“Did you ever consider,” Niou began carefully, “that you might have made me uncomfortable?”

Marui glared bitterly.

“Of course,” he spat. “This is a jealousy issue, after all.”

“After all,” Niou nodded.

The trickster glanced furtively across the table, watching Marui’s expression through four layers of glass, wondering if he should cough, or apologize, or make a mad dash for the bathroom.

“You barely touched your cake,” he remarked.

“Go ahead,” replied Marui acrimoniously, pushing the plate toward Niou. “No high fructose corn syrup, no added preservatives. No MSG. It’s quite healthy, Niou.”

There was a moment in which both sides acknowledged the eradication of ‘Masaharu’ from Marui’s vocabulary.

Niou leaned back into his seat.

“You’re such a flirt,” he paused, “Bunta.”

“Heh,” said Marui.

Next to their table, a waiter seated a young couple, asking if they’d like a highchair for their baby. Marui watched as both worked to tie a bib around her neck.

“I’m flattered, Niou,” said Marui. He plunged his fork into his other plate – a slice of tiramisu – with only the heartless precision of a tensai. “Absolutely flattered. Was this how I ensnared you? You know, at least I don’t take advantage of my attractiveness. I’m not the one infected with tricho.”

Niou raised an eyebrow.

“I’m clean,” he said.

Then he realized what Marui was alluding to.

“Those papers from the clinic weren’t mine, Bunta. They were his.”

“Whose?”

“I don’t remember his name anymore.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Niou dug a piece of the cake Marui offered to him with his fingernail. Flavorful, but not overdone, he thought, while cleaning the inside of his teeth. Then he made eye contact with Marui.

“Are you sure about this cake?”

Marui narrowed his eyes. “I’m full just by looking at you.”

“That could be misconstrued in a positive way,” Niou smirked. It was the only way he knew how to cover up shock. He deeply underestimated the severity of his role as a boyfriend, seeing their relationship as a disposable venture into flirtation rather than a relationship.

“You’re uninteresting, Niou-kun,” said Marui.

Yes, thought Niou. What a beautiful lie. Perhaps he was disillusioned after all. If he misjudged something as intimate as a relationship, he misjudged all those sleights of hand his opponents pulled. All that arrogance had been a sham! All that talent had been luck! All that laziness was just laziness – not a slick façade to win fanclubs and admiration. Perhaps he was too angry to feel sorry for his ex-lover, because at this moment, he placed a few bills on the table and walked away.

What is Niou Masaharu without seeing ten moves ahead?

Marui closed his mind. He knew Niou still loved him, but he couldn’t love Niou anymore.

Who knew their break-up could be as ironic as identity.