Archive of Our Own ^beta

Beneath its vibrant petals, the petunia whispered of unspoken grudges and emotions too bitter to name.

The bell rang, sharp and final, signaling the end of first period. Students shuffled out, their chatter echoing through the hallways, but Rin stayed seated at his desk, unmoving. His eyes were locked on the near-empty test paper in front of him, where only his name and a half-scribbled formula sat uselessly. The first question stared back at him like a taunt: “A school is planning to build a rectangular soccer field. Maximize the area given a fixed amount of fencing…”

A soccer field. Of course it had to be a soccer field.

His jaw tightened. He knew the math behind it—he could probably solve it in his sleep. But the moment he read the word “soccer,” his thoughts derailed. That word didn't just remind him of the sport. It reminded him of him. Of Sae.

Everything in his life—every compliment, every expectation, every comparison—had always revolved around Sae. The genius. The prodigy. The perfect older brother who made soccer look effortless.

Rin hated it.

He hated how the game that once brought them close now only reminded him of the distance between them.

And yet, no matter how much he told himself he didn’t care, that he didn’t want to play anymore, something burned inside him. A low, bitter flame. Spite. He didn’t play for joy anymore. He played because if he could surpass Sae at the very thing that tore them apart, maybe—just maybe—that would be enough.

His pencil hovered above the page, but he couldn't bring himself to write. The question wasn’t about fencing or area. It was just another reminder that even here, even in math class, soccer haunted him.

“Rin."

The voice pulled him out of his thoughts, snapping his attention back to the present. He looked up to see the worried face of his teacher. That look—pity—gnawed at him. It made his skin crawl. He hated that look. The worry, the sympathy, the quiet judgment behind their eyes.

He never minded being second best to his brother. After all, Sae was the best. Always had been.

But after Sae left for Spain, the attention Rin received began to shift. At first, people saw him as a poor imitation, a placeholder, a pale shadow of the prodigy who had gone overseas. Then that perception curdled into something worse: pity.

They called him the younger brother who could never measure up. But Rin didn’t care back then. He had been proud just to be compared to the brother he admired most. Sae—the kindest big brother in the world.

Sae, who shattered him.

When Sae came back and cast Rin aside—cast their dream aside—it broke something in him. Rin didn’t know how to deal with the pain, so he pushed people away. He acted colder, harsher, more distant.

The judgmental stares shifted again—this time into concern. Into pity.

And Rin hated it. Because pity was a reminder. A reminder that the gap between him and his brother was now a chasm he could never cross. A reminder that the person he had once loved more than anything had become someone he resented.

Loved.

And despised.

"What."
Rin’s voice came out cold and flat. He turned his gaze away, unwilling to meet the teacher's eyes—unwilling to see that look again. That look of sympathy, of concern disguised as duty. It made his stomach turn.

"Your grades have been slipping, Rin," she said gently. "At this rate… you’re going to fail."

There it was. The softness in her tone, the hesitance. The quiet suggestion that he was breaking apart and nobody knew how to stop it. That somehow, he was a victim now.

He bit the inside of his cheek, saying nothing.

"I know you’re going through a lot," she continued, "but maybe getting some help wouldn’t be so bad."

Help. Another word that felt like chains.

"There’s a student in your year—Nagi Seishiro. He’s… a bit unorthodox, but brilliant. Maybe he could tutor you."

Rin blinked. The name was familiar. He’d only heard of Nagi in passing—whispers of a lazy genius, someone who never tried and yet always excelled. A natural-born talent.

It made Rin’s chest tighten.

Effortless greatness. Just like him.

Just like Sae.

Rin didn’t say anything when his teacher led him down the hall after class. He didn’t need to. The tightness in his jaw and the way his hands clenched inside his pockets said everything.

They stopped outside the library.

“He should be in here,” she said, peeking through the glass. “Try to be patient with him.”

Rin didn’t respond. He pushed open the door, the quiet hum of the library washing over him like static. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on a figure slouched across a table near the window.

There he was.

Nagi Seishiro.

Asleep.

His face was half-buried in the crook of his arm, white hair tousled, mouth slightly open. A manga volume was flipped upside down on the table, completely forgotten.

Rin stared, deadpan.

This was the genius? The so-called tutor?

He took a breath, walked over, and stopped in front of the table. Nagi didn’t budge.

“Hey.”

Nothing.

Rin narrowed his eyes.

“Wake up, dumbass.”

Nagi stirred slightly, blinking one eye open before slowly sitting up, as if waking from a long, peaceful nap. He stretched his arms out with a yawn.

“Huh…? Oh. You’re the guy I’m supposed to help, right?” he mumbled, voice still groggy.

Rin felt his eye twitch.

This was already a mistake.

Like a freesia blooming quietly in spring, the bond between them began to take root—fragile, unnoticed, yet full of promise.

Nagi blinked at Rin, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if waking up was the real inconvenience here—not the forced tutoring session.

“So… what do you need help with again?” he asked, voice lazy, posture slouched like gravity had given up trying to keep him upright.

Rin crossed his arms. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Same.” Nagi shrugged. “My teacher said I’d get out of some extra work if I helped you. That’s all.”

Rin’s eye twitched. Typical. He was being handed off like a problem nobody wanted to deal with, and now he was stuck with someone who didn’t even care.

“Look, if you’re just going to sleep the whole time, don’t bother.”

Nagi gave him a long look, then yawned. “Then don’t come. I don’t really care either way.”

The bluntness caught Rin off guard for a second. He scowled, biting back a sharp retort.

This guy was everything Rin hated. Effortless, disinterested, drifting through life without needing to try—and still, somehow, ahead of everyone. Just like Sae, but at least Sae was dedicated, driven.

Rin turned his gaze away, jaw tight.

“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Nagi raised an eyebrow but said nothing, lazily flipping open a textbook with all the enthusiasm of someone doing chores in their sleep.

Somewhere, quietly, like a freesia blooming in the shade, a bond neither of them wanted had begun to sprout—silent and unnoticed.

The next few days were a test of Rin’s patience.

Nagi showed up late, left early, and spent most of their so-called study sessions slouched in his chair, barely lifting a finger. He explained things in the simplest way possible—when he did explain anything—and half the time, he was distracted by his phone or munching on snacks.

Today, it was melon bread.

Rin stared in growing disbelief as Nagi bit into the sweet bun, crumbs cascading down onto the textbook between them like a light dusting of disrespect.

“Can you not?” Rin snapped, brushing the crumbs away with a sharp flick of his hand.

Nagi blinked, mid-bite. “What? I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. You’ve been eating more than you’ve actually taught me.”

“I told you the answer to that math problem yesterday.”

“You guessed.”

Nagi shrugged, licking a bit of sugar from his thumb. “Still got it right, didn’t I?”

Rin groaned, rubbing his temples. His patience was threadbare. The frustration wasn’t just about the tutoring—it was everything. The feeling of falling behind. The useless pity. The fact that this was who was supposed to help him get back on track.

“This is a waste of time,” Rin muttered, shoving his chair back. “I’d rather be on the field training. At least that makes sense.”

Nagi looked up, eyes lazily curious. “Field? Like… soccer?”

Rin stared at him. “You don’t even know that?”

“Not really. Never played. Too much running.”

Rin nearly choked. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Mmm,” Nagi said, taking another bite. “I get that a lot.”

The silence that followed was heavy with mutual irritation. And yet, Rin didn’t leave.

And Nagi didn’t tell him to.

…

The next day, it was quiet for once.

Nagi wasn’t eating. He was half-dozing, as usual, but for some reason today he’d actually walked Rin through a few math problems without completely zoning out. Rin hated to admit it, but some of it had actually stuck.

They sat across from each other, the late afternoon light slanting in through the windows, casting long shadows across their books and empty snack wrappers.

Rin leaned back with a sigh, rubbing his neck.

“I still don’t get how you can be this lazy and still be good at everything.”

Nagi cracked one eye open. “Dunno. Just am.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s my answer.”

Rin let out a small scoff. For once, it didn’t carry as much edge. He hesitated, then muttered under his breath—half to himself.

“You sound like my brother…”

Nagi blinked slowly. “You got a brother?”

Rin stilled. The words had slipped out too easily. His throat tightened, but it was too late now.

“Yeah. Sae. Sae Itoshi.” He kept his eyes on the desk, body tense, bracing himself for the usual response—the flash of recognition, the awe, the inevitable comparison.

But nothing came.

Silence stretched out, unbothered.

Finally, Nagi said, “…Who?”

Rin looked up, genuinely startled. “You’re kidding.”

Nagi shrugged. “Don’t know him. Should I?”

Rin stared, unsure whether to feel insulted or relieved.

“He plays pro in Spain. One of the best.”

Nagi yawned. “Don’t watch soccer. Too much moving around.”

Rin blinked, caught between disbelief and—something else. Something quieter. Something like... relief.

No expectations. No comparisons. Just someone who didn’t care about the name “Itoshi.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

So he said nothing.

And for once, Nagi didn’t fill the silence either.

Like a daisy turning toward the sun, curiosity began to bloom quietly in Rin—unwanted, unnoticed, but drawn toward the strange, unreadable boy named Nagi.

The paper slid across his desk, face-down. Rin didn’t bother flipping it at first—he already expected the usual.

But when he did, his eyes paused.

A small bump in his grade. Nothing dramatic. Just a few points. But enough to notice. Enough to irritate him because it meant Nagi’s lazy tutoring was actually working.

He tucked the paper into his folder before anyone could see.

The hallway was buzzing with the usual noise between classes. Rin kept his head down, moving quickly—until a familiar voice cut through.

“Rin!”

He turned just in time to see Isagi jogging over, a bright grin on his face, Bachira trailing behind with his usual bounce.

“Yo!” Bachira beamed. “Where’ve you been hiding, huh?”

Rin scowled lightly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not hiding.”

“We’ve barely seen you around,” Isagi said, less accusing and more… concerned. “Everything okay?”

Rin shrugged, gaze drifting away. “Been busy.”

“With what?” Bachira tilted his head, poking at Rin’s arm with a teasing grin. “Secret training arc?”

Rin hesitated for a beat.

“…Tutoring,” he muttered. “With Nagi.”

That got a blink out of both of them.

“Oh, that guy? The one who naps everywhere?” Bachira said, eyes lighting up. “Didn’t know you two were friends.”

“We’re not.”

Rin said it too fast. Too defensive.

Isagi gave a quiet laugh. “Still… glad you’re doing okay. We were just worried. That’s all.”

Rin didn’t respond. He gave a small nod that barely qualified as acknowledgment before brushing past them.

But as he walked away, something itched at the back of his mind.

He didn’t want their friendship. He didn’t need it.

But sometimes, just sometimes, their voices didn’t feel like noise.

They felt like sunlight.

Unwelcome. But warm.

Rin was nearly to the door of the building when he heard Isagi’s voice calling after him.

“Rin, wait up!”

He didn’t stop, but slowed just enough to hear the footsteps behind him. Bachira caught up first, his energy as constant as ever.

“Come on, man,” Bachira said, his grin wide. “We’re all free for the rest of the afternoon. Want to hang out? Just the three of us?”

Rin scowled, not slowing his pace. “I’ve got studying to do.”

“Studying?” Isagi asked, clearly surprised. He and Bachira exchanged a glance before Isagi pushed a little harder. “What for?”

“To stay on the team,” Rin said bluntly, finally stopping and turning to face them. “I can’t afford to slip up, especially with the way things are going.”

Isagi and Bachira exchanged another look, this one a mix of understanding and quiet agreement. They both knew how much pressure Rin was under, how seriously he took his place on the team.

“Yeah, we get it,” Isagi said, nodding. “We want to keep playing with you too.”

Bachira clapped him on the back, a little too enthusiastically. “You’re our secret weapon! Can’t let you go slacking now!”

Rin didn’t respond, but there was a flicker of something—maybe gratitude, maybe just acknowledgment—in his eyes. They didn’t ask him why he was so distant, and for that, he was grateful.

But then, Isagi tilted his head, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“You know, I went to middle school with Nagi.”

Rin’s breath hitched for a fraction of a second, the smallest shift. He turned his head, trying to make it seem casual, but the way he tightened his grip on his books gave him away.

“Really?” Rin said, trying to sound uninterested. “I didn’t know that.”

Isagi’s grin widened. “Yeah. Nagi was... something else back then, too. Lazy, sure, but he had this natural talent. I mean, he’s always been a bit of a mystery, but we got along.”

Rin nodded slowly, fighting the curiosity crawling under his skin. He tried to keep his tone neutral. “Sounds like him, has he always been that lazy?”

Isagi raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing the shift in Rin’s tone. “Why? You curious about him or something?”

Rin quickly looked away, pretending to adjust his bag. “No. Just wondering how someone like that gets by.”

The smile on Isagi’s face faded slightly, but he didn’t press further. “Well, he’s definitely different from most people. But he’s got his own way of doing things. I’m surprised he’s the one assigned to tutor you, but hey, he’s a genius.”

Rin didn’t answer immediately. He was still thinking about Nagi—about the strange feeling that, despite his laziness, Nagi knew how to get what he wanted without even trying.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Rin muttered, then turned and began walking away again. “See you later.”

Isagi and Bachira waved after him, but Rin’s mind was elsewhere. The more he thought about Nagi, the more questions popped up. Why was Nagi like this? What made him tick? And—what had changed between middle school and now?

Curiosity bloomed inside him, quiet and steady, even when Rin didn’t want it to.

How pathetic.

Like an orchid that blooms slowly, unfolding petal by petal, Rin’s curiosity about Nagi began to grow—quietly, steadily, until it became impossible to ignore.

Over the past few days, something had shifted. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough for Rin to notice. Nagi wasn’t fully awake, not by a long shot, but he wasn’t as bad as he used to be either. He’d actually stay awake through their sessions, occasionally offering something halfway useful between bites of melon bread or lazy comments.

For the first time in ages, Rin didn’t feel like he was talking to a brick wall.

“You’re not even listening,” Rin muttered as Nagi lazily flipped through his phone.

Nagi, to Rin’s surprise, actually glanced up at him. “Yeah, I am. Just... thinking.”

Rin raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t sure if he was more shocked that Nagi was thinking or that he’d admitted it. But it was something.

They had settled into a strange rhythm over the last few weeks. Rin did most of the talking, but Nagi actually replied. And, surprisingly, it was starting to feel less like a chore. Rin didn’t know how to feel about that.

But today, as they sat in the corner of the library with textbooks sprawled between them, Rin found himself thinking about something else entirely.

His brother.

Sae.

He'd tried to push it down. Tried not to let his mind wander back to the memories—the pain. But it was hard when the name "Itoshi" was practically plastered on every soccer-related headline, every sports magazine. And here he was, sitting with someone who should know his name, who should know him—and yet, Nagi had never shown any sign of recognition.

Rin glanced sideways at Nagi, whose face was half-hidden behind his phone again. The dull afternoon light reflected off the screen, and for a moment, Rin just watched him.

“You don’t play soccer, right?” Rin asked suddenly. His voice came out quieter than he intended.

Nagi raised an eyebrow but didn’t look up. “Yeah, why?”

Rin shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. “I mean... you swear you never heard of Sae Itoshi?”

Nagi’s fingers paused mid-scroll, and Rin’s heart skipped a beat.

There it was—the test.

If Nagi knew anything about soccer, about Sae, this was it. The confirmation. The acknowledgment. Maybe he'd talk about how amazing Sae was, how everyone looked up to him... maybe he'd mention how his skills were on another level.

But Nagi just shrugged, never glancing up from his phone. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell. Why do you keep asking about this guy? All I know is that he’s your brother.”

Rin’s stomach twisted, but he kept his face neutral, trying not to show the disappointment that curled through him like an unwelcome guest.

“Really? You’ve never heard of him?” Rin pressed, his voice tighter now.

Nagi glanced up at him for the first time, an almost bored look in his eyes. “Should I? I don’t really follow soccer.”

Rin’s thoughts raced. There was no way nobody knew Sae Itoshi. Not after everything. Not after the games, the headlines, the people who talked about him constantly. It was impossible.

He tried to laugh it off, but the bitterness still lingered in his chest. “I guess not,” he muttered, his voice quieter. “He’s... a pro in Spain. Probably the best there is.”

Nagi made a noncommittal sound, and for a moment, the silence between them stretched. It was awkward. Uncomfortable. Rin hated it.

But somehow, it didn’t feel as suffocating as it had before. There was something about Nagi’s indifference that didn’t feel like judgment. It wasn’t pity. He wasn’t comparing Rin to someone he couldn’t live up to. He was just... listening.

That, in itself, was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, Rin was starting to get used to it.

…

The next few days passed in a strange sort of routine. Rin’s curiosity about Nagi was like an itch he couldn’t quite reach. Every time they sat down to study, it gnawed at him. He had to know more about Nagi’s indifference—had to know if Nagi really didn’t care about soccer, or if he was just pretending.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that Nagi was hiding something, even if it didn’t make sense.

That afternoon, as they sat together in their usual corner of the library, Rin decided to press again.

“You’re really sure you’ve never heard of Sae Itoshi?” Rin asked, his voice casual, but there was an edge to it.

Nagi glanced up from his phone, barely registering Rin’s question. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He yawned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Should I know him?”

Rin’s eyes narrowed. He had been expecting this answer, but still—he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. “You’ve never seen him on TV or heard his name anywhere?”

Nagi shook his head, looking genuinely uninterested. “Nah. Don’t watch soccer. Too much running around for me. I just don’t care.”

Rin’s lips pressed together in frustration. “You don’t care?” His voice rose slightly. “He’s a pro, playing in Spain. It’s kind of a big deal, you know?”

Nagi gave a nonchalant shrug, never lifting his gaze from the screen of his phone. “Cool for him, I guess. But like I said, I don’t really care about soccer. You know this.”

Rin stared at him for a long moment, feeling his chest tighten. Something about the way Nagi was so utterly indifferent rubbed him the wrong way. But deep down, Rin also knew it was typical of Nagi. He didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. And soccer? Well, it didn’t seem to be on his list of interests.

Still, there was a part of Rin that couldn’t fully let it go.

“So... you don’t care about soccer at all? Not even a little?” Rin pressed again, trying to catch a crack in Nagi’s indifference.

Nagi let out another lazy yawn, looking completely unfazed. “Nope. Too much effort.”

Rin clenched his fist under the desk, his suspicion lingering. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was hard to believe that someone didn’t know about his brother—especially someone like Nagi, who seemed to know everything without trying. Everyone knew who Sae was. How could Nagi not?

But after a few moments, Rin sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get anything more. He stood up, gathering his things, his mind still turning over the puzzle of Nagi’s apathy.

“Whatever,” Rin muttered, trying to sound dismissive, but the doubt was there in his eyes. “You’re a weird guy.”

Nagi just gave him a lazy look. “Thanks. I know.”

Rin wasn’t sure what to make of it. A part of him wanted to keep pressing, wanted to dig deeper into why Nagi refused to acknowledge Sae. But another part—the more rational side of him—knew it was probably a waste of time. Nagi didn’t care about soccer. Hell, he didn’t even seem to care about much of anything.

And yet, there was a nagging feeling in the back of Rin’s mind, an inkling that maybe, just maybe, Nagi knew something he wasn’t telling him. But he wasn’t ready to confront it, not yet.

It had been weeks since Rin started tutoring with Nagi. By now, the sessions had become... somewhat tolerable. Nagi still showed up half-awake, always more interested in his phone than the lesson at hand, but there was a change. He wasn’t quite as absent as before. He’d started to listen more, even if it was only a little. And occasionally, he’d offer a word of advice or a lazy comment that somehow made sense.

But today, as they sat across from each other at their usual corner in the library, something unexpected happened.

Nagi pushed his phone aside and leaned back, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. Rin barely glanced up from his notes, expecting the usual lazy comment or no comment at all.

“Hey, Rin,” Nagi said, almost casually.

Rin looked up, surprised. “What?”

Nagi scratched his head, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “So, like... what’s soccer really about? Why do you play?”

Rin froze, blinking. “What?” His voice cracked slightly. “Did you just ask about soccer?”

Nagi gave him a bored look, as if the question was perfectly normal. “Yeah. I mean, you’re always going on about it. And I keep hearing about how good you are. So... why do you care?”

Rin’s mind was racing. Nagi? Asking about soccer? The same Nagi who couldn’t care less about anything to do with soccer? It didn’t make sense. His eyes narrowed as he tried to read Nagi’s face, searching for some sign that this was some sort of joke, but Nagi’s expression remained flat, absent of the usual indifference. It was almost as if he was genuinely curious.

“You don’t even watch soccer,” Rin said slowly, still skeptical. “Why the sudden interest?”

Nagi shrugged, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Some purple-haired guy came up to me the other day. Real loud, kept calling me a genius and all that.”

Rin’s brows furrowed. “A purple-haired guy? Who?”

Nagi waved a hand dismissively. “Dunno. He said he was looking for someone with ‘natural talent.’ Said I should try playing soccer, and that I’d be good at it. But I don’t really get why. I just... didn’t have anything better to do, so I figured I’d ask.”

Rin’s mouth went dry, his heart skipping a beat. A purple-haired guy? The first thought that flashed into his mind was Bachira. The carefree, unpredictable, soccer-obsessed guy who never seemed to have a filter. It made sense—he’d probably caught Nagi at the wrong time and thought he could drag him into something, but… his hair wasn’t purple.

But Rin... wasn’t so sure. The idea of Nagi—someone who barely cared about anything—suddenly wanting to play soccer, just because of some random guy calling him a "genius," felt off. Too off.

“That’s... weird,” Rin muttered, leaning back slightly in his chair.

Nagi stared at him with a look of mild confusion. “Yeah, I guess. But I mean, you really like it, right?”

Rin paused. There it was again—Nagi, asking questions about something he’d clearly never cared about. It was like he was trying to understand it, even though he didn’t really have the drive to pursue it. Rin was about to speak, when Nagi suddenly added, as if on a whim:

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try it. Who knows?”

Deep down, the unexpected shift gnawed at him. Nagi’s sudden interest in soccer, no matter how casual, made Rin wonder just how much the lazy guy was holding back.

Was Nagi really as indifferent as he let on? Or was there more beneath the surface? More that Rin couldn’t quite see?

“You’re impossible,” Rin muttered, half in jest, but there was something else in his voice. Something like... curiosity.

Nagi stretched again, clearly oblivious to the quiet storm of thoughts swirling through Rin’s mind. “Maybe. But hey, at least I’m asking, right? That’s more than most people do.”

Rin stayed silent for a moment, still processing the oddity of the conversation. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, even if he couldn’t put his finger on it.

And maybe... just maybe, Nagi was starting to ask more questions about soccer because he was curious about Rin, too. Maybe, in his own strange way, Nagi was trying to connect.

The bell rang again, snapping Rin out of his thoughts. He stood up slowly, collecting his things, but his mind was still miles away.

As he turned to leave, Nagi’s voice stopped him. “So… are you staying after school?”

Rin blinked. “Why?”

Nagi tilted his head, playing with the strap of his bag. “Dunno. You just seem like the type who’d kick a ball around when nobody’s watching.”

Rin hesitated, unsure whether to be annoyed or... flattered. He didn’t reply, but he didn’t walk away either.

Nagi scratched the back of his neck. “I’m just gonna hang around. I guess. You don’t have to.”

Rin sighed. “Tch. I didn’t say I wasn’t going.”

And just like that, without either of them really saying it, they ended up walking toward the field together. No plan. No agreement. Just two guys who didn’t ask, but both somehow showed up anyway.

Like a lilac stirring in spring, delicate and shy, Rin’s feelings for Nagi began to take root—subtle at first, a passing thought, until it settled into something tender and inescapable.

The field was mostly empty by the time they got there. The sky had started shifting into soft orange hues, casting long shadows across the grass. A couple of stray balls were left out from gym class, rolling lazily in the breeze. Rin walked ahead without a word, and Nagi trailed behind, hands in his pockets, eyes half-lidded like he might fall asleep mid-step.

Rin stopped near the center of the field, nudging one of the balls with his foot. “So,” he said, glancing back, “you ever actually touched a soccer ball before?”

Nagi gave a lazy shrug. “Maybe. In gym once. I think I kicked it by accident.”

Rin rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hey, you’re the one who stayed,” Nagi said, dropping his bag and flopping onto the grass with a yawn. “I thought you'd get all moody and storm off.”

“I still might,” Rin muttered, then tapped the ball gently toward Nagi. “But you asked, didn’t you? Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Nagi sat up slowly, eyeing the ball like it was some mysterious object he’d never seen before. He reached out a foot and nudged it back, a little clumsy but not entirely hopeless.

Rin caught it with practiced ease. “You’re stiff.”

“You’re uptight.”

Rin narrowed his eyes, but again, he didn’t leave. He stepped back and passed the ball again, this time with a little more speed. Nagi reacted a split-second late, but still managed to trap it with the inside of his foot. It was rough, but... not bad. Better than expected.

“You’ve got decent control for someone who doesn’t care,” Rin admitted under his breath.

Nagi scratched his head. “Guess it’s not that hard.”

“You’re doing it wrong,” Rin said, walking over. He adjusted Nagi’s stance without asking, nudging his foot slightly to the side. “Like this. Keep your weight centered. And stop slouching.”

“Harsh coach,” Nagi mumbled, but he didn’t move away.

They kept going like that—passing, adjusting, Rin criticizing and Nagi taking it with quiet indifference. But slowly, something began to shift. Nagi started reacting faster. His touches grew lighter, his balance steadier. Rin, despite himself, felt the spark of something dangerously close to excitement. Nagi was adapting.

Too fast.

“Hey,” Rin said suddenly, watching the ball stop dead under Nagi’s foot, “why are you even trying? I thought you didn’t care.”

Nagi looked up at him, the orange light catching in his pale eyes. For a moment, he didn’t smile. He just blinked and said, “Dunno. Maybe I just wanted to see why you care so much.”

Rin’s heart gave a strange, uncomfortable beat. He didn’t know how to respond.

“And maybe…” Nagi continued, stretching his arms above his head, “if I get good enough, I can beat you someday.”

Rin froze, the ball resting at his feet.

That lazy voice, that emotionless expression—those words hit harder than any insult. Because behind that calm, there was something real.

Challenge.

Spite.

Purpose.

“…Tch.” Rin looked away, but a smirk crept onto his lips anyway. “You can try.”

They kept playing until the sun dipped low, and neither of them asked the other when they’d do this again.

But they both already knew.

Like a yellow rose blooming on uncertain soil, Rin’s feelings for Nagi grew—tinged with hesitation, yet impossible to deny, as love and doubt tangled together in quiet, unspoken ways.

The field lights buzzed overhead, casting a cold white glow over the grass. The sky had faded into a deep indigo, stars blinking faintly behind wisps of cloud. They were still out there, kicking the ball back and forth—not seriously, not with any real drills—just moving, like neither of them wanted to stop.

Eventually, the ball slowed to a roll between them, and they both let it settle. No signal. No words. Just a pause, and then Nagi turned and started walking toward the school gate.

Rin followed.

Not a word passed between them as they left the field behind. Their footsteps echoed in the quiet night, the world around them hushed. Somewhere between the field and the sidewalk, the rhythm of their steps fell into sync. It wasn’t planned. It just was.

They stopped outside a convenience store, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly above the glass doors. Nagi wandered in, grabbed a couple of sandwiches and some melon bread, and Rin did the same. When they stepped back outside, they sat on the curb beside each other and unwrapped their food in silence.

Rin stared down at his sandwich, then glanced at Nagi, who was halfway through his second bite already. He looked... completely at ease. Like he hadn’t just spent an hour playing a sport he supposedly didn’t care about. Like this night hadn’t meant anything.

But it had. Rin felt it twisting in his chest.

Earlier, he’d snapped. Told Nagi that his soccer was lukewarm. That he lacked hunger. That geniuses like him—lazy, talent-drenched guys who didn’t even try—were a waste of space on the field.

Nagi had just stared at him blankly and muttered, “What the hell is lukewarm supposed to mean?”

And somehow, that had made it worse. Because Rin knew. Deep down, he knew—Nagi was a genius. One of the rare ones. The kind of player who could change everything if he ever actually wanted to.

Just like him.

Just like Sae.

The same calm, distant detachment. The same effortless skill. The same quiet gravity that drew people in before they pulled away.

Rin took a slow bite, chewing mechanically, his thoughts sinking deeper.

What if Nagi really was like Sae?

What if one day, Nagi got bored and walked off the same way—without warning, without looking back?

Would he leave too?

The thought curled like cold metal in Rin’s gut.

He didn’t realize he’d been staring until Nagi looked over at him mid-bite. “What?”

Rin blinked. “Nothing.”

Nagi chewed for a second longer, then said, “You’re thinking too loud.”

Rin let out a breath. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

A pause. Rin looked down at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands.

“…You’re good,” he muttered finally. “Too good.”

“Okay,” Nagi replied, unfazed.

“You’re lazy,” Rin added.

“Also true.”

“And that pisses me off.”

Now Nagi glanced at him with a slow blink. “You’re not exactly sunshine yourself, y’know.”

Rin let out a short laugh—more breath than sound—but it felt real. Tired. Honest.

They sat like that for a while, the quiet night wrapping around them. And for once, Rin didn’t feel like he needed to fill the silence. Maybe Nagi didn’t have answers. Maybe he would leave someday.

But tonight, he stayed.

And that was enough.

After finishing their food, neither of them made a move to stand up right away. The streetlights flickered overhead, and the world around them felt quiet, almost peaceful in its own way. It was a calm that Rin didn’t often feel. He was used to the constant rush of thoughts and expectations, but with Nagi here—walking beside him, no words necessary—he could almost forget about everything else.

Finally, Rin stood up, stretching his arms toward the sky. He didn’t think much about it before saying, “I’ll walk you home.”

Nagi gave a half-hearted shrug but didn’t protest. He stood up too, letting his bag drop lazily onto his shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

Rin didn’t answer, just started walking. Nagi trailed behind with his usual pace, barely making a sound as he moved. There was something almost surreal about the whole thing. Here they were—two people who barely seemed to care about the same things, yet for some reason, walking side by side in the same direction.

The streets were quiet, and the walk to Nagi’s place didn’t take long. When they finally reached a small, nondescript apartment building, Rin noticed that Nagi didn’t seem to be in any particular rush to get inside. In fact, he seemed oddly indifferent to the place.

“Home sweet home,” Nagi said, his tone flat.

Rin wasn’t sure why, but something felt off about it. It wasn’t like Nagi to be so... casual about everything. It was almost like he didn’t care at all about where he lived, what he ate, or what he did when he was by himself.

“You live alone?” Rin asked, the question slipping out before he could stop it.

Nagi nodded, leaning against the side of the building. “Yeah. Parents aren’t around much.”

Rin paused, taking that in. He didn’t know much about Nagi’s home life, and he hadn’t asked. It wasn’t the type of thing he usually cared to know, but now, standing here, it felt different.

“What do you do when you’re home, then?” Rin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nagi pushed his hair back, clearly not bothered by the question. “Not much. Watch some stuff. Play some games. Nap.”

“Don’t you... cook?” Rin asked, a little surprised by how absent Nagi’s tone sounded when he talked about it.

Nagi gave a small, almost bored shrug. “Too much of a hassle.”

Rin’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Nagi rolled his eyes, his voice lazy as he continued, “I just grab those lemon jelly drinks from the store. They’re easy. Don’t have to chew anything.” He looked at Rin like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Chewing’s too much of a hassle, want one?”

Rin blinked, trying to process the sheer laziness of it, but he did take one from Nagi, a small curiosity for the taste. “You’re serious?”

Nagi yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Yeah. It’s not like I care. Why bother with real food when it’s all a hassle?”

Rin stared at him for a moment, his mind reeling. “That’s... messed up.”

Nagi shrugged again, unfazed. “Eh, it works for me.”

Rin shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. Something about it bothered him more than it should. He couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was the apathy, the lack of effort, or maybe just the idea of Nagi, this genius, wasting himself with... nothing.

“You’re really okay with this?” Rin asked, his voice a little softer now.

Nagi glanced at him, his expression blank, then gave a small smile. “I don’t need much. I don’t need anyone telling me how I should live.”

Rin’s gaze softened for a brief moment. There was a certain freedom in Nagi’s indifference—one that Rin couldn’t quite understand. He’d always been told how to act, what to care about. His whole life had been a series of expectations. But Nagi? He was different. Detached. Almost free in a way that made Rin feel... strange.

“I’m not telling you how to live,” Rin muttered, looking away. “Just... don’t forget that you have potential.”

Nagi’s lazy smile didn’t fade. “I know.”

Rin was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say next. “Anyway, guess I’ll get going. Don’t stay up too late.”

Nagi nodded. “Yeah, yeah. See ya tomorrow, soccer genius.”

Rin chuckled despite himself. “Don’t call me that.”

As he turned to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about Nagi was slowly starting to unravel in his mind. Beneath the laziness, the apathy, there was something Rin couldn’t ignore—something that made him wonder if Nagi was hiding more than he let on. Maybe he wasn’t just indifferent. Maybe he was... waiting for something. Waiting for the right moment to care.

Rin shook his head, pushing the thought away. He had his own problems to deal with. But even as he walked away, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the nagging feeling that Nagi, in his own strange way, was a challenge he wasn’t ready to walk away from.

Like the acacia’s delicate blooms, Rin’s jealousy blossomed slowly—subtle at first, but impossible to ignore as Nagi’s attention shifted to someone else, leaving a hollow ache where their closeness once was.

It had been a week since the night they’d walked home together. A week since Nagi had been so effortlessly detached, his apathy hanging in the air like a permanent haze. At first, Rin thought nothing of it. After all, Nagi had always been unpredictable, always on his own wavelength.

But it wasn’t like before. Not this time.

He’d been late to tutoring sessions. First a few minutes, then ten, then twenty. And when Rin showed up at their usual spot, Nagi hadn’t been there at all. It was as if he had vanished, like some lazy ghost, slipping away from the routine they’d fallen into.

Rin tried not to care. He told himself that maybe Nagi had found something else to do. It wouldn’t be the first time. He didn’t need to hang out with Nagi every day. He had his own goals. He was better than needing someone like Nagi to motivate him.

But the quiet gap left behind by Nagi’s absence gnawed at him, and Rin couldn’t push it aside as easily as he wanted to.

Then, one afternoon, Rin found out why.

He’d been walking out of the library, eyes half-focused on his phone, when a familiar voice called out. It wasn’t Nagi’s voice, but it was close enough to make him freeze.

“Oi! Nagi!”

Rin’s head snapped up. He saw a tall, well-dressed boy in a designer jacket waving energetically at Nagi, who stood near the entrance of the school gates. The boy’s posture screamed confidence, his smile smug and overly bright.

Rin’s heart skipped a beat, a strange mix of disbelief and annoyance rising up in his chest. He watched as Nagi casually turned to the boy, the two exchanging a few words Rin couldn’t catch. The boy clapped Nagi on the back with exaggerated familiarity, and that was when Rin realized what was happening.

Nagi was with him. The rich kid.

Rin clenched his fists. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much, but it did. The boy was... well, annoying. He had that kind of energy that felt like a perfect match for Nagi—someone who needed no real effort to charm, to win over people, to be noticed. The kind of guy who could throw around words like "genius of a century" and expect everyone to fall for it.

Rin looked away before they could see him. His teeth clenched, his mind spinning. Genius of a century, huh? That wasn’t exactly something Nagi needed to hear. It was probably the last thing Nagi wanted to hear. So why was he even talking to this guy?

It didn’t make sense.

And then it hit him. The jealousy.

Rin buried it deep. He couldn’t care. Why would he care? Nagi was a lazy, unmotivated kid who only ever showed up to things half-heartedly. He was good at soccer, sure, but that wasn’t enough. Not compared to Sae. No matter how much Rin hated to admit it, Nagi wouldn’t be the one to help him surpass his brother. He knew it. His feelings for Nagi were lukewarm, nothing more than a passing distraction.

But as he turned and walked away, his chest tightened.

The truth was, deep down, Rin had always been afraid of this. Afraid that Nagi, this unpredictable, effortless talent, would just drift away one day, distracted by something or someone more exciting, more worthy of his time. And in that moment, he couldn’t bury the discomfort. It was there, thick and palpable, squeezing at his ribs.

By the time Rin reached his apartment that evening, he hadn’t seen Nagi again. Not in tutoring, not after school. The thought of calling him, of reaching out, sat uneasily in his mind. Was it too late? Should he even care?

He threw his bag onto his bed, pacing back and forth as the unease crawled up his spine. He hated how possessive he felt. He hated that a simple, stupid situation like this made him so... upset. He should be focused on his goals, his future. He couldn’t afford to get distracted by this nonsense.

Still, a part of him couldn’t ignore the nagging thought: Was Nagi really just going to leave like everyone else?

Rin tried to shake it off, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it didn’t matter how much he tried to bury his feelings. The truth was, he was scared. Scared of Nagi’s indifference, scared that this “genius” might slip away—just like Sae did—and Rin would be left behind, wondering what he could’ve done to stop it.

And that, more than anything, made him angry.

…

The next tutoring session started like any other—Rin was already at their usual table, flipping through the notes from the last session. He could hear the sounds of other students bustling around the library, but it was almost too quiet between him and the empty seat across from him.

Then the door creaked open.

Rin didn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the page in front of him, but he could hear the familiar, relaxed footsteps of Nagi. His presence was almost effortless—too effortless—but this time, Rin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“Yo,” Nagi said, setting his bag down beside him and flopping into the chair.

Rin’s gaze didn’t move. “You’re late.”

There was a pause, then Nagi nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Got caught up with something.”

Rin’s eyes flickered briefly to Nagi, noting the slight delay in his words, the casualness masking something he couldn’t quite read. He narrowed his eyes, trying to shake the sense of irritation crawling up his throat.

“So, who were you with?” Rin asked, his voice a little colder than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. The question felt like it was lodged in his chest, waiting to be said.

Nagi blinked, clearly caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. He didn’t immediately answer, instead looking at Rin with a confused expression. “What?”

Rin’s gaze remained fixed on his notes, though the tension in his chest was starting to build. "I saw you talking to someone after school. Who was it?”

There was a long pause. Nagi leaned back in his chair, his usual carefree attitude slowly fading as he processed the question. “Oh. It was Reo.”

“Reo?” Rin repeated, his voice clipped. His heart skipped, and for a moment, he was sure he hadn’t heard right.

“Yeah. Reo Mikage,” Nagi continued, not picking up on the subtle edge in Rin’s tone. “He’s a rich kid, heir to the Mikage Corporation.” He shrugged. “He’s been bugging me to play soccer with him. Keeps calling me some kind of ‘genius of a century.’”

Rin’s grip on his pencil tightened until his knuckles turned white. He hated how casual Nagi was about it. The Mikage Corporation. Of course. It made sense now. The kind of person who could afford to whisk Nagi away, someone with enough wealth and influence to make anyone take notice.

The thought of Nagi—his Nagi—talking to someone like that, spending time with someone like that, hit him harder than it should’ve.

Why did I even care? Rin thought to himself. It didn’t matter who Nagi hung out with. Nagi wasn’t his. He was... Nagi. Detached, untouchable. He didn’t owe Rin anything.

But despite that, the words from earlier rang in his mind: Genius of a century.

It was stupid. It was ridiculous. Jealousy. That’s all it was. He was just jealous. Why? Because Nagi was good. Too good. And someone like Reo—someone with that much wealth and status—had taken an interest in him. It was the same thing Rin had feared: that someone with more to offer, more connections, more everything—someone who wasn’t as pathetic as Rin—would just swoop in and take Nagi away.

He was so damn sick of feeling like this.

Rin finally forced himself to meet Nagi’s gaze, trying to keep his expression neutral. “So, what does he want with you?”

Nagi tilted his head to the side, still unaware of the sharpness of Rin’s tone. “Dunno. He just said I should try playing soccer with him, that I’d be a natural at it or whatever. I think he’s just impressed with how good I am, even though I barely try.”

Rin stiffened, the jealousy gnawing at him like a quiet fire. Nagi made it sound so casual. So effortless. It wasn’t fair. Rin had worked so hard, poured everything into surpassing Sae, into being the best. And here Nagi was—so good without even trying—and now someone else saw that too.

“Sounds like he’s interested in more than just soccer,” Rin muttered, unable to stop himself.

Nagi blinked, the lazy grin on his face fading slightly. “I don’t know. He just seems like a guy who likes... showing me off. But whatever, it’s not like I’m gonna get attached to it.”

Rin clenched his teeth. “Yeah, of course.”

There was a long silence, with Nagi looking at him curiously but not pressing any further. Rin couldn’t bring himself to look back at him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Nagi to notice the frustration bubbling inside him or if he preferred that Nagi stayed blissfully unaware. Either way, it felt like the room had gotten colder.

Finally, Nagi leaned back in his chair, breaking the tension. “Anyway, I’m here now. Let’s just get this over with.”

Rin forced himself to nod, but his mind was far away. He couldn’t stop thinking about Reo Mikage. About the way he’d seen Nagi, recognized his worth—more than Rin had ever done, more than anyone ever had.

And, despite himself, Rin couldn’t shake the feeling that Nagi might eventually choose that life. That someone with more to offer would be the one to capture his attention. Maybe Reo’s words, “genius of a century,” weren’t just empty praise. Maybe, just maybe, they were true.

And maybe, just maybe, Nagi would leave him behind. Just like Sae had.

Their tutoring sessions had always been quiet, but this—this was different.

Nagi sat across from Rin, eyes lazily following the scribbles on Rin’s notebook, one hand supporting his chin while the other occasionally tapped his pen against the desk. As usual, he didn’t say much. But today, even that silence felt... different.

He could tell Rin was off. Not just distracted—distant.

Rin’s brow furrowed as he solved the next equation, his pencil cutting into the page with a little more force than necessary. His answers were sharp, precise, like he was trying to focus hard enough to forget whatever was crawling under his skin.

But the room felt heavy. Too heavy.

“You got that wrong,” Nagi said quietly, tapping his pen on Rin’s last answer. “You subtracted instead of factoring.”

Rin didn’t respond at first. He stared at the paper, jaw clenched, then erased it silently. “I know,” he muttered.

Nagi watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing just slightly. Normally, Rin would challenge him. Ask why it was wrong. Push back with a quiet, intense pride that Nagi had grown used to. But not today.

Today, Rin barely even looked at him.

Nagi thought about saying something. Asking if he was okay. But the energy between them felt so tightly wound that even breathing too loudly might snap it.

So, he let it go.

They worked like that for another twenty minutes—no jokes, no snide remarks, no strange, silent looks across the table that lingered a little too long. It was mechanical. Muted. Like something had been stripped from them.

Finally, Rin exhaled sharply and closed his notebook. “We’re done for today.”

Nagi blinked. “Already?”

“You’re not even paying attention.”

“I am,” Nagi replied simply, but there was a subtle edge in his tone, like the lazy drawl he always used wasn’t enough to hide the fact that he had noticed. That Rin was being cold. That something had changed.

Rin stood up, avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Nagi didn’t move. Just sat there, staring up at Rin in that usual, unreadable way of his. “Did I do something?”

Rin paused. His fingers curled slightly around the strap of his bag. For a second, it looked like he was going to say something—but he didn’t. His throat tightened.

“No,” Rin muttered. “Forget it.”

But of course, he hadn’t forgotten. And neither had Nagi.

The thing was, Rin hated that part of himself that wanted to look back. That wanted to rewind to when they were walking home in silence, sharing those stupid lemon jelly drinks, or when Nagi muttered something dumb under his breath that made Rin roll his eyes but secretly laugh. It was subtle. Unspoken. But it was theirs.

And now it was gone.

Because Rin had called it lukewarm.

Because he told himself that closeness didn’t matter. That it wouldn’t help him surpass Sae. That it was a distraction. But now, with Nagi sitting in silence across from him and not even trying to close the distance between them, Rin wasn’t so sure.

He hated how much he missed it.

“Next time, don’t be late,” Rin said stiffly, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Nagi watched him go, eyes thoughtful. “You’re being weird, Rin.”

Rin didn’t look back. “You’re always weird. So deal with it.”

And with that, he left—walking fast, like he could outpace the hollow ache settling in his chest.

But deep down, even Rin knew: the space between them wasn’t just silence. It was the quiet echo of something neither of them had the words for.

Something not quite friendship. Not quite rivalry.

Something warm enough to hurt.

Like blue salvia swaying gently in the wind, Rin’s thoughts of Nagi lingered—constant, restless, aching with the quiet hope that somehow, they’d find their way back to each other.

Rin sat at the far end of the school courtyard, alone on the cold concrete bench he usually claimed as his own. His lunch sat untouched in its container, chopsticks held limply between his fingers.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to sit with him. He never did.

So when Isagi plopped down across from him, followed closely by Bachira with that same chaotic grin, Rin didn’t even try to hide his scowl.

“Tch. What do you two want?”

“Lunch?” Isagi offered, like it was obvious.

“Company!” Bachira chimed, swinging his legs as he peeled open his juice box. “And also to annoy you.”

“You’re already doing that,” Rin muttered, glancing away.

The silence that followed wasn’t the usual kind he liked. It wasn’t peaceful. It was observing. Isagi and Bachira weren’t dumb. They’d been around him enough to feel the shift in the air—enough to notice the subtle difference in how Rin carried himself lately. Even colder. Even more closed-off.

“You’re off lately,” Isagi finally said, nudging his bento box open. “Not just on the field. Everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Bachira added. “Even your scowls are more scowly.”

“Piss off,” Rin snapped. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Isagi said, unimpressed. “You’re just out here every day brooding like a villain in a drama.”

“I’m not—” Rin started, then cut himself off. His grip on the chopsticks tightened. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Bachira blinked, then tilted his head. “Is it about Nagi?”

Rin’s jaw clenched. That name—just hearing it—hit harder than he expected. His heart skipped in that annoying, irritating way. And he hated it. Hated himself for reacting.

He clicked his tongue. “Don’t bring him up.”

Isagi exchanged a glance with Bachira, then leaned in a bit. “You two haven’t been talking much lately, huh? Thought you were getting close for a while.”

Rin laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Close? That was all just lukewarm bullshit.”

The words came out sharp, bitter—and immediately, Rin regretted them.

Because they weren’t convincing. Not even to himself.

Isagi frowned. “Lukewarm, huh? You say that a lot.”

Bachira tapped his finger to his chin. “Isn’t that what Sae always said?”

The silence hit heavier than before. Rin’s breath caught in his throat.

He hadn’t realized it until just now—but they were right. That word, lukewarm, had always been Sae’s. A dull blade used to slice away everything he deemed unworthy, insufficient, or sentimental. Rin had hated hearing it. Hated being called it.

And now here he was, using it to push away everyone else.

Using it to push away Nagi.

Rin looked down at his hands. His knuckles were white, and his lunch remained untouched. The pit in his stomach wasn’t hunger. It was guilt. It was want.

Because despite everything, despite telling himself it was meaningless, he missed Nagi. Not just the lazy jokes, the effortless skill, or the weird jelly drinks. He missed the quiet between them. The shared silence that wasn’t uncomfortable. The closeness neither of them ever named.

He wanted it back.

But wanting it felt weak. Lukewarm.

He forced himself to scoff. “He’s just like the rest of you. Not serious enough.”

Isagi leaned forward, brows furrowed. “Serious about what? Soccer? Or you?”

Rin froze. Bachira raised his eyebrows, impressed by the boldness.

“I don’t—he doesn’t—” Rin stammered, something rare and ugly twisting in his chest. “It doesn’t matter. He chose someone else.”

“Reo?” Bachira guessed. “Is that what this is about?”

Rin didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because saying yes meant admitting that it bothered him. That he cared. That the idea of Nagi laughing with someone else, training with someone else, being seen by someone else—

It made his stomach turn.

Isagi didn’t press further. He just sighed and took a bite of rice. “You know, for someone who thinks everyone else is lukewarm, you sure burn a lot.”

That shut Rin up.

He hated how much it rang true.

As Bachira hummed some weird tune under his breath and Isagi quietly chewed beside him, Rin stared at the condensation forming on his drink can.

He didn’t want to be Sae. He didn’t want to end up cold and alone, pushing everyone away under the guise of ambition.

But wanting something warmer... meant admitting he cared.

And that scared him more than he’d ever say out loud.

The lunch bell hadn’t rung yet, but Rin was already standing, tray in hand, ready to leave.

“You’re running away,” Isagi said flatly, not even looking up from his food.

Rin froze mid-step.

Bachira leaned back on the bench, eyes following him lazily. “You know, for someone who acts like he doesn’t care, you sure care a lot.”

“I don’t,” Rin said quickly—too quickly. “You’re both annoying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Isagi muttered. “We’re annoying, you're cold, Nagi’s lazy, and everything’s lukewarm. We’ve heard the speech.”

Rin turned, annoyed. “Then stop pushing it.”

“No,” Isagi said, finally meeting his eyes. “Because you’re not being honest with yourself. And it’s kind of pathetic.”

Rin bristled. “Tch.”

Bachira grinned. “You’re mad because Nagi’s been spending time with Reo, right? That rich kid who treats soccer like a toy box?”

Rin’s grip on his tray tightened. “He can do whatever he wants. I don’t care.”

Isagi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t care, but you’ve been a bigger pain than usual ever since they started training together. You’re colder, sharper, even during games. You do care.”

Rin gritted his teeth. “What do you want me to say?”

“That you miss him,” Bachira said, kicking his legs. “That you actually liked having him around. That the weird bond you two had wasn’t just lukewarm, it meant something.”

Silence.

Rin’s chest felt tight, his mouth dry. The words were right there, but they refused to come out.

Because saying them—saying he missed Nagi, that he felt replaced, jealous—meant peeling back armour he’d spent years building.

It meant vulnerability.

And Rin didn’t do vulnerability.

He looked away. “I don’t miss him. He was just convenient.”

Isagi scoffed. “Liar.”

That hit harder than he wanted it to.

Rin snapped, “Shut up.”

But the silence after was telling. And Rin hated that they were right.

Because he did miss Nagi.

And he hated himself for it.

Rin walked off without another word, leaving Isagi and Bachira behind at the bench. His footsteps were quick, agitated, shoes crunching against the gravel of the courtyard path. The conversation echoed in his head like an unwanted chorus.

You’re scared. You miss him. You want him.

He gritted his teeth, shaking it off, trying to bury it.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he turned the corner.

There he was.

Nagi.

Lounging under a tree like always, half-sitting, half-slouching with his head tilted back against the trunk, phone in hand like he might fall asleep mid-scroll.

And next to him—too close for Rin’s liking—was Reo Mikage.

Perfect posture. Bright smile. A gleam in his eye like he had the world wrapped around his finger and knew it. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was gesturing animatedly with his hands, clearly trying to pitch something—maybe a new team, a plan, or one of his ridiculous “visions.”

Nagi didn’t say much, as always. He just gave a lazy shrug, eyes barely open, but didn’t move away either. He didn’t seem particularly interested—but he didn’t look uncomfortable either.

Rin’s stomach turned.

They couldn’t have been more opposite. Where Nagi drifted through life like a cloud, Reo was lightning—fast-talking, magnetic, relentless.

Rin watched the way Reo leaned in, practically glowing with energy. How Nagi just stared at him with that blank, unreadable expression Rin knew so well.

But Reo didn’t mind it. He filled every silence with ease, like he enjoyed carrying the weight of the conversation.

Rin hated that.

Hated how natural it looked.

Hated that Reo was trying to mold Nagi into something.

And more than anything, hated how unsure he felt.

That small part of him—the part he tried to crush every day—wondered: Would Nagi leave me too, like Sae did?

Was I ever anything more than a stepping stone to him?

Would he really choose someone like Reo… over me?

Rin stood there, eyes locked on the scene. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

He could turn back.

Walk away.

Pretend he didn’t care.

He clenched his fists.

But even now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't call the way he felt “lukewarm.”

It was fire. It was bitter and sharp. And it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Rin didn’t remember making the decision to walk over—his legs moved before his brain could catch up. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, fast and angry.

Nagi finally noticed him when he was just a few steps away, lifting his head slightly, his silver hair catching the sunlight. “Yo.”

Reo turned too, flashing a practiced smile. “Oh, Rin Itoshi, right?”

Rin didn’t acknowledge him. His eyes were locked on Nagi.

“I need help,” he said bluntly. “With… a test.”

Nagi blinked slowly. “You never said you had one.”

Rin’s jaw tightened. “It’s… for math. I’m struggling.”

That word tasted foreign on his tongue. Struggling. Rin Itoshi never said that. Ever.

Nagi sat up more fully, brow slightly furrowed. “Huh? Since when do you—”

“I can help,” Reo offered, voice smooth and polite. “I actually just hired a new private tutor who’s amazing with—”

“No,” Rin cut in sharply, eyes flicking to Reo for the first time, sharp like a blade unsheathed. “He’s my tutor.”

Reo raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh. I didn’t realize it was exclusive.”

“It is,” Rin said flatly. He grabbed Nagi’s wrist—not roughly, but firmly—and pulled him up from the grass.

Nagi stared at him, caught off guard. “Rin…?”

“We’re going,” Rin muttered.

Reo laughed lightly behind them. “Guess I’ll catch you later, Nagi.”

Rin didn’t respond.

Nagi let himself be dragged, stumbling slightly before falling into step beside him. They walked a good distance in silence, past the edge of the courtyard and out toward the back of the school building, where no one ever really went.

Only then did Rin stop, letting go of his wrist.

Nagi stared at him, deadpan. “You lied.”

Rin didn’t respond.

“There’s no test.”

“…No,” Rin finally admitted.

Nagi tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “So what’s your deal?”

Rin looked away, jaw clenched, fists still balled. He wanted to say it was nothing. That Reo was

just annoying. That he needed to talk soccer. That he wanted to study.

But all of that would’ve been a lie, too.

“…I didn’t like the way he talked to you.”

Nagi blinked.

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Like he knew what to do with you better than I did.”

A long silence passed.

Then, Nagi exhaled. “You’re weird.”

“Shut up,” Rin muttered, ears slightly pink.

But Nagi didn’t pull away. He leaned back against the wall beside them and said, casually:

“So… are we studying or not?”

Rin hesitated—then sat down beside him without a word.

Maybe he couldn’t say it yet. Maybe he couldn’t even explain why it bothered him so much.

But right now, having Nagi here—just here—was enough.

Even if he still called it lukewarm.

He knew better.

Rin stared straight ahead, refusing to meet Nagi’s eyes.

“…No.”

Nagi blinked. “No?”

“We’re not studying,” Rin muttered, arms crossed. “I just didn’t feel like going home.”

There was a pause. The wind rustled through the leaves above them. Nagi waited, expecting something else—anything else—but Rin stayed silent, staring at nothing in particular.

“So,” Nagi drawled, “you dragged me away from Reo because… you didn’t wanna be alone?”

Rin’s glare snapped to him. “No. I just thought you’d be free.”

Nagi looked unimpressed. “You didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Rin replied flatly. “You never have anything going on.”

“That’s rude,” Nagi said, but there was a faint smile on his face.

Another silence stretched between them. Then Rin mumbled, just barely audible:

“…Do you wanna go somewhere?”

Nagi raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere where?”

“I don’t know. Just out.”

“That sounds like hanging out.”

Rin stiffened. “It’s not.”

“Sounds like it.”

Rin looked away, ears slightly pink again. “It’s not like that. It’s just—something to do.”

Nagi studied him for a long second, then gave a lazy shrug. “Alright.”

Rin blinked. “What?”

“I said alright,” Nagi repeated. “Lead the way, Mr. Not-Hanging-Out.”

Rin opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. He simply stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking, making sure his pace was slow enough for Nagi to keep up without complaining.

As they walked, side by side, not saying much, Rin felt the tightness in his chest ease just a little.

Maybe it wasn’t a real invitation. Maybe he still didn’t know what this feeling was.

But Nagi said yes.

And for now, that was enough.

They ended up at the dingy arcade near the train station, tucked between a ramen shop and a pawn store, the kind of place that reeked of nostalgia and stale air. Rin wasn’t even sure why he led them there—he hadn’t stepped foot inside in years—but when he glanced sideways and saw the faint flicker of interest in Nagi’s eyes at the flashing neon, he knew it was the right call.

The second they walked in, Nagi drifted toward the claw machines, hypnotized by the rows of plush characters squished behind glass. He pressed his face to the side of the cabinet like a kid, his breath fogging the glass slightly.

"You're wasting money," Rin said flatly, watching him insert a coin anyway.

"You're just jealous ‘cause I’ll win," Nagi replied, deadpan.

He didn’t win.

Not the first time, not the second.

But on the fifth attempt, somehow, the claw latched onto a round-headed white cat and dropped it into the bin with a satisfying thunk.

Nagi held it up, triumphant.

“See? Genius.”

Rin scoffed, but something warm tugged at the edge of his chest. “More like lucky.”

They made their way through the arcade bit by bit. Rin surprised himself by joining in—first on a two-player rhythm game (which Nagi dominated effortlessly), then a light-gun shooter (where Rin carried them through the final boss), and finally a racing game that ended in chaos when Nagi drove his car off a cliff on purpose just to see what would happen.

“That’s not how you play,” Rin snapped.

Nagi shrugged. “I got bored. The cat's driving now.”

He placed the plush in the seat like it was the true champion of the arcade.

And Rin—despite himself—laughed.

It startled him. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just a short, rough chuckle that slipped out before he could stop it. Nagi looked at him, slightly wide-eyed.

“That might be the first time I’ve heard you laugh,” he said.

“Shut up,” Rin muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets, suddenly awkward.

But Nagi just smiled, and Rin hated that it made his stomach twist the way it did.

They ended up buying drinks from a nearby vending machine and sat outside the station steps, watching the sunset bleed orange and lavender into the sky. The streets were quieter now. The glow of the arcade behind them flickered lazily.

Nagi leaned back on his elbows, his lemon drink dangling from two fingers.

“This wasn’t bad,” he said.

Rin stared at the passing cars. “No.”

He didn’t trust himself to say more.

Because deep down, something ached. Something too close to familiar.

He remembered what it felt like when Sae started pulling away. The shift. The distance. The feeling of being left behind by someone you spent years chasing.

And now, watching Nagi’s face lit up in the golden dusk, he felt the same warning flare in his chest.

Because he knew it wasn’t just soccer anymore.

It wasn’t just rivalry, or ego, or competition.

It was Nagi.

The way he never tried too hard but somehow still shone. The way he never pushed, but always showed up. The way his silence never felt empty.

And Rin knew.

He liked him.

It wasn’t lukewarm. It wasn’t fleeting.

It was slow-burning, maddening, and stupid.

And it scared him.

Nagi tilted his head, catching Rin staring.

“What?” he asked.

Rin looked away quickly. “Nothing.”

He took a sip of his drink, the fizz stinging his throat.

They sat in silence a while longer. Nagi closed his eyes, head tilted toward the fading sky, his breathing steady. Rin stole another glance, knowing this was dangerous—knowing he couldn’t keep feeling this and pretending it was nothing.

But for now, he said nothing.

Because saying it out loud made it real.

And Rin wasn’t ready for that.

Not yet.

But as Nagi leaned against his shoulder, uninvited but not unwelcome, Rin didn’t move away.

Maybe someday, he’d tell him.

But for today, this was enough.

It started with a passing comment.

They were walking home again, side by side under the faint glow of streetlights, the sky above turning from dusk to full night. The conversation had been mindless until Nagi mentioned how boring everything on TV had been lately.

“I don’t get why people like reality shows,” he mumbled. “It’s just people yelling.”

Rin surprised himself by replying, “Then watch something better.”

Nagi gave him a sideways glance. “Like what?”

There was a pause. Rin hesitated, hands in his pockets, then muttered, “Horror.”

Nagi blinked. “You like horror movies?”

“…Yeah.”

“Huh.” A long pause. “Didn’t think you were into that.”

“I don’t scare easily,” Rin said, tone defensive, as if it were a challenge.

“Wanna prove it?”

Rin looked at him. “What?”

“You said you don’t scare easily. Let’s watch one.”

Rin paused, brain scrambling. “Now?”

“Sure. My place’s closer.”

“…Fine.”

Somehow, that turned into a trip to the nearest convenience store. Rin found himself at the register holding bottled drinks, bags of chips, and a ridiculous-looking box of horror-themed gummies shaped like eyeballs—Nagi’s choice, of course.

He wasn’t sure when or why he stopped protesting.

Now he was in Nagi’s apartment, standing awkwardly near the futon while Nagi lazily flicked through the movie selection on his tiny smart TV. The room was dim, lit mostly by the screen’s glow and the single desk lamp in the corner. It smelled like lemon and dust and something faintly sweet—probably those jelly drinks Nagi always had stockpiled.

Rin slowly set the snacks on the floor between them, trying not to look like he was overthinking it.

How did I end up here?

He adjusted the volume. “This one’s not bad,” he said, nodding toward the movie he’d picked.

“You’ve seen it?” Nagi asked, lying back with his head against a beanbag pillow, already unbothered.

“Yeah. Three times.”

“So you’re not gonna scream or anything?”

Rin shot him a look. “I said I don’t scare easily.”

Nagi gave a lazy huff. “Guess we’ll see.”

They settled in, the movie starting with a low hum and distant thunder. Rin sat rigid at first, knees pulled up, hyper aware of every breath Nagi took beside him. Nagi, meanwhile, looked half-asleep, stretched out like a cat, one hand absently reaching for a chip every now and then.

Fifteen minutes in, Rin realized he wasn’t watching the movie.

He was watching Nagi watch the movie.

His face in the shifting light, the way his mouth twitched faintly during the suspenseful scenes, how he tilted his head like he was trying to understand the horror instead of feel it.

And Rin’s chest did that awful thing again—twisting tight, aching in a way that wasn’t painful, just there.

Why do you always end up getting to me, even when you're doing nothing at all?

The movie played on.

Rin didn’t scream.

But he was scared, just a little.

Because being here, like this—with Nagi, in his space, doing something pointless like watching horror movies and eating eyeball gummies—felt too easy. Too natural.

And maybe that was what scared him most of all.

Like a gardenia opening to the morning light, pure and undeniable, Rin’s feelings for Nagi finally unfolded—no longer hidden, no longer uncertain, but real and quietly radiant.

It wasn’t supposed to become a pattern.

But somehow, it did.

One day turned into two, and two turned into a week. Then it was every other day. A movie, a walk home, arcade runs, snacks shared in silence. Sometimes they didn’t even talk—just existed near each other. It was strange, the way it felt normal. Comfortable, even.

But Rin couldn’t ignore the way his stomach twisted every time he saw Reo hanging around.

Reo always had something to say—always smiling, always placing a hand on Nagi’s shoulder, leaning in a little too close when he talked. Rin hated how easily the guy moved around people, hated that Nagi never pushed him away.

So Rin started interfering.

He’d show up earlier for tutoring. Drag Nagi off before Reo could corner him. Invite him to hang out first, even when he didn’t have a real plan. Sometimes he’d just appear, making up a half-lie about needing help with something, even though they both knew he didn’t.

And Nagi always went with him. He never said no. But he also never questioned it.

Which made Rin feel both victorious and pathetic.

Of course, it didn’t take long for others to notice.

“You’ve been real possessive lately, Rin-rin,” Bachira sang one day at lunch, plopping down beside him.

Rin scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

Isagi slid into the seat across from him, eyebrow raised. “He’s not wrong though. You’ve practically been dragging Nagi around like he’s your lost puppy.”

“He’s my tutor,” Rin muttered.

“Right,” Isagi said dryly. “Because people totally buy snacks and go to arcades with their tutors. Very academic.”

Rin looked away, stabbing his chopsticks into his food.

“Does Reo know you’ve declared war on him?” Bachira asked, propping his chin on his hand. “Because it’s starting to feel like a love triangle.”

“It’s not,” Rin snapped.

Isagi smirked. “Then why do you look like you want to strangle him every time he breathes near Nagi?”

“I don’t—” Rin stopped, jaw tightening.

“Hey,” Isagi said, nudging him back to the present. “You okay?”

Rin stood up suddenly, grabbing his tray.

“Mind your own business,” he muttered, and walked off.

Behind him, he could hear Bachira whisper, “Definitely in love.”

Isagi chuckled. “Yep.”

Rin didn’t respond.

He just clenched his jaw, walked faster, and told himself none of it mattered.

Even if his heart didn’t quite believe it.

…

The classroom was quiet—too quiet.

The low murmur of the teacher’s voice at the front barely registered in Rin’s ears. His pen hovered above his notes, unmoving, the page blank except for his name scrawled at the top. The words on the board bled together into static. Nothing stuck. Nothing made sense.

He was somewhere else entirely.

Why can’t I focus?

Rin exhaled sharply through his nose and tapped his pen against the desk, trying to will himself to care. But all he could think about was Nagi. Again.

The way his voice sounded when he mumbled something half-asleep.

The way his eyes narrowed in concentration—not when studying, but when gaming.

The way he laughed once. Just once. Quiet and lazy and unexpected. Rin had replayed it in his head too many times.

This is stupid.

He dug his pen into the paper, forcing his attention back.

But his eyes slipped again.

Reo's face. Too close to Nagi’s.

Nagi, leaning into Reo’s space, just barely, like it didn’t matter.

That stupid twist in his chest again. The one he kept calling jealousy. The one he kept labeling as useless, distracting, lukewarm.

But that word didn’t fit anymore.

Because when he thought about Nagi, it wasn’t lukewarm. It wasn’t shallow or weak or fleeting.

It burned.

Like embarrassment. Like yearning. Like something Rin didn’t know how to name but had been building for far too long.

And suddenly, everything inside him stilled.

The noise, the distraction, the frustration—all of it sank into one crushing, undeniable truth.

He loved him.

Not in some dramatic, fairytale way. Not like a confession under cherry blossoms or fireworks at night. But quietly. Fiercely. Painfully.

Rin Itoshi was in love with Seishiro Nagi.

And the worst part?

He didn’t know what to do about it.

He gripped his pen so hard it nearly snapped in half.

The teacher called his name, but Rin didn’t hear.

Because his mind was already somewhere else—thinking of white hair, half-lidded eyes, and the kind of silence that felt like home.

“Rin Itoshi.”

His head snapped up.

The classroom had gone quiet. The teacher was staring at him from the front, brows drawn slightly in concern.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Rin blinked. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he realized his hands were clenched so tight around his pen that his knuckles had gone white. The rest of the class was watching, waiting for an answer.

“I—” He stood abruptly, pushing back his chair. “Sorry. I need to use the washroom.”

He didn’t wait for the teacher to say anything else. He grabbed his bag and walked out, each step faster than the last.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

He just knew he had to see him.

He crossed the hallway, passing the lockers and the buzzing vending machines. He knew what class Nagi was in—he’d memorized it a while ago, for no reason he’d admit. His pulse spiked as he approached the classroom.

Without even thinking, he knocked once, slid the door open, and stepped inside.

Heads turned.

Nagi, at his usual spot near the window, blinked at him in slow confusion, his pencil midair.

Rin looked directly at the teacher.

“Sorry to interrupt. I need to borrow Nagi.”

The teacher raised an eyebrow. “Is this for school business?”

Rin didn’t hesitate. “We have a club event coming up. Group project. He’s my partner.”

It was a weak excuse, but somehow, it worked. The teacher gave a reluctant nod.

“Nagi, if it’s important, go on. Be back by the end of the period.”

Rin didn’t wait. He turned and walked out, not bothering to check if Nagi was following.

But he heard the shuffle of a chair, the zip of a pencil case, and soft footsteps catching up to him.

By the time they turned a corner, Rin finally stopped.

“You alright?” Nagi asked, tone casual, but with a flicker of concern under it. “You looked kinda pale.”

Rin didn’t answer right away. He looked at Nagi.

Really looked.

The way his uniform sat slightly rumpled. The slouch in his posture. The tired, half-lidded eyes that somehow still felt like they saw through people.

He was just standing there. Looking at Rin like this was nothing new. Like being dragged out of class by Rin was a regular part of his day.

And maybe it was. Because Rin kept doing it.

He didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have words.

So instead, he muttered, “I just needed to see you.”

Nagi blinked. “Huh?”

Rin shook his head, annoyed at himself. “Forget it.”

But Nagi didn’t press. He just leaned against the wall beside Rin, quiet like always, and waited.

And maybe that was what Rin needed.

Not answers. Not logic.

Just... Nagi.

Here. With him.

Like always.

Like a peony unfolding in full bloom, lush and unrestrained, Rin’s feelings for Nagi finally revealed themselves—no longer shy or uncertain, but rich with the fullness of love long held back.

Rin hadn’t planned to end up in the flower shop.

He didn’t even know what he was doing at first—just walking, pacing through the city like something was clawing at his chest. Something he didn’t have the words for. And when he passed the little shop tucked between a bookstore and a pharmacy, his feet just… stopped.

And then he was inside.

The florist looked up but said nothing. Maybe she could tell he didn’t want to be asked. Maybe she saw the mess of emotion behind his eyes.

Rin wandered the aisles, fingers brushing against petals and stems. He didn’t know what he was looking for, not really. He only knew that his hands moved before his mind could stop them.

The first flower he picked was a petunia. Soft purple, understated. Something about it felt right. Comfort. That was the word that hovered in his mind. Nagi never demanded anything from him. He just was. Like air. Like gravity. Rin never had to try so hard around him—and that terrified him more than he’d admit.

Next was the daisy. He paused over it, thumb tracing the white petals. Daisies were plain, simple. Innocence. Simplicity. Like the way Nagi could tilt his head and say something that shattered all of Rin’s carefully built walls with one sleepy sentence. He hated how easy it was. How easy he was—around him.

He added a lilac. He wasn’t sure why at first. Then it hit him. First love. Rin clenched his jaw and pretended he didn’t understand why he reached for it. But it stayed in his hand anyway. He didn’t put it back.

A single yellow rose followed. Warm, bright. Almost too cheerful for someone like Rin, but maybe that was the point. Joy. The annoying kind. The kind that made his chest ache after arcade nights and quiet movie evenings at Nagi’s place. The kind that scared him because it meant he had something to lose again.

Then came acacia. He didn’t even hesitate. Friendship. Hidden affection. It was a bitter truth. How long had he been hiding all this under sharp words and dismissive glares? How long had he kept everything buried under the surface, pretending he didn’t care?

Blue salvia. He stared at the cool-toned petals for a long time. Trust. Another quiet, dangerous word. He didn’t trust people easily. He didn’t even trust himself, sometimes. But with Nagi… he had. From the beginning. Even when he told himself not to.

The next flower made him pause: gardenia. White. Clean. Fragrant. He touched it gently, like it might bruise under his fingers. Secret love. He hadn’t even said it aloud—not to himself, not to anyone. But it lived in his actions. In every time he interrupted Reo, in every excuse to see Nagi. In every late-night hangout that lasted too long.

Finally, he stood in front of the peonies.

He didn’t reach for them at first.

He just stared.

Regret. Bashfulness.

How could a flower look so full of things left unsaid?

His chest felt tight.

He thought of the words he’d never said. The moments he’d ruined. The space that had grown between them when he pulled away. The coldness he wore like armor.

He thought of all the things he never let Nagi see, because he was afraid of what it meant to be seen by someone like him.

He picked the peonies last.

He held the bouquet in his hands and realized—

This was everything he couldn’t say.

This was his truth, in bloom.

And it terrified him.

But he was going to give it to Nagi anyway.

…

The school bell rang, signaling the end of the day.

Rin’s heart was beating a little too fast, a little too loud. His hands trembled as he clutched the bouquet in his arms. He had never been nervous like this—not even when he’d faced down the brightest players, the most dangerous opponents. This wasn’t a game. This was real.

And somehow, that made it harder.

He stood at the doorway of the classroom where Nagi was gathering his things. The usual scene—Nagi slouched, lazily packing his bag, looking completely uninterested in the world around him. It should’ve been comforting. Familiar. It usually was.

But today was different. Rin could feel it. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the air between them felt thicker. Like it was waiting for something. A confession. A confrontation. Something neither of them had dared to voice.

Rin stepped forward, his voice coming out almost clipped.

“Nagi,” he said, and Nagi looked up, blinking lazily.

“Huh?”

“I… I need to talk to you.” Rin swallowed, hating how strange the words sounded. I need to talk to you? As if that was all it was.

Nagi’s expression softened, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? About what?”

Rin hesitated. He hadn’t really planned this. He hadn’t really planned anything. But now that it was happening, now that he was standing here with his heart pounding and his stomach twisting in knots, he knew there was no turning back.

“Let’s go to the courtyard,” Rin said quickly, his voice low. “We need privacy.”

Nagi blinked, clearly thrown by the request. “Huh? Privacy? What for?”

Rin didn’t meet his gaze. He was already halfway to the door, walking quickly, not wanting to think about what he was doing. He could feel Nagi trailing behind, the quiet thud of footsteps filling the space between them.

By the time they reached the courtyard, Rin’s hands were clammy, the bouquet growing heavy in his arms. He stepped into the small area, the sunlight filtering through the trees and casting dappled shadows on the ground.

He stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to gather himself.

Nagi stood a few feet away, still unsure, his usual nonchalance warring with curiosity. “Okay, what’s going on?”

Rin turned, finally facing him. He was trembling, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the weight of the bouquet or the weight of what he was about to say.

“I... I need to tell you something,” Rin said, the words leaving his mouth like they were a foreign language. “I—this is harder than I thought.”

Nagi raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “What? Did you get a bad grade or something?”

Rin’s chest tightened at the casual way Nagi said it, but he pushed the feeling down. No more distractions. No more excuses.

“No,” Rin said, his voice steadier now, though still a little rough. “It’s not that. It’s something else. Something I—”

He stopped, staring at Nagi.

The other boy was still looking at him with that lazy, half-interested gaze. Rin felt his throat tighten again. He wasn’t sure how to start this—how to explain the knot in his chest, the one that had been there for so long, the one he had tried so hard to ignore.

Rin took a deep breath and held out the bouquet. “Here. I... I don’t know what to say. But I wanted you to have this.”

Nagi blinked in surprise. “For me?”

Rin nodded, still holding it out, not looking at him.

Nagi took it slowly, his gaze flickering over the flowers. He looked confused, like he couldn’t quite understand the meaning behind them. But then his eyes settled on Rin, and for the first time, Rin could see a flicker of something in them—a quiet curiosity.

“You’re… giving me flowers?” Nagi’s voice was soft, almost uncertain.

Rin winced, wishing he could just turn back and redo the moment. He wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t good at being vulnerable. But the truth was already spilling out, and he couldn’t stop it now.

“Yeah,” Rin said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t really know what it means, but... I couldn’t just keep pretending.”

Nagi tilted his head, his lips pressing together like he was trying to figure out what Rin meant. “Pretending? What do you mean?”

Rin’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t back down now. He had to say it.

“I’ve been pretending,” he said, swallowing hard. “Pretending I didn’t feel this way. Pretending like it didn’t matter. But it does. And it’s driving me crazy, Nagi.”

Nagi stared at him, clearly not expecting the sudden confession.

Rin stepped closer, his voice barely audible. “I… I like you. More than I should. More than I know how to deal with.”

For a long moment, Nagi didn’t say anything. Rin’s heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming shallow. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the silence that stretched between them.

Finally, Nagi shrugged. “I don’t really get it, but... Okay.”

Rin’s mind went blank, the sudden simplicity of the response almost making him forget how to breathe. “What?”

Nagi’s expression softened, like he understood something Rin hadn’t said. “If you like me, then… that’s whatever, right? I don’t mind.”

Rin swallowed, feeling something warm spread through his chest. It wasn’t the confession he had expected, but it was… enough.

And maybe, just maybe, it was all he needed.

Rin stood there, his breath caught in his throat. The weight of his confession was still hanging in the air, but it felt different now. Lighter. Almost… freeing. But his heart was racing, and his thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and warmth.

Nagi’s eyes, usually so indifferent, were focused on him with an intensity that made Rin’s pulse skip. He couldn’t understand why, but he knew something had shifted between them. Something had changed. It was there in the way Nagi was looking at him now—curious, but open.

Rin’s mind raced, but his body moved before his thoughts could catch up. Without thinking, his gaze dropped to Nagi’s lips, and an unspoken question formed in his chest. He didn’t understand why, but suddenly, the urge to close the distance between them—to see if it could feel like something more than just words—was overwhelming.

He took a step closer. Just one.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing against Nagi’s arm, hesitating for a moment, unsure if he should. But then he looked at Nagi again—those wide, quiet eyes staring at him, waiting—and something in Rin’s chest twisted.

He silently asked for permission. He didn’t say it out loud, didn’t need to. His gaze was soft, unsure, but it spoke volumes.

He could see the hesitation in Nagi’s eyes, the uncertainty, but then, almost imperceptibly, Nagi nodded. It was small, almost a fleeting movement, but it was enough.

Rin’s heart pounded in his ears. This was it. This moment. And somehow, despite the confusion, despite the uncertainty, it felt right.

He leaned in slowly, watching Nagi’s face as he did, looking for any sign of doubt. But Nagi didn’t pull away. He didn’t flinch. Instead, he stayed still, his eyes softening.

Rin’s breath was shallow as their faces drew closer, the space between them closing until there was nothing left but the soft warmth of each other’s presence.

Then, their lips met.

It was gentle. Soft. A fleeting touch that made Rin’s heart skip. It was nothing like the rush of a challenge or the heat of competition—it was quieter. It felt like an acknowledgment. A shared understanding. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And for the first time in a long time, Rin felt like he didn’t have to hide anymore.

The kiss was brief. Just a soft press of lips, a shared breath, and then it ended as quietly as it had begun. Rin pulled away slowly, his heart still hammering in his chest, his thoughts a blur.

Nagi stayed where he was, still holding the bouquet in his hands, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything at first. Rin could feel the tension hanging between them, thick and uncertain.

But then, Nagi finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. “...That was weird.”

Rin’s face flushed, his heart still racing. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to say something, anything, to make it less awkward. But instead, he just nodded.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It was.”

Nagi shrugged, looking at the flowers in his hands as if they held the answers to everything. “But it wasn’t bad.”

Rin blinked, his chest tightening at the simplicity of the words. It wasn’t bad.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a lightness he hadn’t known he was missing.

The moment wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t grand. But it was theirs. And that, somehow, felt like enough.

The moment lingered in the air, delicate, fragile. Rin couldn’t quite place the feeling in his chest, but it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It wasn’t the rush of competition, the pressure to outperform. It wasn’t the cold emptiness of living in the shadow of his brother, Sae. No. It was something softer, something quieter.

He had kissed Nagi.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t think about Sae. He didn’t think about surpassing him or proving he was better. He didn’t think about the years of frustration, the pressure, the fear of being left behind. For the first time, Sae’s shadow felt distant, almost like it didn’t matter.

Rin blinked, his fingers still lightly brushing the edge of the bouquet in Nagi’s hands. He had wanted to ask himself for so long: Would Nagi stay? Would he, too, eventually leave? Nagi was different, though. His words, his presence, his laziness—it all made Rin feel something he couldn’t describe, but it wasn’t a cold void. It wasn’t the suffocating silence that had come with Sae’s absence in his life. It was real. It was present.

For once, Rin didn’t feel like he had to chase after something that wasn’t his to catch. For once, it wasn’t about outdoing anyone. Not Sae. Not even himself. It was just about this moment. Just about Nagi.

He glanced at the other boy, his heart still racing from the kiss, and for the first time in a long time, Rin felt a strange warmth. Maybe… maybe Nagi would stay by my side.

The thought caught him off guard, like a sudden gust of wind that sent his hair flying. Maybe wasn’t a word Rin often entertained. He’d been so used to the idea of people leaving, of needing to outshine, of being the best at everything, that the idea of someone sticking around felt almost foreign.

But Nagi? Nagi didn’t care for all the usual rules, the expectations. He was different. Carefree, in a way, but also… loyal, in his own way. Maybe, just maybe, Nagi could stay.

He looked at Nagi again, the soft, almost unreadable expression on his face. The other boy had tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for Rin to say something, but not pushing him. He didn’t force it. He didn’t make Rin feel like he needed to explain himself, or make things bigger than they were. He just was.

And that was enough.

Rin took a deep breath, letting it fill his chest. He could feel the weight lifting off him, the pressure he hadn’t realized he was holding onto releasing bit by bit. He wasn’t alone anymore. And he didn’t have to carry that heavy, impossible expectation anymore.

Rin smiled—just a little. It wasn’t grand or anything, but it was real. It was for himself.

“Thanks, Nagi,” he said, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. “For being here. For… staying.”

Nagi blinked, then shrugged, his expression softening just a bit. “I don’t know why you’re thanking me. I didn’t really do anything.”

But Rin knew better. It wasn’t about what Nagi did. It was about what Nagi hadn’t done. He hadn’t left. He hadn’t disappeared like the others. He was still here. With Rin.

And that was enough.

For the first time in a long time, Rin allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

Maybe Nagi would stay. Maybe, this time, he wouldn’t have to face the world alone.

As Rin and Nagi stood there, the world around them seemed to fade into the background. The moment was quiet, personal. Rin’s heart was still racing, but it felt lighter now. He was no longer burdened by the weight of uncertainty, and the soft, fleeting smile on his face made it feel like the world might finally be aligned for him.

Meanwhile, not too far off, Isagi and Bachira had been watching from a distance. They had been there the whole time, observing the way Rin and Nagi had grown closer, the way their dynamic had shifted from something tense and unspoken to something more comfortable. Something real.

Isagi leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow as he watched the scene unfold. “Finally,” he murmured, a small, almost knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Bachira, standing beside him, chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief and happiness. “Yeah, finally. Took them long enough,” he said, nudging Isagi lightly with his elbow. He paused for a second, watching Rin and Nagi, and then added with a smile, “They’re cute.”

Isagi snorted, shaking his head. “I knew it. They were always in their own world, but I didn’t think it would take this long.”

“Guess they needed a little push,” Bachira replied with a wink, eyes still fixed on the pair. “But hey, better late than never.”

Isagi nodded, his smile widening a little. “Yeah. I’m glad they’re figuring things out. Those two… they were always so stubborn.”

Bachira grinned. “Aren’t we all?”

The two shared a quiet laugh, their attention still on Rin and Nagi, who seemed oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. There was a sense of relief in the air, a kind of peaceful understanding between the friends. They had witnessed the tension, the unspoken feelings, and now, seeing it finally click, made everything feel right.