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When Chihaya confesses her love to him on that fateful afternoon in the old clubroom, her calloused fingers desperately clinging to his hand as her emotions bleed out all over the tatami mats, she doesn’t know how it will change things between them. She hasn’t thought that far ahead. She wasn’t even planning on confessing until it was happening, but when she’s done speaking and her heart has been laid bare before him, she freezes, suddenly dreading his response. She realizes firsthand the amount of courage it took Taichi (and Arata, too, for that matter), to share their innermost feelings to her. She doesn’t know if Taichi even still feels the same for her, but she hopes, prays, even, that his feelings haven’t completely disappeared. She’s realized all too late just how important Taichi is to her, and how much she wants him to want her—not just as a friend, but as a partner. A person dedicated to always being by her side, just as she will be by his.
The physical aspects of a relationship don’t even cross her mind, and it’s not until much later after Taichi smiles at her, bewildered and shocked yet so, so, so happy, that she finds herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
(She knows that they’ve technically shared a kiss, but that was one filled with heartbreak and remorse and it leaves her stomach twisting when she recalls the emptiness she saw in his gaze. She wants to try again, if only for the sake of satiating her own curiosity.)
Chihaya’s never had a boyfriend before, but being with Taichi is just as easy as it always is. It’s better, actually, because Taichi smiles again and Chihaya finds herself appreciating all sorts of things about him that she’s previously overlooked, like how truly beautiful he is. She knows Taichi is handsome (she was never deaf to all the whispers and giggles other girls shared when he walked by in the school hallways) but she doubts they’ve ever noticed the precise dusty rose color of his cheeks when he gets embarrassed, or the little line that forms between his eyebrows when he’s reciting the yomifuda from memory, or the calluses on his fingertips, coarse yet soft and featherlight when his hand slides over hers.
The first time she truly notices these things is on the day she confesses, after they leave the club room still smiling and blushing and walking close enough that their arms brush lightly. It’s when they step outside and the light catches his eyes that she thinks they’re the softest, most stunning shade of amber she’s ever seen. She wants to drown in his gaze and soak up the warmth of the sun she see’s reflected there, but she’s not great at expressing these types of thoughts and feelings, so she simply stares and stares until he finally notices and gives her a gentle flick against the side of her head.
“What’s with that expression?” he teases, and then she notices the tilt of his lips when he smiles, and oh, she really is a goner now.
They don’t share the status of their relationship with their friends, at least not yet, but from the giddy, punch drunk way they’re acting for the rest of the graduation ceremony Chihaya’s certain Kanade knows, if not Chitose, too. Taichi texts her later that night, after all the pictures and celebrations and tears are over with, and says that he wants to spend as much time with her as he can before he leaves. It’s a bitter reminder that their days are numbered, but Chihaya agrees, and spends her night tossing and turning and thinking about the sweetness of Taichi’s voice and the warmth of his hand pressed against hers in the clubroom. It’s both foreign and familiar, thinking about Taichi in this obsessive type of way. Before it’s always been thoughts of regret and confusion, as she’d lie awake and try to discern why he was drifting so far from her, and how she could pull him back into her orbit. Now it’s thoughts of wonder and excitement and heartfelt relief—both at finally understanding the scope of her feelings, and knowing that she isn’t too late in reciprocating his.
She’s known Taichi for over half her life; he was one of her first friends, and despite their combative relationship as kids he was truly special to her in a way she could never put into words. Even now, she finds it hard to articulate the impression he’s made in her heart, and how integral he is to her own happiness. Taichi’s always been there from the start, even before karuta, and she wants him to continue to be there until the very end.
She’s greedy that way.
She’s greedy for him, too, and finds herself hanging off his arm and letting her fingers curl around the bare skin of his forearm whenever they’re together, taking as much contact as she can. Taichi hardly seems to mind—enjoys it, even—and returns her affections with a smile that warms her all the way down to her toes.
They see each other every day now, and in some ways it’s like nothing’s changed. But the curiosity within Chihaya burns brighter and hotter and she notices herself staring unabashedly at his lips whenever he speaks, wanting to memorize their feelings and discover their taste. He catches her, once, and she watches the expression on his face morph from his normal indifference to a look of subtle understanding. He looks away and continues talking, but the dusty rose color on his cheeks makes her wonder if he has the same thoughts about her, too.
It’s a few days before he leaves for Kyoto that her curiosity becomes insatiable and she starts feeling desperate, deciding to take matters into her own hands. They’re walking home from the train station—following the familiar path they’ve walked hundreds of times before—but with every step the weight of impermanence presses harder against Chihaya’s chest.
She’s running out of time.
Taichi is leaving.
She’s known this from the moment she spilled her heart to him, but it didn’t feel real—not until now, when the night air is cool against her skin and the streetlights cast his shadow long beside hers. She realizes she doesn’t know when she’ll get to do this again, to walk home by his side and talk about nothing and everything, to reach for him knowing he'll be there to catch her.
The thought makes her breath stutter in her throat, and when she turns to look at him, she feels a sharp pang of urgency clawing at her ribs.
She wants to kiss him.
(How she wants and wants, when it comes to him.)
She doesn’t know what it will mean to take that final step, only that she needs to do it (she needs to know) before he slips away from her again. Before distance and longing make him unreachable.
So she stops walking.
Taichi takes only a few steps before realizing she isn’t beside him anymore. He turns around, the fading sun framing his head in a soft halo of light, and the beauty of the moment nearly takes her breath away. “Chihaya?”
She doesn’t think she’s capable of answering, so she simply steps forward, grabs the front of his shirt with trembling fingers, and leans up on her toes. For a split second, she wonders if she’s being too selfish in trying to take what she wants from Taichi, who's always been so willing to give himself over to her. But Chihaya’s never been one to overthink her impulses, either, so instead she closes the distance and presses her lips against his.
It’s clumsy at first—rushed and eager and a little too desperate. Her heart is hammering, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt like he might disappear if she lets go. He’s warm against her, and she can taste the sun on his lips and it makes her whole body buzz with light. She expects him to respond, to pull her closer, to kiss her back the way she knows he must want to.
But he doesn’t.
His body goes tense, and he freezes.
Chihaya pulls away just enough to see his face. His eyes are wide and unreadable, and his hands are clenched at his sides like...like he's afriad. Slowly, she loosens her grip on his shirt and lets her fingers trail down his arm, finding his hand and slotting their fingers together naturally as if they'd been doing it their whole lives.
“Is this okay?” she asks softly. "Do you not want...?"
Taichi exhales, his breath shaky, but when he finally looks at her something in his expression changes, and she knows he's thinking back to their first kiss (the one she doesn't consider their true first). It makes sense now why he's so hesitant and wary, and she marvels at how easily she can read him when he used to feel so inscrutable.
He lifts a hand slowly, like he's afraid she's a vapor that'll disappear under a single touch, and cups her cheek. His thumb brushes against her skin, and his touch is so unbearably gentle that it makes her stomach flip.
“Chihaya,” he says, voice low, like he’s saying her name just to hear how it sounds between them. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
His lips curve into a small, soft smile—the one she’s so rarely seen these last few months. The one that always made her chest feel tight without knowing why.
“Then why haven’t you—?”
“Because it’s you,” he says simply, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “And I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”
Chihaya blinks up at him, something stirring in her chest. Does he really not realize how much she's wanted this, too?
She lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Taichi, I—” The words catch in her throat. She’s still not good at finding the words to express her feelings. She doesn’t think there even are enough words to describe everything she feels.
She lifts herself onto her toes again and presses her forehead against his. “I just want you,” she whispers.
His breath stutters. Then, after a beat, he leans in, closing the space between them, and this time the kiss is different. There’s no urgency or desperation. Just warmth. Just Taichi, steady and certain, kissing her with all the quiet emotion he’s spent years tucking away.
Chihaya melts into it, her hands sliding up to rest against his chest. Her heartbeat slows, and the world narrows to the soft press of his lips and the careful way he tilts his head, slow and sure, like he’s memorizing her the way he memorizes the cards in the playing field. Like he’s savoring this as much as she is.
She wonders if this is the passion everyone talks about—the type of devotion and affection that people spend years trying to put into words, either through songs or stories or poems.
Unbidden, she thinks of one of Kanade’s favorite poems written by Fujiwara no Atsutada—poem 43—and she pulls back to stare at Taichi in sudden understanding.
“I get it now,” she breathes, lifting her head up to look at him. “The ai poem. When it talks about the feelings of the heart, compared to before and after being in love. Even if you think you know what love is, everything becomes different once you’ve really experienced it.”
Taichi raises an eyebrow, an almost fond resignation taking over his features. “Are we really talking about karuta right now?”
She falters, a blush creeping up to her cheeks. “Ah, s-sorry! I guess…karuta’s just always on my mind. Kind of like you these days.”
His eyes soften, and his fingers close around hers. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know the feeling.”
She watches the way his gaze settles on hers, warm and unwavering, the corners of his lips curling into that quiet smile again—the one that’s always made her feel safe, like no matter how reckless or uncertain she is, he’ll be there to steady her. And suddenly, she doesn’t want to think anymore. Not about the past, not about the future, not even about karuta.
So she squeezes his fingers and stands on her toes, closing the distance between them once more.