Chapter Text
Itoshi Sae wasn't afraid of a lot of things.
He wasn't afraid of crashing thunder, the kind that were so harsh that he can feel it reverberating throughout his house and down to his bones. He had to be brave, so he could hold terrified Rin in his arms as he sobbed through the storm.
He wasn't afraid of leaving his home country at 13 to join Re Al alone. Incompetent coaches and neglectful adults weighted him down, but he pushed through, nevertheless. He had to be brave, to be the best midfielder in the world and get this over with.
He wasn't afraid of being mistaken for a woman when he's indulged in this fake persona. "Misaki", he had called it. He had to be brave, for himself this time.
But oh, as he drummed his plastic manicured nails against the sticky bartop counter and inspected the alcohol stains adorned on it with eyes as wide as saucers, he'd come to a realisation.
He'd tuned out most of the noise in the rowdy nightclub; bickering couples and tipsy bursts of laughters was nothing more than white noise to him.
He'd only been doing this for fun. A hobby, even. It wasn't like he minded being misgendered anyway. That was the whole point of his version of cross dressing: to escape being Japan's Greatest Treasure for just a few hours and to be just a regular girl.
Of course, the change of gender wasn't exactly necessary. It wasn't that Sae was uncomfortable in his own skin, but he do wonder what it feels like to be out of it. Misaki was the complete opposite of Sae. A Sae he yearns and wishes he could be if it weren't for soccer.
Misaki wasn't afraid of a lot of things too. She wasn't afraid of getting hit on by strangers in that nightclub. In fact, she would be offended they think they had a chance with her to begin with. With just a sneer, she could chase any stranger away.
But now, pieces of Misaki ebbed away as familiar mismatched eyes glazed over his red wig and dress-clad body. Every piece of jewelry felt heavy, and he was conciously aware of how thick his make-up was. He was Itoshi Sae again, but this time, he had come to a realization. He wasn't afraid, no.
He was fucking terrified.
"C'mon– S'not like I can't show you a good time!" Aiku croons, and Sae could see his lips ticking up in the corner of his eyes. A pathetic attempt to look charming. "Plus, a pretty gal like you shouldn't be alone in a club all by herself, right?"
Sae's eyes rooted to the bartop like it'd been the loveliest one he'd ever seen in his years of clubbing. He really isn't in the mood to deal with some shitty captain from some shitty soccer team. He doesn't speak. He doesn't even look, as if Aiku might be able to see through his layers of cakey foundation and see him for who he really was. Sae's lips pulled into a grimace as he felt the weight of an arm draping over his shoulders.
"How about this: I pay for your drinks, you give me your digits, and I'll take you on wonderful dates. Candle-lit, karaoke, arcade, my house—" He waggled his eyebrows. "Whatever you want." Aiku nudged Sae closer to himself with the arm. "Sounds good, eh?"
Sae's lips parted, a nasty curse on the tip of his tongue, before it snapped shut and he swallowed it down. No, his voice is too deep. If he told Aiku off now, his cover would blow and he might have to throw Misaki away. He doesn't want to give up what's dear to him. No, not again.
Instead, he turned to shoot Aiku a glare, the nastiest one he could muster with his remaining sense of dignity. Unfortunately, Sae was not as brave as Misaki, when dealing with lukewarm flirts like Aiku.
Aiku, seemed to have caught onto that though, raising his arms in mock surrender. "Ouch! No dice?"
Sae turned back to his beloved bartop instead of answering, eliciting another huff from Aiku.
"I really don't get girls like you." Aiku leaned down against the bartop and nuzzled between his crossed arms, sliding himself directly into Sae's peripheral vision. "Coming to a nightclub just to turn down people who want to get to know you. Isn't that the entire point of clubbing? To, you know, socialise?"
Maybe if Sae ignored him harder, Aiku would just disappear off the face of earth.
"That attitude reminds me of someone I know."
Sae froze.
"I know this guy. Met him a few weeks back. Cute guy, bit short. You'd think he'd be the shy type at first glance." Aiku shook his head. "Dead wrong. Nasty attitude. Cocky, nonchalant. Made me wonder if a guy like him even knows the concept of fun."
Sae scowled, each word offending him more than it should've. There's a tiny, microscopic chance Aiku wasn't talking about him at all, but Sae had heard enough post-match interviews to know exactly how his former teammates described him.
"He's got these lashes, y'know. Thick, long, beautiful lower lashes. Just like yours, miss. Are they extensions?" Sae swats the hand that was reaching towards his eyes, and Aiku retracted his hands with a shit-eating grin.
If Sae punched Aiku now who would stop him?
—
Glass scraps on wood as the bartender slides a glass across the bartop at Hot Chick's direction. It clinks lightly against an empty glass near her hand, and Oliver could barely fight down the creeping smile. So the beauty did come down here for something other than to get ogled at after all.
"Another glass already?" Aiku leans in, not at all bothered by the fact that she’d ignored every single one of his advances so far. "Damn, you must really know how to hold your liquor." And ouch! She doesn't even spare him a glare.
"What's this, whiskey? You totally look like the type to drink that." Oliver he reaches out to grab it—
—only for Hot Chick to snatch it back with the speed of a feral cat defending its meal. The sudden movement sends a few drops splashing onto his fingers.
Yikes. Too far?
"My bad!" Aiku laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. "S’not like I’m gonna spike it or anything."
Oliver was met with a glare that could cut through metal. He grinned (or at least did his best attempt at it when a pretty lady looks at you in a way that seemed like she was manifesting your demise), then, because he has zero self-preservation iinstinct, retreated his drenched hand to lap at the spilt liquid.
Huh.
Not what he expected.
It’s not bitter like whiskey. Not sweet like a cocktail. It’s… sour. But not margarita sour. Not even lemon sour. It’s a specific kind of sour, one that tickles the back of his memory like an itch he can’t scratch. It tastes awfully similar to those glasses of apple cider vinegar the team manager had bought for him "to make his digestive system better", whatever the fuck that means.
"Vinegar? Damn, you're way tougher than all the drunkards here."
Ah, that must've been the wrong guess, because Hot Chick looks at him like he'd just grew an extra pair of limb for ever suggesting that she drink something as rancid as vinegar. Actually, he was starting to feel stupid for coming to that conclusion too. "No?"
For the first time all night, Hot Chick’s shoulders slump—not in defeat, but in exasperation. Like she’s babysitting with a particularly stubborn child. With a sigh, she slides the glass toward him. Oliver grins and took the cup.
"Cheers!" Oliver whooped, and downed half the cup in one go. His entire body rejects the liquid, heaving and coughing violently. It’s like drinking carbonated battery acid!
"Fucking- Hell- What the fuck is this—?" Oliver wheezes, slamming the glass down like it’s personally offended him to pat wildly at his chest his chest. It tastes like sparkling water, but worse! Sour sparkling water!
When he finally regains the ability to see straight, he finds Hot Chick staring at him. Actually looking at him. Her lips are pressed into a firm line, but her eyes—her eyes are laughing at him.
Aha.
"Ah, so that's funny to you, huh? Me nearly dying because you drink, I don't know, sparkling demon piss?" Oliver's pride skyrocketed when that earned him a small snort. Quiet ones always have the freakiest sense of humor.
Oliver glanced at the cup of mystery sour liquid, mind reeling as tried to recall the taste. It wasn't as bad as apple cider vinegar, that's one thing for sure, but it tastes familiar. Tastes like that one fermented tea he can't recall for the life of him.
"Anyway, there's more where that came from. I tend to take pride in my excellent sense of humour!" Oliver beamed, and when Hot Chick turns around, his heart stuttered.
Holy fuck, she was smiling.
Okay, well, barely, but its definitely there! A ghost of a smirk, a faint tilt of her lips. Or maybe it's just wishful thinking? Oliver can't tell of the slight tilt on her lips was real or a trick of the light.
Oliver took a deep breath, trying to piece his confident back together, before grinning again. "So, what are you doing here all alone, beautiful?"
She blinks at him. Oliver's face grew hot, and he tried scratching both his stubble and the blush away. "Selective mutism?"
And she just... Stares. Jesus Christ. "Mutism?"
A brick wall could hold a better conversation. Unfortunately, Oliver wants to take this girl home, and not a brick wall.
Oliver rummaged digs out his phone our of his back pocket, pulls up a new contact, and slides it toward her. "It's okay if you're mute. I'll talk for the both of us, yeah?"
She stared at his phone like it was an contraband, grey eyes flicking between it and Oliver's face before she finally took it. Oliver did a mental cheer as she began typing.
"Sweet!– Okay, so I was thinking of movies? For the first date? You look like the type to like... Horror? Right?" Oliver watched her shrug and slid the phone back. "Yeah, I thought so. You don't look like the romance type. Probably find it cringe, huh?"
Oliver glanced down at his phone, grinning from eye to eye as he pick it up and inspecting it, committing it to his memory. He got her number! And her name is Misaki! He's gonna have so much fun, and he knows it. Misaki seems like the quiet type, but maybe Oliver would be able to bring her out of her shell. She—
Oliver's finger stilled just shy away from the [OK] button of a pop-up just as he as he saved.
[Are you sure you want to rename "Boy Genius" to "Misaki"?]
—
What's up with this guy? One second he was yammering on about some date to the movies, and now he was silent? Was Aiku's personality just as mismatched as his looks?
Sae frowned as Aiku frowned, tilted his head as Aiku tilted his head. For fuck's sake, he was giving Aiku a chance to "hang out" with him, and now he's gonna act like he doesn't—
"Itoshi?"
Both of their eyes widened at ghe same time, but only Aiku's had a gleam to them.
"It is you? Itoshi Sae?" Aiku stammered out, a hand reaching out.
Sae swatted his hand away, stumbling out of his stool. No, nonono, this can't be. What did–? Where did it show? Did his make-up– His phone number- No, he was so sure he inserted his personal phone number. Not the ones fans could normally find on those websites. How the hell—?
Aiku's eyes were wide, like he was staring at some kind of- Freak. Bile rises up Sae's throat as he stumbled back, nearly slipping on his heels.
He needed to go, now. He lunged forward and reached on the table for his purse, but Aiku was faster. Aiku managed to grab on the straps of it before Sae could pull it away.
"No! Wait- Calm down!" Aiku was on his feet too, pulling the purse back. "It's fine! I'm—"
"Hey! What do you think you're doing man?" The bartender's voice rang out from across the counter. Aiku jumped and snapped his head towards him. "Trying to rob a lady!?"
"What!?" Aiku sputtered, grip loosening. "No! I just-" Sae took advantage of the distraction to yank his purse back. Without even looking back, he dashed straight for the exit.
Wait- His tab! His fucking-! His heels spun, then spun again as he consider just risk being a criminal just to escape this humiliation and-
"Misaki!"
Sae's entire body froze. His breath shallow, heart in his throat as it beats in his ears. Yet... At her name, his heart leaps. He's so close to running, so close to vomiting, but at her name, the pit in his stomach closed. Sae dares to look over his shoulder.
Aiku was looking right back at him, looking equally panicked as Sae. Aiku's face lights up, like he couldn't believe Sae actually responded, then his entire face soften in a way Sar had only ever seen once before. Once when Aiku had comforted that waste of an ace in their team. He looks so soft, a harsh contrast against his gruffy features, and Sae feels himself calming down too.
"I- Uh-" People were staring as Aiku stuttered, and Sae tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Nothing about this is funny, of course. Except how Aiku looks a little like a flustered little boy instead of the big and strong man he actually is.
"I'll pay for your... Can you..." Aiku rocked back his heels and up onto his toes. "Can we still go out though?"
...Huh.
Well, now Sae has to deal with the embarrassment of causing a scene in the bar.