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There was something about the way Luca Kaneshiro ran.
Shu didn’t know how long he’d been watching. He didn’t mean to—not really. He’d just wandered to the back bleachers during the long break between periods, the kind of place where no one really paid attention. The sun was high. The track field shimmered with heat.
And there he was. Luca. The blonde boy who everyone adored. Sprinting across the red clay track like he was born to move.
Shu told himself he was just taking a break. That he liked the silence here, where the PE class felt distant and far away, like a movie he hadn’t decided to watch. He tugged his sleeves down, rested his chin on his arm, and let his eyes drift. But they always landed on him.
Luca was easy to spot. Blonde hair, messy and sun-touched, clinging to his forehead. Skin bronzed from afternoons like this. Laugh too loud. Voice unmistakable. The kind of boy people noticed before they even meant to. Track and field star. First in relays. Always surrounded.
And yet, today, Shu found him alone on the far edge of the track, sprinting again and again, like he couldn’t sit still. His stride was wild but sure, his form imperfect but fast. Stupidly fast. Like watching the sun try to outrun itself. Shu didn’t know what to make of him. They weren’t friends. Not really. Luca was part of the noise Shu avoided in hallways. The shouting, the shoulder claps, the echoing “bro!” that bounced off lockers. They’d exchanged maybe one word in passing. Hi, probably. Or maybe it was sorry, in that rushed way when someone brushes past. Still, Shu knew who he was.
Everyone did.
Luca Kaneshiro, the boy with the violet eyes and permanent grass stains on his knees. The boy who climbed school fences during lunch just to sit on the roof. The one who got caught sneaking chips into the computer lab and somehow made the teachers laugh instead of scold him. Loud. Restless. Bright.
So why couldn’t Shu look away?
There was a moment—just a moment—when Luca slowed down after a lap, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, breathing hard. The kind of tiredness that doesn’t show on the face, only in the way a chest rises too fast. Shu watched the rise and fall. The tilt of his head. The way he closed his eyes against the wind like he was tasting it.
Pretty, Shu thought.
And then frowned. Where did that come from?
He shook the thought off, but it lingered. Like a stubborn tune. Shu shifted his gaze to the grass, then to the page of his open book. The words blurred. Something in his chest felt off-balance. He didn’t even like loud people.
But he glanced again. And there Luca was—laughing at something one of the coaches said, stretching his arms behind his back, T-shirt clinging in places Shu shouldn’t have noticed. Shu looked away too late.
“Hey.”
The voice startled him. Shu’s eyes flicked up. Luca was closer now. Too close. He stood at the bottom of the bleachers, flushed and glowing, one brow cocked.
“You’re in my Physics class, right?”
Shu blinked. “I… yeah.”
“I always see you writing stuff in the margins. Are you, like, a lyricist or something?”
Shu swallowed. “Not really.”
Luca grinned, squinting up at him. “Cool. You looked like you were watching the clouds or something.”
Or you, Shu thought, and hated that he did.
“I like the quiet here,” Shu said instead, voice low.
Luca wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Shu didn’t mean to look, but he did, and then hated himself again, “Me too,” he said. “Not a lotta people like quiet.”
He was still smiling. But not the big laugh-out-loud kind from across the courtyard. This one was softer, like he was letting Shu in on something. Shu nodded without meaning to. Luca lingered for one more heartbeat—then jogged back toward the field.
Shu sat there a while longer, notebook open, pen resting between his fingers. He didn’t write anything down.
But that night, in the silence of his room, with the window open and the breeze brushing his neck, he thought about a boy with grass on his knees and light in his laugh. And he still didn’t know why.
It was a Tuesday when they rearranged the seating chart. No big announcement. Just a new sheet taped to the board. Shu barely looked at it—he always ended up near the window. Quiet and forgettable. Until he saw the name next to his.
Luca Kaneshiro.
In class, he sat before the bell, notebook out, line drawn down the center like always. Left for notes. Right for thoughts. And then Luca slid into the seat beside him, all effortless energy and sun.
“Hey,” he said, slightly breathless. “Guess we’re stuck together.”
“Yeah,” Shu replied.
Luca unpacked like a storm—papers crumpled, gum in his notebook, pen rolling to tap Shu’s arm. “Sorry,” he says, reaching.
“It’s fine,” Shu muttered, pulling back.
The teacher began. Shu tried to focus. He copied the board. Let the rhythm of the pen distract him. But beside him, Luca doodled, tapped, hummed. Not enough to annoy. Just enough to exist. Shu’s pen slowed. He glanced. Luca was thinking hard, chewing a pen cap, tie loose, shirt wrinkled, scar on his elbow. Shu looked away.
And started sketching. Nothing big. A shoulder. A hand. The line of a nose. He’d never drawn classmates before. Not like this.
When the bell rang, Luca stretched. “Man, that felt like three hours.”
Shu shut his notebook fast.
“Wanna walk to the canteen?”
“I have to drop something off first.”
“Cool. I’ll save you a seat.”
And just like that, he was gone.
Later that night, Shu flipped back to the sketch. The slope of Luca’s shoulders. His head tilt. He’d drawn him gently. As if afraid the page would tell. He touched the pencil lines. Once. Then turned the page. And didn’t draw again.
The next week, they got paired for a literature project. The teacher didn’t even look up when she called, “Yamino and Kaneshiro.”
Luca whispered, “Yes!” with a grin.
“You… wanted this?” Shu asked.
“Of course. You’re smart. I’m charming. We make a good team.”
“That’s not… how literature works.”
“Doesn’t it?”
Shu turned away. Ears pink.
They met at the library after class. Shu arrived early, halfway through the outline when Luca showed up, hair damp, sleeves rolled, “You started without me?”
“You were late.”
“I had training. I texted you.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Wanna fix that?” Luca smirked at him, eyebrows wriggling.
“Just… write it in the margin.”
Luca did. And drew a little sun beside it, “You always draw stuff in the margins.”
“Just… habits.”
“They look nice. You’re good at hands.”
Shu almost dropped his pen. “You’ve seen my hands before, right?” Luca said, flexing his fingers. “They’re a little weird. Long, maybe. Kinda veiny.”
“Why are we talking about your hands?”
“You’re the one drawing them. Or am I imagining that?”
“I wasn’t… drawing you.” Shu’s voice came out tighter than he expected, low and defensive. His fingers curled slightly around his pen, as if holding onto something steadier than his own thoughts.
“Didn’t say you were,” Luca replied, calm and teasing, leaning back like he hadn’t just cornered Shu in his own truth.
Shu’s jaw twitched. He could feel the heat rise in his neck, the kind that always gave him away. He stared at his notebook like it might rescue him. “We should focus,” he muttered, flipping a page that didn’t need flipping, suddenly very interested in the title he was about to write.
Luca didn’t move, but Shu could sense the grin without looking. “You get like this when you’re flustered. It’s cute.”
Shu’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “I’m not—”
“Flustered?” Luca’s voice was a little softer now. Less teasing. More curious.
“Yes,” Shu said, too fast, too sharp.
A beat passed. Shu realized his hand was frozen midair, pen uncapped, unmoving.
“You’re also not writing anything,” Luca added, voice light but steady.
Shu exhaled. Not dramatically—but long and slow, like he was trying to push the warmth out of his skin. He finally lowered the pen and, with as much normalcy as he could muster, wrote chapter analysis in neat, deliberate block letters.
“Alright, alright,” Luca said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Let’s work. I’ll behave.”
And for a while, he actually did.
They moved through the outline together. Shu talked through the symbolism of the main characters, and Luca—even if a little fidgety—listened more than he interrupted. He nodded, asked just enough questions to stay engaged. And Shu found himself easing, just a little. Relaxing into the rhythm of explaining.
But every few minutes, Luca would break the moment with a casual grenade.
“I bet you read under the covers with a flashlight.”
“You don’t talk much, but your eyebrows say a lot.”
“Your handwriting looks like a secret.”
Each time, Shu would glance at him—blank stare first, then a blink, then a twitch of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile. He’d turn back to the page, pretending to keep writing, but his pen always paused.
And yet… he didn’t tell him to stop.
By the time they finished, Shu hadn’t looked at the clock in over an hour. The library had grown quiet, lit in a soft amber that filtered in from the sunset outside. Dust floated in the air like sleepy stars, and for a strange, suspended second, everything felt still.
“You hungry?” Luca asked, stretching a little in his seat.
Shu hesitated. “A little.”
“Let’s get food.”
“I didn’t say I’d go with you,” Shu said, even as he began putting his pen back in its place.
“You didn’t say no,” Luca answered with a shrug, as if that was more than enough to count as a yes.
Shu sighed, the smallest smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Do you always talk this much?” he asked, not annoyed—just curious, maybe even a little amused.
Luca’s answer came easily, like the most obvious thing in the world. “Only when someone makes me want to.”
Shu didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t even try. His chest felt warm again, annoyingly so, and the worst part? He didn’t want it to go away. That same night, back in the quiet of his room, Shu sat at his desk with a blank page in front of him. No lyrics. No sketches.
Just a name. Luca.
He wrote it once, small, in the corner of the page. Barely visible. Like a whisper he didn’t mean to say out loud.
They met again the next day. Shu showed up early, the morning light casting soft shadows across his neatly arranged books. His calm presence filled the room even before Luca arrived.
Luca came in late—chips in one hand, iced tea in the other—his usual bright, easygoing energy softening as he saw Shu waiting.
“No training today,” he said, flopping into the chair with a tired but genuine smile. “I’m your full-time academic weapon now.” He grinned, trying to sound confident, but the way he glanced at Shu showed how much he cared.
“You’ll ruin your dinner,” Shu said quietly, eyes flicking to the chips.
“Joke’s on you, I already did.” Luca held out the bag, a silent invitation.
Shu took a chip. Then another. The small, ordinary moment felt unexpectedly comfortable between them.
“You always look like you’re about to disappear,” Luca said, watching him carefully, as if trying to read a secret.
“What does that mean?” Shu asked, tilting his head, curious but cautious.
“You don’t move much. You never take up space. It’s like you’re trying not to exist too loudly.” Luca’s voice softened, more observation than judgment.
“Is that a bad thing?” Shu’s voice was almost a whisper.
“No. I just… notice.” Luca smiled faintly, trying to put into words the feeling he couldn’t quite explain.
The silence after that felt different. Not heavy or awkward—just more real. It was a pause that stretched comfortably between two people learning to understand each other without pressure.
“My cousin used to say that about me,” Luca added, breaking the quiet. “That I talk too much so people won’t ask what really matters.”
Shu looked up, eyes searching. “Are you pretending now?”
A long pause followed, full of unsaid things.
“No. Not with you.” Luca’s words were soft but steady, a rare moment of vulnerability.
They didn’t name it. But Shu wrote his name again—Luca—hidden between the lines of his notes. It was a quiet confession, small and delicate.
When they packed up, Luca asked casually, “You walk home, right?”
“I do.” Shu’s voice was calm, steady as ever.
“I’ll come with.” The words slipped out easily, but there was an earnestness beneath.
“You don’t live near me.”
“I know.” Luca’s grin was soft, unconcerned with distance.
That walk changed something. The sun was low, painting the sky with pastel colors. They passed homes touched by sunset, Shu trailing a step behind, quiet and thoughtful. Luca filled the air with ridiculous stories, his voice bright and playful.
Shu listened. Sometimes smiled. Said little. His silence was not emptiness but presence, and Luca felt seen.
Near the trees, while the old leaves fell down, Luca slowed, his voice dropping. “You know, I think you’re the kind of person who’s hard to forget.”
Shu stopped, surprised by the honesty in the words. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” Luca looked at him with an openness that made Shu’s chest tighten.
“But you don’t know me.”
“I know how you move your hands when you’re holding something back. I know you hum when you’re focused. You hide your laugh in your sleeve. And you always take three seconds to answer when you’re unsure.” Luca’s voice was gentle, almost reverent.
“You’ve been… paying attention?” Shu’s voice was small, vulnerable.
“Isn’t that what you do with people you like?” Luca asked softly, then let the question hang in the air.
And then he just… walked on.
Shu stood frozen. Chest tight. That sentence echoed inside him like a soft melody.
Hard to forget.
People you like.
You.
That night, Shu wrote in his sketchbook:
“Do I want him to like me? Or do I just want to believe he could?”
The next day, Elira and Ike called him out.
“You’re spacing out. Again,” Elira said with a knowing smile.
“It’s Luca, isn’t it?” Ike added. “Track boy? Violet eyes? Constant golden retriever energy?”
Shu flushed, caught off guard by how obvious he’d been. “It’s not like that.”
Except… maybe it was.
Across campus, Luca was also getting grilled by his friends.
“You skipped the team meeting,” Sonny pointed out with a teasing grin.
“You were standing outside 2-A with tea,” Vox said, watching him closely.
Luca looked down, cheeks flushed. “He’s just… different.”
“Dangerously romantic,” Sonny muttered under his breath.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?” Vox pressed.
Luca didn’t answer. Instead, he stood, voice steady but quiet. “I’m meeting him after school,” and walked away without looking back.
Sonny whistled low. “He’s falling.”
“Big time,” Vox agreed.
And he was.
Because after that, everything shifted without needing to be said. It all felt too natural.
Shu brought a second umbrella on rainy days. Luca saved a seat beside him in class. Neither flinched when their shoulders brushed, or knees touched, or when they almost—just almost—touched hands.
They watched each other’s practices—Shu running laps on the track, Luca leaning against the wall outside the music room, both lost in their own worlds but connected. No explanations. No expectations.
Just showing up.
Once, Shu tossed him a cold drink mid-practice, catching Luca’s surprised smile.
“You always know what I need.”
“You looked dehydrated.”
“Exactly.”
Another time, Shu found Luca asleep outside the music room, curled into himself, soft breaths visible in the afternoon light.
“Were you watching me sleep?” Luca teased when he woke.
“You were snoring.” Shu’s answer was quiet, teasing in return.
“Was I cute, though?”
Shu didn’t answer. But his ears turned pink, and his eyes softened.
On a quiet Saturday, Luca ended up in Shu’s room. They studied. Sort of.
Shu flipped through his notebook, the neat “2-A” stamped on the corner catching Luca’s eye
.
“So… you know Claude.”
Luca blinked, folding his arms, trying to act casual but failing completely.
“Claude? Like… your Claude? The one with a beauty mark? The smart-smart guy?”
Shu laughed softly, eyes shining with fond memories. “Yeah. We were kids. Nothing serious.”
Luca’s cheeks flushed a warm pink. He fidgeted, voice catching. “He sounds… cool.”
Shu raised an eyebrow, teasing just enough to make Luca’s heart race. “Jealous?”
Luca opened his mouth, then closed it. Scratched his neck. “What? No! Okay—maybe a little. I just don’t like the idea of anyone else getting you first.” His words tumbled out faster now, nervous and sincere.
Shu smiled, eyes twinkling with quiet affection. “You’re ridiculous.”
Luca grinned shyly, warmth flooding his face. “Yeah. But you like me anyway.”
Shu turned away, a soft smile playing at his lips.
It kept happening.
Shu started waiting for Luca. Luca showed up sweaty, grinning wide. They teased each other gently. Sat closer than necessary. Touched more. Said less.
But in that silence between them, everything was said.
Luca was shaking.
Not visibly—no one else would have noticed. But Shu did. From the stands, he could see the way Luca’s hands fumbled just slightly with the strap of his spikes, the way he stared too long at the track without really looking at it. His body was still, but his edges were buzzing.
The stadium was alive—shouts, flags, whistles, teams warming up and coaches barking orders—but it all felt distant to Shu. Like watching through glass. He could see it even from where he stood. Luca’s chest was tight. Shoulders braced too high. Breathing too shallow.
He’d run this race before. Probably dozens of times. But Shu knew, without being told, that this one felt different.
He’s wondering if I came.
The thought settled gently in Shu’s chest. It didn’t make him nervous. It just made him move.
So he stood up, swallowing any shame he had, “LUCA!!”
The name left his mouth louder than he expected. Clear. Sharp. It cut through the hum of the stadium, slicing the noise right down the middle. He saw Luca freeze. Look up.
And there it was—his face softening, shoulders dropping. A smile tugging at his mouth like something real finally clicked back into place.
Shu lifted his hand, waved a little awkwardly. “I’m watching, okay?”
He didn’t know if Luca could hear that part but it didn’t matter because Luca smiled, grinned even.
And even from here, Shu could feel something inside him loosen.
Minutes passed. Shu stood, hands curled into fists, eyes locked on the track. He didn’t look away. He couldn’t.
Luca crouched at the starting line, hands pressed to the ground like it was sacred. He didn’t glance at the crowd. He didn’t have to.
Shu knew Luca could feel him now. Like he was a fixed point Luca could anchor to.
Set…
The gun cracked.
And Luca flew.
He didn’t stumble. Didn’t hesitate. He tore through the track like something in him had finally broken loose—like he wasn’t just running to the finish line, but from something that used to hold him back.
Shu’s heart was pounding before Luca even crossed.
But the second his foot hit the line, he already won.
Everything after that was a blur. One second, Luca was across the field. The next, he wasn’t.
Shu gasped instinctively, caught somewhere between confusion and breathlessness. He didn’t know why he felt like the air had shifted.
Then—Luca was there.
Right there. And before Shu could speak, think, breathe—Luca grabbed him by the waist and kissed him. It wasn’t hesitant. Or rushed. Or unsure. It was soft. And full. And sincere.
And everything Shu had been pretending not to want.
The crowd was still screaming. Somewhere, someone was announcing results. Flags waved, trainers shouted. The world kept going.
But Shu didn’t hear it. It was like they were underwater again, wrapped in something still and bright. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull back. He kissed Luca back.
Instinctively. Completely. No hesitation. No noise.
Their foreheads met when they parted, breathing hard but quiet. Luca’s hand was warm in his. Shu held it like he might never get another chance.
And for a second, they just stood there.
No one moved. Nothing else mattered. They had kissed and Shu wasn’t afraid. He didn’t want to go back, not even for a second. Because for the first time in a long time—he felt like someone had chosen him.
Loudly.
Without apology. In front of everyone. And maybe—just maybe—that was what falling in love felt like.
The stadium lights still glowed in the distance, but they didn’t matter anymore.
Luca and Shu walked slowly through the quiet streets, side by side, hand in hand. Neither of them had said a word since they left the crowd behind. But their silence was full—soft, golden, glowing with everything they didn’t have to say.
Luca’s race jersey clung to his skin, damp from effort and adrenaline. His cheeks still carried the flush of victory—or maybe something more. And Shu—button-down a little rumpled from the day, hair tousled from the breeze—wore Luca’s medal around his neck.
Luca had taken it off after the race and slipped it over Shu’s head without a word.
It rested against his chest now, heavy and warm.
Every few steps, their hands would swing gently between them. Every now and then, their fingers would tighten. Like a reminder. Like a question. Like an answer.
The world around them was quiet—just the hum of faraway cars, the breeze ruffling leaves overhead, the soft echo of their footsteps. Lamplight spilled gold across the pavement, making shadows stretch long behind them. It felt like the kind of moment that only existed in memory, or dreams.
Shu looked at Luca.
And Luca looked back.
Neither smiled right away. They just looked.
Then as if something clicked, or like they couldn’t hold it in any longer—Shu’s mouth curled into a grin. Small at first. Then wide.
Luca grinned too.
And then, suddenly, both of them were laughing—soft and breathless, shoulders shaking, the kind of laugh you can’t explain, the kind that says, What just happened? Did that really happen? Are you feeling this too?
And they were. They didn’t need to speak it. Didn’t need to name it. They just kept walking, laughing like fools in the middle of the night, fingers still laced, the medal swinging gently between them.
Shu wiped his eyes, still breathless from laughing. “You’re so silly,” he said, bumping Luca’s shoulder lightly. “Doing that in front of all those people.”
Luca shrugged, looking up at the night sky with a dopey little grin. “Yeah,” he said, “But I wanted them to see.”
Shu looked at him, blinking as he smiled again, quiet and soft, like something inside him had just said yes.
It felt stupid and beautiful and unreal.
But it felt like something beginning.