‧˚꒰🍨꒱ 𝐚𝐚𝐛𝐢 ₊˚⋆

“well then what do you think?” because honestly, even at that point, you thought nagi seishiro was handsome; he was the face claim you used to imagine all your scenarios at night before you went to sleep.

he was your knight in shining armor, coming to break you free from the cage which was your life and obligations. he was your prince charming who’d rescue you above all else. heck, sometimes he was mario and you were princess peach.

seishiro groaned when the screen shows game over and honestly, he really did think it was all your fault because he couldn’t hear anything over your incessant wailing. but then he looked at you for the first time after you cried and had the recurring thought that he didn’t want to be the reason for you to keep on crying.

“yeah, you’re pretty.”

and he puts his lips on yours like it’s no big deal.

ii. unreciprocated

fifteen is when you’re most rebellious. it’s a sickness you get from none other than mikage reo.

your family and the mikages go way back. they’d been family friends for such a long time. a part of you feels it’s not genuine, blinded by the fact that they’re always business partners and everything else stemmed from that one simple fact.

you started to play hooky from business dinners, started to say fuck off to rude old geasers who truly didn’t deserve a single dime they got.

all you ever got in return was your father’s temper and your mother’s cowardice and reo’s praises. most of all you at least had nagi’s shoulder to cry on. (he’s learned to bring along his earpiece just in case he had to meet you or accidentally bumped into you.)

“they all sicken me,” was what reo told you when you asked about his family in relation to their business. you could sympathise. sometimes all you could feel from your parents were that they treated you as a next-in-line rather than just daughter. and almost everyone around you made you feel like you were just a moneybag.

what reo felt shouldn’t have been too far off. except you thought he had it better; at least all his parents did was try to spoil him while not-so-subtly training him up to be the next ceo. he at least didn’t suffer at the hands of foul tempers and verbal abuse.

no one should have to.

“oh shit! i gotta go soon,” you realised, noticing that it was almost six and you’d made plans with nagi.

reo cocked a brow, “y/n l/n, you have other friends?”

you knew he was joking, but that didn’t stop you from landing the hardest punch you could on his arms. “hey, i’m not that inept at socialising okay?”

sure, you’d started taking caution with making friends because most of them were just after one thing: money. even at this age. which is crazy to you, at least, but you felt you had no right to think that. not when all the money you wanted was still at your disposal.

but you weren’t actually bad at making friends. it was just that maybe most people weren’t even worth the effort.

“they’re good to you, right?”

you took a moment to decide before you eventually nodded. “yeah, for sure.”

nagi was… weird, for you. but in the good sense. yeah, he’d open his mouth and ask you for money which at least told you he was honest. even if you rejected him, though, he was still beside you.

“man, what a hassle,” he grumbled when you wouldn’t buy any more food. he was broke, which meant he couldn’t eat anymore too if you didn’t buy some.

the two of you still never talked about that kiss. it never happened again, to your dismay.

you were a teen, and screw stupid teen hormones for driving you to ask him.

“hey sei, we’re good friends, right?”

“huh?” nagi was already fixated on his phone. probably some new game you didn’t know about. his earpieces were ready, around his neck. “uh, i guess?”

but that was not good enough for your feisty fifteen-year-old self.

“sei, i’m serious! would you be sad if one day we weren’t friends anymore?”

back then you didn’t know what you were doing. back then you didn’t think to yourself what it was, really, that you were trying to get out of him. maybe it was validation, and maybe it was just boredom.

you really just wanted to know nagi cared.

all he did was shrug, brows furrowed in annoyance. “that’s life, isn’t it? sometimes friends drift and sometimes they don’t.”

throwing wisdom around as if that was what you needed. and it was unfair to expect anything out of nagi as it was, but that didn’t stop you from throwing a tantrum and storming off.

(he watched you as you left, and there was something unsettling about the sight of your back moving so far away.)

iii. turning point

the world is small.

when you were sixteen you realised that the so called treasure reo told you he found was a human, who so happened to be your friend—nagi seishiro.

teeny tiny.

they also both happened to be picked by the JFU to go to blue lock. which you only found out after they’d both been gone for a week.

it didn’t surprise you though—they were both talented. it was only right they got picked. though, they also happened to be the only two people you would hang out with, so by default you felt lonely.

but at sixteen you’d learned to suck it up, hide your feelings. everything was okay—as long as you deceived yourself so. your parents were the same; overbearing and breathing down your neck and now that reo was not around for you and nagi couldn’t be your confidant, it felt much worse than usual.

everything was a transaction and you felt suffocated. it made you appreciate nagi’s unfiltered honesty and reo’s unwavering loyalty to whatever you dedicated yourself to.

“at least that reo boy has some other talents like that foolish soccer he plays,” your father berated over dinner. “and here my daughter is, good for nothing yet expects us to believe her when she says she can make a living outside of our company.”

and if you’d had other close friends, they would’ve told you that sixteen was too young to be sure what you wanted to do for the rest of your life. they’d have said your parents were unreasonable and that they were the fools.

but you didn’t. and the only friends you had weren’t around. so you ate it up. you clenched your fists where your parents couldn’t see and let them run their mouth. or, in your mother’s case, stay silent while your father made unreasonable arguments.

“and that nagi boy you hang out with,” your father turned his focus to him, “all he reeks of is laziness. i don’t get why you have to hang out with him all the time. inviting that oaf into our house like he’s welcome.”

that time your fists hit the table and you didn’t even expect it. it hurt because of how hard you hit but nothing could beat the hurt your father inflicted on your heart.

you found you couldn’t say anything, only because your father’s eyes were wide with rage at your outburst and you were still the same scared girl inside at age four when he first raised his voice at you.

“i-i’m sorry,” you choked out, which was pathetic but you didn’t want to end up murdered in your own house.

your father scoffed. “get your stupid head out of your ass or you’re cut off.”

the only time you could do that was when nagi and reo finally got their first break out of blue lock. you occupied their time for the most of it, listened to them going on and on about the matches that went on inside. though reo seemed a little mad at nagi, a little awkward around him, for some reason you weren’t privy to.

“i’m gonna head home first,” and reo was gone with the wave of a hand, something about having to settle something at home—probably nothing good.

maybe it was the lovestruck idiot in you talking, but you’d made peace with the fact that maybe you had a small crush on nagi seishiro, judging by how you acted around him. maybe it was that idiot that made you want to spend all of his free time together.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow too?” sue you, you were just trying to shoot your shot.

nagi put his phone in his pocket, for once, and you were struggling to remain standing as he held eye contact with you, calm gray eyes the bane of your existence. “mmm can’t, gotta meet isagi and the rest.”

isagi, a name you’d just learned earlier—apparently nagi thought he was strong and chose his team. maybe that was why reo was mad.

“oh, okay then.” you’d ask for the next day, but you didn’t want to get rejected twice. besides, nagi would probably just prefer playing games and resting at home. you were just friends, after all.

“was thinking we could get dinner though,” nagi told you, hands in his pockets as the both of you walked down the street.

that was the first time he ever extended an effort, you remember. and suddenly life wasn’t that bad anymore.

it was also the first time nagi asked you to feed him, not because he was playing some game but on purpose.

and you didn’t know how it turned out that way, but he ended up taking up all of your time. it was the only reason you had the ability to fill him in on your family, and he actually listened. and, like reo, he said “fuck them.”

maybe that was the point you realised maybe he did care.

but for a girl at seventeen just concerned with romance and happiness, it was paradise—until of course he went back to blue lock, taking your heart with him.

(what you both failed to realise was that he left his with you.)

iv. slow realisation

in the bleachers of his first match out of blue lock, nagi seishiro spots you easily in the front row—wearing his jersey and number, when did you buy that?

doesn’t change the fact that nagi likes seeing it on you. he’s not familiar with the feeling, but it’s equivalent to saying you like him the most, which feels great if he’s honest to himself.

what he doesn’t like is the guy next to you. sharp jawline and spiky hair wearing a business suit and his raven eyes are always peeking at you out of the corner. does he like you?

but the whistle blows and nagi forgets about you for a little over ninety minutes. he’s going to show you he can win this, with you watching from the front row, and he’ll show you why he’s the best and that other guys in business suits don’t matter.

after the game reo makes a big deal out of the fact you’re wearing nagi’s jersey and not his, and nagi finds out the guy with you was someone your dad wanted to hook you up with.

twisted business marriages.

“i’m just going out with him to shut my father up,” you admit to nagi when you’re both finally alone. (aka, after you’ve convinced reo to pry him away and leave you two alone.)

nagi’s not used to this. what’s this relief he feels? “oh, good to know,” is all he says because he doesn’t even understand himself.

he isn’t even sure why he’s here in the first place, walking you home. he’s not sure why reo left when he could’ve driven all of you home instead of just mr business-suit-guy.

“how’s it feel now, to be mr popular?” you’re not even sure why you’re asking. maybe because you feel like the gap between you and nagi grew so wide in such a short period of time and you’d do anything to hear him say that he’s still the same seishiro you knew.

your seishiro.

nagi only shrugs, “dunno. don’t really feel the difference.”

because really, apart from the fact that he’s much more busy, he’s still him—playing games when he’s free, texting you because that happens to fall in the list of things he likes to do now, and well, the only difference he feels is—he takes a peek to his side—you, somehow.

not because of anything you do in particular, but he feels different somehow. and he can’t make sense of it. he never can. how’s he supposed to? no one ever warned him about shit like this.

“uh, nagi? have you ever thought that maybe you like her?” reo tells him over the phone later that night, a little baffled by the things his usually detached friend just told him.

“you like her too though,” nagi retorts.

reo sighs, wondering how nagi ever made it to where he is. “not in the same way.”

“what do you mean?”

“figure it out yourself.”

nagi hangs up, thinking he already has it figured out. he also thinks reo will keep his mouth shut.

he doesn’t.

v. requited

it’s funny how reo rushed to call you that night, right after nagi basically told him (without saying it explicitly) that he has a crush on you.

but it’s also funny how it’s been three months since then and nagi still hasn’t said anything about it. you play ignorant around him, waiting and waiting for him to admit it himself.

evidently it’s not working.

tonight you’re just watching him on the screen, cheering him on from the other side of the world because despite being from a rich family you can’t just up and leave to another country as and when you feel like it.

besides, you’ve made peace with your parents; you’d learn about the family business willingly as long as they stopped interfering with your personal life. they surprisingly agreed.

nagi and reo win, as you expected, and as usual, the cameras trail their team as they celebrate on the field, their captain having tore his shirt off to celebrate that they’d won the tournament. it’s not long before the camera pans back to nagi, a few reporters already surrounding him.

“so nagi, how do you feel right now?”

“great,” he answers, with a sexy amount of enthusiasm. he’s rarely ever enthused, but you find it so much more attractive when he is.

nagi has his phone in his hand, you notice, and you immediately fish for yours. he’d texted you right before they started hounding him.

are you watching?

you smile as you type back.

no. congrats on becoming champions! 🫶🏼

“nagi nagi, who would you like to dedicate this win to?” the reporters are all clambering to get a chance to question him.

“oh i don’t know,” nagi says, and you catch him looking at your message before looking back at the camera. “i guess i’ll dedicate this one to this girl i like.”

you nearly spit out your drink.

“wait, does this mean you’re involved with someone? tell us, who is it!”

all the reporters get excited, and understandably, since nagi’s probably just about given them the biggest scoop for the month. they’re all looking at him, money signs in their eyes, while your jaw drops open as he overshares with the entire world.

“oh, y/n l/n, she’s been my friend since forever and i don’t know… i kinda like her a lot,” he’s saying all this earnestly, a hand scratching his neck and a blush creeping on his face, though he doesn’t look the least bit fazed.

you rush to find his chat thread.

nagi, what the fuck!!!

you did NOT just say my name on live tv!!!

on the screen, he openly looks at your messages before typing a reply as the reporters hound him for more details.

oh shit, m i not supposed to?

“nagi, is she the one texting you right now?”

and like the honest guy he is, he nods. “oh yeah, think she’s mad at me right now.”

you curl up under your blanket, flustered because nagi is way too open and way too precious.

“would you like to say anything here to her now?”

nagi looks off camera and hums in contemplation before finally deciding on a response.

“hey y/n, tomorrow i’m gonna make you mine okay? so just wait for me.”

reo finally drags him away and towards the rest of his team and his interview ends there. you switch the television off, half mortified and half flattered. your phone blows up with most of your contacts gushing over what nagi said.

leave it up to nagi seishiro to have feelings for you, not realise it until years later, not tell you in the whole three months before this and yet announces it and your full name to the entire world on live television.

in spite of how flabbergasted you are, there’s a warm sensation blooming underneath your chest, a comfort that you’ve always been looking for finally fulfilled. there’s a certain endearment in the way nagi realises and professes his feelings.

you pull up his messages again.

you better keep your word, sei.

it doesn’t take him long to respond.

You first met Nagi Seishiro through your best friend, Mikage Reo — Hakuho High School’s golden boy.

If there was anyone who could juggle soccer captaincy, straight A’s, an overflowing social life, and still find time to tease you before homeroom, it was Reo. He had the kind of smile that made people trust him too easily and the kind of confidence that made teachers both adore and resent him.

Everyone adored him.

But you never did — not like that.

You and Reo had known each other since you were five, since he’d tried to share his pudding at daycare and got it smeared across his designer uniform when you slapped it away. From then on, it was chaos and camaraderie: late-night calls for math homework, popcorn fights during cram sessions, and long car rides in the Mikage family limo with your knees knocking under shared blankets.

You were like siblings — something even Reo’s fangirls at school refused to believe.

“Why would I date Reo?” you’d asked once, horrified. “That’s like dating my cousin.”

Reo, overhearing it from across the hall, only shrugged. “That’s her way of saying I’m the more attractive one.”

It was all harmless teasing — always had been.

But then came him.

The day Reo introduced you to Nagi, you had no expectations. You were just tagging along to another of his after-practice hangouts, this time near the gym’s side benches, where he said a “new recruit” was waiting.

You weren’t prepared for the tall, white-haired boy who barely spared you a glance when you arrived.

“This is Nagi Seishiro,” Reo had said with a proud grin, clapping a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Monster on the field. Zero social skills. Doesn’t care about anything except games.”

Nagi looked up from his phone — not because he wanted to, but because Reo had nudged him. His eyes were dull, like nothing around him sparked much interest. The only life in him came from the game lighting up his screen.

Reo gestured to you. “This is Angel.”

You blinked. “Excuse me—”

“It’s what I call her. Don’t question it.”

Nagi’s gaze lingered for a second. “Angel, huh.”

His voice was flat, disinterested. But oddly enough… he repeated the name like it mattered.

That was all he said before looking back down at his phone.

You’d never met someone so unimpressed with the world.

And yet — somehow — you found yourself drawn to him anyway.

Maybe it was the way he moved like everything was too much trouble, yet still found his way next to you. Or maybe it was the quiet comfort of his presence, how even in silence, he never made you feel alone. There was something hypnotic about his stillness — as if chaos couldn’t touch him. And when you were around him, it couldn’t touch you either.

It started subtly.

Nagi never called you by your name. Just Angel.

Not once had he asked if it was okay. He just picked it up the way someone picks up a new favorite song — without effort, without question. It was like a default setting in his brain. Automatic. Natural. Like he couldn’t imagine calling you anything else.

It didn’t help, though. Not when he kept giving you mixed signals.

Nagi might’ve looked distracted all the time, his gaze often glued to his phone or drifting to the clouds during class — but he always paid attention to you. He remembered the details you told him: your favorite snack during exam season, the exact way you liked your tea, the movie you wanted to watch next. Once, you’d casually mentioned how your feet always got cold in the library, and the next time you studied together, he brought an extra pair of fuzzy socks like it was no big deal.

He didn’t say much. Never did. But he showed up in ways that made your heart ache.

Like the way he’d always wander over to you after hours of football practice, the sky fading pink above Hakuho High’s rooftop or the sun casting long shadows on the back field. Sweaty and slow-moving, he’d drop his duffle bag beside you with a grunt, flopping onto the grass like gravity had finally won.

Sometimes he’d tug at your sleeve in that lazy, silent way of asking for attention — head resting on your thigh as if it were the most obvious pillow in the world. No warning. No asking. Just trust.

And you always let him.

You’d card your fingers through his soft white hair, and he’d hum, quiet and content, almost like a cat purring. The world seemed to dull when he was like that — when his breathing evened out and his body melted into yours like he belonged there.

Sometimes, he’d shift closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck, voice barely a whisper.

“Sleepy, Angel.”

Just two words. But you’d feel them for hours after.

You’d sit there frozen, breath caught in your throat, heart thundering like it was trying to break out of your ribs. And he — unbothered, eyes half-lidded and heavy — would fall asleep to the sound of your racing pulse.

He didn’t realize what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did. You could never really tell.

Because when the sun dipped low enough, and the rest of the team started filing out, Nagi would lift his head, yawn, and walk off like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just cracked your heart open with one word, one look, one casual lean into your shoulder.

It wasn’t fair — how someone so unattached could still have that kind of power over you.

It wasn’t fair that you started hoping he’d do it again.

Because every time he touched you like that — every time he called you Angel in that soft, half-asleep tone — it felt like a dream you weren’t allowed to wake up from.

And yet, you never stopped waiting for the next time.

Oh, but it didn’t stop with lazy afternoons and fleeting moments of closeness. Not even close.

There were other moments — quieter ones, tucked between school and soccer practice, when it was just you, Reo, and Nagi heading off-campus for food. Reo would always act like he was treating royalty, leading you both with swagger and flair, his platinum card practically flashing in the sunlight.

He’d announce, “My treat, obviously,” before you even stepped into the restaurant. Mikage Reo: Hakuho High’s golden boy, heir to the building you were sitting in, and yet still the same loud, dramatic idiot you grew up with.

But your focus was never on him.

Because Nagi, without fail, would always slide into the seat beside you. Even if Reo sat next to you first, Nagi would stand there, towering, blinking once before saying, “Move.” And Reo — used to his antics — would just sigh and scoot without complaint.

He didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

And every time Nagi settled beside you, your heart did that stupid thing again — tripped over itself, stumbled into your ribs, and reminded you that you were already too far gone.

It always happened the same way.

You’d be mid-bite or mid-conversation when suddenly, his fingers would find yours beneath the table. Not a brush. Not an accidental touch. A full-on interlock. As if your hand was made to fit into his.

Sometimes, his grip was light, absent-minded — his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your palm while he focused on his rice bowl. Sometimes, it was firmer, grounding. Like he needed to hold on to something, and for some reason, that something was always you.

One time, he caught your hand before you could even sit down, pulling it into his lap casually.

“Your hand’s warm,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with that usual drowsy calm. “And soft.”

Like it was the most obvious observation in the world. Like it meant nothing.

But it didn’t mean nothing to you.

It never did.

Because every time he said something like that—quiet and thoughtless, like a dream slipping through your fingers—it burrowed deeper into your heart. And left you wondering: Does he even know what he’s doing to me?

Across the table, Reo would catch your eye with a smirk.

He’d rest his chin in his hand, grinning like a fox. “You two should just date already,” he’d say one afternoon, loud enough for Nagi to hear.

You choked on your drink.

Nagi didn’t even flinch. “Too much work,” he replied without missing a beat—but his grip on your hand didn’t loosen.

Your stomach twisted. And Reo? He looked at you knowingly, as if he could see the spiral in your mind before you even admitted it to yourself.

You wanted to believe there was something there. That the touches meant something. That the nickname wasn’t just a habit. That the way he leaned into your shoulder and closed his eyes wasn’t just comfort—it was you.

But Nagi never said anything.

And you were too scared to ask.

Because what if it really was just who he was? What if the closeness you treasured so deeply… wasn’t special to him at all?

You hated how much the uncertainty hurt.

Hated how you still looked for his name on your phone screen.

Hated how your heart reacted to every small thing he did—like it hadn’t learned how to protect itself.

Because no matter how casual he made it seem… holding Nagi’s hand always felt like the closest thing to home.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part.

Because when something starts to feel like home, you forget it was never promised to you. You start expecting it—counting on it—imagining things that were never said out loud. You start building a future in the quiet spaces between words he never meant for you to read into.

You told yourself you were fine with the silence. That you could live in the in-between. But your heart knew better. It ached louder every time Nagi pulled you a little closer… and said nothing at all.

So now—suffocating in feelings you never meant to have—you were sprawled like a corpse on the oversized couch in Reo’s ridiculous penthouse living room.

Hakuho High’s golden boy, born with a silver spoon and a rooftop garden, was currently snacking on something that cost more than your weekly lunch allowance and watching you fall apart with the patience of someone used to your drama.

“Fuck it!” you screamed into one of his designer pillows, muffled but heartfelt. “I hate him. I hate his stupid hair, and his lazy slouch, and the way he breathes like the world is boring and calls me angel like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire central nervous system.”

Reo didn’t even flinch. “So,” he said casually, tossing another popcorn kernel into his mouth, “you’re saying you’re fine.”

You let out a long, wounded groan into the cushions. “You ruined my life, Mikage.”

“Oh, is that what I did?” he said, utterly unfazed. “You were so normal before Nagi, huh? Always emotionally stable, never crying over how ‘his voice sounds like fresh snow falling on a winter night.’”

Your head snapped up. “I never said that.”

He smirked. “You did. Last week. When he called you at midnight to ask what time practice was and you replayed the voicemail six times.”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s… not the point!”

“No, you’re right. The point is, I introduced you two. I should get matchmaking royalties.”

You sat up, dramatically throwing off his fancy blanket. “You should’ve never introduced him to me, Reo!”

Reo gave you a shit-eating grin. “Why? Because he’s hot, mysterious, emotionally unavailable, and clearly soft for you? Yeah, sorry. That’s on me.”

You groaned and flopped back onto the couch. “He’s not soft for me.”

“Oh, right. My bad,” he said, mock-serious. “He just randomly holds your hand during lunch, naps with his head in your lap, and only calls you angel. Totally meaningless.”

“It feels meaningless when he never says anything about it!”

Reo got up, made his way to the mini fridge, and tossed you a can of something carbonated and unnecessarily expensive. “Sei’s weird,” he said, plopping back into his seat. “He doesn’t talk much, but he doesn’t exactly do all that with everyone.”

You cracked open the drink and took a long sip, sighing. “I feel like I’m going insane.”

“No, this is just karma for every time you made fun of me in middle school when I had a crush.”

You threw a cushion at him.

He caught it easily. “Look. You and Nagi? It’s a slow burn. Like, glacial. Like, two rocks eroding in a riverbed over several centuries.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I am helping,” he said smugly. “I’m listening to your crisis, offering top-tier beverages, and reminding you that he called you angel during conditioning drills, which means even when he’s sweating to death, you’re still on his mind.”

You paused. “You think?”

Reo leaned back, his expression softer now. “I know.”

You stared at the ceiling. “Then why hasn’t he said anything? Why hasn’t he… done anything?”

Reo hesitated for a beat, then shrugged. “He probably doesn’t know what he’s feeling yet.”

You blinked. “How do you not know you like someone?”

Reo looked at you knowingly. “Have you met Nagi?”

“…Fair.”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, the city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows spilling across the marble floors. The penthouse was too fancy, too big—but in this moment, it felt oddly safe.

Then, quietly, you said, “I think I like him.”

Reo didn’t tease you that night. He just smiled—crooked and quiet—and let the weight of your words settle in the silence between you.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

And for one brief moment, you felt lighter. Like something in your chest had finally been named, and now you could breathe around it.

But that peace didn’t last.

Because after that night at his penthouse, Reo didn’t just return to being your best friend.

He became your personal tormentor.

Not in the mean-spirited way—not really. But in that classic Mikage Reo fashion, he took your emotional meltdown, filed it under “important best friend information,” and proceeded to use it for sport.

Subtle at first.

A comment here. A smirk there.

“Your boyfriend’s under the tree again,” he’d say casually during soccer practice, flinging his towel over his shoulder and pointing across the field with his chin. “Probably waiting for you to come fan him or something.”

You didn’t even bother responding the first few times. But Reo? He thrived on reactions. So the quieter you were, the more relentless he became.

“He’s literally using your hoodie as a pillow right now,” he snorted during one break. “What is he, a stray cat? Did you feed him once and now he won’t leave?”

You tried to ignore him, really, you did.

But it was hard to play it cool when Nagi Seishiro—cool, aloof, half-asleep Nagi—kept gravitating toward you like you were the only person on the planet worth orbiting.

When he’d wander over during water breaks, barely say anything, and drop to the grass beside you with a heavy sigh.

When he’d tug at the hem of your sleeve like a child, muttering, “Move a little, Angel,” so he could comfortably lay his head on your lap.

The first time he did it, you froze.

You had no idea what to do with your hands, with your face, with the ridiculous tempo your heart had launched into.

And when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck and whispered, “Warm. ’M comfy here,” you were sure you’d ascended into another dimension.

Reo, from several feet away, didn’t miss a beat.

“Are you serious right now?” he called out, deadpan. “You’re using her as a human mattress? Sei, we’re in the middle of practice.”

Nagi, eyes still closed, responded with a half-lidded shrug. “We’re on break.”

Reo turned to you, hands on hips like a disappointed parent. “Why do you let him do that?”

You glared at him. “Do I look like I can stop him?”

Reo opened his mouth, then paused, expression flickering to something amused and oddly fond. “You don’t, actually. Which is kinda impressive.”

From then on, he only got worse.

During lunch, he made a habit of sliding Nagi’s bento closer to you before anyone sat down.

“Feed him,” Reo would say, like a waiter taking your order. “Or he won’t eat. Apparently your hands make everything taste better.”

Nagi, seated beside you like it was law, didn’t even look up from his game.

“True,” he said flatly, holding out his chopsticks expectantly. “Angel feeds me better.”

Your face combusted.

Reo nearly fell off his seat from laughing.

And somehow—somehow—this became routine.

If Nagi didn’t get to sit next to you, he’d just drag his chair over. If you were holding your phone, he’d take it and lean against your shoulder while scrolling aimlessly. If you were quiet, he’d lean into you, cheek against your hair, and murmur, “Tell me something. I like hearing your voice.”

Every small thing turned sacred. Every tiny touch set you on fire.

And Reo? He stoked the flames.

It was like living in a dream you weren’t allowed to name. A day-by-day slow burn that left you suspended in something warm and fragile. You didn’t know if Nagi meant any of it the way you hoped he did. He never said anything. Never changed his expression. Just kept calling you Angel and reaching for you like you belonged to him.

And the worst part?

You kept letting him.

You wanted to believe it meant something.

You needed to believe it did.

But the not knowing—it festered. The what-ifs, the maybe-he-does, maybe-he-doesn’t… they turned every smile into a battlefield, every silence into a storm.

You didn’t realize how exhausted you were from hoping until it all came to a head on a regular, sleepy afternoon at Hakuho High.

The sky was bluer than usual. The breeze was soft. You had a bottle of your favorite drink in hand after a long lecture, your thoughts drifting—mostly about how quiet Nagi had been lately. Distant, even.

You were behind the gym, just starting to unscrew the cap of your drink, when someone approached you.

“Hey.”

You blinked up, surprised. He was a third-year—tall, broad-shouldered, sharp features softened by the slight smile he wore. You recognized him vaguely. Vice-captain of the basketball team. The type girls whispered about in the corridors.

“I know this is sudden,” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “but… are you dating Nagi Seishiro?”

Your grip tightened around your drink. The question hit harder than it should have.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You guys are always together,” he said, shrugging. “It kinda looks like it. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so I figured I’d ask first.”

You didn’t know how to answer.

Because no—he never asked you out. But yes—he held your hand like it meant something. He napped on your lap. Called you Angel. Looked for you in crowds.

But that wasn’t love, was it? At least… not the kind that gets voiced.

So you shook your head.

“No,” you said softly. “We’re not.”

The word sat heavy on your tongue, like something bitter you were finally forced to swallow. Even saying it aloud—confirming that there was nothing between you and Nagi—hurt more than you thought it would.

The boy blinked, surprised. “Oh. Then… Reo?”

You blinked back, caught off guard. “What?”

He laughed nervously, raising both hands in surrender. “Sorry—just, the way you and Mikage always bicker. I figured maybe you two were, you know… childhood friends-to-lovers or whatever.”

You stared at him like he’d just grown a second head.

Then came the deadpan: “Heck no.”

It was more disgust than denial, and it left your mouth before you could filter it.

The guy laughed again—this time, genuinely. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing. “Reo’s like… my brother. That would be disgusting.”

“That clears things up.” He smiled, easing a little. “Then… maybe we could go for coffee this weekend?”

There was a pause.

And then, before you could give yourself a reason not to, you nodded.

“Sure,” you said. “Why not?”

It wasn’t a confession.

It wasn’t a first kiss.

But it was the first time you admitted—if only to yourself—that maybe you couldn’t wait around for Nagi forever.

What you didn’t know, standing there in the soft shadow of the school gym, was that someone had seen the entire thing. From the moment the boy asked if you were dating Nagi, down to the way you wrinkled your nose at the mention of Reo.

And that someone’s stomach dropped like a stone.

Because while you were saying no…

Nagi was across the path—hearing every word like it was a slap to the face.

He didn’t stick around to hear your answer to the guy’s next question. He didn’t want to. Couldn’t. Something in him recoiled the moment he saw you standing there—with him—smiling the way you usually smiled at him.

He walked away, fast and quiet.

The weight of his limbs was heavier than usual. His hoodie felt too warm against his skin, and his hands stayed shoved deep into the pockets like he was trying to bury the strange, twisting ache crawling up his chest.

He went back to the soccer field, eyes blank, lips pressed into a line.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even look at Reo when the other boy offered him a water bottle.

He just stood in the grass, shoulders stiff, waiting for the whistle to blow.

Why would he feel like this?

You can date who you want. You’re your own person. You always were.

And besides—you were right.

You two weren’t together.

You weren’t his girlfriend.

You were just… his Angel.

His nap partner. His hand to hold. His favorite seat under the sakura tree after a long day of classes. The one who laughed at his flat jokes. The one who listened even when he didn’t respond. The one he could always find in the stands, no matter how far away.

His… friend.

That’s all it was, right?

Just a friend.

So why did the idea of someone else having your attention—the thought of you laughing at someone else’s bad jokes, someone else’s hand holding yours—make his throat tighten like this?

Why did he feel like his chest was full of static?

Why did practice suddenly feel impossible to focus on?

Why did everything burn?

He was Nagi Seishiro—apathetic, unbothered, uninterested in everything except convenience and quiet. He didn’t do emotions. Didn’t care about people.

And yet…

Why?

Why did it feel like he was about to lose something he didn’t even realize he was holding?

The thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

It echoed in his head, over and over, louder than the screech of cleats against the turf, louder than the whistle, louder than Reo yelling plays from the opposite end of the field.

You’d said it so clearly. So easily.

“No, we’re not.”

You weren’t lying. But something in your voice—he couldn’t forget it. It didn’t sound like relief. It sounded like… surrender.

Why did that hurt so damn much?

He pressed forward in the scrimmage, a pass skimming just past his foot because he moved a second too late. His reflexes were off. His instincts dulled. The field felt too narrow. His jersey clung to his back. The usual lightness in his body was gone, replaced by a heavy, dragging weight he couldn’t shake.

He missed another pass.

And another.

He shoved his hands into his hair in frustration, growling quietly, “Tch.”

A few teammates stared. They didn’t say anything, but the tension rippled.

Nagi didn’t care.

No, that was a lie.

He did care.

That was the worst part.

For the first time in a long time, he cared too much and didn’t know how to handle it.

Across the field, Reo watched carefully.

He had known Nagi since first year. Knew the way his best friend moved, the tempo of his rhythm on the field, the lazy but calculated precision of his mind. He’d watched Nagi play sick, play exhausted, even play pissed off—and still look good doing it.

But this?

This wasn’t the usual indifference.

This wasn’t fatigue.

This was Nagi unraveling.

Quietly. Subtly. But painfully.

He could see it in the way Nagi’s shoulders stiffened with every misstep. The way his hands balled into fists whenever the ball rolled too far. The way he didn’t even look toward the bleachers—where you usually sat watching, sometimes waving, always smiling.

You weren’t there today.

And Reo had a feeling Nagi knew exactly why.

But the worst part? He didn’t do anything about it.

Not the next day.

Not the day after that.

Not even when your eyes lingered on him longer than necessary—waiting, hoping, hurting.

Instead, Nagi distanced himself.

No explanation. No text. No lazy “Angel” in the hallway, no sudden weight of his head on your shoulder like he used to do after class. He didn’t take the seat next to you during lunch anymore, even when Reo subtly saved it. He didn’t offer you sips of his convenience store soda, or absentmindedly thread your fingers with his under the cafeteria table.

It was as if someone had pressed pause on everything that felt safe and familiar.

And you noticed. Of course you noticed.

How could you not?

The boy who once made you feel like the center of his world was now acting like you barely existed in it.

You tried to brush it off at first—told yourself he was just tired from soccer, or spacing out like he always did, or maybe he just needed time. You knew Nagi could be… detached. Aloof. He was never the type to chase or cling. That was just how he was.

But this? This was different.

He wasn’t just distracted.

He was avoiding you.

The realization settled in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake off, especially when Reo—your oldest friend, your partner in chaos since grade school—confirmed the one thing you dreaded to hear.

It was late in the afternoon when it happened. You were at the Mikage penthouse again, your designated post-school escape on days that felt too heavy. You were lying on your back, legs tossed over the armrest of Reo’s imported Italian couch, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Reo was scrolling through his phone beside you, one socked foot pressed against your shin lazily. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the central air and the occasional clink of ice in your untouched drinks.

“He knows the vice captain asked you out.”

Your stomach dropped.

You turned your head slowly toward Reo, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nagi?”

Reo nodded, still scrolling. “He was nearby when it happened. Didn’t say anything, but I saw his face after. He walked back to the field like he was ready to murder someone.”

You sat up fully now, heart pounding. “Is that why he’s been avoiding me?”

Reo sighed like it physically pained him to deal with the emotional incompetence of his best friend. “Most likely. I mean, it’s either that or he suddenly forgot how to function around people—which, okay, is also a possibility with him.”

You swallowed, the pieces falling into place too fast for comfort. “But… why would he avoid me?”

Reo finally looked at you, his expression unreadable for once.

The teasing had fallen from his features like snow off a rooftop—quiet, unexpected. His voice, when he finally spoke, came soft but firm.

“Because he’s a dumbass.”

You blinked. “I—what?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, like he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out.

“He likes you, idiot.”

The words hit you harder than they should have.

They knocked the air out of your lungs and left you staring at Reo like he’d just casually told you gravity stopped working.

“I—” Your mouth opened, then shut again. You shook your head. “No. No, he doesn’t.”

Reo let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Yes, he does. He just doesn’t realize it the way you want him to yet. That doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

You frowned, your voice quieter now. “Then why is he avoiding me?”

Reo studied you carefully. “Because he’s never felt this kind of thing before. He’s confused. Freaked out, probably. And when Sei gets overwhelmed, he doesn’t push forward—he hides. Retreats.”

You looked away, your fingers curling into the hem of your sweater. “It hurts.”

Reo’s gaze softened. “I know. And it’s killing me watching both of you act like this when it’s so obvious you mean the world to each other.”

You sighed, slumping back against the couch cushions. Your heart felt heavy, bruised in a way that wasn’t physical. Like something was wilting inside your chest—soft and unseen, but so achingly present. “What do I do, Reo?”

He didn’t answer right away. For once, he wasn’t being theatrical or smug. No exaggerated hand gestures or sarcastic comments. Just silence, and a look in his eyes that said he was weighing his words carefully.

Finally, Reo spoke. His voice was gentler than you expected.

“I’m not playing favorites here, but… you already did your part.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, come on,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “You like him. You know it. I know it. Hell, half of Hakuho probably knows it. You’ve shown him in every way that counts. It’s not your responsibility to make him see that he likes you back.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Reo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on yours. “Sei’s not good with emotions. He feels things, yeah—but he doesn’t always know what he’s feeling. He zones out, pulls away, avoids it like it’s a hard level in a game he doesn’t want to clear.”

Your heart stung. “Then what if he never clears it?”

“Then that’s on him,” Reo said, and there was no hesitation in his voice this time. “Not you. You’ve been patient. You’ve been honest, even if you haven’t said the exact words. If he lets you walk away without realizing what you mean to him… that’s his loss.”

The words echoed in your chest, louder than you wanted them to.

Because deep down, you didn’t want to walk away. Not even a little. Not even when he made you feel invisible. But Reo was right—loving someone didn’t mean setting yourself on fire to light their path. And maybe… maybe it was time Nagi realized that.

You closed your eyes, trying to blink away the sting behind your lashes. “I hate this.”

Reo offered a soft laugh and nudged your knee with his. “I know. Love sucks sometimes. Especially when it comes with a six-foot-tall emotional brick wall.”

You cracked a smile, just barely. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He grinned. “Anytime, Angel.”

And despite the ache still lodged somewhere in your ribs, his words settled into your heart like a gentle promise.

That no matter how messy this all became, you weren’t completely alone in it.

Reo was there—annoying, overconfident, occasionally too invested—but always in your corner. He never let you spiral too far without yanking you back with a half-serious joke or a reality check disguised as sarcasm. And knowing that… made breathing a little easier.

You stayed in his penthouse longer than you meant to that night. He made you tea without asking, switched the mood lighting to a calmer tone, and played some playlist he called “Healing for the Emotionally Exhausted.” You didn’t even have the energy to roll your eyes.

You stared out the window while the city lights blinked back at you like stars—distant and quiet. Your thoughts drifted again to Nagi. To the way his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned over his phone. The weight of his head when he laid it in your lap after practice. The warmth in his voice when he murmured, “Sleepy, Angel.”

You clutched a pillow to your chest and sank deeper into Reo’s velvet couch.

Had it always been this one-sided?

Or was Nagi really just scared?

You didn’t know.

But tomorrow… you were going to try. Even if it wasn’t with him.

Then the day of the date came.

You didn’t wear anything flashy—just your usual clothes with a touch more care. Hair brushed out, light gloss on your lips, perfume you knew Reo teased you about for being too sweet. You stared at yourself in the mirror longer than usual before heading out, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Normal. Just a simple afternoon. Just… something new.

The vice captain was already waiting near the front gates of Hakuho, dressed neatly in the school’s after-hours uniform with a pleasant, easy smile. He wasn’t Nagi. His energy was steadier, more grounded. Not sleepy or unpredictable—but warm in his own right.

He greeted you with a polite, “You look nice,” and offered to carry your bag.

You smiled. Tried to mean it.

But something in your chest tugged.

You walked to the nearby café together, talked about classes, mutual friends, upcoming tournaments. He was kind. Charming, even. You knew girls at school talked about him a lot—and it wasn’t hard to see why. He was attentive without being overbearing, curious about your thoughts, laughing easily at your jokes.

But it wasn’t Nagi’s laugh.

It wasn’t Nagi’s quiet stare.

It wasn’t Nagi at all.

And the vice captain could see it.

Maybe not immediately—but somewhere between you pushing food around your plate and your gaze flickering toward the glass windows every time a white-haired figure passed, he figured it out.

He set his drink down gently and leaned back.

“You still like him, don’t you?”

You froze. The words landed softly, not like a confrontation, but like an observation. A truth laid bare.

You looked at your half-eaten dessert, then slowly nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I always have.”

He chuckled—low and not bitter. Just amused in a tired sort of way.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I kinda figured when you spent the first ten minutes watching the sidewalk instead of me.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” He held up a hand, waving it off with a smile. “Seriously. I knew what I was walking into. Guess I hoped maybe you’d give me a chance to make you forget him.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw no resentment in his expression. Just understanding.

“I really appreciate that you still came,” he added. “Even knowing your heart’s kind of… already somewhere else.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and nodded. “Thank you. For being kind.”

He smiled. “He better realize what he has before someone else does.”

And somewhere across the city, under the molten streaks of the setting sun, Nagi Seishiro was pacing the length of Hakuho High’s empty soccer field. The sky above him glowed in soft orange and deep violet, but he didn’t look up once. His feet dragged across the turf like his body was moving on its own—slow, heavy, as if weighed down by something he couldn’t shake off.

Reo’s voice still echoed in his mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.

“You feel something, don’t you?”

Nagi hadn’t answered. He didn’t know how. Because how do you name a feeling you’ve never bothered to understand?

He wasn’t built for messy emotions. He preferred ease—predictable gameplay, soft pillows, long naps. But you? You weren’t easy. You were the one variable he hadn’t figured out. The one thing that made his chest ache when you smiled and made his head go silent when you laughed. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t try to.

Not until he saw it.

That day.

You were standing behind the gym, light bouncing off your hair as you spoke to the vice captain. Nagi hadn’t meant to linger. He was just walking by—heading to grab a juice box or waste a few more minutes before practice.

But then the vice captain asked you something. And Nagi stopped.

“Are you dating Nagi Seishiro?”

It was a simple question, harmless to anyone else. But to Nagi, it sounded like a pin being pulled from a grenade. His steps faltered. He didn’t turn around, didn’t breathe too loudly, just stood half-hidden behind the wall’s edge, frozen like a bug caught in amber.

You hesitated. Just for a beat.

Then your answer came, soft and unsteady. “No. We’re not.”

And Nagi couldn’t explain why that answer—the very truth he’d never had the guts to change—felt like a sucker punch to the chest.

He left before he could hear what came next. Because in his chest, a feeling he’d spent months ignoring had finally started screaming. And it didn’t sound like indifference. It sounded like jealousy. Like regret.

And maybe—just maybe—like heartbreak.

He never knew your answer.

Not from you.

But by the time lunch ended and the hallways quieted, he didn’t have to.

Whispers chased him like ghosts—fragments of your name laced with quiet gasps and knowing smirks.

“She said yes.”

“To the vice captain, right?”

“She finally gave up on Nagi, huh?”

Each word chipped at something inside him. Something he’d never named, never dared to look at too closely.

And now it was bleeding through the cracks.

Practice came like muscle memory. But there was no rhythm. No focus. His passes were too hard. His touches too sharp. A snap in his movements that wasn’t like him. He missed a shot he’d normally sink with his eyes closed.

Reo said his name—twice, maybe three times—but Nagi didn’t answer.

Eventually, they left him there. Even Reo.

The sun dipped lower, dragging shadows across the field, and still, Nagi didn’t move. His limbs sprawled carelessly across the grass, as if exhaustion had pinned him down and frustration had tied the knot. He stared at the sky, expression unreadable, fingers tangled in blades of green.

Everything felt wrong. Off.

His chest was tight again, like it had been all day. Like he’d swallowed something too big, and now it wouldn’t leave.

She said yes.

To someone else.

The thought circled like a vulture.

You found him alone on the soccer field, long after the others had packed up and left.

The lights from the school building flickered faintly in the distance, casting long shadows across the grass where Nagi lay stretched out like a boy made of bone-deep exhaustion. His jersey clung to his skin, a streak of sweat running down his temple. His eyes, however, were still wide open—staring up at the sky like it could answer the ache twisting in his chest.

He didn’t look at you when you approached. But you saw the way his hand twitched in the grass. Like he knew you were coming.

“Nagi.”

Your voice didn’t tremble, but it came out quieter than you’d expected. You stood above him for a moment, waiting, hoping—but he didn’t respond.

You slowly sat beside him, knees drawn up to your chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“I said yes,” you said after a long silence, eyes on the horizon. “To someone else.”

He didn’t move. But his jaw shifted, the tiniest tick beneath his cheekbone.

“I said yes to a date because I was tired of wondering what this was,” you continued, voice starting to shake despite your best efforts. “Tired of waiting for you to say something. Anything.”

Still nothing. Only the sound of distant cicadas and the dull thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Do you even remember what you said the day we met?” you asked quietly. “You didn’t say my name once. Just called me Angel. Like it was automatic. Like it didn’t matter who I was, just that I was there.”

You laughed bitterly under your breath, your fingers clenching. “I tried not to let it mean anything. I tried not to hope. But then you’d rest your head on my shoulder and whisper like I was your safe place. You’d hold my hand and tell me it was soft, warm. You made me feel like I was… something.”

Your breath hitched. You turned to face him fully, and finally—finally—Nagi turned his head to look at you.

His expression was unreadable. But you could see it—the fear just beneath the surface. The conflict. The guilt.

Your voice cracked when you spoke again. “Do you like me, Nagi?”

The question hung between you like smoke.

He blinked. Once. Then again. And slowly, he sat up, arms bracing behind him.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Your chest caved in.

It wasn’t anger that flared in you. It was heartbreak. The slow, sinking realization that the boy you wanted so badly didn’t even know if he wanted you back.

“You don’t know,” you repeated, breathless, eyes burning.

He looked away, fingers digging into the grass. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you said, voice shaking harder now. “It is that simple. You either feel something for me or you don’t. And if you don’t, that’s okay—” your voice broke. “—but you can’t keep treating me like I’m your world if you can’t even figure out your own heart.”

Nagi’s head snapped back toward you, eyes wide, as if your words had physically struck him.

“You can’t nuzzle into my neck and fall asleep on my lap and whisper ‘Angel’ like I’m the only one who matters—and then say you don’t know. That’s not fair.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

You took a shaky step back. “I let myself believe you did. I let myself fall for you—slowly, painfully. Every time you remembered the little things I said, every time you showed up even in your quiet way, I thought maybe…”

You trailed off, swallowing hard. “But you never said it. You never gave me anything real to hold on to. And now I’m the idiot who said yes to someone else, but all I can think about is you.”

He was silent. Still. His silver hair caught in the breeze, eyes locked on yours like he wanted to say something—needed to—but couldn’t bring himself to cross that threshold.

You shook your head, blinking fast. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting for someone who doesn’t even know if he wants me.”

You turned.

And this time, Nagi didn’t stop you.

But as your figure disappeared across the field—shoulders trembling, arms wrapped tightly around yourself—something inside him cracked like ice splitting under too much weight.

And for the first time, Nagi Seishiro wasn’t sure if he was tired…

Or if this was the first time he was finally awake.

Because something in your voice had snapped him out of the haze he’d been living in—the gentle fog of comfort he’d built around himself like a second skin. You were gone now, walking away from him, and yet your words still echoed in his ears louder than any stadium ever had.

You can’t treat me like I’m your world if you don’t even know your own heart.

It rang like a siren in his skull.

The soccer field felt too open after that. Too wide. Too cold. His limbs buzzed with restless energy he didn’t know what to do with. So he moved on instinct, feet dragging him away from the grass and the guilt and the silence you left behind.

The next time he blinked, he was standing in front of Reo’s building.

The Mikage Tower—an architectural flex of polished glass and inherited legacy—loomed above him like a monolith. Nagi hadn’t even realized where he was heading until the security at the front recognized him and let him through wordlessly, like he belonged there. Maybe he did. He came here often enough. But today, the elevator ride felt different. The music sounded too sharp. The walls too reflective. He could see himself in them—eyes unfocused, jaw clenched tight.

By the time he reached the penthouse, the door was already swinging open.

Reo looked like he’d been expecting him.

“Figured you’d show up eventually,” Reo said, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes sweeping over Nagi with a familiar, no-bullshit expression. “You looked like you were about to combust during practice.”

Nagi walked past him in silence, dropping onto the nearest couch like a sack of limbs. He stared at the ceiling as if the answers might be etched into the marble tiles.

Reo shut the door and followed, sitting across from him. “So… you wanna talk?”

“No,” Nagi muttered.

Reo leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Alright. You wanna sulk here until you rot into the cushions, then?”

“Maybe.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.

Then Nagi spoke again, voice low, like he hated even admitting it. “She went on the date.”

Reo blinked. “You mean you let her go on the date.”

Nagi’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t let her do anything. She can do what she wants.”

“She wanted you, dumbass,” Reo snapped, sitting forward now, arms braced on his knees. “She waited—waited—for you to pull your head out of your ass. You were the one who kept acting like she mattered and then saying nothing.”

Nagi ran a hand down his face, dragging his palm over his eyes like he could rub the thoughts away. “I didn’t know I liked her.”

Reo scoffed. “You knew. You just didn’t realize that’s what it was. You’ve never cared about anyone like that before, so you didn’t recognize it.”

“I felt…” Nagi trailed off, words catching in his throat. “Like something was ripping out of me when I saw him ask her. I wanted to hit something. Or sleep forever. I didn’t like it.”

“That’s what jealousy feels like, Sei,” Reo said quietly. “That’s what heartbreak feels like when you’re too late.”

Nagi let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling from his chest. “She said she liked me. And I told her… I told her I don’t know.”

Reo stared at him like he’d just confessed to committing a felony.

“The fuck?” he hissed, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Why did you say I don’t know, idiot?”

“I panicked,” Nagi muttered, his voice flat and low, like he hated himself for it. “She was standing there, looking at me like—like I meant something, and I just… froze.”

Reo scoffed, launching himself off the couch to pace across the penthouse. “Unbelievable. You—you lay in her lap. You call her angel. You hold her hand like it’s the only thing grounding you to this planet and then when she finally tells you she likes you, you give her I don’t know?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nagi said, scrubbing a palm over his face again. “I didn’t think she liked me like that. I didn’t know I felt that way—until she walked away.”

“Bullshit,” Reo snapped, rounding back to face him. “You knew. You’ve always known. You just didn’t want to know because then you’d actually have to do something about it.”

Nagi flinched at that.

Reo’s voice softened just a little. “You think I didn’t notice? The way you’d act around her? You’re not subtle, man. You’d go quiet when she laughed with someone else. You’d light up when she brought you those caramel milk drinks from the vending machine. You’d look at her like she was the only goddamn person in a world full of people you couldn’t be bothered to care about.”

Nagi’s throat worked around something thick. He stared down at his hands like they were foreign to him. “I didn’t know I could feel like that,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I was built for it.”

Reo sighed again, slower this time, and sat back down beside him. “No one is. Not really. But when it’s her… when it’s someone like her… you figure it out. Or you lose her.”

And that—that—was what scared Nagi the most.

He could sleep through classes. He could ignore most people. He could drift through life half-awake.

But the idea of you walking away for good? That terrified him more than he knew how to admit.

Because it wasn’t indifference he felt.

It wasn’t confusion.

It was love.

And now—he might’ve already been too late.

You hadn’t spoken to him since the last time he left you with nothing but silence. Three days had passed, and the distance between you and Nagi had grown so vast, it may as well have been oceans. Not a glance. Not a breath shared. Not even the subtle magnetic pull that used to hum beneath your skin whenever he was near.

It was like he had vanished.

Or worse—you had learned how to exist without him.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t pout. You didn’t cry. But you also didn’t smile when he passed by. You didn’t look up when he walked into the room. And if you were forced to stand within arm’s reach, like during practice or at lunch, you kept yourself composed with a sort of numb grace that cut him deeper than any outburst ever could.

He had never known how much he craved your attention until it was gone.

And now, here he was—locked inside the clubroom with you because Reo, fed up with watching you both suffer in silence, decided to take matters into his own hands.

The door slammed shut behind you. A soft metallic click confirmed it was locked.

“Reo?” you said sharply, turning back.

“I’m not opening it,” came Reo’s smug reply from the other side. “Not until you idiots talk. Or make out. Either one.”

“Reo!” you growled, rushing to the handle. It didn’t budge. “This isn’t funny!”

“Not meant to be,” he said. “Consider this an intervention. Figure it out. I’ll be back… eventually.”

And then his footsteps faded.

You stood frozen for a moment, facing the door, before you slowly turned to face the boy across the room.

Nagi stood by the windows, bathed in fading sunlight, his white hair catching every bit of golden glow like a halo. But he didn’t look like an angel. Not now. He looked exhausted. Haunted. Like someone still trying to understand why the hell his chest wouldn’t stop aching.

He didn’t look at you.

So you stayed by the door, arms crossed. A wall of silence stretched between you, heavy and brittle, ready to snap.

“Say something,” you finally muttered, your voice tired, your throat sore from swallowing your feelings for days.

He flinched. You didn’t miss it.

“I didn’t ask him to do this,” he said quietly.

“But you’re not stopping it either.”

Another silence.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Then let’s get it over with.”

He finally turned. His eyes met yours.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

You laughed—but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow. “But you did.”

He stepped forward, cautious. “When I said I didn’t know… it wasn’t because I don’t feel anything.”

You narrowed your eyes, but said nothing.

“It was because I felt too much,” he admitted, voice quieter now, almost like he was afraid it would break if he raised it any higher. “I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“And what, you thought silence would make it better?”

“No,” he whispered. “I thought if I said it out loud, it’d ruin everything. I was scared.”

You blinked at him, your heart aching all over again. “Scared of what? That I’d say it back?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw clenched.

“I liked it,” you said, voice cracking. “The attention. The nicknames. You holding my hand. Laying on my lap. Acting like I was the only person who mattered. I liked it—because I liked you. But you don’t get to do all that and then tell me you don’t know.”

You weren’t yelling. You weren’t crying. But your pain filled every word.

“You don’t get to act like I’m your whole world, Nagi, if you don’t even know what I am to you.”

That landed like a punch to the gut.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His voice was low, almost hoarse. “I do know now.”

You didn’t move.

He took another step. “I know I’m stupid. That I missed the moment I should’ve told you. That I let you walk away.”

Still, you didn’t say a word.

“I thought I was okay with being your friend,” he whispered, gaze dropping to the floor. “Until I saw someone else try to be more.”

He looked up then, and his eyes held the kind of desperation that only comes when you realize something too late.

“I heard people talking. Saying you said yes. That you were going out with him. And I swear—my chest hurt so bad I couldn’t even breathe.”

You finally moved. Just barely. Your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt, grounding yourself.

“I don’t want to be just your almost,” you said.

He froze.

“I don’t want to keep waiting for maybes. I confessed, and you froze. And that told me everything I needed to know.”

“I was wrong,” he said. “I was scared. But I’m not anymore.”

You looked at him, eyes searching. “Then prove it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was thick—full of history, full of missed chances, full of every time he called you angel like it meant everything and nothing all at once. Nagi stood there like he’d been thrown into the eye of a storm he created, a thousand unsaid words flashing behind those pale lashes and sleepy eyes.

But there was nothing sleepy about the way he looked at you now.

Slowly, like the weight of your words had finally dragged him back to earth, he took a step toward you. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, checking—once, twice, maybe even a third time—for hesitation.

There was none.

So when he reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your face, it felt like the world tilted. His touch was tentative at first, like you were made of something he wasn’t sure he deserved to hold. And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect either. His lips were warm, unsure at first, like he was still learning what it meant to feel everything he’d avoided. But the moment you leaned into him, he melted.

His other hand found your waist, sliding around to hold you steady as if he needed the anchor. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against your mouth. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

You kissed him back, just as soft. Just as broken.

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “You never do.”

Nagi pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were clearer than you’d ever seen them—open, raw, like the wall between you was finally cracking. “I didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “It was easier to pretend. That if I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t lose you.”

You blinked at him, chest tightening. “But you did.”

That broke something in him.

He kissed you again, harder this time—but not in a way that hurt. It was desperation, barely concealed by the tremble in his hands as they held you close. His lips moved with a kind of apology his voice couldn’t carry.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he muttered between kisses. “I swear, Angel… I’ll make it up to you.”

His forehead fell against yours, breaths mingling as his arms slid around your waist tighter, like you might disappear again if he loosened his grip.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just—every time I saw you with someone else, I felt like I was choking on my own heartbeat.”

Your eyes watered. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I thought I could live with just being your friend,” he confessed, voice cracking. “But I can’t. Not anymore. Not after hearing you say yes to someone else. Not after realizing that someone else might get to hold your hand. Kiss you. Call you theirs.”

You closed your eyes, tears clinging to your lashes.

“Do you still want me?” he asked, his voice suddenly small. Uncertain. Like a boy rather than the prodigy the school worshipped. Like someone afraid he’d ruined the one thing he wanted most.

You nodded.

And he kissed you again.

This time it was slower. Not desperate—but deliberate. Tender. Like he was tracing every inch of what he could’ve lost. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips moving with careful reverence.

“You feel like home,” he whispered against your skin, voice breaking. “I didn’t realize it until I walked away from the one place I ever felt safe.”

You held him back just as tightly.

Then—

Click.

The door creaked open behind you, light spilling into the dimly lit clubroom. You both turned your heads slightly—breathless, lips pink, tangled in each other—only to find Reo leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, shit,” he drawled, arms crossed. “I was joking when I said you two better kiss.”

Your face burned, and you turned toward the wall, hiding your expression in Nagi’s shoulder. Nagi didn’t even flinch. He simply pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist and resting his chin on your head like he’d claimed you completely now—and didn’t care who saw.

Reo raised an eyebrow and backed out of the room with both hands lifted. “You’re welcome, by the way. That’s the last time I play matchmaker for emotionally repressed athletes.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Silence settled again—but this time it was warm. Safe.

Nagi didn’t let go.

He just held you like he’d waited his whole life to.

And in the quiet that followed, with your heartbeat finally slowing, you whispered into the space between his collarbone and jaw, “Then don’t let me go again.”

His answer came in the form of another kiss—slow, aching, sure.

This time, it didn’t feel like the end of anything.

It felt like the very beginning.

Bonus scene.

Reo sauntered out of the kitchen with a plate of fruit and two croissants balanced in one hand, his expression so smug it bordered on criminal.

“Wow,” he said dramatically, flopping onto the couch like it was a throne. “So you finally confessed. In my clubroom. After months of the most agonizing, tension-filled friendship I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. Honestly? About damn time.”

You sat curled up on the other end of the plush couch, mug of cocoa nestled in your hands, half-tucked into a throw blanket that definitely wasn’t yours. Your face flushed at the memory, and you ducked your head, hiding behind the steam. Nagi was sprawled across the floor with his head resting in your lap, white hair messy, fingers lazily interlaced with yours as if he refused to let you go even in sleep.

“Reo…” you muttered. “You’re never going to let us live it down, are you?”

He grinned over the rim of his juice glass. “Absolutely not. This is what I live for. I carried this friends-to-lovers campaign on my back like Atlas holding up the sky.”

Nagi grunted softly, shifting closer to your stomach and nuzzling in. “Too loud…”

Reo rolled his eyes, but fondness softened the motion. “Still a baby,” he said under his breath, before turning back to you. “Anyway. You’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked warily.

Reo gestured with both hands like he was presenting fine art. “For being the only reason you two aren’t still stuck in the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ stage while making everyone else around you suffer.”

Your cheeks burned hotter.

Nagi, still barely awake, mumbled against the hem of your hoodie, “Didn’t wanna suffer anymore.”

Reo raised a brow. “Oh, so now you talk about your feelings?”

Another grunt. Nagi tugged on your hand and pulled it close to his chest. “Told her everything last night.”

Reo looked at you with mock horror. “Everything-everything?”

You laughed into your mug. “Reo.”

“I mean, I did say make out as a joke,” he continued, dramatically reclining back into the couch, “but you two took it as a challenge.”

Nagi tugged the blanket you were using, covering part of himself with it like a turtle burrowing deeper. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you left.”

“Oh, I was mentally high-fiving myself all the way to the vending machine,” Reo said smugly. “Finally. Emotional constipation, cured. You’re welcome.”

You gave him a dry look. “Should I get you a medal or something?”

He beamed. “Please do. Make it engraved. Cupid Mikage, or something with sparkles.”

Despite your embarrassment, you smiled. It was easy now. So much lighter than yesterday. Your shoulders didn’t feel weighed down by the what-ifs anymore. Just quiet, humming contentment.

Nagi stirred again, his hand slowly brushing circles against your palm. “Don’t leave today.”

Reo snorted from the other end. “Bro. She’s wearing my hoodie and holding your soul. She’s not going anywhere.”

You playfully kicked Reo’s foot. “You’re such a menace.”

“Hey,” he said, mock-wounded. “I locked you two in a room so you’d stop emotionally blue-balling yourselves. That’s love.”

Nagi pulled your hand to his chest again and mumbled, barely audible, “You’re mine.”

You blinked, glancing down at him.

“Hmm?” you murmured, brushing his bangs out of his face.

“Mine,” he said again, slower. “You’re… mine.”

Reo gagged from across the room. “I’m right here, guys. Show some mercy to the lonely rich kid who third-wheeled your entire relationship into existence.”

You laughed—fully this time. A soft, real, bright sound that filled the room and made Nagi shift to look up at you like it was his favorite melody. He pressed his face against your thigh and closed his eyes again, satisfied.

And for once, with Reo’s chaos and Nagi’s sleepy weight grounding you, everything just… clicked.

The tension was gone.

The fear, the doubt, the silence—it had all broken the night before.

Now, there was only this: morning light, your favorite people, a stupidly expensive penthouse, and a love that had finally found its way home.