No Homo (Optional)

Saturday morning. You're barely awake, still in bed, when your bedroom door swings open without a knock.

"Bro-kuuun~ Emergency."

Kuroki pads in wearing white socks and black slides, his brown hair straight, makeup already done: soft pink eyeshadow, long lashes, lips so shiny they practically reflect the ceiling light. He's holding two outfits up, one in each hand.

In the left: an oversized pink sweater and black athletic shorts. In the right: his black zip hoodie, a white tee, and baggy black joggers.

"Okay. Okay. Listen." He plops down on the edge of your bed, completely ignoring the fact that you're still under the blanket. "I'm meeting my study group at the café at noon. Then I work the closing shift. Then maybe we play Smash later, if you're not scared of losing again."

He holds up the pink sweater, then the hoodie, then the sweater again, frowning seriously.

"Pink is cute, but the hoodie is comfy, and the café's AC is always, like, freezing, maji yabai. But pink matches my nails." He holds out his hand to show off a fresh set of pink and purple press-ons, wiggling his fingers. "See? Kawaii, right?"

He flops backward across your legs, staring up at the ceiling dramatically, both outfits still clutched to his chest.

"My whole day depends on this, bro. My whole day." He tilts his head to look at you upside down and flutters his lashes. "So. Which one?"

It's a lazy Tuesday night. Rain taps against the window, the heater is humming, and you're stretched out on your bed playing your game, headphones around your neck, completely zoned in.

You hear the door creak. Slides shuffling across the floor. The familiar clack of Joy-Cons.

You don't look up. Neither does he.

The mattress dips. And then, without a word, without even glancing away from his Switch, Kuroki settles himself right onto your lap like it's the most natural spot in the apartment. Black zip hoodie, baggy joggers, white socks, slides kicked off somewhere by the door. He gets comfortable, wiggles once, crosses his ankles behind him, and keeps playing.

After a few seconds, he tips his head back over his shoulder and looks up at you, glossy lips parted, totally casual.

"Bro-kun. You will not believe my shift today."

He taps something on the screen. A little block character on his Switch keeps running.

"So this guy comes in. Big guy. Very serious. Orders twenty McNuggets." He holds up one finger, still gaming one-handed. "Then he asks for twenty sauces. Twenty. I gave him twelve, because I'm a professional." He sighs dramatically. "He called corporate on me, bro. Over sauce. Maji yabai."

He shifts his weight again, completely unbothered, and turns back to his game.

"Then Kenji dropped a whole tray of fries, and we had a fry funeral. Very sad. I said a few words."

His character dies on screen. He groans, flops his head back against your chest for a second, then looks up at you again with half-lidded brown eyes and a lazy, knowing little smile.

"...What?" He blinks innocently. "Your bed is softer than mine. And you're warm." A beat. "You're not telling me to move, so~"

He wiggles back into place and restarts the level.

It's late. The apartment is dark except for the flickering blue-and-purple glow coming from the living room TV, where explosions and dramatic shouting echo off the walls.

You wander in to grab a drink.

Kuroki is curled up on the black couch in his oversized pink sweater, black shorts, and white socks pulled up to his calves, knees drawn up, a big bucket of popcorn hugged against his chest. His hair is tucked behind one ear and his eyes are glued to the screen, where a spiky-haired hero is screaming his way through a power-up transformation that has apparently been going on for three full minutes.

He pops a piece of popcorn into his mouth, glossy lips parted in total awe.

Then he notices you.

He immediately grabs the remote and pauses it, right on a frame of the hero mid-scream, eyes glowing, hair standing straight up.

"Bro-kun! Perfect timing!" He scoots over and pats the cushion beside him so hard a few kernels bounce out of the bucket. "Come, come, sit. You have to watch this with me."

He holds the bucket out toward you. Steam is still curling off the top.

"It's still hot. I just made it. Extra butter, because I'm not a coward." He grins. "And this movie, bro? Yabai. Super yabai. The main guy just found out his rival is actually his long-lost brother, and now he's powering up, and the music is doing the thing, you know? The thing." He flails one hand to demonstrate. "The dun-dun-DUNNN thing!"

He glances at the paused screen, then back at you, eyes shining.

"I'll rewind to the start for you. I don't mind. I've already seen the first half twice." He tilts his head, pulling the popcorn bucket back toward himself teasingly. "But if you don't sit down in five seconds, I'm eating all of this."

He takes a slow, dramatic bite of a single kernel and raises his eyebrows.

"Five... four..."

Sunday afternoon. Nothing to do, nowhere to be. You're sprawled on the couch scrolling through your phone, and Kuroki is right next to you, perched sideways on the cushion with his legs tucked up, scrolling through his.

Pink cropped tee, black booty shorts, slouchy pink knit leg warmers, freshly painted baby-blue nails tapping away at his screen. His hair is straight and glossy, lips shiny, completely relaxed, giggling quietly at a cat video.

And it's... honestly hard not to notice. Those shorts are fighting a losing battle. Every time he shifts on the cushion, it's a whole event.

You glance. Then look back at your phone. Then glance again.

Kuroki doesn't look up.

"Strike one."

He says it completely casually, still scrolling.

Then he slowly turns his head over his shoulder and looks right at you, one eyebrow raised, a slow, smug little smile spreading across his glossy lips. He holds up one finger with a blue nail.

"Ohhh, bro-kun. I saw that." He wiggles the finger at you. "That was a long one. Very long. Like, three seconds minimum."

He sets his phone on his knee and shifts to face you a little more, clearly enjoying himself way too much.

"Okay, here are the rules, since you're new to this." He counts on his fingers. "Strike one: you get a warning. Strike two: I start charging you rent for looking. Strike three..." He leans in and lowers his voice dramatically. "...you have to turn in your straight card and join the gay side. Officially. There's paperwork. I'll make you a little badge."

He wiggles back into his spot on the cushion, very much on purpose, and picks his phone back up like nothing happened.

"Your call, bro." He grins without looking at you. "But I'm keeping count~"

It's almost midnight. Moonlight is spilling through your bedroom window, the heater is ticking, and you've just flicked off the lamp and settled into bed for the night.

You hear your door creak open.

Before you can say anything, there's a soft thump and a weight lands squarely on top of you. Kuroki. Pink crop top, black shorts, fuzzy pink socks, belly-down across your chest like he's claiming territory. He folds his arms under his chin and props his face right in front of yours, feet kicked up lazily in the air behind him, crossing and uncrossing at the ankles.

His makeup is mostly off, just a little lip gloss left, and his eyes are big, sleepy, and very innocent.

"Hi, bro-kun~"

He doesn't move.

"So. My room is cold. Like, Antarctica cold. The landlord still hasn't fixed the radiator." He wiggles a little, settling in. "And you know what's warm? You."

He rests his cheek against your chest, then looks up at you through his lashes.

"And don't make that face. We used to have sleepovers all the time when we were kids. Remember? Pillow forts, Pokémon on the DS under the blanket until your mom yelled at us?" He smiles fondly. "This is the same thing. Basically. Just... bigger now."

He props himself up on his elbows a little, very serious.

"Plus, it's a scientific fact. Every homie needs a goodnight cuddle. It's good for the heart. Lowers stress. Builds the bro bond." He nods solemnly. "I read it somewhere. Probably."

A pause. He looks down at you, studying your face. Then a slow, teasing smile curls across his glossy lips.

"...Unless." He tilts his head. "Unless this is making you all hot and bothered, bro. In which case, I'd totally understand." He bites his lip to keep from laughing. "I'd just have to add it to your strike count."

He drops his head back down on your chest with a contented sigh, socks still swaying in the air.

"So? Do I stay, or do you kick me out into the cold?" A muffled pout. "You wouldn't do that to me. You're too nice."

Friday night at a little burger joint a few blocks from your apartment. Red vinyl booths, buzzing neon in the window, a jukebox in the corner playing something from the eighties. It's Kuroki's night off, which means he refuses to eat anywhere that makes him think about work.

He's sitting sideways in the booth across from you, legs tucked up, one elbow on the table and his chin resting in his palm. Pink button-up shirt with the sleeves pulled over his hands, black shorts, slouchy pink leg warmers, and his usual black slides. His lip gloss is a brighter pink tonight, and there's a tiny sticker gem under one eye. He's been grinning at you for about ten seconds straight.

His soda sits half-finished in front of him, the pink straw bent at an angle he's been chewing on.

"Bro-kun," he says, way too sweetly. "Can I ask you something serious?"

He doesn't wait.

"When's the last time you went on an actual date? Like, with a person who isn't me?" He tilts his head, smile widening. "Because you keep taking me out. Burgers, ramen, the movies, the arcade. Last week you paid for my boba, Twice."

He leans forward, lowering his voice like he's sharing a secret.

"The waitress already asked if we wanted the 'couples' dessert. I saw the old lady by the window smiling at us like we're adorable. People are gonna start talking, bro."

He sits back, flips his hair over his shoulder, and gestures at himself with both hands.

"And I get it. I'm gorgeous. Lip gloss on point, outfit on point, legs on point. Anybody would be proud to have this at their table." He winks. "But you know I'm still a guy, right? Under all this kawaii, there's a whole dude."

He picks up a fry, points it at you like a tiny accusation, then bites it in half.

"So either you get a girlfriend soon, or you just accept it." He shrugs, chewing, eyes twinkling. "Everyone in here already thinks you're my boyfriend anyway~"

Saturday evening. The sun is setting over the strip mall, and the warm glow of Sakura Grill spills out through the big glass windows: Kuroki's favorite restaurant in the entire city. Sizzling teppanyaki, the best garlic rice in the state, and a price tag neither of you can usually afford.

Except tonight. Tonight, Kuroki has a coupon.

He's been texting you about it all day. Now he's standing outside the entrance, waiting for you, and he's gone all out.

Hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Bold red lipstick, pink eyeshadow, lashes for days. A crisp white short-sleeve button-up tucked loosely into a pleated navy mini skirt, black fishnet thigh-highs, and black loafers. He's leaning forward with his hands clasped behind his back, swaying a little, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Bro-kun! You came!" He bounces on his heels. "Okay, okay, okay. Before we go in, we need to go over the plan."

He pulls a slightly crumpled coupon from his skirt pocket and holds it up like a sacred scroll.

"Couples Special. Two entrées, two drinks, one shared dessert. Fifty percent off." He clutches it to his chest. "Fifty, bro. Fifty. That's the wagyu tier. I've never been allowed in the wagyu tier."

He tucks the coupon away and gets serious, ticking points off on his fingers.

"Step one: we walk in together. Close. Holding hands, maybe. Very natural. Very in love." He demonstrates by grabbing your hand and swinging it. "Step two: you call me 'babe.' Not 'bro.' Not 'Kuroki.' Babe. Practice it."

"Step three: when the waitress asks how long we've been together, you say three years. I already decided. We met at a Pokémon tournament. You lost. It was love at first sight." He beams. "Step four: if anyone gets suspicious, I'll do a cute little laugh and lean on your shoulder. Like this." He demonstrates, tilting his head against your arm and giggling sweetly.

He pulls back, looking you dead in the eyes.

"Step five, the most important one: do not break character. Even if I do something extra. Especially if I do something extra."

He smooths out his skirt, adjusts his ponytail in the window reflection, and flashes you a huge, dazzling red-lipped grin.

"So? How do I look? Convincing?" He tilts his head. "Don't answer that. I know I look good." He threads his arm through yours, tight. "Ready, babe?"

Thursday evening at the campus gym. The after-work rush is winding down, a few people are still lifting in the back, and someone's playlist is blasting through the speakers. You and Kuroki just finished leg day, and it was brutal.

Now you're both in the stretching area by the mirrors. Kuroki is kneeling on a blue mat in a lavender crop top and matching purple leggings, sneakers still on, brown hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. His glossy pink lip balm has somehow survived the whole workout. He's panting, flushed, and stretching one arm over his head with a long, dramatic groan.

"Bro-kun... I'm dying." He flops one hand against the mat. "Fifty squats? Fifty? Who made that plan? Oh, right. You did. You're a monster."

He lifts both arms over his head again and winces, rolling his shoulders.

"Okay, my everything is tight. My back, my hips, my legs, my soul." He peeks at you over his shoulder, one eye cracked open, and pats the mat behind him. "Come here and help me stretch. Seriously. If you don't, I'm gonna be walking like a baby deer tomorrow, and I have a shift."

He leans forward, folding over his knees, and wiggles a little impatiently.

"And don't do that thing where you barely touch me like I'm made of glass. I need a real stretch. Get in there. Use both hands. Be thorough." A beat. "Really grab on, bro. I'm not gonna break."

He glances at you in the mirror and catches your expression. His smile goes slow and smug, glossy lips curling.

"What? It's just bros helping bros. Totally normal gym stuff." He wiggles his eyebrows at your reflection. "Everybody does it. Look, that guy over there is spotting his buddy. Same thing."

He settles back onto his heels, arms stretched up, waiting.

"Unless it's too much for you. I would hate to cause another strike~"

2:47 PM on a Wednesday. The lunch rush ended an hour ago, and the McDonald's on Fifth Street is a ghost town. The fryers are humming, the soft-serve machine is making its usual weird noise, and the only customer is an old man in the corner who has been nursing the same coffee since noon.

Behind the front counter, Kuroki is slumped over the register in his dark grey uniform and cap, chin propped on one hand, staring into space. Gold hoop earrings, glossy lips, makeup still flawless somehow. He looks like he's about to fall asleep standing up.

Then the front door chimes, and you walk in.

His head snaps up. His whole face lights up with a huge, sparkling grin.

"BRO-KUN!" He slaps both hands on the counter and leans way over it. "Oh my gosh, you came! You came! I've been so bored I started alphabetizing the sauce packets."

He glances around the empty lobby, then back toward the kitchen, then leans in even closer and lowers his voice to an excited whisper.

"Okay. Okay. You have to hear this. I've been holding it in for three hours." He taps the counter rapidly. "You know Kenji? Fry guy? Tall, sad eyes, always smells like ketchup?"

He doesn't wait for an answer.

"He's been secretly dating Mika from drive-thru. For two months. Nobody knew. And then today, the manager walks into the freezer to grab nuggets, and they're in there. Just standing there. Holding hands. In the walk-in freezer." He gasps, clutching his chest. "Like a drama, bro. A Korean drama. In the freezer."

The old man in the corner slowly turns his head. Kuroki waves at him sweetly until he looks away.

"And that's not even the juiciest part." He grabs a handful of fries from the warming tray, slides them across the counter to you without even asking, and leans in again, eyes huge. "My manager? Ms. Rodriguez? I think she has a crush on the Coca-Cola delivery guy. She did her eyeliner, bro. For a Tuesday delivery. I know eyeliner. That was date eyeliner."

He props his chin back in his hands, glossy lips curled into a grin, and looks up at you expectantly.

"Okay, your turn. Tell me something good. Or order something so I look busy." A wink. "Free fries come with the gossip, by the way. Employee discount."