synopsis: introducing chigiri to your family and friends should’ve been simple — except everyone keeps thinking your boyfriend is your girlfriend.
a/n: i just love guys that look like girls ugh. or maybe i rlly love chigiri idk.
⸻
the first time you introduced chigiri to your family, you didn’t think it’d be a big deal.
it’s not like they didn’t know you were dating someone — you’d mentioned him before, showed them pictures (granted, only the ones where he looked ethereal and a little too pretty for his own good), and you’d even told your mom he was a soccer player. so really, you thought they’d piece it together.
you were wrong.
“oh!” your aunt gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “sweetheart, you didn’t tell us you were… you know…”
you blinked. “what?”
“you know!” she whispered, glancing at chigiri, whose polite smile faltered just slightly. “that you were into girls now!”
“sweetheart,” your mom had whispered when you walked through the door, chigiri standing right beside you, long red hair framing his soft, almost doll-like face. “you could’ve told us.”
you blinked, still confused. “told you what?”
your dad cleared his throat from the couch, trying (and failing) to hide his surprise. “we support you no matter what, kiddo.”
you turned to look at chigiri — who was standing there in his usual calm, composed stance, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. his lashes were too long, lips soft, eyes the kind of pink that looked airbrushed. he looked like he belonged in a shampoo commercial, not a soccer field.
“oh my god,” you whispered, realization hitting. “they think you’re a girl.”
chigiri’s eyes flickered with quiet amusement. “again?”
you groaned. “this happened before?”
he hummed, barely holding back a smile. “people used to think i was a girl all the time when i was younger. even at blue lock, some of the guys joked about it.”
“and you didn’t think to warn me before we came here?”
“didn’t think i had to.”
your mom clasped her hands together, giving chigiri the warmest smile possible. “you’re so beautiful, dear. what’s your name?”
he blinked once, lips twitching. “chigiri hyoma.”
“…hyoma?”
“yes, ma’am.”
your mom’s eyes widened slightly. your dad’s mouth fell open. and you — you wanted to sink into the floor.
“he’s my boyfriend,” you clarified loudly, a little too loudly. “as in, male boyfriend.”
your mom blinked. “oh.”
your dad coughed. “oh.”
chigiri tilted his head slightly, his tone as calm and polite as ever. “nice to meet you both.”
you could see your dad’s brain short-circuiting. “so you’re—uh—on the same soccer team?”
“no, sir,” chigiri said with a small smile. “but i’m in the program. striker.”
your mom’s eyes darted between you two. “you’re very… elegant for a soccer player.”
that made chigiri laugh quietly under his breath. “i get that a lot.”
you elbowed him lightly, muttering under your breath, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“a little,” he admitted. “your dad’s face is priceless.”
“he even sounds like a girl,” your uncle whispered to someone, not quietly enough.
later, when you were in the kitchen helping your mom with drinks, she leaned in close and whispered, “sweetheart, are you sure?”
“mom,” you deadpanned, “he’s literally built like an athlete. he just has good hair.”
“too good,” she murmured, peeking into the living room where chigiri was chatting politely with your dad. “are those eyelashes real?”
“mom.”
your cousin whispered to you in the kitchen (“he’s cute, but are you sure he’s not a girl?”).
when you came back out, chigiri gave you that small, knowing look — the one that said he was holding in laughter just to stay polite. his hand brushed yours briefly under the table, his thumb grazing your knuckles.
you sighed, whispering, “you’re too pretty for your own good.”
he smirked faintly. “i can’t help it.”
⸻
the second time this happened — because apparently once wasn’t enough — was when you introduced him to your best friends.
you were at your favorite café, the kind with soft lighting, indie music, and overpriced coffee. you’d been excited for this all week, texting your group chat about finally introducing him.
“i’m serious, you guys are gonna love him,” you’d said, beaming.
“we’ll see,” your best friend had teased. “if he breaks your heart, we’ll handle him.”
“he’s literally faster than everyone in blue lock,” you’d replied. “good luck catching him.”
long red hair, casual hoodie, sweats, calm expression. he scanned the room, spotted you instantly, and his lips curved into that small, reserved smile — the one that always made your chest feel warm.
all your friends froze.
“you must be the friends,” he said, polite as ever, voice soft but steady.
“oh my god,” one of them whispered, eyes wide. “she’s even prettier than i imagined.”
“what shampoo do you use?” another blurted.
your best friend leaned over and whispered, “so… are you coming out?”
you slapped her arm. “he’s my boyfriend.”
her jaw dropped. “that’s a boy?”
chigiri’s eye twitched. “i can hear you, you know.”
dead silence.
your best friend blinked. “…oh.”
then, without missing a beat, she added, “well, he’s still prettier than me, so i’m not mad.”
your other friend — who’d been sipping her iced latte — choked on her drink. “wait, that’s him? the soccer guy? i thought you said he was athletic!”
“he is athletic,” you hissed. “he could outrun a car.”
“a hot car maybe,” your friend muttered.
your friends peppered him with questions — about soccer, his hair care routine, how he managed to look like an idol on a random saturday.
you looked at chigiri, who was sitting perfectly straight, legs crossed, one elbow resting on the table as he looked between your friends with that calm, half-smiling face. he was clearly amused.
“don’t let them bully you,” you told him.
“i’m fine,” he said simply, tone light. “they’re funny.”
“funny?” your best friend asked. “you look like a k-pop idol, dude.”
chigiri chuckled quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”
“so wait,” another friend said, “you’re really a soccer player? like, you actually play?”
“i do,” he said, sipping his drink. “want me to show you my highlight?”
“oh my god, he has highlights?” your best friend whispered, looking starstruck now.
you groaned, leaning your head in your hands. “this is not how i imagined this going.”
“this is exactly how i imagined this going,” chigiri murmured beside you, just quiet enough for you to hear.
you shot him a look, but his smirk only deepened — that quiet, smug kind of amusement that you didn’t see often, but when you did, it was usually at your expense.
after a while, everyone eased up. your friends started joking with him, teasing him about his “haircare routine” and how “he probably uses silk pillowcases.” and chigiri? he took it all in stride — graceful, confident, unbothered.
“you guys can laugh,” he said, eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “but i can run laps around all of you.”
“oh, he’s got a little attitude,” your friend said, grinning.
you smiled, shaking your head. “he’s always like this.”
“confident?”
“cocky,” you corrected.
he turned to you, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “you love it.”
you rolled your eyes, but your heart stuttered a little anyway.
later, as you both walked home, the evening air cool and quiet, you bumped his shoulder lightly. “you handled that well.”
he looked down at you, expression soft. “they’re your friends. i wanted them to like me.”
“they do now. maybe too much.”
“good,” he said simply.
“you’re such a show-off.”
“you knew that before you started dating me.”
and yeah, you did. because beneath that calm, pretty face and the long hair that fooled everyone — he was still chigiri hyoma. sharp-tongued, confident, fast as hell, competitive about everything.
even with your family thinking you were “coming out,” and your friends losing their minds over how “pretty” your boyfriend was — you wouldn’t have traded him for anyone else.
not even for someone who looked less like a runway model and more like a soccer player.
