#shorts.

Found this flag flying near my neighbourhood. Photoing it wasn’t an option. Scoured google but only found ref to it in a pair of shorts.

and he sighs dramatically and says, "i"m afraid i'm gonna have to charge you with theft," as you roll your eyes.

you just indulge him as you dryly ask, "and what did i steal?"

"well," he starts, just barely containing his giggles, "you've stolen my heart."

you look at him wholly unimpressed—but then the corners of your lips tug into a smile against your will before you shake your head and snort, muttering a quiet, "come here, you idiot," before letting him bend down and kiss you sweetly.

he grins and winks as he says, "next time i'll have'ta handcuff you, y'know," before he pecks your lips one more time and murmurs, "see you at home."

doesn’t know how to dress. doesn’t know how to do his hair. is scrawny and short and awkward and he’s your neighbor and you sit with him on the bus sometimes. sometimes he comes over for dinner with his mom. sometimes you go over and he helps you with math homework. every once in a while you guys have a movie night and slowly but surely he becomes a good friend. people at school don’t rly look twice at him but that’s okay bc he has you and that’s all he needs.

and then one day you blink and the scrawny kid becomes all lean muscle. the short little guy is somehow towering over you. the bad hair cut is now a longer, tousled mess but in a good way and he’s learned some basic fashion that doesn’t make him look like a fool. somewhere along the line he got a bit more flirtatious and teasing but deep down he’s still the same guy.

he over explains math and physics when you ask him because he’s still just a bit of a nerd at the end of the day. you both have cars now but he starts petty arguments with “let’s just rock paper scissors” over who drives no matter how many times you tell him it’s his turn. he still sends you trailers to movies like “we’re watching this over the weekend.” you still visit his mom because she’ll never stop loving you. girls definitely give him attention now and sometimes he likes to be an ass and be a little attention whore—but he’s still the same. your lil loser boy. he still embarrasses himself in front of you sometimes because you never stopped being pretty. never stopped being painfully sweet. never stopped making his palms sweat and his heart race. and you never changed either—still seek him out first no matter who’s around.

but he’s so, so excited, it’s almost palpable. almost tangible. you can almost feel it. you can practically touch it. you kiss him and he’s eyeing your lips hopefully for one more. give him one more. he wants one more so bad, he’ll even lean closer and tap his cheek to make the distance shorter for you, just so it’s easier. you tell him you love him and he’s teasing you that he definitely loves you most just so you can say no, i love you more than most. just because he wants to hear it again. he needs to hear it just one more time so he can make sure it’s true. you hand him kikufuku you got on the way home and he’s playfully demanding you hand feed him. he just likes the way your thumb is gentle as you wipe the cream from the corner of his lips. it’s tender, and a little more intimate than he cares to admit. more than he thought possible from something so seemingly normal.

it’s excitement, in a raw, endearing sort of way. he’s happy to be loved, so purely ecstatic you do it for no reason at all sometimes. sometimes it’s a kiss because he’s just so cute when he yawns. sometimes it’s a whisper of i love you, toru because it’s been silent for a bit and you wanted to fill it with something. sometimes it’s a slice of cake from his favorite bakery because he seems to be having a bad week. it’s never because he earned it. never because he had to work for it. never because he’s strong and capable and responsible and does what he’s expected to do. it’s just because he exists—because he’s there and you love him for being there and that’s all there is to it.

he's in between your legs, they're hooked over his shoulders and your body is shaking against him as you cum on his tongue—and he notices the way your hand is clenched around the sheets, so he gently loosens your grip and lets your fingers tangle with his instead, rubbing your hand with his thumb as you writhe and whine. he lets one hand pull his hair and the other crush his knuckles, likes the way you hurt him a little as his tongue flicks over your clit, likes the way he can feel how good he makes you feel from the way you grasp his hand

or you're between his legs, on your knees as you look up at him, and he's got those breathy little moans falling erratically from his lips, his hand tangling in his own hair because he doesn't know what to do with himself as he feels himself near his high. and then your hand is soothingly rubbing over his tense thigh, and he doesn't even think, just grabs your hand and squeezes it to ground himself as his falls apart and spills into your mouth with a strangles gasp. he doesn't let go until he's calmed down and caught his breath, until he can pull you up onto his lap for a kiss to your lips and taste himself on you