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Itsuki was nervous, but he couldn’t let it show. If he did, it would mean he was expecting something and he knew beyond a doubt that if he expected anything from Chika, he would be sorely disappointed. It was silly, perhaps, to put too much weight on a simple invitation to the music room after classes were over. Silly or not, Itsuki could feel his heart doing gymnastics in his chest. It wasn’t easy to school his features into some sort of indifferent mask, but he thought he could at least manage a smile.
He heard Chika before he saw him. His voice carried, tinged by an ethereal quality. It was so pure a sound that Itsuki was convinced it could bring life to the most barren plains, because that was exactly how it felt to hear it—a rush of cool spring water after the longest drought on earth. Itsuki had to look around to make sure nobody else had heard Chika’s singing but him, and immediately felt himself flush with embarrassment. Who was he to want to be the one and only person Chika sang to? Chika didn’t belong to him… but the idea of owning Chika did make Itsuki feel a little hot under the collar. He shook off the feeling.
You won’t be let down if you don’t keep any expectations up, he reminded himself. Though he himself didn’t know it, Chika was rather popular amongst the rest of the students—he was everything they could never be; he was unconventionally attractive, a top student, and just an all-around nice guy. Naturally, he was also the only son of the esteemed Washuu family, an extremely old and extremely rich bloodline which laid claim on nearly eighty percent of the city’s economy. This undoubtedly placed Chika at the top of the entire school, yet when he was nominated student council president in his first year, he politely declined and opted to be the secretary instead to “gain more experience,” he’d said.
After spending more than a few years with Chika (they’d met in their last year of middle school), Itsuki had come to realize that he was far from the perfect god that the student body seemed to think he was.
Itsuki slid the music room door shut behind him and, to his mild disappointment, Chika stopped mid-song and tugged off his earphones. He smiled brightly as Itsuki said, “Don’t stop on my account.”
“You like hearing me sing?”
“A little.”
“A little is better than not at all.”
Itsuki cocked an eyebrow. “Your standards can’t be that low.”
Chika leaned back against the grand piano that dominated the center of the room. It was a cleanly polished black—sleek, mysterious, and riveting… Just like Chika himself. Itsuki pursed his lips at the realization, trying not to smile by himself at how he’d just likened Chika to a piano. “I’ll sing again,” Chika said, and there again were the pleasant, singsong overtones to his voice that Itsuki felt his heart stutter for. “I’ll sing, just for you, any song you’d like.”
Wouldn’t that be something, Itsuki wanted to say, to play it cool and pretend his heart wasn’t hammering against his chest at a thousand beats per minute. He opened his mouth and stammered out a lame reply, something forgettable, he knew, and yet Chika laughed—his laugh sounded just as lyrical as his singing voice—and suddenly it was like Itsuki had said the most amusing thing in the world. Chika knew exactly how to make him feel special and like he was walking on air.
He felt himself falter. What was he doing here? Why was he letting himself go like this? Chika would definitely turn his nose up in disgust if he knew the kind of things Itsuki thought. He was a man of principle, the one person everyone wanted to be. And Itsuki was supposed to be his friend, not someone who thought he looked vaguely attractive with his school-regulated tie loosened up around his collar…
“So,” Itsuki said, clearing his throat, “why did you want to see me so badly? Finally admit that you need help with balancing equations?”
Chika made a face. “Don’t remind me about that.” He began to shake his head, before smirking a little. “Though if you do want to give me a lesson in chemistry, I wouldn’t mind one bit.”
Itsuki blushed as Chika laughed at his expense. “I take it back. You can study on your own.”
“C’mon Maru, I didn’t call you all the way up here to study.” Chika flashed him a knowing glance—though Itsuki didn’t know what he knew. There was only one way to find out.
“Well then why did you call me all the way up here?”
Chika seemed to anticipate the question. He pushed off of the piano and Itsuki cursed inwardly as his heart rate climbed higher with every step Chika took toward him. He felt like a blubbering idiot, at a loss for words, lost in the moment, suspended—caught and quivering—like morning dew on a spider’s web. Maybe it was a bit cruel to compare Chika to a spider, but Itsuki couldn’t deny that he was trapped (though he wanted to deny that he liked the feeling of it).
“I know there’s that silly dance around the bonfire we have to do once the festival ends next week,” Chika said, his voice low, almost like a conspiratorial whisper. “But I’d never be able to ask you to be my partner without you throwing a fit.” He reached out and tucked an earbud into Itsuki’s ear. “So will you allow me this one chance?”
If Chika’s hands hadn’t found themselves around Itsuki’s waist, he might have fallen to the floor, dumbfounded. Instead he laughed breathily and said, “If you wanted to practice so badly, you could have asked any other guy. Or girl.”
Chika shot him a pointed look. “I could have but I didn’t. I told you I’m not interested in anyone else but you.”
“Are you really?” Itsuki bit out. He instantly regretted it. He never meant to sound angry. He just didn’t know what to do. He was happy, but he was terrified. He wanted to run, but he also wanted to put his hands on Chika’s shoulders. To return the gesture. To dance.
“Please, Maru?” Chika’s eyes were earnest and pleading. “Dance with me?”
Itsuki swallowed hard. His fingers were shaking and he was more than unsure of himself. Again and again he wondered how he had gotten here, with Chika’s arms around his waist. But before he knew it, there were violins playing in his ear and Chika had begun to sway in time with the music. Itsuki awkwardly mirrored him, his cheeks red and his heart pounding a tattoo into his chest.
When Chika started singing, Itsuki could feel his resolve weaken even further. His voice was soft, only enough for both of them to hear. It was an intimate whisper, meant for them and them alone. Something within Itsuki, which had been wavering for months—perhaps even years—finally succumbed to the sheer emotion of the moment. He closed his eyes and let Chika take the lead.
It was far from the “silly dance” that they had to do at the end of every school festival, though Chika had never planned for it to be the same thing. It was something else entirely—slow and indulgent with its passions. Chika sang the round, sweet melodies that they danced in time to, and Itsuki managed, if only for a moment, to lay his fears and insecurities to rest.
Some way into the song, Chika’s voice faded to give way for an instrumental interlude. They continued to dance, and Itsuki’s mind wandered to the sensation of Chika’s shoulders beneath his fingers. The feeling of it was anything but a dream. Could he let himself believe that this was actually happening? Was it too much to ask that Chika never forget this moment?
“I wish I could dance with you, like this, forever,” Chika sighed.
“We’d never graduate,” Itsuki said, suppressing a smile. “We’d just be dancing here in this room until we drop dead.”
“That sounds nice…”
“Dying?”
Chika rolled his eyes. “Dancing with you sounds nice. Honestly Maru, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you didn’t know I’ve had a crush on you for an entire year.”
“Oh, well that’s—” Itsuki stopped mid-step, his eyes wide. “Wait… You… what?”
“I’ve… had a crush on you…? For a year?”
“I’ve had a crush on you for a year! What are you talking about?”
“I thought you knew that I like you!”
“Well I didn’t,” Itsuki said, throwing up his hands to cover his red cheeks. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”
They stood in stunned, slightly awkward silence for a few moments. Then Chika reached out to take one of Itsuki’s hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I… didn’t know how you felt. I just assumed a lot of things. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Itsuki said sharply. He looked down at his feet. “No… That didn’t come out right. You shouldn’t feel like apologizing. I should’ve known that you…” His face was reddening again and his voice came out smaller than ever. “The whole year…? The whole time?”
Chika smiled, warm as the sun. “The whole year. The whole time.”
“And you knew that I… that you…?”
“I had a hunch.”
Itsuki groaned. “Really?”
Chika laughed softly. “Really.” He raised Itsuki’s fingers to his lips and Itsuki felt his heart threaten to jump out of his chest. This was crazy. It couldn’t be happening.
It was happening.
When Chika left a fleeting, feather-light kiss on the corner of his mouth, he knew it was a feeling that he could abandon everything in the world for. Well, almost everything.
Their faces were a hair’s breadth apart, and both of them were breathless with joy—which Itsuki thought was a bit ridiculous since they hadn’t even kissed for real. Chika wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace. Now Itsuki knew he wasn’t the only one with a pounding heart.
“I love you,” Chika said. The words were almost as ethereal and beautiful as his voice.
Itsuki’s throat closed up and he stammered out a much quieter, “Me too.”
He’d been nothing short of an idiot for telling himself not to expect anything… but of course, he’d never been more afraid of losing anyone in his life. Chika was the first—and probably the last—person he’d ever fallen in love with. Everything felt fragile. He didn’t want to expect this. Because he didn’t want to lose him. And he didn’t want to be disappointed. Or hurt.
“I lied earlier,” he said, and Chika’s head snapped up. He laughed. “No, not that. I lied when I said I only liked your singing a little. I actually like it a lot. More than anything I’ve ever heard in my whole life.” He looked up at Chika. “Can you sing for me again?”
“I’ll always sing for you.”
And when he did, Itsuki wondered if he was imagining it but the whole room seemed to look brighter, and feel warmer. Like home. He put his arms around Chika and let the music of his voice envelop him. He was so happy that it was painful. He wished they could stay like this forever, just as Chika had wished they could stay dancing forever.