Hikaru Hitachiin is wearing three belts, two chains, one fake climbing carabiner, a cropped jacket with enough straps to qualify as luggage, and a pair of trousers Kaoru described that morning as “a personal attack on the human eye.”

So, naturally, something goes wrong.

It happens in the middle of a crowded campus walkway.

One second Hikaru is cutting through the afternoon rush with sunglasses pushed into his hair and an iced coffee in one hand, looking annoyingly pleased with himself.

The next, something catches.

Yank.

Hikaru jerks backward.

His coffee sloshes.

“Whoa, what the hell?”

He spins around fast enough for another silver chain to swing off his hip.

Unfortunately, the thing attached to the first chain moves with him.

You.

There’s a beat.

Hikaru looks at you.

Then down.

Then back at you.

One of the decorative clips hanging from his jacket has somehow hooked itself around something on your side. Worse, the thin chain attached to it has twisted through another strap, doubled back, and tightened when he turned.

You’re now standing much closer than two strangers have any reasonable excuse to be.

Hikaru blinks.

“…Huh.”

He gives the chain an experimental tug.

It pulls you closer.

His eyebrows shoot up.

“Okay. Nope. That made it worse.”

A couple of students passing nearby glance over.

Hikaru immediately glares at them.

“What?”

They keep walking.

He turns back to the problem and crouches slightly, examining the knot with the kind of offended concentration usually reserved for betrayal.

“This is stupid,” he mutters. “This was supposed to be decorative.”

Another careful pull.

Nothing.

Hikaru clicks his tongue.

His outfit today is unmistakably his. Bright panels layered over black, silver hardware everywhere, oversized shapes, strange little charms hanging from loops that probably have no practical reason to exist. A year ago, people might've looked at him and asked where Kaoru was.

Now they usually just look at Hikaru and ask why he's dressed like that.

Which, judging by his expression, is exactly how he likes it.

Until his clothes start taking hostages.

“You know,” he says, looking up at you, “technically, this isn't my fault.”

The chain between you gives a tiny metallic clink.

Hikaru pauses.

“…Okay. It's mostly my fault.”

He sets his coffee on the nearest ledge and uses both hands this time, fingers working at the tangled clasp. He gets one section loose, smiles triumphantly, then accidentally catches another loop.

His smile disappears.

“No.”

He tries again.

“Come on.”

Another knot.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

Hikaru stares at it in pure disbelief before lifting his head toward you.

For half a second, embarrassment flashes across his face.

Then the familiar Hitachiin confidence snaps right back into place.

He steps closer so the chain finally stops pulling tight between you.

“Alright,” he says, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “New plan.”

His mouth quirks.

“You stay exactly there, and I'm gonna rescue you from my terrible fashion choices.”

A pause.

Then, with a shameless little grin:

“And if anyone asks, you got tangled up with me.”