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“She’s pretty cute,” Yaku remarks absent-mindedly, peering over your shoulder as you scroll through your feed.
You pause, frowning slightly. “Her? She put beetles in my hair when we were five.”
He chuckles, his gaze moving back to the tv screen in front of you. There’s the erratic sound of button clicks as he hacks and slices through a horde of blue Bokoblins. “I mean, I'm sure she doesn’t do that to people now .”
You roll your eyes. “I sure hope not.”
You turn back to your phone to glance at the smiling face of your elementary school tormentor. You’re not even sure why she’d followed you in the first place, considering you hadn’t spoken to her since the last year of primary school when she’d gotten mad at you for having the same Pretty Cure backpack.
You tilt your head. Was she cute? You really couldn’t tell since you were looking at her through a lens caked with playground dirt and shiny beetle shells. You suppose you could see why guys would like her but maybe you were just too biased to agree.
Yaku must notice the concentrated look of deliberation on your face because he stops playing for a second to nudge you with his knee. “What’re you thinking so hard about, huh?”
“At the risk of sounding like I care,” you begin, frowning slightly. “Why do you think she’s cute?”
He laughs; a short, airy noise like are you serious? “Why does it matter?”
You sigh. “I don't know, I just want to know why you think she’s cute.”
He gives you a Look as he contemplates indulging you. “I don't know, she’s got cute...cheeks? her hair’s nice too.”
You squint at the device, “her hair is long.”
He turns his attention back to the video game. “I never said I only liked girls with short hair,” he mumbles.
You’re suddenly aware of your not-too-short hair, “Oh.” Yaku had never mentioned the way you looked before. Did he think your cheeks were cute? Was your hair nice?
A few seconds pass and you decide to just like the post and keep scrolling. On the bedside table, Yaku’s phone buzzes when you send him your fifth anime meme of the day.
“So,” he says suddenly as his character takes a flying leap off of a watchtower, “does she have a boyfriend or what?”
You reach over to throw the stuffed Chikorita beside you at his head but he dodges. it hits the wall behind you and you curse his well-honed athletic instincts.
“I'm kidding ,” he laughs, holding up his arms to shield himself from any more incoming attacks. He opens his sailcloth just in time to not die in-game. “Didn’t know you cared so much about who I’m interested in, though.”
“I do not ,” you pout, turning away from him. “I just don’t want you to end up with beetles in your hair.”
He smirks. “That’s so considerate of you,” he coos sarcastically and you shoot him a nasty look.
You exit out of the app and place your phone down beside you. Leaning back onto the comforter of your best friend’s bed, you turn to give him a sidelong glance.
“Hey,” you say after a second. “Do you think I’m cute?”
He glances over at you. “Not when you make that face from before,” he remarks, reaching over to flick your forehead.
“Shut up.” you grab his hand but instead of letting go immediately, you let it linger, holding onto the warmth of his touch. “I'm being serious. Do you think I’m cute?”
His full attention is on you now, or at least on the fingers wrapped around his wrist. He wets his lips. “I-I mean, yeah ...you’re pretty cute,” he says, voice wavering too much for your liking.
You release your hold on him. “What about me is cute then?”
He hesitates, fiddling with one of the buttons on the switch before answering you again. “A lot of things, I guess,” he shrugs. His character is running in circles on screen now.
“Like?”
He bites the inside of his cheek. “Are you really gonna make me list it?”
“Yes,” you say stubbornly, turning your body to look up at him.
He sighs. “I don’t know. you’re just cute . Not just the way you look but like the way you text me with all those emojis, the way you collect those little vending machine toys, the way you look when we win a game when you basically run down to hug everyone and cry, the way you always have to eat your strawberries from smallest to largest...”
You blink, feeling your cheeks get a little warmer with each addition to his list.
“...that face you make when Yamamoto says something stupid, which is pretty often...”
“Huh,” you say quietly, turning away. You’re sure you’re visibly steaming from how hot you feel at the moment. “I didn’t know you thought about it that much.”
He stops suddenly, looking a bit flustered himself. “I mean,” he clears his throat. “I don’t , I just—you asked .”
“Right,” you say, trying to mentally will the heat in your cheeks to dissipate. “Um, yeah so—”
“Yeah,” he tacks on lamely, staring intently at the screen of the television.
“Thanks,” you say, a bit too abashed for casual conversation with your best friend.
“No problem,” he responds softly. Something in your stomach flutters and you can’t tell if it’s validation from his words, embarrassment from the sudden awkwardness, or something else entirely.
You’re also not sure if you want to find out.
He goes back to playing his game and you fiddle with your phone for a while in an attempt to ignore the slow dawning of realization within you. You know you can’t repress this forever, but by god, are you going to try anyway.
“Hey,” he says after a while, nudging you lightly with his foot. “Wanna go for soba later?”
You turn to look at him and something in your chest jumps.
“Yeah,” you say, unable to fight the smile playing on your lips. “I’d like that.”