#I love adding a face to ​taru’s mask

[shunachii]

Chiluc welcomes you into 2023 how do you feel

[jubans]

title: pinky promise pairing: chigasaki itaru/fem!reader rating: g (general) premise: promises were made to be kept, but damn did itaru have a sharp memory.

Back when you were still a kid, you had a peculiar friend.

Your fathers were best buddies in college and your mothers got along just as swimmingly as well. Whenever either couple would go out of town, the other would follow suit—both parties bringing along their young kids so they could bond with one another. 

Itaru was a quiet boy. The first time you met him, he was like a hermit that couldn't be coaxed out of his shell. Eventually, you gave up on trying to get him to play house with you; retreating to the living room with a gaming console in hand. You've been wanting a Gameboy for a while now, and your father did love spoiling his little girl. While you were in the middle of catching your first Pokémon, however, you noticed that Itaru was watching you play over your shoulder, interest sparkling in his pretty eyes.

"Itaru-kun, do you play Pokémon?" you wondered, hoping he'd finally open up to you.

The young boy nodded timidly. "My Gameboy is in my backpack..."

And that's how you started growing closer than you'd initially expected. You challenged him in Pokémon battles every chance you got, but Itaru defeated you every single time. Something about IVs and EVs, he said. But you didn't really care about those. You just wanted the pretty looking Pokémon on your team. 

In your usual outings with his family, Itaru would often play off-handed pranks on you—putting weird bugs he found behind your dress, spitting watermelon seeds at you, and even pushing you into a shallow part of a lake. But despite his outlandish behavior, you didn't cry about it like most girls your age would when a boy was being mean to them. You returned his mischief sevenfold in your own way, and that only made your parents think what a lively duo the both of you were.

But like most childhood friendships, it didn't last as long as you'd liked. 

With your father having gotten an opportunity to work in America, that meant you had to move residences. The news was hard to take in at first. You grew up in Japan. All your friends were here! And what will happen to Itaru when you were no longer there to keep him in check? But, you've always been more understanding than most children. You accepted it faster than your parents had anticipated.

One day, you decided to tell your him about your sudden moving-away with a proposition that would ensure he wouldn't step out of line while you weren't around. 

"We're going to get married someday, right Taruchi?" 

Itaru blinked at you in nonplus, surprised by the strange nickname. "Taru...chi?"

"Itaru Chigasaki!" You giggled, clapping your hands together in unhinged glee. "It's my nickname for you, so no one else is allowed to call you that, 'kay?"

He spared you a small smile. Even at a young age, he already looked breathtaking. Eyes of carnelian and hair spun from almonds and vanilla—there was no reason for you not to crush on the boy who lived the next door over. 

But then, he did something you've never seen anyone else do with you before. He held out his hand, holding up only his pinky, as he gazed at you expectantly. You craned your head to the side, not knowing how to react. Itaru laughed softly before taking your small hands in his own, manipulating your right hand's fingers so that you were doing the same gesture he was.

"We'll pinky promise on it," he said, entwining his stubby finger with yours. "It's a promise that we can never ever break. No matter what."

"You promise to marry me when I get back?" you asked, curling your own pinky as well. 

He snickered. "I'd hate to be stuck with an old hag like you, but if you insist..."

"Hmph!" you simpered, folding your arms across your chest as you turned away from him. "I'm only eight, Taruchi!" 

"You'll be eight-y when you return," he retaliated. 

You spent the afternoon trying to beat Itaru in another Pokémon battle, but he came out victorious as usual. Just before you could start up another match, however, his mother told the two of you that they'll be attending an event hosted by the company she works for, and that you could come back and play tomorrow again. 

"See you soon, old hag," Itaru imparted, waving a hand goodbye as you stuck out your tongue to blow a raspberry at him. 

Stupid Taruchi. Why do I even like you?

"Mom, was it really necessary for me to fly back to Japan for this?" you groaned into your cellphone, asking the question for the hundredth time. 

Your mother merely tutted at you from the other end of the line. "You know how much your father loved the MANKAI Company, sweetie. We even flew here a week early so he could take a peek at the final rehearsals." 

"Yes, I know that part of the story," you sighed as you slowly unpacked your things from the single duffel you brought. "But why do I have to tag along? I had to find a substitute for all my classes this week, and I think the head professor will give me a piece of her mind when I get back to California."

"I'll have your father talk to her, then." The sound of her laughter was jeering in your ears. Why your mother had always been so carefree was a mystery to you. "Unwind a little, sweetie! I think you're going to want to see one of the new Spring Troupe's actors."

"What?" Your tone came out exasperated, but at the same time, your eyes were trained on the ample view of Veludo Way from your hotel room.

Your father used to be one of the members of the original Spring Troupe back when you were still a kid. Though he was one of the most academically proficient professors you knew today, he always had an unbridled passion for theatric arts. But with how swamped he's become with his work at the university you both teach in, him flying to Japan to watch amateurs stage a production was the last thing you think he would do.

Lost in thought, you didn't realize that your mother had been telling you something over the phone. 

"Anyways, if you want to see him, I got us tickets for the closing night this Saturday." Your mother sounded disappointed for some reason. "The earlier showing dates sold out by the time we bought them."

You didn't even bother finding out who this so-called actor she was pertaining to, your mind too preoccupied with the lesson plans you forgot to leave to your substitute. With an exasperated groan, you pulled out your laptop from your luggage, booting it up. You loved your mother too much to point out that she could have just told you to fly over here at a later date so you could minimize your absences. 

"Sure, Mom," you relented. "Do you want to grab some dinner later?"

"No way."

Eyes of carnelian. Hair spun from almonds and vanilla.

"No. Way." You had to physically look away from the stage to contemplate for a moment. Was that... Was that who you thought it was?

From your right, your father spared you a sideways glance, confusion painting his features. "Hm? Something the matter?" 

It's him. The boy with the pretty eyes and the smile that masked his mischief. Itaru. Taruchi. 

"I-It's nothing, Dad," you reassured, forcing yourself to train your eyes on the scene playing before you. "I just remembered I haven't started formatting my midterm exam yet."

"Oh, don't fret about work here," he chuckled, gaze trained fondly on the stage. "Plays are where the actors give it their all to put a smile on people's faces. I've always wanted to see you up on stage, but what kind of father would I be if I imposed something you didn't want?"

His words made you relax back into your seat, watching as Itaru's character, Tybalt, conversed with one of the leads on-stage. He delivered his lines so naturally, like the character was moulded to fit him in particular. He looked so...different now, too. Itaru had lost the fat in his cheeks—angular cheekbones taking its place instead. His voice was set into a much deeper tone, given that he was probably in his mid-twenties, just like yourself. Who knew a gamer shut-in like himself would pursue theater, of all things?

"It's nice to see good old Chigasaki's son up there, though." Your father smiled. "That kid was almost like a son to me."

The scenes breezed past before your eyes, each one leaving you at the edge of your seat. Their twist on Romeo and Juliet was comical, to say the least. But each time Itaru stepped under the spotlights, you noticed the strain in his movements. Whenever he had to walk to the opposite side of the stage, his steps came off a bit wobbly. This was a critical scene where Romeo and Tybalt were going to duel to the death, too. 

When you spared your father a wary look, the set in his brow told you that there was definitely something up. 

"Boy's got a sprain," he concluded. "Goodness. He should've known better than to perform with that dead weight dragging him around."

You frowned. "Then Taruchi, I mean, Itaru should—"

"Tybalt, stop! The battle's over!"

Romeo's little ad-lib caught the attention of the audience, no one daring to draw a breath to see how things played out. 

"Lower your blade!" he shouted, voice carrying the emotion in his eyes.

Even Itaru was taken aback by Romeo's resolve. His mouth twitched into a smirk that reminded you of the days he would show you the stag beetles he's caught over the summer to freak you out. You haven't even said two words to him fifteen years later, but somehow, you knew that he hadn't changed. Not one bit. 

"(Surname)-san, hello!"

A woman that seemed right about your age greeted your father with a shake of hands once the two of you arrived backstage. Your mother had insisted that she would wait for the two of you at the parking lot as you gave your congratulations to the actors. So here you were, standing awkwardly behind your father as he animatedly conversed with the said woman, who seemed to be the director of the show.

"Kid, as much as I'd like to tell you about your dad, it isn't my place to tell," your father chuckled. 

She sighed. "Ah, that's what Yuzo-san told me, too..."

"Say, this is quite out of the blue, but my daughter here wants to have a word with one of your actors. Itaru, to be precise."

Wait, what?

"Oh, sure!" The director nodded, twisting the knob to the dressing room behind her before you could even protest. "Itaru-san, someone wants to talk to you!" 

"Oho? Itaru-san has stans?"

"Fans. But you're not too far off, huh, Citron?"

"Wah! Itaru-san is so popular!"

"Tch. As long as it's not her, I won't complain..."

The sound of cheerful laughter hit your ears, and the next thing you knew, he emerged from the doorway—still in costume without a single hair out of place. Itaru grew up to look like one of the princes in the fairytales your mother used to read to you, and it grated on your nerves more than it should. How could the kid with the most rotten attitude you've seen be blessed with a growth spurt like this?!

Too busy wallowing in your own frustration, it took you a moment to register the utter shock on Itaru's face once his vibrant eyes landed on your father. But when his gaze shifted to you, his lips parted in muted surprise before spreading into a disbelieving smile.

"So you finally thought about coming back, huh, old hag?"

Before you could even think, you seized the collar of his costume with your fist, familiar irritation festering in your chest faster than you could blink. "It's the first time we meet in fifteen years and that's your opening line?"

Itaru hollered loudly at your aggression, but the gesture didn't even faze him one bit. Maybe it was because he stood about a few inches taller than you now. Nonetheless, he held your hands in his own—holy shit they were smooth—before prying off your hard grip on his clothes.

"Ah, Izumi!" your father called out to the director. "I want to discuss something about the MANKAI Company and how I might be able to pitch in. Itaru-kun, you can keep her occupied for the time being, right?"

"What? Dad, don't leave me with hi—"

"She's in my care," Itaru spoke over you, a gloved hand going up to ruffle your hair. 

As you watched your father and the director disappear right down the corridor, you gulped when you felt Itaru's piercing gaze on you. Turning around, you saw that his lips were still affixed with a condescending smirk, like he had some dirt on you that you didn't know about. Slowly, you backed away from him, but the hallway was cramped and you ended up with you in between the wall and the man in front of you.

"So," he began before he braced his palms on either side of the wall, trapping you in place. How could someone who had the regal air of a prince look at you like a wolf in sheep's clothing?

You felt your heart racing hummingbird-fast in your chest, breath hitching when he leaned in to ask:

"When's the wedding?"