#tacorice

Taki is sunshine in human form, loud laughs, messy hair, sneakers always untied. The kind of person who brings chaos into every room and somehow makes it feel like home. He’s friends with everyone, forgets his homework, and makes the teacher laugh even while getting scolded.

Jo, on the other hand, is the calm in the storm. Always early to class, quiet voice, sleeves pulled neatly over his hands, and eyes that seem to notice every detail, especially when they’re on Taki. He’s the kind of boy who reads poetry under a tree during lunch and somehow makes it look normal.

They’ve been seatmates since the start of the semester. Taki talks too much; Jo listens too quietly. Taki pulls Jo into school festival chaos, summer homework disasters, rainy walks with one umbrella. Jo brings him tea when he’s sick, lends him notes without complaint, and quietly tugs his hoodie down over his ears when Taki falls asleep during study time.

Everyone wonders how they even get along.

But Taki only smiles wider when Jo’s around.

And Jo’s eyes only soften when Taki’s laughing.

What most people don’t know is that Jo likes to draw.

He sketches in the margins of his notebooks. Paints in quiet corners of the art room. Keeps a battered sketchbook tucked under his desk, filled with streaks of light and shadows, fingers curled mid-motion, eyes caught in laughter. His favorite subject, lately, has been Taki. Not that he’s ever said it out loud.

One afternoon, long after the final bell rings, the classroom is bathed in amber light. Taki has stayed behind again, sprawled across his desk, doodling nonsense on a worksheet he has no intention of turning in.

Jo is seated beside him, sketchbook on his lap, pencil dancing across the page.

“You always draw stuff,”

Taki says, chin on his arms.

“What is it this time? A flower? The clouds? The doomed expression on my face before every math test?”

Jo hums, not answering.

Taki squints at him.

“Wait. Are you drawing me again?”

Jo pauses.

“…Maybe.”

“Lemme see!”

“No.”

“Why not?!”

Jo flips the sketchbook closed before Taki can reach for it.

“It’s not finished.”

“You always say that,”

Taki pouts, sitting up straight now, arms crossed.

“That’s like, your artist way of saying no.”

Jo looks at him, soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Or maybe I just like the way you look when you’re not trying so hard.”

That makes Taki blink.

“…Huh?”

“You’re always loud and moving. But when you’re quiet, like right now… you don’t even realize how calm you are.”

Jo shifts his gaze back to the sketchbook.

“It’s nice.”

Taki’s face warms.

“Okay, now you’re just flirting.”

“I’m not,” Jo murmurs, but his ears are pink.

“You kind of are,”

Taki says, leaning closer, eyes gleaming.

“You’ve drawn me how many times now?”

Jo doesn’t answer.

Taki grins, nudging his shoulder.

“Hey, Jo.”

Jo hums again.

“If I said I liked you… what would you do?”

Jo stops drawing.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, quietly, Jo replies,

“I’d say I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

Taki stares at him, wide-eyed.

“Wait. Seriously?”

Jo finally looks up, meeting his gaze, and Taki realizes, Jo’s always known. Always felt it too.

Taki lets out a breathless laugh.

“Okay. Then...”

But before he can say more, Jo gently takes his hand and places it on the sketchbook.

“Here,” Jo whispers. “You can look now.”

Taki opens it.

The pages are filled with him. Laughing. Sleeping. Smiling mid-sentence. Tugging at Jo’s sleeve. Spinning in the rain with no umbrella.

And in the corner of the last page, written small in Jo’s handwriting:

“The bell between us never really rang, did it? You’ve always been here.”

Taki presses his lips together, eyes stinging just a little.

“Jo?”

“Mm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Jo’s cheeks turn red. He nods, just once.

Taki leans in. And for the first time since they sat beside each other, since loud met quiet, since chaos met calm.

They find themselves perfectly in sync.