes you’d nod, but sometimes you wouldn’t. Sometimes I would hug you, my arms lightly resting around your shoulders, and others we would sit in silence as you held your knees to your chest. 

And I know, I really do, that you needed that cry more than anything. Sometimes, all you need is a good cry and things get a little bit better, but fuck if it didn’t make me want to scream.

Coming to Tokyo, I thought it might have become less. I thought, maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, or that you were hiding it, but… now I understand.)

“I see. Well, I’ve explained the risks to Shirogane-san, and now I’ll explain the risks to you, Kujikawa-san,” Takemi began. She explained the possible side-effects, the things that you’d be going through while you were on the medication. Some of it was a little scary, but most of it was all things I’d experienced before. Period cramps, mood swings, chest pain during breast development, none of these things were new to me, but they’d be new to you.

From the expression you wore, I could tell it was an exchange you were willing to make. A little bit of pain for long-term happiness. 

So I said, “I understand. I’ll support her through everything she’ll be going through.” I looked at you, and held your hand, and continued, “She’s strong, though. I don’t know if she’ll even need me.”

You looked at me lovingly, and I could hear Takemi gagging internally at the grossly cheesy moment, but it didn’t matter to me. I was just so goddamn proud of you.

And when Takemi drew the blood, I held your hand. It felt like you were going to crush it at first, but it was okay with me. And after, when you were too dizzy to drive home, we walked over to the nearby cafe to wait out the anemia. 

The door opened with a chime, and I sat you down in the booth nearest to the front. There were two others in the cafe—a woman with chin-length black hair, and a younger girl whose own dark locks fell to her lower back. They didn’t seem to pay us any mind when we entered, or when you leaned on my shoulder while you waited to recollect your bearings. 

Of course, the owner noticed, and approached our table. “What can I get you girls?” He asked in his grizzly deep voice.

“Uhh… just an orange juice, please,” I answered. “She’s just anemic and had blood drawn, so… we just need a minute.”

The man nodded, but the woman sitting at the counter spoke up. “Put some food in her, she looks like she hasn’t eaten in a while!”

“Th-thank you, but I think she’ll be fine after a few minutes,” I replied. I really didn’t want to take up too much of the manager’s time, especially with you close to falling asleep on my arm. 

“Was she fasting?” The younger girl spoke up. She had a laptop in front of her, but she didn’t look away from it. I gazed at her confusedly before she continued, “If she had to fast before, she’ll definitely need some food.”

“It’s on the house, don’t worry!” The older woman said. It got her a dirty look from the manager, but I decided to look to you for answers.

“Do you need something to eat?”

“I probably should,” you answered. You pulled yourself off my arm, nearly falling out of the booth before I grabbed your shoulder. Your nose twitched before you spoke again. “Is that curry I smell?”

“Yep!” The young girl chirped. “Sojiro’s curry is the best! Mom’s is also really good, but Sojiro’s has…” She trailed off as her eyes shifted from her computer screen to me. The sheen of her glasses made it difficult to read her expression, but I could barely see her eyes widen in shock as she whispered, “Holy shit.”

My first instinct was to check a mirror, or to see if I had something on my face. 

“You’re Risette.”

My second was to remember I am a celebrity.

Oops.

“Haha… yeah, I am,” I giggled nervously. The girl smiled, and I could tell she was going to probably ask a-million-and-one questions. But before I could prepare myself, the other woman (who was apparently her mom) spoke up.

“Futaba, honey, leave them be,” she said calmly. “They probably deal with enough flack from the public.”

A frown formed on Futaba’s face, and my heart actually broke a bit. I mean, these people were paying for our food. The least I could do is give them an autograph or a selfie!

“No no! It’s alright! Here, Futaba, was it?” I stood from the table, awkwardly scooching by you as I approached the young girl. “I’m Rise Kujikawa, but you probably already know that.”

She looked at me with stars in her eyes. She was probably only thirteen, and just a little bit shorter than you or me. But I could see in her eyes that there were some definite scars on her soul, anxieties she’d been made to fight just like you or I.

I pulled out my phone. “Why don’t we take a selfie?”

And despite whatever she must have been through, she beamed back at me, and chirped, “Okay!” in a shaky voice. I stepped in beside her, and held the phone out in front of me. It was something I’d gotten used to doing at meet and greets: lean in semi-close, wrap an arm around their shoulders, and smile my showman smile. But when I wrapped my arm around the girl, I could feel her shaking. It wasn’t just excitement, it was a shaking I’d known all too well.

(“Hey, look at me. I’m here, okay?”)

Futaba was having a panic attack. 

The moment I heard her breathing hitch, I stepped away and put the phone down. Her mother must have noticed what was wrong, because she stepped in and wrapped her arms around her daughter. The manager looked distraught in the moment, as things became tense and hectic. 

“Wakaba, what—”

“Sojiro, get her some water!” The woman shouted, before turning back to Futaba. “Hey, honey, just focus on your breathing. Okay?”

“I-I can’t!” 

“You—fuck, uh… shit.” The woman looked just as distraught, unsure of what to do. I didn’t know either, whether I should step in or not.

But before I could decide, you’d already stepped up.

“Futaba, right?” You said calmly. It was a voice I’d heard more than my fair share of times, one that was incredibly effective at calming me, and I had to hope it was just as effective for this girl.

Futaba nodded, and you continued, “Just listen to my voice. I’m going to grab your hands to help ground you. Is that okay?” She nodded again. “Okay.”

And you went through the motions, motions I’d felt so many times. You told her to breathe, in and out. You told her to picture a feather, that it was what your grandfather taught you. And the whole time, I just stood back and watched in complete awe. You looked like you were going to fall over, even as you kneeled in front of the girl, but you kept going.

Soon enough, it was over. You and the woman moved Futaba into a booth so she could lay down for a moment, and you slid back into your spot in front of your curry. 

“Your girlfriend is really something,” the woman said, pulling me from my reverie.

Instincts took over, and I just blurted, “She’s not—” but then I stopped. I looked over at you, and you smiled back at me. “Yeah, she is. She’s helped me through a lot of tough times, so she’s pretty good at that.”

The woman laughed. “I’d hope so. She was pretty quick on her feet, but that’s to be expected for a detective.”

Your eyes shot open at that, and so did mine, and we spoke in unison, “How did you—”

But she waved a hand, and cut us off. “You’re both pretty famous, you know. I’ve done my fair share of research. Those foggy day murders were really something.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and I felt like I was suddenly in something I shouldn’t have been, but the woman reassured us, “It’s okay. I’m acquainted with Mitsuru Kirijo, and she’s spoken about you. I’m just surprised I got to meet you myself.” 

She sat across from you and extended a hand, introducing herself as Wakaba Isshiki. Meanwhile, I decided to talk to Futaba. 

“You feeling okay?” I asked the girl.

She nodded meekly. “Sorry, I get nervous around people.”

“It’s okay,” I returned, “I get it. I used to be super anxious too, you know.”

“You were?” Futaba’s eyes lit up, making contact with mine. 

I nodded, breathing an affirming noise. “Yep! I was diagnosed with anxiety disorder last year, actually.”

“B-but you go on stage! And you’re a celebrity! How…” She looked sad all of a sudden. “How do you do it?”

I looked past her, over her shoulder, to you sitting across from Wakaba. Your face was bright as you discussed whatever dangerous shadow stuff you’d been involved in. You took occasional bites of your curry, but you looked so alive in that moment.

“I have people with me,” I answered Futaba, “people who will have my back no matter what. I don’t do it alone.”

Futaba and I began discussing other things after that. The conversation warmed up from its rather dark start, shifting into my music and how she came across it, how much it helped her. I’ve heard fans talk about how my music helped them through things, mostly online or at meet and greets, but seeing her under the warm lights of a small coffee shop rather than in a bustling crowd with only two minutes to chat made it feel all the more real .

I understood in that moment what I must look like to you, when I talk about how much you’ve helped me.

“And your new stuff off Sapphire is sooo good!!” Futaba added, and quickly covered her mouth. “U-uh, I mean, um… the… there was a leak?”

“A leak?” I asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Y-yeah! It was on 2chan, but people didn’t believe it, so it’s only small! It was only like two songs!” A bead of nervous sweat crossed her brow, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was lying about.

“Futaba, did you hack Risette? ” The shop owner chimed in. I initially assumed it was a joke, but then Futaba nodded meekly and I completely reeled.

“Y-you hacked my servers?” I said, louder than I intended, and immediately thanked all the gods that there was nobody else in the cafe. 

Futaba looked like she was about to be sent to prison. “I-I just wanted to check out your new stuff! Please don’t be mad!” 

Temptation bubbled up in my mind to pretend to be mad, but considering the evening we’d had so far, I decided to swallow it. “I’m not mad, it’s okay. Just don’t go showing anyone else, got it?”

Futaba nodded cheerily. “You got it!”

And then something occurred to me: the only songs we have recorded on Sapphire are the gay ones. Like, the really gay ones. Of course, they’re all gay, since it’s an album I wrote about my girlfriend, but those ones are really hard to pretend they aren’t gay. 

(“Her sapphire eyes, they set me free.”)

I eyed Futaba closely. She had to know, right?

(“And I just wish she’d fall for me.”)

“So, which is your favourite?” I asked innocently, like I wasn’t just about to test my gaydar on a middle schooler.

Futaba’s eyes lit up, taking the bait instantly. “Definitely the title track, Sapphire! It’s just so pretty, the way you sing about that mysterious girl, and it’s definitely my lesbian anthem!” 

I pressed a finger to my chin, pretending to not know what that meant. “Lesbian anthem?”

And god, it was so hard not to burst out laughing when Futaba turned a stark red at that. It was adorable, but I couldn’t help but feel a little bad. 

“I’m surprised you picked that one, and not ‘Rainbow’. That one’s way gayer,” I added with a smile and a wink. 

Her face lit up again, her eyes widened, and her mouth formed a bright smile. “Oh my god, you are gay! I thought I was just imagining it!” And I swear, I saw stars in her eyes when she began to ramble about how I was actually her gay awakening, and that my earlier stuff felt so weirdly heterosexual in compared to the new music that I’m working on.

“Actually, that stuff was written by our writing team. Sapphire will be the first thing I write myself,” I explained. Not even the press knew about this, so I knew I was taking a major risk in telling this girl, but I couldn’t care. I was so tired of not being able to talk about this project, something I poured my heart out for. 

“Who’s it all about?” Futaba asked.

And I could have given a straight answer, but—

“Hey Nao-chan! Come here!”

I decided I wouldn’t. You walked over, curious and more stable than before, and I pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You turned a soft scarlet, muttering about how we were in public, but I ignored you and looked back to Futaba in front of me.

“That answer your question?”

She nodded vigorously, a gleeful smile on her face. Even when the pair of us left, carefully riding home through the Tokyo streets, I knew she was still smiling.

(Later that evening, I received an enigmatic message from someone.

MJ: thank u for helping me so much

I didn’t have to think twice about who it was before I replied.

RK: You’re welcome, Futaba.
RK: Here’s the picture of us, by the way
RK: <file attached>
MJ: I will treasure this forever thank u

“You talking to that girl?” You asked me.

“I forgot to send her the picture we took earlier,” I answered. And then a dangerous idea popped into my head. 

I tapped your shoulder, and you looked at me curiously. I didn’t get to take in the view for long before I pressed a kiss to your lips, and extended my arm beside me to snap a cute photo.

RK: <File attached>
RK: Don’t be afraid to be yourself, Futaba-chan.
MJ: dfjkhaskdjfhsakdfhskdfhkasdhfvkasdf

It’s nice making people happy.)

Life went on. We both worked our asses off, solving cases and writing a record, and we still found time to be together. My tour came onto the horizon, and the studio began planning dates, which meant that we could spend just a little bit more time together because I would be working less.

We went on more dates; you took me to a cherry blossom festival in Harajuku, we checked out an arcade in Akihabara, and took a canoe out on Inokashira Pond. We went to an aquarium, a space museum, saw all sorts of sights and lived like tourists in a city we’d both visited and lived in, but never explored.

Of course, it didn’t last forever. You dove head first into a case (one that hit really close to home for both of us) and even went undercover, but that didn’t change our feelings. Even when I was on tour, and you were somewhere I wouldn’t be able to talk to you, I trusted in everything that you’d be safe. I knew you’d come back to me, because that’s what you told me.

“I’m not supposed to even be doing this right now,” your voice rang through the receiver. I was in South Korea, missing you dearly, and you were supposed to be living a false life, but here we were.

“If you don’t feel safe, then hang up,” I urged. “I don’t want you to be in danger because of me.”

But you reassured me, “I promise, I’ve taken every precaution. I’m using a burner right now with a VPN, and I’m on a public network, so even if someone traces this call, it won’t come back to me.”

“The fact that you even need to take those precautions at all makes me feel uncomfortable,” I chided. I missed you, I would admit that easily, “But I don’t want you putting yourself in any danger for me, Naoto.”

“I promise you, it will be fine.”

Even over the phone, through the bitcrunch of over a thousand miles and public wifi, your voice still soothed me. It had changed just a little bit with time, mostly thanks to your hormones you’d been taking. You told me once that it wouldn’t change your voice, but I still noticed something changing over the months.

“Do you have your hormones with you?”

“That’s one thing the department is guaranteeing me, thankfully,” you confirmed. “I still get my police-sanctioned titty skittles, I assure you.”

“T-titty skittles?!” I barked out an ugly laugh, most likely waking the assistants in the next room over. Care to the wind though, “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

“It’s what Teddie calls them, according to Yosuke.” A small chuckle came from your end, distorted through the sound of terrible wifi. 

I caught my breath, and asked you, “Has Teddie apologized yet?”

“Just before I went undercover, actually,” you said. “Yosuke called me, and the trio of us unpacked everything. He apparently thought me being flat-chested was me binding my breasts.” Which was obvious, since Teddie probably didn’t understand the concept of gender at all at the time. 

“He better not be attempting to flirt with you now that you’ve got… development…” I had to catch myself from mentioning your chest, because I knew the thought would send me into a frenzy and I’d end up making the phone call lewd, and you were in public, and—

“He’s not, don’t worry. I’ve hardly developed anything, anyways, since it’s only been three months. Takemi claims it will be about 6 months before I get anything in that area,” You explained, completely calmly and unaware of the fact that we were discussing your boobs and it was leaving me incredibly flustered.

“Would you like to change the subject? You’re making strange noises, and I’m worried I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“Yes please,” I whined. “I’d rather kiss you and hold you than be horny thinking about your boobs, anyways.”

“I wish I could be kissing you right now as well.”

(That really didn’t help my situation, just so you know.)

And it sucked that it was the only time we’d be able to talk. I knew fully well that it would be our only opportunity until you were free from undercover work, but it still sucked anyways. The thing that really got me through my tours was knowing you’d be there to call when I got back to my hotel, and not having you there really put a hamper on my mood.

(“Inoue, we need to change the setlist.”)

(“Wh-why?”)

(“I want to do Embers on this tour.”)

(“A-are you sure? You threw your voice out when we recorded it.”)

(“I don’t care. I can do it right, and I need… I just need an outlet.”)

(“... I understand.”)

So I decided to change up the setlist and scream my heart out to cope.

Fan reception for the tour was good, which was nice. There were more than a few cell phone recordings of the Korea tour that were circling Japanese forums. I even got a message from Futaba saying that she’d seen some of the videos from the show and she wanted to know I was okay.

It was nice, having her check in on me. We’d actually gotten kind of close, which surprised me, considering how it happened.

(“Wakaba Isshiki is dead.”)

I’m sure it helped keep her at ease, knowing you were working the case. 

And when I came home, three months later, you were still gone. You’d had the department pass along occasional letters to make sure I knew you were doing well, which I imagine wasn’t an easy string to pull. 

But another two months passed and I still hadn’t heard your voice. The bed became somewhere I avoided, knowing you wouldn’t be there when I went to sleep. The couch gained a crease where I would pass out after long days in the studio, because I was too scared to go into the bedroom and see you weren’t there.

That is, when I was home at all. I spent all my free time in the studio; practicing choreography, writing new music, learning the production software. I hadn’t had the opportunity to tell you this, but I’d made a decision: once this tour was done, I was quitting as an idol and becoming a producer instead. The studio was gaining some new talent, and I was growing out of the ‘idol’ age group, so I wanted to pass along my knowledge. Become something of a ‘mentor’ for the new girls. Besides, I would be turning 20 in a few months. 

And…

(“Damn, that Risette girl’s got a slammin’ bod!”)

(“Dude, isn’t she like, 15?”)

(“Yeah, so? She’s still hot! The things I’d do to her…”)

I want to make sure none of them ever have to go through what I went through.

“Are you okay, Kujikawa-san?” One of them asked me one day. I’d made the mistake of browsing forums, reading comments, and generally just going on social media one day in the studio while I was taking a break from working on a new mix. 

(“I can’t believe Risette’s a dyke now.”)

(“Nah, I bet I could fix her.”)

(“She just hasn’t had the right dick yet.”)

“I’m fine,” I insisted. An obvious lie, but these girls looked up to me, and I didn’t want them to see me like this. I didn’t want them to know the kinds of things people said about me, the things they’d end up going through too one day. 

You shouldn’t lie to yourself, child.

“I’m fine. ”

But the girl didn’t believe me, because of course she didn’t. “It’s okay, Kujikawa-san.” And she hugged me. “I know you just pretend to be strong, but you don’t have to.”

It’s something I know I shouldn’t be ashamed of, but leaning to a thirteen year old girl for moral support was definitely something I wish hadn’t happened. Still, I cried into the girl’s shoulder, and I held her back. 

The girl rubbed my back soothingly. “I see them too. The things people say about you.”

I pulled myself away from her. “Hey, listen, those are just—”

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t hurt, Kujikawa-san.” Her voice was firm, but still somehow comforting. “It just makes it worse if you pretend everything’s fine.”

I wiped the tears from my face, and couldn’t resist laughing a little bit. I was being scolded by a middle schooler, not to mention she was completely right.

“Thank you, Hana-chan. It means a lot.”

Hana smiled. “The other guys say you miss your girlfriend a lot too, so… I bet things are kinda tough, huh?”

And fuck , it was really weird to have a thirteen year old not only comfort me about shitty comments online, but also the fact that you were out there somewhere and I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t even pretend it wasn’t true, so I just responded, “Yeah. Everything sucks.”

“You’re not alone, you know that right?” 

My eyes lit up.

“We’re all here for you. Inoue-san especially is really worried about you.”

Do not forget your bonds, child.

“Thank you,” I said. I ruffled Hana’s hair affectionately, mostly because I needed something to do with my shaky hands.

But she was right; I wasn’t alone. Through all of this, I’d never called Chie or Yukiko, or Kanji, or anyone from the Investigation Team for help. I just poured myself into my work like an idiot and pretended it didn’t hurt.

And, to be completely honest with you… having a thirteen year old girl in pigtails and a sailor uniform scold-slash-comfort me about my life, it really helped. Who knew teenagers could be so mature?

“You should go home, Kujikawa-san. You look terrible.”

Thanks, kid, I thought. “You’re right. I could use a shower.”

I stood up, cracking my back as I stretched my arms above my head, and began to make my way out of the studio, when I heard mumbling from behind me. 

“Kujikawa-san, um…” Hana had muttered.

I turned to face her. “Yes, Hana-chan?”

“Thank you, by the way. For um…” She pressed her fingers together nervously. “For being yourself. I, um… I think I’m gay too, and listening to your music really helped me to realize that.” She smiled, meeker than before, and I stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. 

“Don’t ever be afraid,” I whispered. “Don’t ever be afraid to be yourself.”

“Thank you, Kujikawa-san,” Hana whispered back.

Now, I thought, shower time.

The following few months went by a lot easier after that. Your letters still came, which really helped keep me going, but actually asking for help from the Investigation Team was the kicker. 

I remembered the date well that you went undercover: January 15th, 2015. That date was quickly approaching; a whole year I would have been without you, not having heard your voice since the time you called me when you definitely shouldn’t have. It was three months away; both our birthdays had come and gone, and the holidays were on the horizon.

And, without the rest of the Investigation Team, without Chie and Yukiko calling to cheer me up, without Kanji and Teddie making me little plushies of you, without Souji and Yosuke occasionally dropping by to say hello and get coffee, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I wouldn’t have survived, I wouldn’t have held out this long waiting for you to come home, if it weren’t for them. I was teetering over the brink with nothing but your letters, and Hana finally gave me the courage to save myself. 

And I thought you must have been lonely too, but your letters continued to reassure me everything was alright, that your investigation was going smoothly. You told me you’d made a couple friends, which really helped you keep your head on. Obviously, you still missed the gang, but it was better than nothing.

(“I know you can’t write back, but it’s okay. I’ve got your music on loop almost constantly, and hearing you sing makes everything better.”)

December came just as I was wrapping up my Japan tour. Christmas was just around the corner, and I knew our apartment was going to be quiet this year. Last year was just us, but I wanted noise in our apartment again. It was always quiet, lonely, and was losing its homey lustre.

RK: Hey hey! Do you guys feel like coming to Tokyo for the holidays?
YH: What’s up?
SS: I think she’s inviting us over for Christmas.
YA: Is that right, Rise?
RK: Indeed! I invite thee all to my Ichigaya apartment for Christmas!
CS: I’m in!! I think we could all use a little bit of travel.
KT: Ted says he’s in, so I’m in too!
YA: Do you want me to bring the food?
SS: Before anyone says anything, she’s actually really improved.
RK: Maybe don’t take a full Christmas dinner on an overnight train, Yukiko.

And the plans were laid out, and a week later, the house became a home once again. Teddie and Kanji brought sweaters for everyone with little icons of their faces on them. Souji and Yukiko cooked the food, and Chie and Yosuke made sure there were enough snacks for everyone. Things were kind of chaotic, but it had been so long since the gang had been together, that I didn’t really care.

For the first time in almost a year, I felt like I could smile again. 

“Wait, Kanji, who’s that one for?”

Yukiko drew attention to the final wrapped item Kanji had brought—We’d all received our  sweaters, some of us wearing them and some of us stuffed them in bags (I personally hung mine up in the closet). But there was one more unopened sweater in blue wrapping.

“Oh, uh… I don’t think she’s here yet,” Kanji answered nervously. “She should be here soon though.”

“Marie is coming?” I chirped. I remembered being told that Marie wouldn’t be able to make it, but I suppose maybe she could?

But Kanji’s expression shifted into something a bit more cheerful as he checked his phone, and said, “Not exactly.”

Before I could say anything else, I heard the door open. I caught a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye, and turned my gaze to the door. I couldn’t see your face, but I saw you pull off your boots and your coat, and then—

“I’m home,” you said.

My jaw hit the floor. I couldn’t feel my legs as I walked towards you. Time seemed to spiral slower and slower with every step I took, and then it collided into the present as I wrapped my arms around you for the first time in almost a year. 

“You’re home,” I cried. My tears stained your shirt, my hands gripped your shoulders and your back and your hair which was so much longer than before, and I tried to pull you in as close to me as possible and never let you go because you had been gone so long.

I heard giggles behind me as everyone else watched, but I tuned them out in favour of you. Your heartbeat, the sound of your breathing, the tones of your voice as you said to me, “I missed you so much,” and hugged me back just as tight as I had been hugging you. And it was so comfortable, a moment I wanted to last forever, a moment I couldn’t have asked for more, because I was so fucking in love with you.

I pressed a kiss into your neck, and onto your cheek, and lastly on your lips. I cherished the feeling I hadn’t had for over a year, let it nestle its way back into my bones, poison my bloodstream once more. I’d almost forgotten there were six other people in my apartment until Kanji cleared his throat.

“Hey, uh, don’t forget about us!” The craftsman reminded us.

You separated from me, and I rested my head against your chest as you said, “How could I? You’re the ones who helped me make this a surprise.”

“What?” My eyes shot open, and I stepped back.

“She’s only been out for a couple days, don’t worry,” Souji reaffirmed. He stepped up and gave Naoto a friendly hug before continuing, “She just wanted to make the Christmas special.”

“It would have completely killed the vibe if she came back three days before we were all supposed to meet up,” Yosuke added. 

I gave everyone in the room a dirty glare for hiding my girlfriend from me, but then we sat on the couch and I nuzzled my way under your arm and you shared stories about your time on this case. And I won’t ever admit to having definitely intentionally felt you up while we were cuddling, just to see how much development you’d had while you were undercover. Nope. Definitely didn’t log down that you had 32B cups and your hips had definitely gotten more feminine.

“So,” I said after everyone had left for the night, “You’ve grown.”

You turned to me with a perplexed look, and said, “Have I?”

“You have,” I returned with a sultry tone. I stepped into the den area and sat down next to you, curling into your side again.

“How so?”

I pressed yet another kiss to your cheek, and I whispered, “Your hair’s gotten so much longer. It’s almost as long as Yukiko’s was.”

Your eyes lidded slightly as you kissed my forehead and whispered back, “And?”

My hand glided down your chest as I answered. “You’ve gotten a bit of bust, too.”

“Aaaand?” Your words and tone were dipping into a more alluring tone as you locked eyes with me.

My hands glided further down, resting against your waist, and I said embarrassedly, “Y-you’ve gotten some hips as well.”

Detective’s intuition wasn’t necessary to see I was losing my edge, but you tried to keep the mood going. “I’ve also grown in some other regions… would you like to feel?”

And I had to suppress a laugh, because apparently neither of us were good at this after a year apart. I failed, choking on a few giggles and earning some in return. 

And as the giggles passed, I whispered, “I missed you so much.”

And you whispered back, “I missed you too.”

(“W-wait, how did you—”)

(“I was passing too much as a woman to pretend to be a man, so they decided to go all the way and had me go for bottom surgery.”)

(“So you’re saying—”)

(“Yes, this is police-sanctioned pussy, Rise.”)

(“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous.”)

For the first time in a very long time, the night ended quietly. My head rested on your chest (which was much more… breast-y than before… words are hard) and I listened to your peaceful breathing, your pulse, just to make sure you were still really there. 

And when I woke up the next morning, you were. It wasn’t a dream. You were really home, and I couldn’t be any happier to have you with me.

And when things became peaceful again, I knew what it was I wanted to do. My Japan tour started and ended, and now we had all the time in the world to be together. 

“You’re quitting music?” Your tone was less shocked, and more surprised than I expected it to be. Still, it did disturb the Inokashira Pond ducks a little bit, any that weren’t already fleeing from the springtime canoers. 

“Kind of,” I calmly replied. “I want to support our new idols, and I want to be a producer instead of a performer.” I’d long since come to terms with the decision, and now I could accept it as what I really wanted with no remorse. And by the light squeeze I felt you give my hand, I knew.

“Well, I’ll be here for you no matter what,” you said. “I want to support you through everything, just as you’ve supported me.”

And I couldn’t help but smile. I couldn’t help my cheeks turning pink, both from the early spring chill and from the certainty in your voice, but also one more thing. My free hand fumbled the small box in my coat pocket, waiting anxiously for the right moment when we passed over the bridge. The sakura blossoms were raining over the trail, and the scenery was beautiful.

And as we passed over the bridge, the sun setting off in the distance, the ambling of tourists long since having died down, I stopped.

You stopped a few paces ahead of me before turning, your long blue hair flowing lightly in the wind, and you looked to me and said, “you okay?”

And I smiled, and I said, “I am.”

(“You know, I had a really weird dream one time.”)

And I got down on one knee,

(“Oh?”)

I pulled the small box from my pocket,

(“Yeah. It was of one of your shows, the one in Sapporo.”)

And I looked up at you,

(“But…?”)

And I said,

(“But you were wearing this absolutely adorable otter costume.”)

“Naoto Shirogane.”

(“Naoto, you’re such a dork.”)

“You are the love of my life.”

(“But I’m your dork~!”)

“And I… I want to spend that life with you.”

You looked down at me. Not at the petals flowing in the breeze, not at the ducks taking flight in the pond, not at the few canoers still loitering around the park. Your eyes fixed on me, wide and teary.

“I feel…”

(“I know you’re my dork, you dork.”)

“I just feel so lucky to have you in my life.”

Your hands flew up to your face, covering your mouth in shock, but I could tell by the dimples around your cheeks you were smiling. 

“Rise—”

“Naoto Shirogane,” I said, “Will you marry me?”

And you smiled even wider, gasps of pure and complete joy flowing from your lungs, and you took my hands and said.

“Rise Kujikawa, I would be happy to marry you.”

And I took the sapphire ring from the box, and carefully slid it onto your finger.

And you kissed me.

And six months later, I walked the aisle, a white dress hanging from my shoulders. And you stood at the end of the row, dressed in your own white tuxedo. 

And I took your hands, looked in your eyes,

(“You may now kiss the bride.”)

And I kissed you one more time.