Chapter Text
"Wait I don't think we should-"
"Ughhh- you're squishing me..-"
"Look at how pretty he is..."
"Can we hurry... there's people watching..."
The two boys lingered just out of sight—at least to anyone coming from the right side of the hallway—tucked behind the corner where the stairway met the corridor. They hovered near the top step, cloaked in the shadow cast by the hallway’s bordering wall. Akito, the white-haired boy, clung nervously to the back of his friend’s shirt, shrinking into himself with flushed cheeks. He clearly didn’t want to be seen by the people passing by. In stark contrast, Koishi stood ahead of him, steady and focused, clutching a bulky 1980s camera. It wasn’t the best quality, but it didn’t stop him from clicking away, quietly snapping pictures of something, or someone—just beyond their hidden perch.
“Ugh—stop tugging me,” Koishi snapped, pulling his arm away with an annoyed scowl. He tore his gaze from the camera and glanced back at Akito, just enough for the timid boy to catch the irritation on his face. Instantly, Akito let go, guilt washing over him as he shrank back.
Koishi’s mood shifted in an instant. A small giggle bubbled from his lips as he turned his attention back to the camera, fiddling with the clunky buttons to scroll through the grainy photos. “Anyway, look at these. Isn’t he handsome?”
Koishi had always harbored a strange, quiet obsession with a certain boy since the start of high school. Now in his fourth year, that meant four years of lingering stares, secret photos, and daydreams that always circled back to one name- Yohu.
Yohu wasn’t just good-looking; he had a kind of effortless charm that made him hard to ignore. He was well-known around the school, always surrounded by friends, exuding a laid-back energy that only made him more magnetic. His messy blonde hair was usually tied back with little care, strands constantly slipping free to frame his face in a way that felt too perfect to be accidental. His eyes were a deep, woody brown—but when caught in the sunlight, they shimmered into a surreal hot pink that people couldn’t look away from. And then there was that mole beneath his left eye, a tiny detail that somehow made him even more captivating.
No matter the day, Yohu always wore his signature white headphones—sometimes draped around his neck, sometimes perched on his ears, but never left behind. It was like they were part of him, stitched into the image Koishi had memorized over the years.
Akito hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He lowered his gaze to the photos, swallowing hard.
“Uh… y-yeah, he’s cool,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper. A quiet sigh slipped from his lips as he looked away, unable to meet Koishi’s eyes.
“Why couldn’t we do this later...? When we’re not in public... and not during lunch?”
His eyes darted nervously to the stream of students passing through the hallway, laughter and footsteps echoing off the walls. He quickly looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers like he always did when he was uncomfortable.
“You silly,” Koishi said with a light laugh, still half-lost in the glow of his photos. “When else are we going to take pictures of him? Or rather—me taking pictures of him.”
His lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile, eyes locked on the camera screen like it held something sacred.
“Lunch is the only real break we have... and I have to go straight home after school.”
There was a finality in his voice, but not one that invited argument. Just the kind of casual certainty that came from doing this more than once.
“Right...” Akito exhaled in quiet defeat, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back slightly against the wall.
Koishi was already turning away, his fingers dancing over the buttons of his camera with practiced ease. Through the lens, he zeroed in on his usual subject—Yohu. The blonde sat casually on a bench by the window, sunlight pouring in behind him like it was part of his aura. Most of his friends were gathered around, caught in a lively conversation, but to Koishi, they were background noise. All he saw was him.
“Alright, I’m gonna take more photos,” Koishi whispered, mostly to himself. He lifted the camera to his face, posture shifting with intent. His breath hitched ever so slightly.
In that moment, the red-haired boy saw the love of his life again—framed perfectly in the lens, bathed in golden light, laughing with ease. Time didn’t stop, but Koishi wished it would.
A sudden stomach growl rumbled behind Koishi.
“Are you that hungry?” Koishi muttered, not taking his eyes off the camera. His voice was flat, more focused than annoyed.
Akito flushed with embarrassment, clutching his stomach instinctively.
“It’s lunch...” he mumbled, looking away as if the hunger was somehow his fault.
“Yeah, alright—” Koishi started to reply, but suddenly flinched, his whole body jerking for just a second. His hands stiffened around the camera.
Akito’s expression shifted instantly.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, voice low but laced with concern. He stepped forward and gently tugged on Koishi’s shirt again, this time not out of fear, but worry.
In Koishi’s viewfinder, everything seemed perfect—Yohu framed by the golden light, the relaxed curve of his smile, his friends laughing beside him. But then, something changed.
A pair of eyes turned toward him.
Hot pink, glowing faintly in the sunlight.
Koishi froze.
It was him. Yohu was looking directly at the camera—no, at him. Those mesmerizing eyes, the ones Koishi had admired from afar for years, now locked onto his through the lens.
As beautiful as those irises were, Koishi’s heart dropped. His breath hitched.
He’d been caught.
Koishi’s breath caught in his throat. He dropped the camera—thankfully, it thudded safely against his chest, hanging from the strap around his neck. Without a word, he spun around and grabbed Akito’s wrist in a sudden, urgent motion.
“Wha—?!”
Akito yelped, barely having time to react.
“We gotta go—quick,” Koishi hissed under his breath, panic in his eyes.
Before Akito could question anything, he was being dragged away. Koishi bolted for the stairwell, yanking him along. The white-haired boy stumbled, nearly losing his balance as they dashed down the steps, his hand clinging to the railing for dear life.
“Koishi—slow down—! I’m gonna fall!”
But Koishi didn’t stop. His heart was pounding too loud, too fast. All he could see was that look—that moment—when Yohu’s eyes met his.
Akito huffed and puffed, his breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. His legs felt heavy, barely keeping up with Koishi’s pace. With a heart condition that kept him benched during P.E., sprinting through the halls wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.
“W-wait… I can’t… run much—wait—” he gasped, his voice trembling as he struggled to keep up, vision already starting to blur at the edges.
Unfortunately—or thankfully, from Akito’s point of view—a sharp shout rang down the hallway.
It was one of the teachers—the notoriously grumpy, red-faced one with a thick mustache and a gut that strained against his brown sweater vest. He was waddling toward them with a scowl etched deep into his face, finger pointed like a weapon of authority.
Koishi skidded to a stop, nearly yanking Akito off his feet.
“…Crap,” he muttered.
“What did I tell you about running in the hallways?” The teacher's voice boomed, cutting through the air. “I said if I catch you one more time, you'd get afterschool cleaning!”
Koishi and Akito stood side by side, though only one of them appeared composed. Akito, bent over and gasping for breath, rummaged frantically through his pockets. His fingers trembled as he retrieved his inhaler, spraying the medication into his lungs with a shaky hand.
Meanwhile, the teacher continued his tirade, oblivious to Akito's distress. “You two think this is a game? Disrupting the school like this—”
Akito's face flushed a deep red, not from embarrassment, but from the effort to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the steadying effect of the inhaler. The world around him seemed to blur, the teacher's voice becoming a distant hum.
Koishi stood motionless, his gaze flickering between Akito and the teacher. Unsure if he should comfort his friend or listen to the teacher.
“And you.” The teacher turned his sharp gaze on Akito. Without warning, he gave the boy a light smack on the head with a ruler. It wasn’t hard, but it was enough to make Akito gasp and flinch.
“Don’t bother coming to school if you can’t handle your own health,” the teacher grumbled, his voice laced with disdain.
Koishi’s jaw clenched, but before he could say anything, Akito slowly straightened up. He kept his eyes down, fists clenched at his sides.
“S-sorry,” he mumbled, voice small but steady.
The teacher gave a grunt, clearly unimpressed. “I better see you two cleaning after school. Don’t test me again.”
With that, he turned and stomped down the hallway, muttering something under his breath.
“Great work, Akito. Now you got us both in trouble,” Koishi snapped, scowling as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He turned his head away, refusing to look at the shorter boy, frustration simmering just beneath his skin.
Akito blinked, still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done wrong—was it the running? Slowing Koishi down? Needing his inhaler? He didn’t know. But Koishi was mad, and that was enough to make his stomach twist.
“S-sorry...?” he offered, voice barely above a whisper.
His apology hung in the air like a loose thread—uncertain, fragile.
Koishi didn’t reply right away.
“It’s whatever,” Koishi muttered, his voice flat but laced with a quiet tension. He let out a sigh, one of those long, heavy ones that came from more than just being annoyed—it carried the weight of something else. Guilt, maybe. Worry. Frustration bottled up over time.
He rubbed his face with one hand, dragging it down as if it might pull away the stress. The thought of another lecture from his parents made his stomach twist.
Without another word, Koishi turned on his heel and started walking, fast and purposeful, his sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished school floor.
Akito flinched at the sudden movement, startled by the shift in energy. He stood frozen for a second, lips parted like he wanted to say something—but nothing came out. Then, instinctively, he hurried to follow, the soft tap of his shoes echoing behind Koishi's.
The hallway felt too quiet now, the lunchtime crowd having mostly scattered. Light from the high windows streamed down in dusty shafts, making the dust motes swirl as they passed through them. Koishi’s hair caught a bit of that light, his fiery red locks glowing like embers as he kept his eyes ahead, refusing to look back.
Akito, still slightly out of breath, trailed beside him with his gaze low and hands nervously tucked into his sleeves. He didn’t dare speak, afraid that one more word might push Koishi further away.
Neither of them said anything. The silence between them stretched long and tense, like a fragile thread pulled too tight—one sharp word away from snapping.
But even in the silence, Akito stayed close. Because that’s what he always did.
The afternoon sun dipped low, casting the sky in hues of gold and tangerine. The soft amber light spilled through the branches of the trees, painting long shadows on the cracked pavement. Most of the students had already gone home, the campus now quiet except for the occasional chirp of birds and the faint rustle of wind-blown leaves.
Koishi and Akito stood outside, silently sweeping the stone path that ran along the side of the school. The old brooms they’d been given looked like they hadn’t been used in years—bristles worn thin, wooden handles splintered with age. Koishi’s was still tangled with a few stubborn cobwebs from the janitor’s closet.
Neither of them spoke.
The only sound was the soft, rhythmic swish… swish… of bristles dragging across the pavement, pushing dried leaves into messy little piles. The silence between them wasn’t angry anymore—it was just… heavy. Tired.
Koishi focused on the motion, his back slightly hunched, lips pressed into a tight line. The events from earlier replayed in his mind in pieces—Yohu’s eyes meeting his through the camera. It all clung to him like static.
“You’re holding the broom the wrong way,” Akito spoke up softly.
He was right. Koishi, distracted and clearly not paying attention, had been sweeping with the broom upside down—no wonder the leaves weren’t going anywhere.
Koishi paused. His eyes flicked toward Akito’s broom, noting the difference.
“Oh.”
Without another word, he flipped the broom over and resumed sweeping, the bristles now dragging with the proper scratch against the pavement.
There was another moment of silence—only the brushing sounds between them.
“…And you’re brushing it… incorrectly,” Akito added, clearing his throat and quickly looking away as soon as he said it.
Koishi froze again. A low grunt escaped him, followed by a scowl.
“How would you know?” he snapped, voice sharp with irritation. “You cleaning for someone or something? Fucking hell, do you work as a housewife now?”
His words were laced with frustration, harsher than necessary. The taller boy’s tone wasn’t just annoyed—it was angry. Defensive. Like the comment struck something deeper in him than just technique.
Akito flinched, hurt flickering across his face for a brief second. He didn’t respond right away.
“…No. It’s a simple human chore,” Akito muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze dropped to his shoes, the tips scuffed and dusted with stray leaves. He said it quietly, without sarcasm or malice—just a plain truth. But somehow, that made it worse.
When he glanced back up, Koishi was already glaring at him.
A deathly glare.
Koishi’s posture was rigid, fists clenched around the broom handle. A dark cast of shadow had fallen across the upper half of his face, only his piercing eyes visible—cold, sharp, and unblinking.
“I have your life on the line,” he growled. “Don’t even think about saying another word.”
The air shifted. For a moment, the silence between them turned cold
Then—click.
The front doors of the school creaked open behind them, the sound echoing through the empty courtyard.
Koishi’s head snapped toward the noise. His expression faltered.
The shadow across his face seemed to vanish instantly, wiped clean by the golden light spilling through the doorway.
Akito’s head turned toward the sound, curious. His eyes settled on the figure emerging from the front entrance.
It was Yohu.
He had his signature white headphones on, draped lazily around his neck, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. His golden hair was pulled back the usual messy way, loose strands swaying slightly in the breeze. He wasn’t paying attention to the world around him—his eyes were fixed on his old Nokia, thumbs moving quickly as he texted someone.
Koishi, however, was paying attention. Too much attention.
The redhead’s entire demeanor shifted the second Yohu stepped into view. His muscles tensed, his scowl vanished, and his eyes locked onto the boy like he was the only thing that existed. The earlier rage he’d aimed at Akito seemed to dissolve into thin air.
But then it hit him.
Koishi flinched, suddenly remembering what had happened at lunch—the camera, the stare, the moment Yohu had seen him. His eyes widened just slightly, a flash of panic crossing his face. He gripped the broom tighter, like it could somehow ground him.
Akito noticed everything. Quiet as always, he watched the change in Koishi’s posture—the way his hands trembled just slightly, the way his breath caught in his throat.
He said nothing, but his expression softened.
Yohu glanced up from his Nokia, almost absently—just a casual flick of the eyes.
But they landed squarely on Koishi.
In that instant, Koishi froze. His heart skipped. His grip on the broom tightened like it was the only thing keeping him from flying apart.
“Fuck—is he coming over?” he hissed, eyes darting wildly. He turned away sharply, pretending to sweep with sudden intensity, shoulders hunched in a poor attempt to shrink himself.
Akito tensed beside him, stiff as a board.
“Uh—” he peeked over his shoulder for a split second, then quickly looked back down. “I think so…” he mumbled, his voice cracking as he focused hard on sweeping a pile of leaves that didn’t need sweeping.
Koishi could feel Yohu’s presence approaching. Every step, even if unheard, vibrated in his chest. His mouth had gone dry. His usual confidence, that biting edge of sarcasm and fire, had melted into a puddle of sheer panic.
And Akito? He just kept his head down. The broom moved in slow, awkward motions, the way someone moved when they desperately wanted to look casual but knew they were being watched.
Yohu’s shadow began to stretch closer.
Closer.
A sudden tap landed on Koishi’s shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Hey. You.” The voice was calm, casual—but unmistakably his. Koishi turned, heart hammering, and found himself face to face with Yohu. His breath caught. “Y-yeah?” he managed to say, though the word barely escaped his throat. As he looked up, his gaze locked onto those familiar woody brown eyes—deeper and more intense up close, glinting in the warm light of the setting sun. Koishi could feel the flush spread across his face like wildfire, heat crawling up his neck, behind his ears, everywhere.
He felt ridiculous—sweaty from detention, gripping a half-broken broom, standing in a pile of leaves—but none of it mattered. All he could think about was how close Yohu was, how real he was. Then Yohu tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You were taking pictures earlier, weren’t you?”
"Can you delete them?"