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Rin wasn’t sure what came next.
They hadn’t talked about it. After the confession, after the kiss, Nagi had blinked slowly, then nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world. No questions. No big scene. They’d watched a movie—some mindless action flick Nagi picked—and that was it.
Now it was the next day, and Rin found himself waking up earlier than usual.
Not for drills.
Not to go over game footage.
Not even to sit alone and stew over the ache Sae had left behind.
But to walk with Nagi to school.
The thought alone had his stomach in knots. Not because he regretted confessing—he didn’t. But because he had no idea what came next. What did it mean to be in a relationship? What was he supposed to do now? Was he supposed to text Nagi good morning? Hold his hand? Kiss him?
Rin frowned and glanced at his phone.
Still no reply.
He had texted Nagi ten minutes ago:
[You awake? I’m coming over.]
Nothing.
But that wasn’t surprising. Nagi wasn’t a morning person. Or a doing-anything-unless-forced person, so Rin tucked his phone in his pocket and headed out.
…
The walk to Nagi’s place was quiet, the early morning chill making his breath fog in the air. Rin adjusted the strap of his bag and stared ahead, focused. But beneath the usual cool expression, he was nervous. They hadn’t defined anything. Were they… boyfriends now? Did Nagi even care? He had just accepted the confession like it was nothing. But then again, Nagi accepted most things like that. Not out of malice, but because he just floated through life, picking whatever looked interesting.
Was Rin just interesting?
He scowled at the thought and picked up his pace.
When he arrived, the apartment was still. No lights, no sounds.
Rin rang the doorbell. Once.
Then again.
Still no answer.
He sighed, pulled out his phone, and typed another message:
[I’m outside.]
A full minute passed before his phone buzzed.
[eh? already?]
Rin rolled his eyes.
[Yes. Get up.]
A few minutes later, the door cracked open. Nagi stood there, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing a hoodie two sizes too big and a look of complete confusion.
“…You actually came.”
“You thought I was joking?”
“I thought you’d forget. Or go practice.”
Rin looked away. “I didn’t.”
Nagi blinked at him slowly, then rubbed one eye and stepped back. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”
“I’ll wait.”
“…You’re weird,” Nagi mumbled, and Rin heard the tiniest hint of something like amusement in his voice before he disappeared down the hallway.
Rin stood just outside the door, leaning against the wall with his hands jammed into his pockets. He stared at nothing in particular—just the quiet street out the window, the slow rise of morning light. Inside, he could hear muffled sounds: water running, something falling, Nagi yawning like a dying animal. He probably still had toothpaste on his face. Rin shifted his weight and tried not to look impatient. He wasn’t, not really. He just… didn’t know what he was doing. This whole thing—being someone’s boyfriend—it wasn’t in his skill set. The night before, he’d gone down a rabbit hole at 2 a.m., scouring articles titled “10 Sweet Things to Do for Your Girlfriend” (he figured that he should treat that lazy genius, Nagi, like a princess, so he clicked the site) and “How to Be a Great Partner (Without Being Overbearing)”. He hated every word. It all felt fake. Smile more. Compliment them often. Hold their hand. Be flirty, playful, charming. He read the list, skimmed comments, even stared at a Reddit thread where someone advised surprising their partner with coffee or a dorky note. Rin almost threw his phone into the wall.
But he remembered one thing. Just one: “Make them feel wanted, even in small ways.” He didn’t know how to do that. Rin never had to show affection before. Not to his teammates. Not to his family. And when he tried in the past—like with Sae—he got burned for it. So now, standing in front of Nagi’s house, the morning wind brushing against his cheeks, he ran through a list of possibilities in his head like it was a penalty lineup. Say something like “You look cute today”? No, he’d die. Ask if Nagi slept well? Too normal. Try to hold his hand on the way to school? He nearly winced just thinking about it. Still, he was determined. If he couldn’t be naturally affectionate, he’d brute-force it like everything else. That was his style, right? Attack the problem until it broke. Or until he did.
When Nagi finally shuffled out of the house, hoodie half-zipped and hair still damp from a lazy rinse, Rin cleared his throat. He tried to smile. It didn’t work—his mouth twitched once, then gave up halfway. “You, uh… sleep okay?” he asked, sounding like he was reading off a script.
Nagi blinked at him. “Mm. I guess.”
Rin gave a short nod and looked away, trying to summon the courage for the next line. Compliment. Say something nice. His mouth opened, words halfway formed, but instead, what came out was: “Your hair’s a mess.”
Nagi gave a half-lidded look of confusion, scratched his scalp. “Huh? It’s always like this.”
Rin nearly groaned out loud. What the hell am I doing? But Nagi just stretched and started walking, not questioning the odd mood. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did, but didn’t care. Rin followed, hands still buried in his pockets, face on fire. Being a boyfriend was exhausting… and he hadn’t even made it to school yet.
…
As they walked, the silence between them stretched—not heavy, but aimless, like a balloon floating just out of reach. Rin kept his eyes forward, matching Nagi’s slow pace, their footsteps syncing over the sidewalk cracks. He wasn’t sure what to say. The thought kept nagging at him, louder with every step: I don’t really know him. Not really. He knew how Nagi played soccer, how he was insanely good at trapping, but yet, he didn't play on the school team. He knew how Nagi dozed off in class with his head in his arms, and how he always drank lemon tea even though he said it was “just okay.” But the deeper things—the ones that mattered in a relationship—Rin didn’t know where to begin. Did Nagi get cold easily? Did he like music? What was his favorite movie? Did he ever dream about the future, the way Rin used to when Sae was still around?
He thought about starting a conversation. Something light, something safe. What do you usually do after school? Or What was your childhood like? But every time the words rose to his lips, he second-guessed them. Nagi didn’t talk much unless prompted, and Rin didn’t want to sound like he was prying. Or worse—trying too hard. So he stayed quiet, sneaking a glance at the boy beside him. Nagi had his hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, but there was no sign of discomfort. He didn’t seem bored. He just was. And maybe that was why the silence didn’t feel bad. Strange, yes. But not painful. They found a kind of calm in each other’s presence, even if neither of them knew what to do with it.
As they passed a small café tucked between a bookstore and a convenience store, Rin’s eyes lingered on the warm lights spilling from the windows. There were two students inside, laughing over something at a corner booth, sharing a slice of cake. He wondered—would Nagi like something like that? Would he want to sit across from Rin at a small table, sipping something too sweet and talking about nothing? Rin could almost picture it, blurry but vivid in his mind: Nagi leaning forward, hair falling in his eyes, maybe saying something ridiculous about how boring the frosting was. The idea made Rin’s stomach twist, not unpleasantly. Maybe after school… maybe he could ask. Maybe that could be his first step in trying to really know Nagi— not as someone fascinating or frustrating, but as someone Rin wanted to understand. As someone worth understanding.
As they turned the corner near the school, Nagi let out a quiet yawn and—without a word—leaned his weight against Rin’s shoulder. Just lightly. Casually. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Rin stiffened, breath catching, his brain short-circuited. Nagi didn’t seem to notice—of course he didn’t. He just stayed there, head tilted slightly, gaze forward, as if Rin was just a conveniently placed wall to lean on. And maybe to Nagi, that was all it was. But to Rin, it was something else entirely. His heart kicked up, the spot where their arms touched practically humming.He doesn’t know what he’s doing to me, Rin thought, lips pressed tight. He has no idea.
He kept walking, eyes narrowed ahead, but his thoughts had gone loud again. Make him feel wanted, initiate touch, don’t be cold. Those damn websites echoed in his head like a mocking chorus. This should be his moment, shouldn’t it? He could reach out, slip his fingers into Nagi’s, test the space between them—not just physically, but emotionally. Show something. Anything. But his hand twitched at his side, useless. He didn’t know how. He wasn’t built for this softness. Reaching out meant being vulnerable, and Rin wasn’t sure if he could survive that—especially if Nagi pulled away.
Still, he couldn’t help glancing down, just once, at Nagi’s fingers. Relaxed. Close. So close. The quiet between them felt different now—charged, intimate, uncertain. Rin bit the inside of his cheek. Should I…? The question hung unanswered, like the space between their hands.
They walked a few more steps like that—Nagi leaning against Rin, Rin quietly self-combusting—when Nagi finally spoke.
“Call me Seishiro instead.”
His voice was soft, a little tired, but not careless. It was the kind of thing that could be brushed off as nothing if you weren’t paying attention. But Rin heard it. Felt it.
He turned to look at him, blinking. What? The name hung in the air between them, heavier than Nagi made it sound.
Seishiro.
He never asked anyone to call him that. Everyone just said Nagi. Easy. Detached. Like the distance didn’t matter.
But Seishiro—that was different. That was personal. That was an invitation, one that Nagi didn’t explain, didn’t offer a reason for. He just said it like he was asking the time, like it didn’t carry the weight of a door slowly opening.
Rin stared at him, mouth slightly parted. His brain scrambled to come up with the right response, but Nagi had already turned his head back toward the street, expression unreadable, offering nothing else. Like he hadn’t just handed Rin something real, something fragile.
He didn’t say anything more.
And Rin, for once, didn’t push for it.
…
They reached the classroom a few minutes before the bell. Rin slowed his pace just slightly, letting Nagi walk ahead by half a step before stopping at the door. Nagi didn’t seem to notice—he just stifled another yawn and shuffled inside.
Isagi was already at his desk, flipping through his notes. When he spotted Rin hovering just outside the doorway, his lips curved into a smile. Not a smug one—just knowing. Like he could see straight through Rin’s stiff posture and flushed ears to the mess underneath.
Rin narrowed his eyes immediately, shooting him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.
Isagi raised his eyebrows innocently and gave a small wave like good luck, lover boy, before turning back to his notes.
Nagi, of course, was completely oblivious. He wandered to his seat, dropped into it with all the energy of a wilting plant, and pulled out a pen. He didn’t even glance at Rin or Isagi, already halfway to sleep again.
Rin stayed there for a second longer, his fingers twitching at his side. The weight of “Seishiro” still pressed against his ribs like a secret. Then, with one last pointed look at Isagi—don’t say anything—he turned and stalked down the hallway, his steps a little less heavy than before.
…
The first two periods passed in a blur.
Rin sat in the back of the classroom, chin propped on one hand, pen unmoving in the margin of his notes. The teacher's voice faded in and out like static, the words meaningless, slipping through the haze of his thoughts.
Seishiro.
It echoed in his head, uninvited but relentless. Soft and weighted. Not just a name—his name. One Rin had never said aloud, never even thought to until that morning.
He twirled his pen slowly, eyes trained on the corner of his notebook where he’d scribbled half a sentence before giving up. The letters stared back at him, blurry. Wrong. Rin hadn’t processed a thing since he entered the classroom. Not the lesson, not the chalk squeaking across the board, not the way the light filtered through the windows and made everything feel too still.
He just kept thinking—Call me Seishiro instead.
Why now? Why him? Why did it feel like something had shifted, like Seishiro had cracked open a door between them and walked away before Rin could step through?
He didn't know what to do with it. With him. Seishiro was so quiet in how he moved through the world, but it wasn’t emptiness—it was distance. Not avoidance. Just… the way he was. Detached and floating, and yet, somehow, still clinging to Rin in ways he probably didn’t realize.
Rin tapped the end of his pen against his paper. His stomach twisted. Was it stupid to obsess over one small sentence? Maybe. Probably. But that was the thing about Seishiro—he never said much, so when he did, it meant something.
And Rin was afraid of screwing it up.
Rin gave up pretending to pay attention by the middle of second period.
Instead, he flipped to the back of his notebook, where the pages were mostly blank, and stared at them like they might hold some kind of answer. After a moment, he pressed his pen down and started writing—not notes, not soccer drills, not schedules.
Just ideas.
Things to do with Seishiro, he scrawled at the top, then paused, pen hovering above the page. It felt awkward. Embarrassing, even. But also... kind of grounding.
He tapped the pen twice, then started a list:
Horror movie night? (Would he get scared? Would he just fall asleep halfway through?)
Stay-at-home gaming date. (Obvious. Safe. He’d like that.)
Try cooking something together (probably instant ramen, but that’s okay)
That quiet café on the way to school—Seishiro might like the chairs. Soft.
Walks at night? If he’s not too lazy to leave the house…
Movie marathons. Ones that don’t require thinking.
Rin stared at the list, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
He wasn’t used to this. Thinking in terms of them. Of what someone else might enjoy. But with Seishiro… it felt worth the effort, even if it made Rin feel like a fool with every word he wrote.
He scribbled another thought—Maybe get a second controller—then stopped, suddenly flustered. Was he really planning stay-at-home dates already? Like this was some long-term thing?
He blinked down at the page.
Yeah, maybe he was.
…
Rin had just finished underlining horror movie night when a shadow loomed beside him. He barely had time to react before a familiar voice sing-songed right into his ear.
“What's this, Rin-Rin?”
Rin jolted, slamming his notebook shut so fast it made a sharp snap against the desk. His pen clattered to the floor. “Don’t—”
Bachira grinned, unbothered, eyes gleaming with way too much interest. “Aww, come on, I only saw ‘Seishiro’ and ‘movie’ and—wait, stay-at-home date? Rin! You’re so soft.”
“I will strangle you,” Rin muttered, voice low and sharp as he snatched up his pen.
“Oh? You’re threatening violence? That means it’s serious.” Bachira plopped into the empty desk beside him like this was suddenly his class too. “I didn’t even know you knew how to plan a date. Do you Google it? ‘How to not be an emotionally constipated boyfriend 101’?”
Rin gritted his teeth. His face was flushed, and he hated it. “I said shut up.”
Bachira leaned in, tapping a finger against the notebook’s cover. “Relax, I think it’s cute. You’re trying. That counts for something. Nagi's probably gonna love whatever it is—unless it involves, like, walking. Then he might die halfway through.”
Rin sighed, long and exasperated. But under the annoyance, something inside him—tightly wound and afraid—unclenched just a little.
…
The moment the final bell rang, Rin was out of his seat like a shot. He ignored Bachira’s exaggerated wolf whistle and Isagi’s knowing grin, both echoing behind him like a curse. He stormed through the hallway with single-minded purpose, weaving past students until he found Seishiro just outside his classroom, half-asleep and leaning against the wall like he was waiting for the floor to carry him home. Without a word, Rin grabbed his wrist, firm but not rough, and tugged him along. “We’re going,” he said, ignoring Seishiro’s startled blink.
“Eh?” Seishiro blinked again, trudging along without resistance. “Why’re you so intense all of a sudden? Be gentle… I’m delicate,” he muttered, dragging his feet as dramatically as possible. “You should carry me. I’m way too tired to walk. Like, physically impossible.”
Rin groaned, but it came out more like a sigh laced with amusement. “You’re not a damn houseplant, Seishiro.” Still, he didn’t let go. He was determined—today it would happen. The cafe, the snacks, the movie, all of it. Even if he stumbled through every word or didn’t know what to say when Seishiro inevitably curled up next to him like it meant nothing—he was going to try. He didn’t want them to just drift through this relationship like it was a passive thing. If Seishiro was trying—changing the name he used, staying close even when Rin didn’t know what to do—then Rin could try, too. For real.
Rin didn’t say much when they arrived—just held the door open stiffly and nodded toward the corner booth like it had personally offended him. Seishiro blinked, confused, then wandered inside, eyes scanning the space. It was quiet, warm, the kind of place Reo used to drag him into but with less flair and more comfort. As Rin ordered drinks—awkwardly pointing at the menu and stumbling over his words—Seishiro just sat there, stunned. He hadn’t expected this. Rin, of all people, dragging him to a café after school like they were on a casual date.
He hadn’t really processed it, he realized—what it meant to be dating Rin Itoshi. It wasn’t just the confession or the walk to school or even the way Rin’s fingers still lingered near his wrist as if afraid to let go too soon. It was the effort. The quiet tension Rin wore like armor that cracked when Seishiro leaned into him, the determination to do something—anything—that might make this real. And Seishiro wasn’t used to being the one wanted. Not like this.
He rested his chin in his palm, watching Rin fidget with the drink tray as he returned. There was a slight flush on Rin’s ears, eyes averted like he wasn’t sure if he should sit beside him or across. Seishiro didn’t say anything—he just shifted slightly to the side, making room beside him. It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t a demand. It was just space, open and quiet and waiting. And somehow, that made Rin sit.
Rin slid into the booth beside Seishiro, keeping a cautious distance, like sitting too close might make the whole thing collapse. He placed the drinks on the table—some lemon thing Seishiro liked, even though Rin had barely remembered the name—and a black coffee for himself. He didn’t look up right away, just fiddled with the paper sleeve on his cup like it held the key to surviving this moment.
Seishiro took a sip, eyes still on Rin. “…You remembered,” he said softly, more surprised than touched, but not unkind. It wasn’t like Rin had ever asked him directly. But somewhere between the quiet tutoring sessions and their lazy afternoons, he must’ve noticed. That fact sat heavy between them, silent and undeniable.
“I’m not an idiot,” Rin muttered, finally glancing up, and Seishiro thought he looked strangely embarrassed—cheeks faintly flushed, brows slightly furrowed. “I just thought we could… hang out. For real. Like people do when they’re… you know.” He trailed off, the word dating clearly stuck somewhere in his throat. Seishiro tilted his head, watching him with that same unreadable expression he always wore—half-asleep, half-curious.
And then, like it was the most normal thing in the world, he leaned against Rin’s side again, head bumping softly against his shoulder.
“Okay,” he said, and took another sip of his drink.
Rin froze.
It wasn’t like Seishiro was clinging to him—there was no dramatic affection, no lingering fingers or whispered words. Just weight. Quiet, steady, and undeniably there. The warmth of his shoulder, the soft brush of white hair against Rin’s jacket, the way Seishiro moved like it was the most natural thing to lean into him as if it required no permission.
Rin’s heartbeat spiked in his ears. He stared at the cup in his hands, fingers tightening slightly. This is fine, he told himself. He does this all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. Or maybe it does. Shit—what if it does? He wanted to ask, Why are you like this? But that would mean ruining it. And he didn’t want to ruin anything. Not this.
“…You’re not gonna say anything?” Rin asked eventually, voice quieter than he meant.
Seishiro blinked slowly, lifting his head just a bit to look at him. “About what?”
“I don’t know.” Rin gestured vaguely. “This. Us. You’re just—okay with it?”
Seishiro tilted his head, considering. “…We’re together, right?” he asked, simple and honest. “You confessed. I said okay. We kissed. You picked me up this morning.”
Rin opened his mouth, then closed it again. It wasn’t wrong. But it also wasn’t… enough. Not for the storm Rin kept trying to bottle inside his chest. He wanted to know if Seishiro cared. If he felt something. If he thought about Rin the way Rin thought about him.
But instead of saying any of that, Rin looked away and muttered, “…Yeah. We are.”
Seishiro hummed lightly at that, as if Rin’s words simply confirmed what he already knew. He didn’t press, didn’t dig deeper, didn’t ask Rin why his jaw was clenched or why his hand was curled tight around his coffee cup. He never did. Seishiro was gentle in a way Rin hadn’t expected—unbothered by silence, never pushing when he felt Rin pulling back.
But that made Rin feel even more restless.
He glanced out the window, watching people pass, a tight feeling settling in his chest. Was it always going to be like this? Him, overthinking every word. Seishiro, coasting like they had all the time in the world. They didn’t talk about boundaries, or what they were supposed to be doing, or how this all worked. Rin didn’t know how to be soft, and Seishiro didn’t know how to reach. Somehow, they’d landed in the middle, both lost in translation.
After a minute, Seishiro spoke again, almost absentmindedly. “You don’t have to try so hard, you know.”
Rin blinked. “What?”
“The café. Picking me up. You, like… cramming boyfriend stuff overnight.” Seishiro’s gaze slid to meet his, unreadable but not unkind. “You’re already Rin. That’s kinda why I said yes.”
Rin stiffened, unsure what to say to that. He hadn’t expected to be seen so easily. He looked away, the weight of something vulnerable pulling at his throat.
“…I just don’t want to mess it up,” he muttered.
For a second, Seishiro didn’t respond. Then, his hand—cool and slow—reached across the table and poked Rin’s sleeve lazily.
“Then don’t.”
And somehow, that was enough. For now.
They left the café in silence, but it wasn’t awkward—just quiet in a way that settled around them like dusk. Rin held the door open and Seishiro shuffled out, still sipping the last of his drink like he had all the time in the world. Rin didn’t know where they were going next. He had a plan earlier: snacks, a movie, something easy. But now his mind felt like static. The weight of Seishiro’s words still pressed on his chest.
You’re already Rin. That’s kinda why I said yes.
He wasn’t used to that kind of acceptance. Not without a price. Not without proving something. With Sae, he always felt like he had to chase, like being his little brother meant being second-best, which.. he didn't mind, but Seishiro… didn’t seem to want anything but him, no matter how clumsy or cold he was. And Rin didn’t know what to do with that.
They rounded the corner toward the convenience store, where Rin had planned to grab some chips or instant ramen. Seishiro was still walking close—too close—and Rin was hyper-aware of the space between them. Or lack of it.
“Seishiro,” Rin said, quietly, testing the name again like it might taste different this time. It still hit strange in his mouth—too intimate, too soft—but he said it anyway.
Seishiro glanced over, a soft sound of acknowledgment in his throat.
Rin hesitated. “Why did you say yes?”
Seishiro blinked slowly, like he hadn’t expected a real question. He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I liked the way you looked at me. And you made things feel serious, not in a bad way.”
Rin felt like someone had knocked the wind out of him.
Seishiro didn’t elaborate. He just reached for a snack from the shelf and handed Rin a second one—his favorite, even if he pretended it wasn’t.
Rin stared down at the snack in his hands and muttered, “You suck at explaining things.”
Seishiro yawned. “You suck at asking.”
Somehow, that felt fair.
Rin paid for their snacks in silence, pretending he didn’t feel Seishiro’s eyes on him the whole time. He wasn’t used to this—being watched with curiosity instead of judgment. Seishiro leaned against the counter, swaying lazily on his feet, and Rin could feel the burn of that gaze even as he swiped his card.
When they stepped back out into the fading light, the air was cooler. The kind of early evening chill that made Rin want to bury his hands in his pockets, but instead he held the plastic bag of snacks a little tighter, as if that made him seem less awkward.
“You coming to my place?” Seishiro asked, stretching his arms over his head like it was a casual afterthought. He yawned halfway through it.
Rin nodded once. “That was the plan.”
“Cool,” Seishiro murmured, already turning to lead the way.
They didn’t talk on the walk. Seishiro didn’t seem to mind the silence—he rarely did—but Rin’s mind was loud. He thought about how close they were walking. How their hands kept brushing. How Seishiro’s hair was a mess and he hadn’t bothered to fix it before they went out. And how Rin still couldn’t figure out how something so strange and delicate could exist between two people who barely knew what they were doing.
When they reached Seishiro’s apartment, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch without waiting. “Pick a movie,” he mumbled, face half-buried in a cushion.
Rin stood there for a second, bag still in hand, looking at him. Seishiro was already dozing, barely present, and Rin suddenly realized something: maybe they didn’t have to figure it all out today. Maybe it was okay that they weren’t good at this. That they were awkward and quiet and a little too guarded.
Maybe being with Seishiro didn’t have to be about doing things right—just about trying. Together.
So Rin put the snacks down, grabbed the remote, and sat beside him, closer than before.
He didn’t reach for his hand.
But this time, he moved closer when Seishiro leaned into him.
The movie played in the background—something forgettable and low-stakes, the kind of thing Seishiro would lose interest in halfway through anyway. But neither of them seemed to care. Seishiro’s hair tickled Rin’s shoulder, and Rin sat stiffly at first, too aware of the weight resting against him. But as minutes passed, and Seishiro didn’t move, didn’t shift away or say anything, Rin found himself relaxing, just a little.
Seishiro’s breathing slowed, settling into something even. Not quite asleep, but close enough. Rin glanced down at him—his lashes faint against pale skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest—and something quiet stirred in Rin’s chest. Something he didn’t have a name for. He was used to sharpness, to drive and goals and constant pressure. But this? Sitting here like this, holding still just for the sake of being close?
It was terrifying.
It was kind of nice.
Rin turned his attention back to the screen, but he wasn’t really watching. He was thinking of how Seishiro had said his name earlier that day, the casual intimacy in “Call me Seishiro instead.” Like it was a given. Like Rin already had the right.
Maybe he did.
And maybe, tomorrow, he’d try asking about Seishiro’s favorite things. Maybe he'd listen instead of guess. Maybe they'd figure out the rhythm of this strange, fragile thing they were building.
But tonight, he'd sit here.
And he’d stay.
Seishiro shifted slightly, mumbling something Rin couldn’t quite catch. His fingers brushed against Rin’s sleeve, loosely curling in the fabric—not enough to hold, but enough to stay close. Rin didn’t move. He just breathed, slowly, carefully, like if he made the wrong move, the moment would break apart.
He’d never had something like this before. Not with Sae. Not with anyone. He didn’t know how to be gentle with feelings that felt too big for his chest. He only knew how to fight, how to push, how to win. But here, there was no goal. No finish line.
Just Seishiro. Half-asleep. Holding onto his sleeve.
It was unnerving how much Rin wanted to protect this version of him—the quiet, vulnerable one. Not the prodigy on the field. Not the tired idiot everybody wanted to avoid. Just the boy who leaned into him during bad movies and whispered his name without expectations.
“Oi,” Rin said quietly, not even sure why. Maybe just to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.
Seishiro cracked one eye open, sleepy and unfocused. “Hmm?”
Rin looked away quickly, ears a little pink. “Nothing.”
Seishiro blinked at him for a moment longer, then yawned and settled back in, this time with his full weight resting against Rin’s side. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d already made the decision for both of them.
Rin swallowed hard and stared ahead, determined not to ruin it.
They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.
But something unspoken settled between them—tentative, awkward, and clumsy as hell.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was real.
Seishiro’s breathing slowed even more, and after a few more minutes, Rin realized—he was out. Fully asleep.
His head had tilted slightly against Rin’s shoulder, hair soft and unruly, one hand still loosely bunched in Rin’s sleeve. His lips parted ever so slightly, brows relaxed, his whole expression slack and unguarded in a way Rin had never really seen before.
Rin turned his head just enough to look at him properly. Really look.
He never let himself stare too long, not when Seishiro was awake. Not when those soft eyes could turn toward him and catch him in the act. But now, in the quiet of the room, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV screen, Rin let himself watch.
There was something maddeningly gentle about the way Seishiro looked in sleep. Peaceful. Unbothered. Like the world didn’t weigh on him the way it did on Rin. And yet, Rin knew—this same boy had shattered his focus with a single sentence, broken into the parts of him he never let anyone touch.
Call me Seishiro instead.
Rin swallowed hard.
He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know how to be a boyfriend, how to care for someone in the open, how to let someone care for him without expecting them to leave. But looking at Seishiro now, asleep and somehow leaning closer with every breath, Rin felt something raw in his chest. Something real.
He lifted a hand, paused halfway, then gently brushed a strand of hair away from Seishiro’s face.
“Idiot,” he whispered, but it came out soft.
Not a curse. Not a scold.
Almost like a confession.
…
The next morning, the soft gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a muted glow. Rin stirred, his body stiff from the awkward angle he had apparently fallen asleep in. His back ached slightly, his arm numb from being stuck in the same position for hours.
And then he realized.
There was weight against his side—warm and steady.
His eyes snapped open fully.
Seishiro was still asleep, nestled against him, their limbs tangled loosely under the blanket. At some point in the night, Seishiro had shifted closer—his head now resting more against Rin’s chest than shoulder, one arm flopped lazily across Rin’s stomach. His breathing was deep and even, completely unaware of the chaos sparking in Rin’s head.
Rin froze.
His mind raced with every thought imaginable. We fell asleep together. I let my guard down. He’s too close. I didn’t even notice— And yet, a louder, quieter part of him whispered: < i>I didn’t hate it.
His ears burned red as he stared up at the ceiling, willing himself not to panic. Or move. Or think too hard about how soft Seishiro’s hair felt against him. He shifted just a little, trying not to wake him, but it only caused Seishiro to tighten his grip slightly and let out a quiet breath, like even in sleep, he didn’t want Rin to go.
Rin squeezed his eyes shut.
This is too much.
But he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t, even.
Instead, he lay there—silent, heart pounding, face slowly turning pinker by the second.
And Seishiro slept on, completely unaware of the storm he’d just woken in Rin’s chest.
Rin blinked up at the ceiling, his body still stiff, Seishiro’s lazy warmth pressed against his side.
Then, like a slow domino in his head, realization struck.
School.
His eyes widened, and he immediately shifted, carefully trying to untangle himself. “Seishiro,” he said, low and firm, gently nudging his shoulder. “Wake up. We’re gonna be—”
“Mnnn,” came the groggy reply, followed by a whiny groan. “It’s the weekend.”
Rin froze, caught between panic and disbelief. “What?”
Seishiro didn’t open his eyes. “Saturday,” he muttered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Go back to sleep.”
Rin sat up sharply and snatched his phone off the side table, quickly unlocking it. The screen glared back at him.
Saturday, 8:03 AM.
He stared for a long second, all the tension collapsing from his shoulders at once. Then it hit him—he never went home.
And worse—he didn’t tell anyone where he was.
Notifications flooded his screen, dozens of messages all from one contact:
[Mom]
Rin, where are you? You’re not home. You didn’t tell me you were staying out.
Are you at practice?
Rin, pick up your phone.
I’m calling your coach if you don’t respond.
I’m worried. Please answer.
His blood ran cold. “Shit.”
He stood up suddenly, pacing the room as guilt flooded his chest. He never did this—never just vanished. Even when he wasn’t on the best terms with his parents, especially his mother, he always sent a short message. Always followed the routine. And last night, all of it had slipped his mind.
He glanced back at Seishiro, still buried under the blanket, now curled slightly where Rin had moved from.
Rin ran a hand through his hair, silently debating whether to text back or call—but either way, he was going to have to explain why he hadn’t come home.
And somehow, “I fell asleep next to my boyfriend and forgot everything else” didn’t seem like the kind of answer he could type out easily.
He hovered over his screen, thumb trembling slightly above the keyboard. Every message from his mom echoed louder in his mind, and for a split second, Rin debated lying—saying he stayed at a friend’s or fell asleep at the dorms after a late practice. But he hated lying. And it wasn’t just guilt sitting in his throat—it was the sharp realization that this, whatever this was with Seishiro, wasn’t something he was ready to explain.
Not yet.
He typed quickly:
[Sorry. I stayed over at a friend’s and fell asleep. I’m okay.]
He stared at it. It was true enough.
Then hit send.
The response came back almost instantly.
[You scared me. At least tell me next time. Are you coming home today?]
He sighed and started typing back a soft promise that he’d head home soon, that he wouldn’t do it again, all while glancing back at Seishiro—who had managed to burrito himself even deeper into the blanket. Only the messy tuft of white hair stuck out, and Rin couldn’t stop the way his chest tugged at the sight.
It was quiet.
Still.
Peaceful, in a way that Rin hadn’t felt in a long time.
The guilt didn’t vanish, but something else settled alongside it: a strange sort of comfort. He had forgotten everything last night—his schedule, his alarms, even his usual need to be sharp and ahead of everything. And it scared him. But it also made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
He crouched down beside the bed, arms folded on the edge as he looked at the barely-awake boy. “Seishiro,” he called again, voice softer this time.
“Mmh. ‘S too early.” The lump under the covers didn’t move.
Rin sighed, quietly this time. “You made me panic.”
“Your fault,” Seishiro mumbled. “You’re the one who didn’t check the day.”
Rin rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips now. He stood back up, stretching, then walked over to grab a glass of water for himself from the kitchen.
Maybe today, since it was the weekend... they could actually spend it together. Properly.
He just had to survive another hour without combusting from embarrassment.
Rin stood in the doorway for a moment, glass of water in hand, watching the pile of blankets shift slightly as Seishiro peeked one sleepy eye out at him.
He took a breath.
Right. He could do this.
Remembering the site he read two nights ago—“10 Easy Ways to Be a Good Boyfriend”—he muttered under his breath, “Step six... compliments help build emotional intimacy.”
Rin cleared his throat. “You… um.”
His voice almost cracked.
He forced it steady. Deadpan. Flat. Emotionless.
“You look… good when you’re asleep.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Seishiro blinked up at him slowly, hair a mess, face buried halfway in the pillow. His eyes were still half-lidded with sleep, but Rin caught it—the faint twitch in his brow, the way he turned his face just slightly more into the pillow like he was hiding something. A flicker of pink touched his ears.
“…That’s weird,” Seishiro said bluntly, tone perfectly even. But he didn’t sound put off—more like he didn’t know what to do with it. “You’re weird.”
Rin set the glass down on the nightstand and folded his arms. “You read game guides before, I’m reading dating guides. Same thing.”
“That’s not the same thing at all.”
“It’s preparation.”
Seishiro huffed, shifting again under the blanket. He peeked out just enough to glance up at Rin with that familiar unreadable stare. “You’re trying too hard.”
Rin looked away, just slightly. “I know.”
And despite his unimpressed tone, Seishiro didn’t tease. He just reached out one arm, lazily, and tugged at Rin’s sleeve.
“…You can sit,” he murmured. “Even if you’re weird.”
And Rin did.
Rin sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He kept his arms crossed, his posture stiff despite the softness of the morning light pouring through the curtains. He wasn’t used to this—quiet mornings that weren’t consumed by drills or shadowboxing the ghosts of regret. This was unfamiliar territory. But he didn’t hate it.
Seishiro hadn’t moved much since tugging him down. He just laid there, eyes fluttering half-open, staring at Rin like he was still trying to figure out if this was all a dream he hadn’t bothered to wake up from. His fingers barely brushed Rin’s sleeve again before retreating.
“Do you always wake up like this?” Rin asked, voice quiet. Not mocking—genuinely curious.
“Like what?” Seishiro mumbled, stretching his arms above his head slowly. “Alive?”
Rin rolled his eyes. “Barely.”
“Mm,” Seishiro yawned, then let his arms fall back around his pillow. “I think you like it.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.” He cracked a faint grin, not bothering to open his eyes fully. “You stared at my face for ten minutes before you said anything.”
Rin’s face flushed immediately. “I did not.”
“You did.” Seishiro’s grin widened a little, smug even in his half-asleep state. “Creepy boyfriend behavior.”
Rin scowled and looked away, muttering, “I was making sure you were still breathing.”
“That’s even creepier.”
Despite the teasing, the air between them felt lighter than usual. The awkwardness of yesterday and the chaos of forgotten texts and concerned parents had dulled into something more manageable—something like comfort. Rin let out a quiet sigh and leaned back, just slightly brushing Seishiro’s blanket-covered leg.
“…You really knew it was the weekend?”
“Didn’t even check,” Seishiro replied, already halfway back to sleep. “But I was right.”
Rin let out a small breath of laughter before running a hand through his hair, gaze softening as he looked at him again.
Yeah. He really did like mornings like this.
Even if they were weird.
…
Rin stood in front of the open fridge, staring down at the half-empty cartons of jelly drinks and snacks that Seishiro always seemed to gravitate toward. His eyes narrowed. He couldn’t quite understand why Seishiro had such an affinity for those stupid sugary drinks that barely counted as food.
He sighed, closing the fridge door with more force than necessary, then walked into the living room, where Seishiro was lazily sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, eyes half-closed as he flicked through channels without any real interest.
“I’m dragging you out,” Rin announced with an air of finality.
Seishiro blinked up at him, unimpressed. “What?”
“You’re going to eat something that isn’t jelly,” Rin said, crossing his arms. “You can’t live on sugar and video games forever.”
Seishiro groaned and flopped back dramatically. “Ugh. Not this again. I’m fine. I’m too tired to go anywhere.”
“You’re going.” Rin’s voice was firm, but there was an edge of irritation underneath it. He couldn’t help it. Seishiro wasn’t a child—he was perfectly capable of making his own choices—but this... this was getting out of hand.
“I’m delicate,” Seishiro whined, tugging at the blanket around him as if to further his point. “Too tired to even move. You’re mean.”
Rin’s brows furrowed as he clenched his jaw. “No. You’re lazy. You can’t keep using that excuse. You’re going to end up sick one day if you keep skipping meals and living off jelly drinks.”
Seishiro huffed, glancing up at Rin through half-lidded eyes. “I don’t wanna go anywhere. What’s the point of leaving the house if you’re just gonna drag me around like some kind of... of... slave?”
“You can’t just sit here and get fatter,” Rin shot back, biting his lip as he tried to keep his tone neutral. “I don’t care if you think you’re fine. I care about you, alright?”
There was a brief silence. Seishiro stared at Rin, looking slightly taken aback by the rare admission. Then, in his usual lazy way, he sighed and finally rolled off the couch.
“Fine, fine... but I’m not walking. You’re carrying me.”
Rin gritted his teeth but didn’t argue. He was starting to realize that there was no real winning with Seishiro when he acted like this. Still, he found himself exhaling a little too sharply, as if the irritation had been building up longer than he’d expected.
“Get up,” Rin muttered, holding out a hand to help Seishiro. “Let’s go.”
Seishiro let out a dramatic groan before standing up, though he dragged his feet toward the door like he was about to be executed. Rin rolled his eyes, his irritation slowly dissolving as he realized that, despite everything, he was actually kind of enjoying this.
If this was what it meant to take care of someone... maybe he could get used to it. Even if Seishiro was a pain in the ass.
…
The walk to the café was slow—mostly because Seishiro made it that way.
He clung to Rin’s arm like a lifeline, his steps sluggish and eyes still half-shut like he hadn’t quite woken up yet. Rin scowled, trying not to look too affected, but the warmth of Seishiro’s fingers loosely wrapped around his sleeve was making his thoughts go fuzzy.
“You act like I’m dragging you to your death,” Rin muttered, shooting him a sideways glance.
Seishiro only hummed. “Because you are. I could be in bed right now. With jelly.”
“You were in bed all morning.”
“Exactly. Bliss.”
Rin groaned under his breath, quickening his pace slightly. But Seishiro only held tighter, not caring how obviously he was leaning on Rin. He didn’t say it, but the slight lift of his lips gave it away—he liked the attention. And Rin… well, he didn’t shove him off.
When they finally got to the small corner café, the warmth of the indoors hit them like a soft wave. Rin held the door open without thinking, and Seishiro trudged in, blinking at the smell of roasted coffee and something buttery and fresh.
“This place is kinda cute,” Seishiro murmured, looking around with mild interest. “Didn’t think you’d go for something like this.”
Rin pulled his hood down and ran a hand through his hair, already a little flustered. “You said you liked sweets. And I looked it up. Said it had decent food.”
Seishiro blinked at him, surprised again. Rin avoided his gaze, marching ahead to grab a small booth in the corner. He didn’t need to see Seishiro’s expression to know the other boy was watching him closely.
When they sat, Seishiro slumped across the table, cheek against his arm. He stared at Rin, eyes half-lidded, unreadable.
“You’re weird,” he said softly.
Rin frowned. “What now?”
“Just… you’re doing all this,” Seishiro mumbled, closing his eyes. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” Rin replied before he could stop himself. His voice came out too fast, too sincere. He looked away quickly, ears going red.
Seishiro didn’t respond. But he smiled, just a little, hidden behind the fall of his white hair. Then he stretched out a hand beneath the table, letting it rest near Rin’s, not quite touching—just there, like an offer Rin wasn’t yet sure if he had the courage to take.
But it was enough. For now.
Seishiro let out a soft hum, muffled into the sleeve of his hoodie. “We were just at a café yesterday too, y’know.”
Rin tensed for half a second, glancing up from the menu in his hands. “So?”
Seishiro didn’t open his eyes. He sounded more sleepy than anything else, not annoyed—just making an observation, as if it mildly confused him why Rin would want to go out again so soon.
“I just figured you’d rather be training or glaring at the field,” Seishiro continued. “Didn’t think you’d like stuff like this.”
Rin frowned at the table. He could feel the burn in his chest—that same anxious heat that came when he overthought, when he felt unsure.
“…You’re right. I usually wouldn’t,” Rin muttered. “But… I don’t hate this.”
Seishiro cracked one eye open, the corner of his lips twitching faintly. “Huh.”
Rin looked irritated again. “What.”
“You’re trying.”
Rin didn’t answer that. He just looked away, feigning interest in the chalkboard menu behind the counter.
Seishiro, ever lazy, just yawned and leaned more into his arm, head tilted slightly so he could still see Rin. “You don’t have to keep proving something, y’know. I already said yes.”
Rin stiffened a little—because part of him had forgotten that. That Seishiro already agreed to be with him, even if they didn’t know what they were doing. Even if Rin didn’t have all the answers.
Still, it meant something.
He didn’t say anything.
But under the table, he shifted his hand a little closer to Seishiro’s again.
And this time, when their fingers brushed, Seishiro didn’t hesitate.
He curled his fingers around Rin’s—slow, loose, like it didn’t matter if Rin let go.
But Rin didn’t.
The warm moment shattered with the sudden arrival of the waiter.
“Have you decided what you’d like to eat?” the server asked politely, notebook in hand and a neutral smile on his face.
Rin stiffened like he’d just been caught mid-crime. His fingers, still lightly curled around Seishiro’s, recoiled immediately—more from instinct than rejection. Seishiro blinked at the waiter, then turned lazily to Rin like this was Rin’s job now.
There was a silent beat.
Seishiro didn’t say anything. Just gave Rin that slow, blank stare of expectation, like you dragged me here, you figure it out.
Rin cleared his throat, expression deadpan. “Uh. One iced matcha latte and the… grilled chicken sandwich set. And—” he glanced at Seishiro, tone as even as ever, “—you’ll have pancakes and a milk tea.”
Seishiro tilted his head slightly. “Mm. Sounds sweet. Sure.”
The waiter nodded and scribbled down their order. “Got it. I’ll bring those right out.”
As he walked away, Rin exhaled slowly, still carefully avoiding eye contact. His face was unreadable as ever—but inside, it felt like his brain was short-circuiting.
He made me order for him. He didn’t even blink. Did I sound weird? Too controlling? Why did he look at me like that? Why did I pick French toast—was that too cute?
Seishiro stretched slightly, arms raised over his head, completely unaware of the emotional chaos he’d just incited. Or maybe he was aware—and just didn’t care.
Rin subtly glanced his way.
Seishiro gave him a lazy, barely-there smile. “You’re weird.”
Rin scoffed under his breath and looked away again, ears tinged red. “Tch. So are you.”
Rin shifted in his seat, gaze fixed on the table like it owed him an apology. His fingers twitched once against his thigh before he slowly, almost reluctantly, began to inch his hand across the booth seat—toward Seishiro.
It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t bold or confident. It was hesitant, quiet, like he was testing the air between them, like he was afraid the moment would break if he moved too quickly.
Seishiro didn’t look at him. Just sipped from his water, gaze wandering somewhere out the window, unbothered and unreadable in that way only he could manage. But Rin thought he saw it—just for a second—the smallest glance down at Rin’s creeping hand. He didn’t pull away.
Rin’s fingers were less than a breath away.
Just a little closer.
Just—
“Matcha latte and caramel milk tea?” the waiter asked, appearing like a summoned spirit of Rin’s private hell.
Rin snatched his hand back so fast he nearly knocked over the napkin dispenser.
Seishiro blinked. “Huh.”
The waiter, oblivious, set the drinks down and smiled. “Your food will be out soon.”
Rin muttered a stiff “thanks” without looking up.
Seishiro peeked at him out of the corner of his eye, a ghost of amusement flickering on his lips. He didn’t say anything—not about the hand, not about the way Rin flinched, not about the lingering air between them.
But when the waiter left, Seishiro casually reached for his drink—and let his pinky brush against Rin’s.
Just once. Light. Intentional.
Rin didn’t move.
But he felt it everywhere.
Rin stared down at his drink, watching the ripples shift against the glass. His fingers tapped once—twice—before he glanced sideways at Seishiro again. The other boy was leaning back, lazy as ever, one leg crossed over the other, idly sipping at his caramel milk tea like the world didn’t matter.
And maybe it didn’t.
At least not to him.
But to Rin—it was all fire in his chest, tension coiled tight in his stomach. He wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t good at affection or timing or figuring out what the hell Seishiro wanted from him. But he was trying. And this time, he was going to get it right.
He scanned the room first. No waiter in sight. Good. No disruptions.
Slowly—carefully—he shifted closer. His hand crept across the vinyl booth like it belonged there. Like it wasn’t carrying the weight of all his insecurities. He was inches away again.
This time, he didn’t hesitate.
Just as his hand hovered above Seishiro’s, just as he braced himself for the contact—
“Your food’s here!”
The plate landed on the table with a clink, and Rin froze mid-motion like a statue. His jaw ticked, expression schooled into something unreadable, something still—but inside, he was screaming.
Of course.
Of course the damn waiter would pick this exact moment to show up. Again. Rin didn’t even look up, just nodded stiffly, biting the inside of his cheek so hard it nearly bled.
He imagined kicking the waiter down a flight of stairs. Calmly. Politely. Repeatedly.
Seishiro raised an eyebrow and lazily blinked at him, then at the plate, like none of this meant anything. But the subtle upward twitch of his lips said otherwise.
Rin said nothing. Just glared at the perfectly arranged plate of food like it personally insulted him.
Rin didn’t dare try again.
He sat there, silent, shoulders tense, stabbing at his food with more aggression than necessary. His appetite had vanished somewhere between the second failed attempt and the waiter’s annoyingly chipper voice. Every time Seishiro looked his way, Rin averted his eyes, pretending to be too interested in the garnish on his plate.
Seishiro blinked slowly at him, chewing his pancake with absentminded thought. Rin looked…off. Moodier than usual. Broodier than usual. Which said a lot. And though Seishiro didn’t have a manual on how to deal with this kind of thing—he wasn’t totally clueless either.
He picked up a slice of an lazily cut pancake and, with a lazy stretch of his arm, dropped it onto Rin’s plate. Like it was some sacred offering.
“Yours looks boring,” he said flatly.
Rin glanced at it. Then at Seishiro. “...What?”
“Pancakes are the best part,” Seishiro added, voice dull as ever. “I’m giving you the best part. That’s, like… comforting or something, right?”
Rin blinked, caught off guard.
It was stupid. It was lazy. It was completely Seishiro.
And yet… it worked. Just a little. Just enough to soften the knot in Rin’s chest.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t thank him. He just nudged his plate a fraction closer.
“…I don’t even like pancakes,” he muttered.
But he didn’t move it away either.
…
The arcade was buzzing with neon lights, chaotic sound effects, and the smell of popcorn and sugar-heavy soda. Rin hadn’t expected to end up here—it had been Seishiro’s lazy suggestion, mumbled while he sipped the last of his drink with zero sense of urgency.
“Let’s go play,” he said, as if dragging Rin into a battleground of overstimulation was the most natural next step in their day.
Rin didn’t hate arcades, but he hated crowds. He hated noise. He hated unpredictability. But he didn’t say no, not when Seishiro looked so casually expectant. So now, here he was, standing next to Seishiro in front of a chaotic shooter game, blinking lights bouncing off his face, and a fake plastic rifle in his hands.
Seishiro leaned into him slightly, almost too close, eyes half-lidded and expression calm despite the screen screaming with gunfire and bonus points. Rin swallowed hard. He hadn’t really been paying attention to the game. His thoughts were circling elsewhere—timing, distance, how to reach for his hand. Maybe now. It was dim, loud, no one would notice. They were practically touching shoulders already, and Seishiro never seemed to mind proximity. Rin shifted, just slightly, fingers starting to inch toward his—
A blur of movement crashed past them, a group of small kids sprinting toward a racing game, giggling and shoving each other. One bumped into Rin’s side with enough force to throw off his balance. The screen flashed a failure notice. Seishiro blinked lazily and muttered, “Oops,” like it was nothing.
Rin grit his teeth. He reset the game, jaw tight.
Later, they found themselves near the claw machines, Seishiro watching as Rin focused, laser-sharp, on a plush toy shaped like a sleepy panda. Rin wasn’t even sure if Seishiro liked pandas, but he was determined to win it. The claw descended, shaky and unreliable, but Rin guided it with the control stick like he was handling something life-or-death. The toy tumbled into the chute. He turned, feeling confident—this could be the moment. He’d hand it to Seishiro, fingers brushing, hold them there, maybe even finally hold his hand—
A group of teenage girls brushed past them with a flurry of apologies and shrill laughter. One of them bumped Seishiro lightly, throwing off the casual lean he’d had against the machine, and Rin’s hand recoiled like he’d been scalded. The prize was still clutched in his other hand, but the moment was shattered. Seishiro barely noticed, yawning and eyeing the crane like it owed him something.
By the time they moved on to a rhythm game, Rin’s expression had darkened considerably. He was quiet, stiff, visibly irritated, though trying to mask it behind his usual stoicism. But Seishiro could feel the shift—Rin’s energy was stormy, simmering under the surface. Something was bothering him. And for once, Seishiro wasn’t sure if it was just the crowd… or him.
Rin was done. He was done with the lights, the noise, the distractions. Done with the almost-but-not-quite touches and the persistent interruptions that made every attempt to close the distance between them feel futile. His patience had worn thin, and the entire arcade—no matter how many blinking prizes or colorful machines it had—felt like a claustrophobic cage now.
He was irritated. His fingers still ached from trying to grab that stupid panda in the claw machine, his mind spinning with the fact that every time he tried to do something, some small gesture, someone or something always got in the way. The kids, the girls, the whole atmosphere—it was all a mess of noise and movement that never allowed him to settle. The darn waiter.
Rin glanced at his phone, realizing how much time had passed. He’d been there far longer than he intended to be. It was time to go home. He didn’t feel like pretending anymore. His facade was slipping, his usual sharp focus on things other than his feelings was finally starting to crack. He was too tired to even fake it, and he didn’t feel like dealing with it anymore.
“I think I should head home,” Rin said, his voice a little more strained than he’d intended. He didn't look at Seishiro as he said it, already heading toward the exit, almost mechanically.
But then, just as Rin’s hand was on the door, he heard Seishiro speak, his voice low and casual in the way he always did when he wasn’t fully invested in something.
“Hey,” Seishiro said, voice making Rin pause just before he could leave. “Wanna go to the park instead? Just for a bit?”
Rin blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. Seishiro didn’t look at him, hands stuffed in his pockets, expression as unbothered as ever. But there was a subtle shift in his tone—a small tug that Rin could feel deep in his chest, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
The park.
Rin didn’t know why the idea felt different now. Maybe it was the simplicity of it. No more flashing lights. No more distractions. Maybe it was just that, for once, Seishiro wanted something quiet, something small.
"...Fine," Rin muttered, shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. “Let’s go.”
He didn’t know what they were going to do there, or what was going to happen. But it didn’t matter. For the first time all day, Rin found himself willing to leave the noise behind. And maybe—just maybe—he could figure out how to piece together whatever this...thing was between them, one step at a time.
…
Rin’s irritation was still simmering under his skin, like an ache that refused to go away. He hadn’t been this close to Seishiro all day, not really, not without someone or something getting in the way. The entire arcade felt like a mess of near-misses, and now, even though they were at the park, that same sense of frustration followed him. He couldn’t help it—it was just in his nature. His patience had been tested all day, and now the quiet of the park didn’t do much to calm the storm in his chest.
As they walked further into the park, Rin’s eyes flickered to the swings. The light from the setting sun was turning the sky a soft orange, casting long shadows on the pavement. The air was cooling down, but it was still pleasant. There were only a few onlookers—a couple sitting on a bench and an old man walking his dog. It wasn’t crowded, and that was one small blessing.
But just as he thought he might take a moment to breathe, Seishiro tugged on his sleeve, pulling him toward the swings. Rin’s heart skipped a beat in surprise.
"Hey," Seishiro said, his tone almost childishly carefree. "Sit with me."
Rin blinked, still feeling the aftertaste of frustration in his mouth. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle this. The swingset was empty, just waiting for someone to sit on it. He could feel Seishiro’s expectant gaze on him, waiting to see what Rin would do next.
Rin could have just sat next to him, he supposed, but instead, he found himself standing there, unsure of what to do. He had already failed at the whole ‘gestures’ thing today, hadn’t he? Seishiro didn’t seem to care much about those, anyway. All the flustered feelings and moments of tension seemed to melt away when Seishiro acted like this—like it was nothing.
Seishiro was waiting, his hands gripping the chains of the swing, his usual lazy expression softened by the warm glow of the evening sun. There was a quiet sort of confidence in the way he sat there, expectant, almost like he was daring Rin to do something about it.
Without thinking, Rin stepped forward, hands slipping into his pockets to try and mask his awkwardness. He stood next to the swing, looking at Seishiro for a beat longer than he meant to, before reluctantly reaching out to push the swing.
"Here," he said, voice a little softer than before. "I’ll push you."
He wasn’t sure why he said it—maybe it was the way Seishiro had tugged on his sleeve, or maybe it was just the strange desire to do something, anything, that might finally feel like it was just the two of them. Rin wanted to get it right, but he wasn’t sure how.
The swing creaked softly as Rin gave it another push, his fingers gripping the cold chains, his movements slow and almost mechanical. The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet heavy in its own way. Rin kept his gaze fixed on Seishiro, focused on the rhythm of the swing, trying to hide the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. His frustration hadn't entirely faded, but the park, the quietness, and the evening light had given him a slight respite.
But then, Seishiro’s voice broke through the silence, soft and careful, as though testing the waters.
"Rin... are you upset with me?"
Rin’s hand froze mid-push, his chest tightening at the question. He didn’t know what to say at first. The simple, blunt way Seishiro had asked hit harder than Rin expected. The swing swayed slightly under his push, but Rin’s attention was on Seishiro now, his eyes flickering to the boy’s face, which was turned toward the sky as he swung back and forth.
For a moment, Rin didn’t know how to answer. His mind was spinning with all the little frustrations that had built up during the day—interruptions, missed opportunities, and this strange mix of uncertainty and vulnerability that had followed him since their first real interaction. It wasn’t about Seishiro, not entirely, but he couldn’t deny the weight of his own emotions.
Rin glanced away, his jaw tightening. "I’m not upset with you," he said quietly, though it felt like an incomplete answer.
He wasn’t sure if that was entirely true, either. His feelings had been tangled, frustrated, maybe even a little jealous, but he wasn’t mad at Seishiro. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what to say or do to fix it either. And yet, for some reason, he wanted to get this right—to figure out how to be with Seishiro without these complicated, heavy feelings pulling him under.
"Just... tired," Rin added, his voice barely above a whisper. "It’s nothing. I’ll get over it."
But the way Seishiro had asked, so quietly, made Rin realize that he wasn’t sure how to explain any of this. Not to Seishiro, not to himself. And that realization, that raw sense of not knowing what to do, was almost more frustrating than the things that had happened earlier.
Seishiro didn’t say anything for a long moment. The swing swayed gently under Rin’s touch. Rin’s eyes flitted back to Seishiro, but the boy remained focused on the sky, his expression unreadable. It was hard to tell if he truly understood, or if he was just willing to let Rin work through his own mess without pushing.
Rin didn’t know what to say next, but the silence between them felt heavier now. Maybe Seishiro didn’t mind. Maybe he understood more than Rin gave him credit for.
But Rin wasn’t sure, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.
The silence hung there for a moment longer, both of them caught in the quiet between them. Rin could feel the weight of Seishiro’s gaze on him, though he couldn’t bring himself to meet it directly. Instead, he focused on the swing, the rhythmic back and forth, trying to distract himself from the mess of feelings swirling inside him.
Seishiro’s voice broke the silence again, this time softer than before, almost as if he was choosing his words carefully. "You don’t have to hide it, you know."
Rin flinched at that, his heart skipping a beat. He turned his head toward Seishiro, surprised by the bluntness in his tone. But there was no accusation, no anger in his voice—just a simple, quiet understanding, like he’d seen through Rin’s attempts at masking it all.
"I’m not," Rin replied quickly, but the words felt hollow, even to himself. He let out a small breath, frustrated with how the conversation kept going in circles. "I just… I don’t know what I’m doing."
Seishiro paused, and Rin could feel his presence shift as if the other boy was turning his full attention toward him. He was so quiet, so patient, that it made Rin feel even more out of place.
"You don’t have to have it all figured out," Seishiro said. There was a gentle sort of conviction in his voice that made Rin stop in his tracks. "I don’t either."
Rin was quiet for a long moment, chewing on those words. It was the first time Seishiro had said something like that—acknowledging that neither of them knew exactly what they were doing. It was weirdly reassuring, but also unsettling in a way. Because if neither of them had it figured out, then what was he supposed to do? Was it really okay to just… not have answers?
Finally, Rin shook his head, half-laughing to himself. "Yeah, but you’re so easygoing about everything. I can’t be like that. I’ve got to figure out how to get this right. To be a good—" He cut himself off, the words hanging in the air. A good what? Boyfriend? What did that even mean? He felt like he was stumbling over concepts he hadn’t even had time to process.
Seishiro didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. Just quiet. Seishiro nudged the swing again, tilting his head slightly as if he was considering something before speaking.
"Rin," he said quietly, "You don’t have to be perfect. Just… be with me."
The simplicity of it hit Rin harder than he expected. No demands, no expectations—just that. Just be with me. Seishiro’s words were so straightforward, so unburdened, and yet Rin felt the weight of them more than he had expected. He wasn’t asking for perfection, or for Rin to figure it all out. He was asking him to just be there.
Rin stayed still for a long moment, his chest tight, his mind racing to process the words. It felt like everything had shifted just then. He realized, in that moment, that maybe it was okay to not have everything figured out. Maybe it was okay to just… exist together, to learn as they went along.
Rin looked at Seishiro then, his gaze softer than before, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a small flicker of calm settle in his chest. "Yeah," he said quietly, "I’ll try."
Seishiro gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile, and Rin couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. For once, maybe things didn’t need to be perfect. Maybe they just needed to be real.
Rin had tried all day. At the café, his hand had hovered just a few inches away from Seishiro’s, but then the waiter had arrived with their drinks, breaking the moment. At the arcade, just as his fingers had brushed against Seishiro’s, a group of teenagers had bumped into them, stealing his chance once again. By the time they had reached the park, Rin’s patience was wearing thin. His desire to hold Seishiro’s hand had been building all day, each interruption only making it more frustrating.
But now, finally, here in the quiet of the park with the night sky overhead and the soft sound of swings creaking, Rin had his chance. Seishiro’s hand was right there, resting casually by his side, and Rin didn’t hesitate. He reached out, fingers trembling slightly, and gently took Seishiro’s hand in his own.
For a moment, everything went still. Rin could feel the warmth of Seishiro’s hand against his, the simple connection that somehow felt so monumental after all the moments he’d missed. His heart beat a little faster, but it was a calm kind of fast, not anxious or uncertain—just content.
Seishiro looked over at him, his gaze soft, and for once, there was no teasing or playful jabs. Just quiet acceptance. Rin couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips, though he tried to keep it composed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
“I’ve been trying to do that all day,” Rin muttered, almost under his breath, but Seishiro heard it.
Seishiro’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile, and Rin felt a wave of relief wash over him. For once, things didn’t have to be complicated. No awkwardness, no waiting for the ‘right moment.’ They didn’t need anything grand to say what they both knew.
Seishiro squeezed his hand lightly, as if confirming that this was enough, that it was okay to just be here, holding hands, not needing to figure everything out right away. Rin squeezed back, finally letting the tension in his chest ease. It had been a long day of trying to get to this simple, perfect moment. And now that they were here, it felt like it had been worth it.
They sat there for a while, the peacefulness of the park settling around them like a soft blanket. Rin and Seishiro didn’t need words to fill the space; the simple act of being beside one another, the warmth of their hands still interlaced, was enough. The world felt quieter now, more distant, as if it was just the two of them in that moment, suspended in time.
Rin’s heart was still beating a little faster than usual, though not from nerves this time. It was a different kind of rhythm, one that spoke to the calm comfort of being with someone who understood. He stole a glance at Seishiro, the boy beside him, whose eyes were lazily scanning the surroundings, but whose expression had softened just enough to show that he, too, was at ease.
Rin’s gaze lingered for a moment longer than he intended, his thoughts wandering to that quiet desire he'd been holding back all day. He turned slightly toward Seishiro, just enough so that their faces were closer, and without a word, he looked at him. His eyes silently asking for the one thing that had been on his mind since their first kiss—the soft, gentle press of lips that would feel real, not rushed or forced, but just… natural.
Seishiro, as if understanding exactly what Rin was asking without a single word spoken, tilted his head slightly and met his gaze. Just a quiet acknowledgment that they were both ready. Rin’s heart skipped a beat, but the moment felt right.
Rin couldn’t help but stare at Seishiro again, his heart pounding a little faster, his mind battling with the tension he had been holding all day. Every attempt to get closer had been interrupted, but now, with just the two of them in the quiet park, there was nothing standing between them anymore.
Rin slowly turned towards Seishiro, his breath hitching slightly, and without saying a word, he reached out, gently pulling Seishiro closer to him. Seishiro didn’t resist, his eyes flickering with quiet understanding. Rin’s heart was racing, but there was no hesitation this time. He leaned in, closing the gap between them, his lips finding Seishiro’s in a soft, slow kiss.
The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of their closeness, the steady beat of their hearts, and the quiet rhythm of the kiss. It was different this time—no more hesitations, no more interruptions. Just the two of them, together in a moment that felt like it had been waiting to happen all along.
The kiss was clumsy, not quite like the movies, but it didn’t matter. There was something beautiful in the awkwardness of it—the way their lips didn’t quite sync up at first, how they both had to adjust and figure it out as they went. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt real. And in that moment, the messiness didn’t matter because they were there, together.
When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their faces flushed with the warmth of the moment. For a few seconds, they just stared at each other, the quiet stretching between them. Neither of them knew what to say, but there was an unspoken understanding in the air. They didn’t need to rush to fill the silence.
Seishiro was the first to break it, his voice soft and unbothered, “Dinner?”
Rin blinked, still processing the kiss, but he nodded slowly. “Yeah… sounds good.”
Then, without thinking much about it, Rin turned to Seishiro and asked, “Can I stay over again tonight?”
Seishiro raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the question but not looking bothered by it either. “You’re getting bold,” he said with a hum.
Rin just shrugged, trying to look casual but feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “What can I say? You make it hard to leave.”