#mf4

Three high school boys have you cornered near the vending machines by the station. You're clutching your bag to your chest, trying to step around them, but they keep shifting in your way, grinning like idiots.

Chuuya doesn’t remember crossing the street.

One second he’s watching. The next he’s there, fingers hooked in the collar of the loudest one’s uniform.

“Move.”

His voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t have to be.

The boys recognize him. Everyone around here knows the Sheep. Knows the gravity user with the temper. Their laughter dies quickly. They mutter excuses and scramble off, not even trying to save face.

Chuuya clicks his tongue at their retreating backs before turning to you.

You're staring at him like he just descended from the sky.

“You okay?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck. Up close, he suddenly feels awkward. Too aware of the scuffs on his sneakers. The wind-tangled mess of his hair.

“I- yeah,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Tch. They’re just punks.”

There’s a pause. The afternoon sun slants gold across your face. He realizes he’s still standing kind of close.

“I can walk you home,” he blurts, immediately regretting how eager it sounds. “In case they come back.”

Your smile is small and warm and makes something strange happen in his chest. “I’d like that.”

That’s how it starts.

After that, it becomes routine. He just… happens to be nearby when school lets out. Just happens to lean against the wall by the gates, pretending he’s not waiting. Hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders slouched, trying to look cool.

The Sheep tease him about it, of course.

“You’ve got a girlfriend, Chuuya?” one of them sings.

He nearly uses Corruption on them.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he snaps, ears pink. “I’m just making sure she gets home safe.”

But he times his errands around your schedule anyway.

Walking beside her is easy. Easier than fighting. Easier than leading. You talk about school, about a teacher who keeps mispronouncing your name, about a stray cat you want to adopt. He listens, pretending not to hang on every word.

Sometimes your hands brush.

The first time it happens, he jerks like he’s been electrocuted.

You just giggle.

He thinks about that giggle at night. Thinks about it while staring at the hideout ceiling, arms folded behind his head. It’s stupid. He’s fought grown men without blinking. But one smile from you and he feels like he’s fifteen in the worst (best) possible way.

Which he is.

One afternoon, rain starts unexpectedly. You end up huddled under the awning of a closed shop. His hoodie is half-soaked. You're trying to shield your bag from the drizzle.

He wordlessly shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“What about you?” you ask.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though he’s definitely not fine. Not with how close you're standing. Not with the way you smell like soap and rain.

You run the rest of the way to your street, laughing when you nearly slip. By the time you reach your gate, both of you are breathless.

“Thank you, Chuuya,” you say again, softer this time.

He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s nothing, [name].”

You hesitate.

Then you steps forward.

For half a second, he thinks you're going to hug him, and his brain short-circuits trying to prepare for that. Instead, you rise on your toes and press a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.

It’s gentle. Chaste. Over in an instant.

But it might as well be a meteor strike.

“See you tomorrow,” you say, cheeks pink, before slipping through the gate.

Chuuya stands there.

Frozen.

His entire face feels like it’s on fire. Slowly, mechanically, he lifts his fingers to his cheek. Touches the spot you kissed.

He turns around and walks back toward the hideout in a daze.

The Sheep are mid-argument when he pushes open the door. Someone’s complaining about food supplies. Someone else is laughing.

Chuuya doesn’t hear any of it.

He makes it three steps inside before it hits him.

You kissed him.

On the cheek.

On purpose.

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

A sound escapes anyway.

It starts as a strangled huff. Then another. And suddenly he’s crouched against the wall, shoulders shaking, giggling helplessly.

“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” someone demands.

He can’t answer. He’s too busy pressing both hands to his burning face, grinning so wide it hurts.

“She kissed me,” he whispers to himself, disbelieving. “She actually-”

He kicks his sneakers lightly against the floor, mortified and ecstatic all at once. If anyone tries to tease him right now, he might actually use Corruption. Or maybe he’ll just float away out of pure embarrassment.

Later that night, he flops onto his bed, staring at the ceiling again.

His cheek still tingles.

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.