The first time they called him "Princess," it was meant to be a joke.

Maru had been hired as a seasonal assistant in the back office in cáfe — mostly packaging, a little inventory, never much talking. On the first day, he wore a blouse with puffed sleeves and a neatly ironed pinafore, soft curls pinned back with a velvet bow. Someone whistled. Someone else said, “She looks like a Disney character.”

And Maru, who wasn’t she, didn’t correct them. Not then.

He just smiled, awkwardly, tugging down the hem of his apron. There was a half-hearted attempt at clarification later—“I’m not, uh, that is, I’m—” —but by then the nickname had stuck like spilled soda on linoleum. It hardened fast. The teasing wasn’t cruel, not really. It was playful. Casual. Normal, if you believed them.

“Don’t be so sensitive,” Toma would laugh. “You do look cuter than half the girls here.” “You make it too easy.” “It’s affectionate. Come on, we love you, Princess.”

Maru didn’t know when “Princess” stopped feeling like a joke and started feeling like a wall between him and the rest of them. But the smile he wore every day grew quieter. More practiced. Like embroidery — stitch by stitch, hiding the raw edges.

Still, he never stopped showing up. That’s what mattered, right?

---

They were a strange sort of friend group — patched together from coworkers and plus-ones, ex-roommates, mutuals from old fandom servers. None of them had much in common besides mild social dysfunction and a shared taste for chaotic game nights. They drank cheap wine, made bad memes, played Jackbox like it was a competitive sport.

And Maru, somehow, ended up in the middle of it all. The mascot. The punchline. The soft spot.

“Maru, truth or dare.” “Maru, rate us hottest to lamest.” “Maru, if you had to kiss one of us—”

He always laughed along. Even when his wings buzzed with tension. Even when he couldn’t tell if he was being included or displayed. Even when he left early, walked home too fast, and let the tears fall only once the key turned in the door.

Still, he never stopped coming back.

---

The invitation came on a Friday, slipped into the group chat between a meme about breadsticks and a screenshot of someone’s disastrous Tinder match.

🟣 Aya: okok house party at mine tmrw.

🟢 Toma: who’s bringing cards?

🟡 Rin: can i bring my bro? they’re chill.

🟣 Aya: yeah yeah +1 welcome 🟣 Aya: maru ur coming or ur homophobic

He reacted with a sweating emoji. That meant “yes,” probably.

Saturday arrived with its usual ritual: a too-long debate over what to wear (he landed on something “just festive enough”), a quiet dinner reheated from the night before, and twenty minutes spent pacing by the door, debating if he should fake being sick.

He went anyway. He always did.

Aya’s apartment was already buzzing when he arrived — soft music in the kitchen, laughter behind a half-closed bathroom door, mismatched socks peeking out from a pile of shoes. Someone shoved a fizzy pink drink into his hands before he even had time to take off his jacket.

“Finally,” Toma grinned. “Our girl’s here.”

He said nothing, just forced a smile and took a sip. It tasted like anxiety and artificial strawberry.

“Rin’s friend showed,” Aya added, nudging him. “Cute, huh?”

Maru blinked. “What?”

“They’re over by the window. New. Your type, I bet.” She winked, deliberately, annoyingly.

“Aya—” he started, but she was already gone, vanishing into the crowd with the grace of a disaster fairy.

He didn’t look toward the window.

Not yet.

It was easier to stay near the snack table. Safer. Familiar. Someone passed him a handful of candy, and he smiled through a mouthful of gummy bears as the group broke into another chaotic game of “Hot Takes.” The teasing resumed — light jabs, fake dares, mock flirtation. All eyes kept coming back to him.

“Maru, you’re blushing again.” “God, it’s the glitter for me.” “Someone lock her in a closet already.”

The laughter came in waves. He laughed too, of course. Always.

But it cracked a little at the edges tonight.

Because there was someone new here. Someone who didn’t know this was “normal.” Someone who was watching — not cruelly, just curiously. Like they didn’t understand the script yet.

He could feel their eyes more than anyone else's. Not invasive. Just present. Like a hand resting on the lid of a tightly sealed box, waiting to see if it would open on its own.

Later — after the drinks settled in and the playlist slowed to background hums — the bottle came out.

“I swear to God,” Iori groaned. “I’m not kissing Rin again,” Toma declared.

It was a dumb tradition. They played it every few months, usually abandoned halfway through in favor of memes or pizza. But tonight, the group was wired. Anticipating.

And when the bottle spun, slowly, lazily, Maru felt the dread before it stopped.

It pointed to him. Then to the stranger.

There was a beat of silence. A breath. And then—

“Ooooohhhhhh!” Someone fake-swooned. Someone else clapped. Aya yelled something obscene.

Maru didn’t hear all of it. His pulse was too loud.

“Seven minutes,” Iori announced, already pulling him by the elbow.

“Wait—” Maru stammered, wings twitching.

But the door opened. The coat closet. Small. Dim. Just enough room for two. Just enough silence to hear a heartbeat if you tried.

He stepped inside. The door shut.

And just like that, the noise outside faded.

It was dark. Not pitch-black, but soft-shadowed — the kind of dark that felt like velvet. Clothes hung limply around them, smelling faintly of detergent and someone’s cologne.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there, pulse racing, hands curled in the hem of his blouse. The ruffles at his sleeves felt suddenly childish. The ribbons in his hair too much. Too obvious. Too loud.

He swallowed.

This wasn’t the first time they’d made him the joke. But it was the first time he didn’t want to laugh.

Because in the hush of the closet, with only the sound of shared breathing and the distant bassline of a party still in motion, something cracked open inside him.

Not fear. Not quite.

Hope, maybe. Or the terrifying edge of it.

And Maru asked awkwardly: "U-um, how did you meet Rin?"