#she cups his hands and he's hyper aware of how soft hers are in comparison to his calloused hands

[king-weasel]

So I've been binging the Star Trek TOS movies and-

I-

I

Oh my stars

OFJJDJSJJAJJA OMG THEY'RE SO CUTE???? I'D NEVER EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT SCOTTY AND UHURA BUT MY GOLLY?? THEY'RE SO DARN CUTE!!!!

no of course I'm not already planning fanfiction

[thistreasurehunter]

Testing the Waters

Summary: JJ and Pope discuss their developing relationship.

Set three weeks after my fic After the Rain, but this can also be read as a stand alone oneshot.

A/N: I’m very new to this, so comments/feedback would be amazing!

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the Outer Banks characters or settings.

*********************************************************

“There’s no rush, you know.”

Pope froze. His avatar on the screen froze too before quickly being shot by one of the other players.

“Aw, dude no!” JJ exclaimed.

Pope’s side of the screen tinged red around the corners, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“What do you mean, ‘there’s no rush’?”

JJ paused the game and turned to look at him.

They were sitting on Pope’s bed, backs against the headboard, legs stretched out, controllers in hand, playing a game on Pope’s old PlayStation.

It had been three weeks since the afternoon when JJ had dared The Pogues to play a game of spin the bottle. Three weeks since JJ and Pope had first kissed in a dull, post-storm fug to the soundtrack of staccato raindrops and in front of an audience of their friends. Three weeks since a storm and a dare and an old beer bottle had helped something click into place between them that Pope had previously feared would otherwise have been left unsaid.

Pope’s heart clenches when he thinks about the fragility of that moment: about how that afternoon could so easily have turned out differently, about how they might never again have been granted the excuse to act on their repressed feelings, about how he might have gone on for the rest of his life without knowing what it felt like to kiss his best friend and to be kissed back. About how he might never have found out that his best friend tastes like the ocean, but smells like freshly cut grass after the rain. Everything is fragile, Pope thought. Mind the corners.

Pope and JJ had taken things slowly after that. Outwardly, their relationship hadn’t changed much. If The Pogues hadn’t been there that afternoon they might not have noticed the subtle shift in their two friends. Pope noticed though. The warm weight of the closeness he always felt with JJ increasing: the casual touches, the shy smiles, the knowing glances, the single look shared across a crowded room that spoke volumes. JJ’s arm flung around his shoulders was now accompanied by a thumb softly stroking up and down his neck. A teasing quip was now followed by a quick kiss to the top of his head. Pope was leaning into this behaviour too. Sitting next to JJ on the HMS Pogue, or on the sofa at The Chateau, he let his leg rest against JJ’s. Toying with the ends of JJ’s salt encrusted hair when they lay on the beach drying off after a surfing session.

In quieter moments, their relationship had changed as well. In the stillness of the small hours, sprawled in an armchair on the porch of The Chateau after the others had drifted to bed, they pressed against one another, lips pushing and sucking and sliding in an intoxicating dance. Fingers trailing down forearms, slipping under shirts and following the curve of a spine. Tongues tracing patterns down the column of a neck, teeth lightly nipping, gentle tugs on hair. In these moments, Pope felt the throb of promise between them. It was alive, and palpable, and he could taste it in the air between them, feel it light his skin on fire and burn white hot in his veins.

They had never taken things any further, though. After that first afternoon, Pope and JJ had spoken freely; the platform of acceptance and reciprocation dampening any slight awkwardness and misplaced embarrassment of the moment. They had shyly acknowledged their interest in each other and their mutual hope that they could explore these new feelings together, taking things slowly, one step at a time. For several reasons, however, they had agreed that they would rather keep their developing relationship quiet for the time being. Pope wanted to understand more about his sexuality and these new feelings first, before speaking to his parents about them and JJ was wary about letting his dad find out he was attracted to men as well as women. So far, therefore, The Pogues were the only ones who knew. And for the time being, Pope and JJ wanted to keep it that way.

Earlier that day, JJ had turned up at Pope’s house and, as both his parents were at work, JJ had pulled Pope upstairs, stopping every few steps to plant a kiss on his lips, his shoulder, his eyebrow, his ear... By the time they got to Pope’s room they were breathless and laughing, collapsing on his bed with a huff and a giggle, in a tangle of sun-kissed limbs and soft eyes. JJ crawled up Pope’s body, catching his lips and time melted away into a blur of sighs and sharp breaths and slow exhales. As slowly as they were going, Pope could feel that pressure building between them again, starting like a hot twinge in his abdomen and slowly growing to a throbbing throughout his whole body. It was – all at once – all he needed and nowhere near enough. He was suddenly hyper aware of the languid roll of JJ’s hips, the solid, warm pressure on his thigh and the soft pads of JJ’s fingertips against the smooth skin of his back, right above the waistband of his shorts.

JJ broke away from the kiss and looked into Pope’s eyes. Assessing, Pope thought.

“So, do you want to?” JJ asked simply.

Pope swallowed hard. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, yes, yes. But a twinge of something else had joined the anticipation in his stomach. Nerves, perhaps? Maybe even a hint of fear? JJ must have read the hesitation on his face because he pulled away slightly, putting a little space between their bodies. Pope instinctively tightened his fingers on JJ’s bicep.

“Pope,” JJ began softly, looking down at him. But at that moment, both boys heard the rattle of the front door and the sound of Mrs Heyward entering the house.

They scrambled up and apart, self-consciously adjusting themselves. Pope flicked on the TV and JJ sprawled on his front, feigning interest in the show. A moment later there was a soft knock and Mrs Heyward cracked the door ajar.

“Hi mom.”

“Hi Mrs H.”

“Hi boys,” she said. “Just wanted to let you know I was home, Pope. You eating with us tonight JJ, dear?”

“Love to, if that’s okay with you guys?” JJ grinned.

“Of course it is sweetie,” she smiled and Pope nodded.

“I’ll call up when it’s ready,” she said leaving the room. They listened to her head downstairs and began clattering around in the kitchen. Pope caught JJ’s eye and grinned sheepishly. JJ smiled back then picked up the pair of controllers, throwing one to Pope and settling back against the headboard.

Now, with the game on pause and the sounds of Mrs Heyward moving around downstairs, Pope looked into JJ’s eyes and repeated quietly, “What did you mean, ‘there’s no rush’?”

“Well,” JJ said quietly, glancing at the slightly open door. “After earlier, you know. I just wanted you to know, there’s no rush.” He looked down at his hands and started fiddling with his thumb ring. “I didn’t want you to feel,” he exhaled, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything.”

Pope watched the fingers slowly spin the ring.

“I didn’t,” he said slowly. “It was just…”

JJ looked up at him quickly.

Pope faltered, “I’m not sure how to explain it. I want to. Oh my god JJ, I really want to! But in the moment, I dunno, I just got a bit nervous.”

“This is new to both of us, you know,” JJ replied softly.

“Yeah but, more to me than you, you know.”

JJ scanned Pope’s face. “I guess,” JJ said finally. “If we’re just talking generally about being with another person. But this is different to being with a girl. This,” he said gesturing between them “is new for both of us. Not just the feelings, but the physical stuff as well. We’re both just finding our way here.”

Pope looked into the earnest blue eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” he smiled ruefully, “I think a lot of it might also have been me feeling a bit performance shy.” He felt his cheeks begin to heat and looked down shyly. “I just keep thinking about those girls and how experienced some of them might have been and how I’m going to be in comparison to that.”

“Yeah, but dude,” JJ huffed out a laugh, smiling at him “you’ll be starting with a major advantage.” Pope looked over and JJ wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Pope suppressed a little smile, looking down again. JJ tangled their fingers together on top of the bedspread.

“How about, next time we’re there,” JJ grinned, “and it’s right. How about we just” he paused, re-lacing his fingers with Pope’s. “How about we just, touch each other how we like to touch ourselves?”

Pope flicked his eyes up from the play of their fingers to meet JJ’s gaze and swallowed, feeling the heat behind the look. He breathed deeply, his chest starting to rise and fall, as he felt that hot, tight coil in his stomach twist again.

“Yeah,” he said, mouth dry and eyes fixed on the turbulent seas of JJ’s eyes. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

JJ’s smile was neither teasing, nor smug. It was just sweet and open and honest, as he squeezed Pope’s hand and then lifted his own to cup Pope’s chin and lean forward to give him a soft kiss. The barest press of slightly parted lips. It was a kiss of promise and hope and future. And in the shared breath and the space between them, Pope felt like he could float away.

[optimisticvirtuoso]

Incandescence

For @artsymeeshee !!! Happy birthday fren <3 <3 Summary: Ford was tired of that boat, looming over him every time he visited the beach since... well.

He was going to rid himself of it, once and for all.

You can't move forward when you're being dragged into the past.

AO3 Link

He had always found comfort in the smell of fire smoke, regardless of the fact that he had no positive memories associated with it. The lingering scent of burning wood could always lull him to sleep when he was having difficulty, but he found that the acrid smoke burned his nostrils when he was standing close to the source of it.

The box of matches hardly felt any different in his pocket physically. It was light and small enough that he didn't notice anything too out of the ordinary as opposed to the familiar feeling of having empty pockets. His mind was hyper-aware of the small object, however, and as he watched the flames build and devour the dry, old wood, it seemed to burn a hole through the denim.

There was a word for the bitter feeling in his chest right now, but he certainly didn't care to remember it. There were several words, actually, but he didn't want to place much thought into those either. Every second dragged by like cold molasses, yet seemed to rip past him and leave him dizzy.

The fire started out small, as he didn’t have any alcohol or gasoline at his disposal to speed up the conflagration. It didn't take long for it to build, regardless of the lack of flammable fluid. The night was fairly warm and dry for a beach town like Glass Shard, and the wood hadn't been touched by water in at least a month. The fire crawled across the planks easily and efficiently, destroying the many months' worth of construction that he and his brother partner had dedicated to it.

The golden light from the fire grew brighter and brighter, the temperature climbing higher and higher until he had to step back from the flames, squinting against the brightness. He watched his childhood project burn for only a few seconds longer before he couldn't stand it anymore. He did his best to leave any negative feelings he had about starting the blaze in the space he was putting between himself and the boat, letting everything he left unsaid to hang in the air.

He was approximately 100 yards away when he heard some sort of odd noise. It wasn't particularly high pitched and piercing, but some quality of it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It almost sounded like screaming, but that would make no logical sense. Nobody was around that he could see, and no sign of anyone's having been there before him. It was easy to dismiss the disconcerting sounds as nothing more than the wood creaking and groaning, beginning to become unable to bear its own weight anymore.

It was easy, until he rounded the corner of a 24/7 convenience store on his way back to the pawnshop and found himself staring at his brother's Stanley's car.

Ford had read all about fight-or-flight responses in several books pertaining to psychology, as well as anatomy and physiology. He understood the process step-by-step, knew exactly which chemicals and hormones went where, and that everything happened in the span of a few seconds. Logically, he could take this apart to easily understood pieces. He was familiar enough with the feeling of epinephrine flowing through him to recognize it and deal with it. What he couldn't explain was the gut-wrenching feeling that made every part of him freeze in place, only to dash back around the corner and stare at the flaming wreckage of the Stan O'War.

He didn't need to look into the store to know that Stanley wasn't in there. He knew where his twin was, and with a sickening tug in his stomach, he realized he had dismissed screams of torture as groaning wood. He stared at the inferno on the beach for a handful of seconds longer before he regained control of his legs and he was dashing toward the doors of the store, flinging them open and startling the half-asleep cashier. Ford was at the counter before they could say anything.

"Call 911," he breathed, "fire, beach, brother, burning-"

He didn't need to say anything else, as the cashier was already surging toward the phone, but he continued to babble, his mind racing. His hands trembled under the stress, and he snatched an empty bucket from the corner near the bathrooms and sprinted out of the store. He would have to apologize for property theft later.

His heart pounded in his ears as his feet slapped against the pavement, taking him closer and closer to the shore. He stumbled as the road gave way to sand, but he righted himself and kept at it. The flames were as bright and hot as they were when he had left, lighting up his left side and casting harsh shadows across his face as he made a beeline for the shore.

Normally, Ford was not one to enjoy getting wet unless he had planned on it. This included showers, swimming, rain, and fire alarms, amongst other things. Now, however, as he charged straight into the ocean, he couldn't care less about the water soaking his shoes and legs. He filled the bucket with water and didn't hesitate in splashing it on the remnants of the boat. Steam and smoke erupted from the places that the water touched, but ultimately it didn't make much of a dent in the fire. Desperately, he repeated his actions, hoping against hope that his brother was alright.

It was around the eighth time that Ford refilled his bucket when a crack rang out over the crackling of the wood and his own frantic breath. His heart dropped and chills ran across his spine as he whirled around to look at the boat. The weight of the mast had proved to be too much for the deck, and it collapsed with a sickening groan.

Faintly, he registered the sound of sirens in the distance, but all he could truly focus on was the wreckage in front of him. The teen sprinted into the fire, which was tamer than it initially was, immediately digging through the fallen lumber in search of the person he knew laid beneath. The wood scorched his hands and the flames bit at him, making him cry out, but he continued on, praying that he hadn't been too late.

The sirens were deafening now in comparison to earlier, and when various voices grew louder, closer, Ford almost wanted to cry with relief. For all the knowledge that he possessed, he didn't know how to properly help Stanley. Tears streamed down his face from both physical pain and desperation. Hands started grabbing at his shirt, seizing his limbs, and panic struck him like a spear to the chest. He fought for all he was worth when they began to drag him away from the fire. He knew he was hysterical, screaming, begging for them to let him go, his brother needed him, but he found that he didn't particularly care. For all the heaving sobs he was giving, he wasn't getting air. Everything was swimming and distorted.

Ford saw the beginnings of a fire truck pull onto the beach before his knees buckled and everything went black.

-=oOo=-

Stanford awoke in stages. Feelings began to trickle back to him, one by one, each new experience becoming slightly more overwhelming. The first thing that he noticed was deep-set exhaustion, weighing his body down and clouding his mind. The second thing was the chilliness of the room, making him want to shiver and burrow under the scratchy blankets that covered him up to his waist. Then he was aware of the incessant beeping of what had to be a heart monitor. The awareness of these separate things floated around in his mind for a good few seconds before everything clicked together.

He was in a hospital. He was in a hospital and he was trying to-

What was he trying to do?

Ford shifted a little bit and tried to ease his eyes open. It was a painfully slow process, having to adjust to the lights right above him, but eventually, he was able to look around with no issues.

The room he was in was bland, not like he was expecting anything else out of a hospital. The walls were cream in color, with a monitor on the left-side wall. The few accents of the room were done in white, and the door to the room was left open by whoever had been in there last. Medical personnel walked past the doorway, none of them paying him any attention. He went to pick at the blanket but paused when a dull ache shot through his hands. A glance revealed that crisp, white bandages completely covered his hands and half of his forearms.

Everything clicked. It was like someone unlocked an overflowing closet, memories and experiences coming back to him all at once, making his stomach drop and his chest to pang with anxiety. The gasoline, the matches, his muted anger as he walked away. The horror of finding the car, the mismatched memory of the convenience store, the bucket, digging through the embers for-

Stanley.

Was he okay? Did he get to him in time? Was he severely overreacting and assuming, and he wasn't even in the boat? Moses, that would be embarrassing. But what if he really was in the boat? What if he was-

The familiar sound of clicking heels temporarily brought him out of his thoughts. The only thing that Ford found more familiar than the sound itself was the quickness of the gait, that rushed I-have-somewhere-to-be quality to it. As the sound drew closer, his suspicions were confirmed when his mother entered the room, a paper coffee cup in her hand.

She was a mess, compared to how she normally looked. Her dark hair was frizzy and hastily put up, and her red-rimmed, puffy eyes were framed by slightly smeared makeup. The gold jewelry that she normally wore was absent. Her despondent face brightened slightly at seeing Ford awake, and she dragged a chair over to his bedside, perching gently on it. She reached as if she were going to take his hand, but thought better of it and retracted her arm, letting it sit in her lap.

"Good to see you awake, baby," she whispered, her voice soft and subdued. She wouldn't meet his gaze, instead fixing it on the manicured hands.

"How long was I out?" His voice was hoarse from screaming and then disuse. Caryn offered some of her coffee to him but he refused it gently.

"Hours, but the doctors said it was just regular sleep. I was worried anyway, you know your old ma." She chuckled, but there was no mirth in it.

"...Ma?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Is Stanley alright?"

A beat passed, and Ford realized that he just said his brother's name for the first time since he got kicked out. Caryn looked like she was ready to cry (again, if her face earlier was anything to go by) and he didn't know what to do about it. He hadn't seen his mother cry since he was a little kid.

"Stanley, he's... there was..."

Don't let it be true.

"Ma?" His voice shook.

"There was hardly anything left of him," she whispered, and the tears that had welled up in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. A broken sob left her before she spoke again. "Stanley- oh, my little free-spirit Stanley..."

Stanford sat there in shock, his mind reeling. It can't be true. It can't. He was just fine two weeks ago. He couldn't be gone. Looking at his crying mother, though, he knew that she wasn't lying. Not even she could fake this kind of grieving.

What had he done? This was his fault. If he had just taken his anger out any other way, this wouldn't have happened. If he had decided to go look for his brother before doing anything rash, this wouldn't have happened. If he had just stuck up for Stanley, or talked to him calmly and rationally about his experiment, then this wouldn't have happened. His brother wouldn't be dead. He would be alive somewhere, doing Moses-knows-what with himself, but at least he would be alive, and Ford wouldn't be a murderer.

Murderer. The word stuck with him like sand stuck to their wet feet when they played on the beach together. He was a murderer, even though it was accidental. He was the one causing his mother this much pain. He was the reason Stanley was dead.

His chest was heavy with the weight of his guilt, and his heart panged emptily as he shuddered with a sob. He didn't care how pathetic it made him, crying over something that was his fault, or really just crying in general. All Ford could focus on was the oppressive feeling of shame and self-hatred pinning him to the hospital bed.

He cried for himself, because of his guilt, remorse, and selfishness. He cried for his mother, who had to lose the same son twice in a month, only in different ways. He cried for his father, who didn't have the morality or compassion to realize the mistakes he was making. He cried for the future, however dimmer and duller it was now than before.

But most importantly, he cried for his twin, who had too rough of a life in Glass Shard Beach, who grew up being compared to himself instead of being allowed to be his own person, who didn't get the chance to live his life. For Stanley, who's life really was too short.

Notes: I am unapologetic. Happy birthday angst, friend! <3

[welove-nms]

When Soujiro had initially confessed to you, you had rejected him politely, telling him that you appreciated the compliment but that you didn’t really know him very well and would like to start off as friends first. He had complied and treated you as sweetly as before, inviting you to his shows and leaving notes for you under the tea tray to discover when you cleaned up his table.

By the end of the school year, you knew that you loved him. How gentle he was with you, his patience with everybody he met, the way your heart fluttered when he gave you a soft smile. But the timing of realization couldn’t be any worse.

Graduation was right around the corner and he was insanely busy with his schoolwork and a gallery showing for the week after. You had been seeing less and less of him and the times that he did have a minute to come by the cafe, he had been ordering to go, his hair slightly frumpled, strands escaping his hair tie and drooping around his face. When you tried to start a conversation, he would give short replies and would escape as soon as he could. You wouldn’t lie to yourself, you worried that it had taken you too long to reply to his confession and he had moved on. The thought made your chest hurt, but you continued to smile brightly for him.

The days crawled by and you busied your thoughts with studying for your own exams, going over notes and study books in the cafe between orders. However when Soujiro would come in, you would give him your full attention, much to his friend Hajime’s interest, who would often accompany him.

Once, you had slipped and left the honorific off Soujiro’s name and though he didn’t seem to notice, Hajime gave you a raised eyebrow and a smile, leaving you a blushing, stammering mess. When they left, you watched out the window to see Hajime bring a hand up and slam it on Soujiro’s back, causing him to stumble and nearly drop his cup. Hajime’s laugh could be heard through the thick glass.

The final week came and went in a flurry of tests and endless coffee runs. You felt the days slip through your fingers, hyper aware of the lack of time you had left to tell Soujiro your feelings before the graduation ceremony. It was a few days away when inspiration struck. You were up late that night and the next, placing sleep as second in comparison to your gift for Soujiro.

It was the day before the graduation ceremony and the final exams for the third years were wrapping up. The cafe was busier than it had been all month, all the senpai coming in for desserts and celebratory drinks. You were running around, trying to keep an eye out for the one boy you were truly interested in talking to, giving everyone else passing smiles and greetings as you kept yourself busy.

The door chimed as it opened once again and the booming voice of Hajime saying hello to some of his classmates caught your attention and you twirled your head around to confirm that Soujiro was with him, looking visibly more relaxed than he had been for weeks, though a bit tired. Your heart began to beat furiously in your chest and you forced yourself not to run to the counter to meet them.

“What can I get for you Soujiro-senpai? Hajime-senpai?”

“I’ll take some macarons if you still have some!” Hajime said with a smile as you nodded.

“Soujiro-senpai?”

He gazed at the list of drinks and desserts that you had printed out on the counter, looking but not really seeing. It wasn’t until Hajime nudged him that he cleared his throat and glanced up at you, ordering his usual tea.

“If you want to find a seat, I’ll get that ready for you.” You reached into the dessert case next to the counter and used a pair of tongs to pull out a few macarons, placing them in a bag. “Here you are, Hajime-senpai.” You thanked him when he gave you a few coins in payment and stepped into the kitchen to get the tea ready.

With trembling fingers, you placed the kettle and teacups on the tray. Taking a deep breath, you set a sealed tube on the side. You picked up the tray and stepped back out of the kitchen, the cafe noticeably emptier than before. You eyed Soujiro at a corner table and took a deep breath, taking determined steps to place it on the table in front of him.

“Here you are, Soujiro-senpai.”

“Thank you, Kouhai-chan.”

You took a step back and waited for him to notice the extra item on the tray. It wasn’t until he had already poured himself a steaming cup that he paused and set the pot back down, picking up the tube.

“Is this…for me?”

“Y-Yes.” You cursed yourself for stuttering in this moment.

He slowly popped off the cap and pulled out the canvas inside. Giving you a short glance, he rolled open the sheet, smoothing it out, revealing the contents. Your heart roared in your ears, the thumping all you could hear.

Over a hundred origami sakura flowers shaped the kanji for ‘love’, the same one that he had painted for you. You hadn’t trusted yourself to paint it as smoothly and effortlessly as he had, but you knew you could place the paper flowers just where you wanted before gluing them down.

A heavy silence bore down on the two of you as he stared at the sheet, unblinking. The dark emotions of self-doubt and being unwanted creeped in the back of your mind the longer you waited for a reply. Maybe he had moved on. Maybe you had taken too long to reciprocate. Maybe he had mistaken his feelings of friendship for love and he didn’t actually want to be with you in a romantic relationship. Maybe…

“Soujiro-senpai, I…”

“Kouhai-chan, I…”

You both started to speak at the same time and stopped, waiting for the other to continue. The seconds felt like hours. He was still staring at the flowers and his normally steady hands were trembling. It was this that finally broke you.

“I…I’m sorry, Soujiro-senpai. Please do whatever you want with it.” Knowing your voice was shaky and there were tears pricking your eyes, you turned on your heel and dashed into the kitchen before anyone could stop to talk to you and ask what was wrong.

You hung up your apron and rubbed the tears from your eyes with the back of a wrist as you gathered your bag and keys, leaving the cafe through the back entrance. If anyone asked why you weren’t in the cafe the next day, you would tell them you had suddenly felt ill and didn’t want to kick everybody out. It wouldn’t really be a lie.

—-

You arrived at the graduation ceremony. You were anxious that you would run into Soujiro. He hadn’t contacted you at all since your confession and you had no idea what you would say if you were to interact with him today. But you had many other friends who were graduating today and you wanted to be there to support them.

You sat with your grandmother near the middle of the auditorium where they were holding the ceremony. The seating filled quickly as the teachers and principal lined up on stage to congratulate the students as they received their certificate. The house lights began to dim and your grandmother took your hand, smoothing out your fingers that had been fidgeting with the bottom of your skirt.

“I’m sure you will miss your friends, my dear,” she whispered. “But remember that this is a big day for them. Be happy for the time spent with them.”

Even though she was misinterpreting your anxiety, the words were appreciated. She had been here year after year for the graduation ceremony back when she ran the cafe, after all. You gave her a smile and turned back to face the stage as Ren stood at the podium to give a speech as the salutatorian. You had to hold back a laugh as he said a mere paragraph before slouching back to his place, always saying the minimum amount as possible. Honestly, you were surprised he had gone up at all. Touru took his place as the valedictorian and you settled yourself in for a much longer speech.

As Touru continued to drone on about how proud he was for all of them and how he hoped they would all do well in their future college studies, you found yourself glancing over the other third years who were sitting in the seats in the very front of the auditorium. Even though you told yourself not to, you found yourself staring at the back of Soujiro’s head, his signature bun holding your attention. He turned his head slightly, whether because he could feel your eyes on him or because he was whispering to one of his cousins sitting next to him, but it was enough to startle you into listening intently to Touru once again as though you had been doing so the entire time.

After Touru wrapped up, the principal stood and gave a few lines before moving the podium back and handing the mic to his secretary, who began to list the names, leaving the principal open to shake hands and give the students their graduation papers. The students stood and made their way to the side of the stage, each stepping out and having their picture taken with the principal as they were called.

You held back a laugh as Jéan gave an exaggerated wink to the audience and let out a relieved sigh when Itsuki received his diploma, a huge smile on his face as he saw you, gesturing to the bright blue suit he was wearing for the occasion. Both Yamato and Suzuki looked tired, but happy that they were there. You almost didn’t recognize Takahiro without one of his work uniforms, wearing a fitted suit instead.

When Soujiro crossed the stage between his cousins, you held your breath. You could tell he was searching the crowd for you, but ran out of time before Sousuke’s name was called. You let your breath out slowly through your nose, closing your eyes and trying not to think too hard for the rest of the ceremony.

The principal gave a few final pieces of advice before dismissing everyone, the applause still ringing in your ears when you squeezed out the doors leading to the field outside. Your grandmother had stayed behind to chat with a few of the faculty that she had good relations with, telling you to go out and say goodbye to your friends before you left.

Peering around the groups of family and friends that had come to support their loved ones, you moved to a less crowded area in the grass, wondering who you should try to find first to congratulate. You had finally made a decision when you heard your name being shouted from a hundred feet behind you. You turned around to see Hajime, Sousuke, and Hinata.

The twins unfurled a banner spread between two poles once they saw you had faced them and Hajime shouted, “He says yes!” You felt a heated blush burn across your cheeks as you read the text on the banner in familiar handwriting.

I love you.

“They are most embarrasing sometimes.” You turned around to see Soujiro standing a couple steps away, a sweet smile on his face. “Hajime insisted.”

“S-Soujiro-senpai?”

His smile turned bashful as he reached out to take your hand in his. “I feel that I came off as a complete idiot yesterday. I made the very smart decision to stay up late to work on some pieces for the gallery next week and didn’t realize that I had left myself no room to rest for the night before the final exams. Thankfully I was able to pass them, but it left me very little brain power for the rest of the day.” At your expression, his face turned serious. “I do not like to make excuses for myself. When I saw the absolutely beautiful confession you made to me, I have to admit that I was startled…and also very flattered.” His voice dropped and he looked down to watch his thumb stroke your knuckles. “You remembered that sakura flowers are my favorite.”

“Of course I remembered,” you said, your heart fluttering in your chest at his touch, what his words were leading to. “I remember everything about you.”

His cheeks turned pink as he looked up again to meet your gaze. “I would like to say it myself.” He cleared his throat with a slight cough. “I love you. Will you accept my feelings?”

“Yes!”

He beamed and pressed his forehead to yours. “I am the happiest person in the whole word, having the chance to be with you.”

You closed your eyes and etched this scene into your memory. The smell, the sound of the crowd around you, the warmth of Soujiro’s breath on your face. You knew that you were smiling as wide as he was. “I love you, Soujiro.”

“I love you, too.”

—–

~ChiefofPigs