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Summary
“Someone once told me it’s rude to stare,” Osamu lilts without opening his eyes. What Rin would give to see them.
“So, you’re not dead,” Rin retorts, echoing that one fateful afternoon, as he shifts onto his back. They lie side by side. “And who said I was staring?”
“Were ya,” Osamu questions, opting to craft new memories rather than run his hands over old ones.
“Yes,” Rin replies truthfully, indulgently.
“Like what ya see,” Osamu wonders and his lips curve into a lopsided smile.
“Always,” Rin breathes once, then twice. “Always.”
Or
The story of Rintarou and Osamu, as told through walks home, late nights, pinky promises, and the art of studying not staring.
Ft. Art in Chapter 3