Pairing: Hiori Yo x Female Reader
Summary: You two are perhaps more than just friends. That’s why one question and a three-word answer can solve so much heartache. "But…what are we?"
Tag/Warnings: friend to lover, fluff, unintentional confession of love, crossposted on TikTok, not proofread.
a/n: based on age ain’t none but a number by Aaliyah. Sorry for the poor writing, I’m like a monkey who’ve just learned how to put words together.
Hiori was the kind of friend you could hang out with even when there wasn't anything exciting going on.
Sitting on a bench in a park, sipping a juice you bought at the convenience store with your last few cents, all while putting the world back in order.
Playing soccer at a community sports field—or rather, making a fool of yourself with some disastrous saves.
Or, simply laying on his bed, scrolling on your phone while he played video games.
You, secretly, longed for those moments when he would ramble about loosing his game. Spinning around on his chair and tossing away his headset to explain to you how his opponent was cheating.
As for him, he quietly savoured those moments when he’d look over his shoulder, discreetly analysing your facial expressions.
And often will his heart skip a beat when you’d look up.
Yet, you two still blurted deaf and blind how you were indeed just two really good friends. Nothing more.
Today was no different from any other lazy Wednesday afternoon. A message was sent to his first pinned contact, and you were invited to his place.
Claiming he had bought a new game and wanted you to try it.
"Your game better be chill. Last one was a bit too scary."
He closed the door behind you, only to get launched into a long, hushed tirade to explain just how wrong you were about Resident Evil 7.
As usual, your bag got tossed at the foot of the bed, the jacket slipped off your shoulders and sheets crinkled as you flopped down on the mattress.
Breathing in that scent that reminded you of the boy you held the dearest in your heart, and, perhaps, brought you some sort of comfort.
A quasi-military routine, repeated every time.
You picked up your phone, but paused for a moment, holding it away from your view when you sensed that something was off.
Hiori. Motionless. Before you.
He stood there, looking down at you with nothing gleaming in his eyes. And it lasted, dragging heavy seconds of a strange silence.
You finally asked, kind of confused by his attitude and sudden bizarreness.
But your voice snapped him out of his reverie, and without missing a beat, his lips stammered out a reply that made your cheeks flush.
"I just never noticed that you were still wearing my sweater."
Finally did he noticed that subtle detail of yours; wearing that piece of clothing that once smelled like him.
A habit that goes back to the day he lent it to you, on a freezing cold evening. That night, he helped you put it on while confessing how guilty he would feel if you ever got sick because of him.
Something you remember as the trigger for that shameful and misplaced emotion that emerged inside you.
"Yeah…I can give it back…I mean, if you want…you know?"
He chuckled, but even your fleeting gaze caught how sweetly rosy his cheeks had turned.
Sparing you one last glance full of something you couldn’t possibly describe, he turned around to took a seat away from you, probably to set up his console.
Whatever he was doing, you couldn’t focus on because of how embarrassed you were.
Even your phone wasn’t enough of a distraction to ignore just how wildly your heart was pounding beneath your flesh.
After what felt like an eternity of living with that awkwardness in your chest, your name was softly uttered.
"Come. I’m gonna show you how to play."
Perhaps you were both deaf to the accusations of others. After all, why would a mere friend pat his knees to invite you to sit on them?
There were clearly plenty of other ways to do it, right?
Not the least bit bothered by this situation, he taught you the basics. Basic you already knew, given the numerous explanations he offered you.
"Got it? Now do it on your own."
His voice, almost whispered against your ear, made your skin crawl, but left your mind still oblivious to this strange sensibility.
As you shifted into a more comfortable position, resting your back against his chest just for a brief moment, his whole body went rigid.
Nails digging into the armchairs and lips crushed under his teeth, but he’d still swore up and down that you were just friends.
You played for quite a bit, Hiori sliding his hands on top of yours to help you get the hang of the controller when things got tough.
But as you usual, you ended up crawling back to your favorite spot, the one from which you could secretly observe him.
"Wanna stay here for dinner tonight?"
Still focused on the screen, he concluded the silence that had settled in, but for once you didn’t answer him—far too busy reflecting over a message from a friend.
A message that left you questioning years of relationship that maybe wasn’t what you thought it was.
'What do you mean to each other?'
Your friend had always tried to convince you that you both were more. More than childhood friends. More than simple memories shared.
So often would she ask you this question.
A question you always avoided. A question you were petrified to even think about.
Reading over and over this singular line, you hadn’t even noticed how Hiori had paused his game. How he was watching you turn livid.
He couldn't make sense of your silence—you, who teased him all day long, seemed so upset that it tugged at his heartstrings.
Amid your silence, he made his way to his bed. And under the lack of answers, he crawled over your immobile figure.
His face now mere inches from yours, he stood there, trapping you between his arms, and worried eyes trying to meet your fleeting gaze.
"Is everything alright? You seem upset."
You could hear how concerned he was, that his confusion wanted to sort out all of your problems.
Gathering all your strength, all of your confidence, you finally managed to look back at him, to ultimately meet his soft eyes.
So close to you. So close to doing something so wrong—and yet so right.
Without even thinking about the consequences—about how it might end your cherished friendship—you blurted out that question.
A question that tasted of freedom but left the lingering impression of bitterness on your tongue.
Slightly, you saw his eyes widened under the unexpected ask, his lips trembling as if he wanted to say something heavy on his chest.
"What-What do you mean? We’re friends. Don’t you love me like I love you?"
He cut himself off mid-sentence; he, who had wanted to reassure you, had just made a careless mistake.
The unexpected revelation of his feelings had betrayed him, he who had only wanted to comfort you.
Too hasty you asked, his closeness refraining you from getting up, yet allowing you to observe how his whole attitude shifted.
It took a few more seconds for his evasive gaze to find you again, as if he had finally come to terms with his unfortunate mistake.
The features of his face, tense just a few seconds ago, relaxed, revealing the gentle expression you loved so much.
"I love you. I’m so sorry."
He admitted, he pulled away.
Why would he apologise? Why did he appeared so upset? Why was he trying to put distance between you when you wanted him close to you?
As you pulled on his T-shirt to hold him back, all your uncertainty vanished.
