Chapter Text
Love changed very little.
And absolutely everything.
Budo still trained every morning before classes.
Taro still spent most lunches reading quietly by the courtyard fountain.
The world still moved around them exactly as it always had.
But now there was an invisible thread connecting everything.
Budo looked for Taro first in every crowd.
Taro unconsciously saved the seat beside him.
Small things.
Constant things.
The kind that slowly became impossible to imagine living without.
The problem was that neither of them actually knew how to be in love.
Especially not openly.
Which led to several complications.
For example:
Budo was apparently very physically affectionate once he stopped holding himself back.
Not excessively.
Just instinctively.
A hand against Taro’s back while guiding him through crowded hallways.
Fingers brushing his hair out of his face while he read.
Resting his chin briefly on Taro’s head without thinking because of their height difference.
That last one nearly killed Taro instantly.
They were sitting together after school when Budo leaned down absentmindedly while reading over Taro’s shoulder.
And then—
Rested there.
Comfortably.
Like it was natural.
Taro froze completely.
Budo continued reading for approximately seven seconds before realizing Taro had stopped breathing.
“…Taro?”
“…You’re on me.”
Budo blinked. “I know.”
Silence.
Then realization hit him.
He straightened immediately. “Sorry.”
Taro stared at his book aggressively.
“You have to stop apologizing for everything.”
“I was making you nervous.”
“You make me nervous constantly.”
Budo paused.
Then, very quietly:
“…Oh.”
The dangerous softness returned to his expression again.
Taro hated how weak that made him.
Meanwhile, Budo was discovering something equally disastrous:
Taro became bolder when comfortable.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
Lethally.
Like the time Budo showed up exhausted after a difficult practice and dropped heavily onto the bench beside him.
Without even looking up from his book, Taro reached over and loosened Budo’s bandanna gently.
The gesture was so natural that Budo stopped functioning immediately.
Taro blinked. “What?”
Budo stared at him.
“…You touched my hair.”
Taro looked genuinely confused. “I’ve done that before.”
“Not like that.”
Taro paused.
Then I realized.
Then it immediately turned red.
Unfortunately, Budo noticed that too.
And suddenly both of them were staring anywhere except each other.
The first real argument happened because Budo forgot to rest.
Which, according to the Martial Arts Club, happened constantly.
Taro just happened to be the first person stubborn enough to challenge him on it.
Budo had stayed late every day that week preparing the Martial Arts Club for an upcoming tournament.
By Friday evening, he looked exhausted.
Not tired.
Exhausted.
Taro found him still in the dojo long after sunset.
Again.
“You’re still here,” Taro said quietly.
Budo looked up from cleaning equipment. “Almost done.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I mean it this time.”
Taro stepped inside slowly.
The dojo lights buzzed softly overhead.
Everything felt too empty.
“You haven’t gone home early once this week.”
Budo shrugged slightly. “This tournament is important.”
“So are you.”
The words came out sharper than intended.
Budo blinked.
Taro rarely sounded angry.
Which meant when he did, it mattered.
“I’m fine,” Budo said.
Taro immediately frowned. “You literally have eye bags.”
Silence.
Budo looked away.
That was enough to answer.
Taro’s chest tightened painfully.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“It’s not serious.”
“That’s not the point.”
Budo exhaled slowly. “Taro—”
“No.” Taro closed his book harder than necessary. “You don’t get to take care of everyone except yourself.”
Budo went still.
The gym suddenly felt much quieter.
Taro looked down, trying to calm himself.
“I know people rely on you,” he said more softly. “But you’re allowed to stop before you break.”
Budo didn’t answer immediately.
And somehow, that made Taro more upset.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
Budo’s voice came quietly.
“Because no one has said something like that to me.”
That hurt worse somehow.
Taro’s anger collapsed instantly into something more fragile.
“…They should.”
Budo set the equipment down slowly.
Then walked closer.
“Taro.”
Taro looked away stubbornly.
Budo stopped directly in front of him.
“You’re right.”
Taro blinked.
“…What?”
“You’re right,” Budo repeated. “I pushed too hard.”
That should have ended things.
But instead, Taro suddenly felt exhausted too.
Because underneath the frustration was fear.
Fear that Budo would keep giving pieces of himself away until nothing remained.
Budo seemed to understand that somehow.
Carefully, he reached out.
Not touching yet.
Just close.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realize it worried you that much.”
Taro laughed weakly under his breath.
“Of course it worries me.”
Budo’s expression softened immediately.
And then—
Very gently—
He cupped Taro’s face in one hand.
Taro stopped breathing.
“I’ll rest,” Budo murmured. “Okay?”
The warmth of his hand was unbearable.
The sincerity in his voice is even worse.
Taro nodded once slowly.
Budo smiled faintly.
And just like that, the tension dissolved.
The tournament came a few days later.
Taro attended despite not understanding most martial arts terminology.
What he did understand was this:
Budo was extraordinary.
Not because he was the strongest person there.
Though he probably was.
But because people trusted him instinctively.
Students calmed when he spoke.
Matches steadied when he intervened.
Even opponents respected him.
He carried himself like someone who protected things.
And Taro couldn’t stop watching him.
Unfortunately, someone noticed.
One of Budo’s club members Mina sat beside him midway through the event.
“You stare at him a lot.”
Taro nearly dropped his drink.
“…I do not.”
“You do.” Mina grinned. “It’s kind of gross, actually.”
Taro looked horrified.
Mina laughed immediately. “Relax, I'm joking, it’s cute.”
Taro wanted the floor to open beneath him instantly.
Instead, he muttered weakly, “Please stop talking.”
“Nope.” Mina leaned forward dramatically. “He looks at you the same way, you know?”
Taro froze.
“What?”
“Oh, it’s worse from his side,” She continued cheerfully. “He looks for you constantly.”
Taro’s heartbeat stumbled violently.
“No he doesn’t.”
“Yes he does.”
As if summoned by the conversation itself, Budo glanced toward the stands.
Immediately found Taro.
And smiled.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
Warm enough that Taro forgot how to function for several seconds.
Mina beside him made a gasp noise, then pointed.
“See?! That face! He never smiles like that at us!”
Taro buried his face in his hands.
After the tournament ended, evening settled slowly over the school grounds.
Students drifted home in groups.
Voices faded.
The world quieted.
Taro waited outside while the Martial Arts Club cleaned up.
Eventually, the gym doors opened.
Budo walked out wearing his uniform again, a gym bag slung over one shoulder.
The moment he spotted Taro, his posture relaxed.
There it was again.
That expression.
Like coming home.
“You waited,” Budo said softly.
Taro nodded. “Of course.”
Budo stepped closer.
Close enough that Taro could see exhaustion lingering beneath his eyes.
But also happiness.
Quiet, genuine happiness.
“You were amazing today,” Taro admitted quietly.
Budo looked surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
Then smiled faintly.
“I kept looking for you.”
Taro’s heart nearly stopped.
“…Why?”
Budo looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious by now.
“Because you calm me down.”
The honesty of it hit hard.
Taro swallowed carefully.
“Don’t say such nonsense…”
Budo stared at him for a moment.
Then stepped even closer.
Near enough that Taro’s pulse became impossible to ignore.
Streetlights glowed softly around them.
Wind moved gently through trees overhead.
And Budo—
Budo looked at him with that unbearably careful expression again.
Like Taro was something precious.
“Taro,” he said quietly.
“…Yes?”
Budo hesitated.
Which meant this mattered.
Then softly:
“Can I kiss you?”
The world stopped completely this time.
No thoughts.
No sounds.
Just that question.
And the terrifying tenderness behind it.
Taro looked at him.
At the boy who always asked.
Always checked.
Always chose gentleness no matter how strong he was.
And somehow—
That made answering easy.
Very softly, barely above a whisper:
“Yes.”
Budo exhaled shakily.
Like relief.
Like wonder.
Then he lifted one hand carefully to Taro’s cheek again—
And kissed him.