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“So how’d you meet her?” Goro asks. “You never actually told me.” His tone is conversational; his smile warm. All those years of TV posturing really were good for something.

Ryuji blushes, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s sweating pretty bad in that rental tux; but he might be too giddy to notice. “Kind of a funny story, actually… it was just after we—“

Broke up, Goro’s brain supplies.

“—Stopped hanging out.”

Of course.

Ryuji doesn’t think that they were ever dating. Because of course they weren’t. They were fucking, sure; they were falling asleep in each other’s arms and kissing when the sunrise woke them up but they weren’t /dating./ Of course not.

Ryuji doesn’t swing that way, apparently. Ryuji doesn’t like boys.

‘We’re still friends, dude,’ is such a cute way of saying ‘I’m too scared to be more than that.’

Goro forces a smile and sips his champagne and of course it’s delicious. This whole event is just fucking perfect. The decorations are tasteful, the food is superb, and /fuck/, they really are the perfect couple. Even the cake toppers look like soulmates.

It makes sense that this is what Ryuji wants. That said, it makes sense that they didn’t last. Veils don’t flatter Goro’s complexion, and blushing brides aren’t meant to be jaded and cold. Really, him being a man is the least of those problems. Him being something Ryuji won’t own up to loving.

“You two seem very happy together,” he says, like the words don’t burn on his tongue.

“Thanks, man.” Ryuji claps him on the shoulder and smiles, the same crooked grin that could make Goro fall for him way back when. “It means a lot that you’re here.”