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The cafeteria tray trembled slightly in Kieran’s grip, his knuckles whitening around the edges. He wasn’t even holding anything heavy—just a sandwich wrapped in wax paper and juice box. Next to him, Florian grinned around a mouthful of noodles, slurping loudly just to make him smile, and Kieran’s chest tightened in that familiar, terrifyingly warm way.
"What'cha staring at?" Florian inquired, tapping Kieran’s shoe under the table. His voice was teasing, but his eyes were soft.
"Nothing," Kieran lied, heat crawling up his neck. He focused on unwrapping his sandwich with excessive concentration in an attempt to look innocent.
Florian leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. "You were totally staring at me."
Even though he knew it was a jest, Kieran opened his mouth to try and deny. Though before a sound came out, Florian scooted closer and plucked the sandwich from his hands with a mischievous grin. Before Kieran could react to that next, Florian took a small bite.
"Mmm, tastes better when you make it," he said with his mouth full.
"Hey—!" Kieran was about to swipe for it, but Florian handed the sandwich back.
"Relax," Florian murmured. "Here, you can have some of mine."
Even though it was returned to its proper owner, it left a half-unamused pout on Kieran's expression. It was a weak attempt at defiance—but he opened his mouth anyway when Florian lifted a forkful of noodles toward him. The pasta was slightly overcooked like how Florian preferred, the sauce clinging in uneven globs, but Florian’s grin made it taste like something out of a five-star restaurant. It was good enough, he admitted. Kieran slurped up the strands, cheeks heating as a droplet of sauce escaped the corner of his mouth. Florian’s thumb brushed it away before Kieran could react, lingering just a second too long on his lower lip.
"You’re such a messy eater," Florian teased, twirling another forkful.
Kieran blushed, glancing away. He thought he'd be uncomfortable with this. He shouldn’t let Florian be so openly affectionate where people could stare, could whisper—but gods, he did like it, even as his shoulders hunched instinctively under the weight of imagined eyes on him.
"Sandwich was good though," Florian said, nudging Kieran's knee under the table. "What's in it?"
Kieran swallowed his bite, glancing down at the sandwich half-heartedly wrapped back in its wax paper.
"Um... just ham, salami, swiss and provolone," he answered, scratching his neck. "Oh, and spicy honey mustard.
Florian's eyebrows shot up, "Wait, that tingling taste in my mouth is 'spicy honey mustard'? It's not even that spicy!" He licks his lips as if to reconfirm the taste. "It just... tastes good!"
Kieran blinked, then huffed a small laugh—Florian's enthusiasm was contagious. "I suppose it's just a fancy name. It isn't that spicy when you think about it."
Florian leaned forward with exaggerated interest towards Kieran's chest.
"Well, now I need another bite to confirm," he declared. "For science!"
Kieran pouted, clutching the sandwich closer.
"No way, you already had a bite! Eat your own food!" His tone was stern, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward—Florian's playful persistence made it difficult to be upset at.
Florian sighed dramatically, draping himself across the table. "But yours is better! Mine's just... noodles. Sad, lonely noodles." He poked at his own foodset mournfully.
Kieran sighs, "Fine, but you owe me another sandwich."
Florian beams widely, "Deal!"
Kieran tore off a corner of the sandwich with practiced precision—just enough to satisfy Florian without sacrificing too much of his own lunch. But before he could drop it onto Florian's tray, the latter's fingers wrapped around his wrist, warm and insistent. Florian guided his hand back, not toward the tray, but toward his own mouth. He stopped there, lips slightly parted, eyes gleaming with playful expectation. The message was unmistakable.
Kieran's eyes widened at the realization. His pulse thudded as he could feel the phantom burn of every pair of eyes in the cafeteria—real or imagined—zeroing in on them. But Florian just waited, patient and grinning. Slowly, Kieran lifted the bite to Florian's lips, his fingers brushing the soft skin there for the briefest second before Florian took it with an exaggerated hum of delight.
"...So? How's the 'spicy honey mustard'?" Kieran asks.
Florian presses a finger to his lips in contemplation. "Yep, not spicy," he confirmed. Then, Florian leaned in, lips quirking into that infuriatingly charming smirk Kieran knew all too well. "But you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, warm against Kieran’s ear. "You could definitely make it hotter."
Kieran choked on nothing, his face erupting into a shade of red. His fingers fumbled with the sandwich wrapper, crinkling it loudly in his grip as he stammered, "I—wha—that doesn't—!"
Florian’s laughter rang out, bright and unapologetic, and Kieran wanted to melt into the floor. But beneath the embarrassment, something warm and giddy coiled in him—Florian’s teasing was mortifying, but Arceus, he loved it.
"You're ridiculous, y'know," Kieran muttered, the flush creeping up his neck.
Florian laughed, bright and unashamed, leaning in to bump their shoulders together. "And you love it."
Kieran didn't deny it. The silence alone was confirmation enough for the other.
He had just managed to finally return to properly eating his sandwich, holding it with both hands ready to take his first bite, when the scrape of a chair nearby made him tense up. He didn’t look up immediately, hoping whoever it was would pass by, but then a voice, sharp with mockery, sliced through the air. A whistle followed up, cutting through the cafeteria chatter.
"Look at that," a voice drawled from behind Kieran. "The League Club’s little dictator finally found someone desperate enough to put up with him." Two boys—former members he had expelled a long time ago—loomed over their table, smirking.
Kieran stiffened, refusing to look up. He knew that voice. Florian, however, didn’t miss a beat.
"Hi guys," Florian said, cheerful but firm. "Long time no see. Haven't seen you around since you left the club!" He leaned back, stretching an arm across Kieran's back. His fingers brushed the nape of the other's neck reassuringly, and helped force him to exhale.
The taller of the two boys—Kieran remembered his name was Ren, vaguely—crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, we’d still be in the club if your boyfriend here wasn’t such a sore winner." He sneered the word "boyfriend" like it was something filthy, and Kieran’s fingers twitched against his sandwich wrapper.
The cafeteria noise seemed to dim around them. Kieran’s throat tightened. He had been harsh when he’d restructured the League Club long ago—maybe too harsh—but that didn’t make this okay.
"I—I—" he started, but Florian squeezed his shoulder to pause him.
Florian stood up smoothly, his chair barely making a sound against the tile. He didn’t tower over them, but the way he carried himself made Ren and his friend take an involuntary step back.
"Well that's weird," Florian said, voice remaining light and casual, "I seem to remember him telling me you guys bribed your way to winning your matches," He tilted his head, smile never wavering. "But since you brought it up—you did lose to Kieran in a fair battle, right? That’s why you’re not in the club anymore? Because you couldn't cheat your way through that?"
Ren scoffed, "Doesn't matter how it happened. What matters is your little boyfriend here"—he jabbed a finger at Kieran—"made damn sure everyone knew about it. Called a stupid emergency meeting just to air our dirty laundry in front of the whole club." His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and Kieran remembered—with sudden, sickening clarity—the way Ren's hands had shaken that day, how his face had gone blotchy with humiliation as Kieran announced his expulsion.
"Sounds like he gave you a chance to defend yourselves," Florian said mildly. His thumb traced slow circles against Kieran's shoulder blade "Did you take it? Or did you guys fumble the chance?"
Ren knocked on the table hard enough that it made their trays rattle.
"We wouldn't have needed to bribe anyone if Kieran wasn't such a tyrant about battle rules! Three losses and you're out of the club? What kind of bull is that?!"
Ren's companion—Kieran remembered him to be Dustin—had a twisted facial expression, the memory clearly stinging fresh even now.
"You humiliated us," he spat, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Made us stand in front of the whole club while you read out every damn rule we broke like we were some—some criminals."
"Huh," Florian mused, tilting his head as if genuinely puzzled. "Funny how you’re still hung up on rules you agreed to when you joined. Almost like..." He tapped his chin with his free hand, then snapped his fingers. "Oh! Right. Almost like breaking them was your choice." His tone was light, conversational—as if they were discussing the weather and not the way Ren’s face was rapidly darkening.
Kieran’s grip on his sandwich loosened slightly. Even if he mishandled things long ago, Florian didn't need to defend him for that. He could feel the weight of the cafeteria’s attention now—real this time, not imagined—as whispers skittered between tables.
Ren’s face flushed, his friend shifting uncomfortably beside him. A few students nearby had stopped eating, trays forgotten as they watched the exchange. Kieran watched with his pulse hammering, but Florian’s calm was like a steady, unshaken anchor.
"You think you’re so tough," Ren spat. "Defending your boyfriend like some knight in shining armor?"
"Nah, I'm just a guy who doesn’t like seeing people be jerks for no reason," Florian answered with a smirk, bright and unbothered. He slipped his hands into his pockets, finger curling around a Pokéball. "But hey, if you wanna battle it out instead of talking trash, I’m game."
"Dude," he hissed under his breath, "remember, that's Florian. The champion." Dustin's hand shot out to grip Ren's sleeve, his knuckles going pale against the fabric as he tugged him back half a step. The way he said it—like Florian's name alone carried the weight of every League badge they'd ever failed to earn—made Ren's shoulders stiffen.
Florian just tilted his head, waiting. Kieran remained quiet. Ren's throat worked once, twice, before he managed to speak again.
"So what if he is?" But his voice had lost its edge, dulled by the realization that yes, this was that Florian—the one who became a champion in Paldea then transferred to Blueberry to claim champion again in record time. Dustin's grip tightened, his fingers digging into Ren's arm like he was trying to anchor them both to reality.
The cafeteria air felt thick, tingling with tangling tension seeping all around. Kieran’s stomach twisted as he looked right at Ren's face. He knew that sour look—the same one he had worn right before Kieran had beaten him.
Florian, though, just rocked back on his heels.
"No? Okay," he said, shrugging. "Then maybe you should find a better hobby than hanging around cafeterias picking fights." He turned halfway, like he was about to sit back down, then paused. "And Ren?" Florian added, light yet firmly. "Kieran’s already apologized for how he ran the club. Maybe it’s time you apologized for being a sore loser."
A murmur rippled through the gathered students. Kieran’s face burned with shame, even though he knew Florian was only trying to shed good light on him. He hadn’t expected Florian to remind the room about that—the letters that were sent to the former club members written by himself, full of the awkward, stumbling explanations for his harshness.
Ren’s face darkened, "Like hell I’ll apologize to some fag who thinks he's better than us."
The word hit Kieran like a physical blow—sharp, sudden, and breathless. He flinched, fingers curling into his palms until he realized the juice box in his hand crumpled with a crackle of foil. At the same time he had winced, Florian’s posture snapped rigid, his easy grin vanishing as if wiped clean. Kieran didn’t need to look to know Florian clenched his jaw full of fury, he could feel it in the sudden stillness of the air between them.
But before he let Florian speak—before he could volley back with that quick wit and unleash hell—Kieran stood abruptly, his chair screeching against the tile. The sound cut through the cafeteria’s murmurs like a knife, all attention immediately on him.
He bowed his head, shoulders hunched forward, fists pressed stiffly at his sides.
"I—I’m sorry," he said, voice low but clear. "For how I acted back then. I was… I was wrong."
Ren blinked, momentarily thrown. Dustin’s grip on his sleeve slackened. Kieran kept his eyes down, focusing on a scuff mark near his shoe.
"I shouldn’t have kicked you out like that. It was dumb of me to make those stupid rules—it wasn’t fair." His throat tightened around the words, but he forced them out anyway. "But this isn’t… we don’t have to fight. Just—just leave us alone, okay?"
The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. Florian’s hand hovered halfway to Kieran’s back, wanting to touch, but unsure if it would help or hurt. Instead, his fingers hung in the empty air before dropping to his side.
Ren scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake off Kieran’s words.
“What? You think saying sorry fixes anything?” His voice was loud, forced—too loud for the quiet that had settled over the cafeteria. A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, trays abandoned mid-bite. Dustin’s grip on Ren’s sleeve had gone slack, his fingers hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to pull him back or let go.
Kieran kept his hands pressed flat against his thighs, trying to keep them from trembling.
“No,” he said quietly. “But it’s a start.” He lifted his head just enough to meet Ren’s eyes—not challenging, just steady. “You were right about some of it. I was…" He thought back to the letters he had sent, remembering some of the words he chained together, his eyes glancing off slightly with each, "...insensitive. Too cold. Too mean." He meets Ren's gaze again. "I messed up. An' I'm sorry.”
Ren’s mouth twisted like he’d bitten into something sour. He opened his mouth—probably to spit another insult—but Dustin cut in before he could speak.
“Dude,” Dustin muttered, nudging Ren’s elbow. “He’s apologizing. Like, actually.” His voice dropped lower, hesitant. “Maybe we should just… go?”
Ren shook him off, but the motion lacked its usual force. “Yeah, sure, now he’s sorry,” he scoffed, but the words landed flat, like a Pokémon move that’d missed its mark. His gaze flicked to Kieran, then away just as fast. “After he humiliated us in front of the whole club.”
Kieran’s hands flexed against his thighs, but his voice stayed steady.
“I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I just—” He swallowed, shoulders hunching slightly. The words were suddenly lost.
Florian shifted beside him—not stepping in, just moving close enough that his sleeve brushed Kieran’s elbow. A silent reminder: I’m here. The warmth of it grounded Kieran more than any words could have.
Ren’s jaw worked like he was chewing on something bitter.
“Doesn’t change what happened.”
“No,” Kieran agreed quietly. “But I can try to be better.” He glanced at Dustin, who was watching him with an expression caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. “Both of you were good trainers when you tried. You didn’t deserve to be cast aside.”
Dustin’s fingers twitched at his sides, his earlier bravado crumbling under Kieran’s earnestness.
“Ren,” he muttered, tugging at his friend’s sleeve again. “C’mon, man. Let’s just—”
“For fuck's sake, shut up,” Ren snapped. Everyone, except the steadfast champion, had winced. He had looked like was about to whip something sharp and petty at Kieran—but then his gaze darted sideways to the cafeteria crowd. Florian’s fingers twitched, ready to counter if Ren so much as breathed wrong in Kieran’s direction, but then something strange happened: Ren’s shoulders slumped. His fists unclenched. The fight drained out of him in a single exhale, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion.
Florian blinked. He had expected more—more anger, more insults—but Ren just stood there, staring at the floor like it held the answers to every dumb decision he’d ever made.
“Whatever. You’re not worth it anymore.” Ren muttered, though the words lacked bite. He turned on his heel, shoving past Dustin. “Let’s go.”
Dustin scrambled after him without looking back. Then, the moment they disappeared through the cafeteria doors, the tension seeped out of the room in a collective exhale.
The noise hit Kieran like a wave—not the judgment he'd braced for, but a sudden eruption of cheers and applause from the surrounding tables. His head snapped up, eyes wide, as half the cafeteria clapped, whistled, or banged their trays in approval. A girl from one of their battle studies class pumped her fist.
"Damn right, Kieran!" she hollered over the din. Two boys from the League Club—ones Kieran had not kicked out—grinned and gave him exaggerated thumbs-up.
Kieran froze. This wasn't—they're not supposed to—why? He glanced at Florian, desperate for an explanation, but he was just leaning against the table, grinning like he'd orchestrated the whole thing. He let the moment stretch—let Kieran soak in the validation, the sheer shock of being cheered instead of jeered—before shoving off the table and wrapping both arms around him in a hug so tight it lifted Kieran clear off his feet.
"Look at you!" Florian exclaimed. "Standing up and taking the high road? Now that's Champion behavior." He dropped Kieran back onto the tiles with a grin, but kept his hands firmly on his waist. Kieran's face burned with embarrassment.
"Wowzers—um, I didn't expect this..." he mumbled. He could feel the flush crawling up his neck as the cafeteria's cheers rolled over him in waves. His fingers twitched against Florian's sleeves, unsure whether to grip tighter or push away. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He'd braced for whispers, for sneers, for the kind of quiet judgment that had haunted him for a while. Not... this.
The sharp, rhythmic clap of certain hands cut through the cafeteria’s chaos like a whipcrack.
"Alright, that’s enough!" Lacey’s voice rang out, crisp and commanding, as she strode between the tables with Amarys trailing silently behind her. She clapped again, high and loud, until the whistles and cheers died down into scattered murmurs. "Save the standing ovation for the next League match, people. Some of us actually want to eat before our next class." The crowd dispersed reluctantly, though a few students still shot grinning glances toward the two boys as they returned to their lunches.
Lacey's heels clicked against the tile as she stopped in front of their table, arms crossed. Her usual playful smirk was replaced by something softer—something proud.
"Not bad, you two," she said, nodding toward Florian before turning her attention to Kieran. "Handled that way better than I expected." Amarys lingered just behind her, arms folded neatly behind her back like a soldier at attention. Her sharp eyes flicked from Kieran's still-tense shoulders to the crumpled juice box on the floor.
"I concur," Amarys stated, voice precise as ever. "However, I must insist on reporting Ren and Dustin for their conduct. Such behavior violates Blueberry Academy's code of ethics, and—"
"No!" Kieran's voice cracked, too loud, too fast. He winced at his own outburst, fingers tightening around Florian's sleeve. "I mean—please don't. They... they backed off. That's enough."
Amarys' eyebrow arched, "Kieran, are you sure?"
"Yes," Kieran replied. He looked down at his sandwich, now crushed beyond recognition in his grip. "They were jerks, but..." His shoulders hunched. "...it's only because of me. An' I was worse, back then. They don't deserve to get punished over this."
Florian's arms tightened around Kieran's waist, chin resting on his shoulder. "See?" he murmured, lips brushing Kieran's ear. "This is what I mean. You're good, Kieran. Like, stupidly good."
Amarys studied Kieran for a long moment—silent, assessing—before nodding once. "Remarkable," she said, adjusting her glasses. "You've changed far more than I anticipated." She glanced over at Florian, as if she knew the reason why.
Lacey nodded, "She's right, you've really come a long way." Her mischievous smile softened. "But Kieran, seriously. You okay?"
Kieran swallowed hard, his pulse was still hammering unevenly in his chest, but Florian's warmth helped gradually ground him.
"Yeah," he managed, voice rough. "Just... didn't expect..." He gestured vaguely at the cafeteria, where students had returned to their lunches with only occasional glances in their direction.
Lacey's grin widened. "What? People actually liking you? Well, better to be on your side than those two idiots—especially when they were dumb enough to insult you in front of Florian." She leaned in, whispering like it was new gossip, "Everyone knows you don't mess with the Champion's boyfriend. That's like, rule number one of Blueberry."
Florian laughed, bright and unbothered, but his grip on Kieran’s waist tightened possessively. "That's right," he said, pressing a quick kiss to Kieran’s cheek—right there, in front of everyone—just to watch him sputter. "But still—you were amazing, Kieran."
Kieran remained modest, but something warm unfurled in his chest at Florian’s praise. He ducked his head, suddenly fascinated by the scuffed tile beneath his sneakers.
"It wasn’t that big of a deal..."
Lacey shook her head. "You apologized, stood your ground without throwin' punches, and somehow got Ren to walk away without Florian having to flatten him." She shot a pointed look at Florian, who shrugged, fingers still tangled in Kieran's sleeve. "That's, like, triple achievement points big deal."
Kieran exhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulders relaxing by a fraction. "...Thanks, guys."
"Anytime," she chirped, then promptly spun on her heel to lightly jab a finger into Florian's chest. "And you, mister Champion—stop provoking people!"
Florian blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. "Me? Provoke?" He pressed a hand to his chest like he'd been scandalized. "I was diplomatic."
Lacey rolled her eyes, "You literally offered to fight them."
"Technically, I offered a Pokémon battle," Florian corrected, grinning when Lacey pouted. "Very different."
Lacey narrowed her eyes. "Anyway, my point is—" she jabbed a finger at Florian again, "—you're supposed to be the chill one."
Florian blinked, "I am chill."
Lacey scoffed, "Bruh! You were this close to throwin' hands—"
"Pokéballs," Florian corrected.
"—and you know it would be panic if you'd actually started a battle in here." She gestured broadly at the cafeteria's glass walls, the ceiling's skylights, the general lack of battlefield safety measures. "Like, where would you even stand? On the salad bar?"
Florian shrugs, "Well, a lot of people don't really eat salad these days."
Kieran snorted, the tension in his body finally easing. Then laughter—bright, startled, and still a little breathless—cut through their bickering like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Florian's head whipped around, and Lacey's mock-scolding finger froze mid-jab, both of them staring at Kieran. His cheeks warmed under their sudden attention, but the adoration in Florian's gaze made the moment worth it.
Amarys' opened her pocket watch, then closed it before she tapped Lacey's shoulder with mechanical efficiency.
"Lacey," she began, "we should be going. Lunch period concludes in nine minutes and thirty-two seconds."
Retreating, Lacey clapped her hands together once, smiling.
"Right. Crisis averted, emotional breakthroughs achieved—back to normal," she commanded, jerking her chin toward their abandoned trays.
Lacey and Amarys gave them one last knowing look. Then, the moment they turned away, Florian tugged Kieran back into their seats with quiet agreement.
Kieran lifted the sandwich to his mouth, hesitated—then took a bite so small it barely counted. The bread crumpled under his fingers, dry despite the spicy honey mustard smeared inside. He chewed mechanically, tasting little, his gaze darting to the cafeteria doors where Ren had disappeared. His throat worked around the bite like it was made of sawdust.
Florian brushed Kieran's arm—just a light touch, but it startled Kieran enough that he almost dropped his food.
"Hey," Florian whispered. "You're allowed to enjoy your lunch, you know. Even after... all that."
Kieran swallowed hard as if there were still remnants lodged in his throat.
"I know," he lied, staring at the half-eaten sandwich in his hands. "Just... thinking."
Florian turned his body towards him, "You okay?"
Kieran jerked his head in something that might have been a nod, but his hands trembled as he put his sandwich down, and pressed them flat against the tabletop.
"You didn't have to defend me, y'know," Kieran mumbled. "I said an' did so many bad things while I ran the club, that's the truth. You didn't have to take my side despite all that."
Florian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached over and placed a gentle hand on the other's shoulder.
"I wasn't defending the old you," Florian said with a smile. His fingers tapped him twice—a quiet punctuation. "I was defending who you are now, and who you're becoming."
Kieran opened his mouth—to debate or deflect—but found himself staring at Florian's reassuring eyes instead. He dropped his concern, and moved on to the next, letting his eyes wander back to his food.
"An' I—I shouldn’t have let them get to me like that," he added.
Florian reached over to Kieran's hand with his other, tracing over them with slow reassurance.
"You didn’t let them do anything," he said quietly. "You stood up for yourself without throwing a punch. That’s a really hard thing to do."
Kieran’s shoulders hunched further. "But I—I apologized first. After what he called us. I just… folded."
"No, you didn’t." Florian’s grip tightened slightly, waiting until Kieran met his eyes. "You took the high road when you didn’t have to. That’s choosing not to sink to their level." He grinned suddenly, "Besides, I was totally ready to throw down if you gave the signal."
A startled laugh punched its way out of Kieran’s chest against his will.
"You’re ridiculous," he repeated his tease from earlier.
"Ridiculously awesome," Florian corrected, leaning in to bump their shoulders together yet again.
Then Kieran’s gaze flicked to the doors Ren had stormed through.
"They’re still gonna talk," he mentioned.
Florian followed his line of sight and shrugged his shoulder, the movement vibrating into the other.
"Let them." His free hand plucked the sandwich from Kieran’s tray and took a bite. "Nothing anyone says will change this." He waved the sandwich, signaling back and forth the two of them. "Or this." His hand threading over Kieran's had interlaced, together atop the table where anyone could see.
Kieran’s pulse stuttered, both anxiously and excitedly. Something told him he should pull away, but he didn't want to pull away. Florian’s palm was warm against his, and the weight of it grounded him more than any battle ever had.
Kieran's grin widened, a sudden spark of mischief lighting his dark eyes.
"Or this?" he declared, barely giving Florian a second to process before leaning in and pressing their lips together firmly. The kiss lasted a few heartbeats—long enough for Florian to freeze in shock before melting into it, his fingers tightening reflexively around Kieran's. When Kieran finally pulled back, his smirk was downright devilish, the flush on his cheeks the only betrayal of his nerves.
Florian gaped at him, lips still slightly parted, eyes wide with delighted disbelief. "Did you just—?" he started, but a sharp wolf-whistle from somewhere near the vending machine cut him off. A chorus of chuckles and scattered smiles erupted around them, and Kieran's ears burned crimson, but he didn't look away. Florian's stunned expression dissolved into a radiant grin, his free hand coming up to cup Kieran's cheek.
"Gosh, I love you, you little menace!" he exclaimed out loud, immediately going for a hug and rubbing their faces together.
"Florian—!" Kieran tried to pull away, the vocalization already drawing more attention than he anticipated.
"You started this," Florian teased, pressing a kiss to Kieran's cheek. "No hiding now, hotshot."
Kieran laughed, mortified but exhilarated, and found Florian's eyes sparkling with unguarded affection. No hesitation, no second-guessing—just pure, unfiltered joy at being kissed stupid in the middle of a crowded cafeteria. The realization hit Kieran: Florian wanted this. Wanted him, openly, unapologetically.
Kieran then hesitated for a moment before tilting his head toward Florian's. His fingers twitched against Florian's shoulders who half-expected him to lean away, to laugh it off, to remind him they were still very much in public. But Kieran just grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners, and closed the distance himself. Their foreheads bumped gently, noses brushing, and Florian could feel Kieran's breath hot against his lips as they kissed. Kieran's fingers held onto the other, as if to keep him close, like he couldn't bear to stop touching him now that he'd started. The cafeteria noise faded into a distant hum, irrelevant compared to the way Florian's eyelashes fluttered after he pulled away.
"Whoa," Florian breathed with a smile. "Since when did you like initiating?"
Kieran giggled as if he'd scored a critical hit off of the other. "Only just now. Since I realized..." He paused, then tilted his chin up with a defiant smirk that surprised even himself. "...you're worth showing off."
The choked noise Florian made was downright priceless.