Sojiro had always known how to lie with a smile.

That was his gift.

A well-timed laugh, a lazy tilt of the head, a soft murmur against someone's ear—he could make anyone believe they were special. For a night, for a moment. Never long enough to mean anything.

So when they came to him with a plan—fake a relationship, stop the rumors, keep the chaos from spilling over—he didn’t even hesitate.

“Sure,” Sojiro had said, leaning his elbow on the windowsill of the clubroom. The afternoon light caught in his lashes as he looked at them. “You’re not bad company. And I don’t mind putting on a good show.”

At first, it was harmless.

He’d slide an arm around their shoulders in the hallway, whisper something near their ear just to watch the heads turn. They played along well—leaning into him, dry remarks delivered without a flicker of hesitation, hand slipping into his like it’d been there a thousand times before.

But the thing about pretending—it starts to rot at the edges when you stop paying attention.

He remembered when he first noticed it. A small, stupid moment.

They were bent over a vending machine, squinting at the drink selection, fingers tapping against the glass. Sojiro leaned beside them, arms crossed loosely.

He bought something on instinct and handed it to them, watching their fingers brush his palm. It was their favorite drink.

He was remembering things he had no reason to remember.

Sojiro Nishikado didn’t fall for anyone. He flirted. He danced circles around attachment. He was good at pretending.

He really didn’t like the way his heart kicked in his chest when they smiled at him like that meant something.

Because it didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to.

“Hey,” he said a week later as they sat in the quiet of the old tea club room, the scent of tatami and sakura incense lingering in the air. “After this whole mess settles… you planning to break up with me dramatically in front of the school or something?”

He shrugged at their questioning look, fiddling with the edge of the chawan bowl. “I don’t know. Maybe. We could really sell it. Tearful goodbye. You slap me. I spin dramatically and walk away.”

Sojiro smiled, but the joke didn’t land the way it used to. Because now, when he joked about the end, it didn’t sound so funny.

The end did come.

Quietly. Cleanly.

They stood together near the back gate after school, early spring wind tugging gently at their sleeves. Sojiro leaned against the fence, trying not to feel like something was shifting under his feet.

His hands in his pockets. The wind catching the scent of their shampoo.

He stared at them a second longer than he should’ve. “Right. Just fake love, huh?”