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sitting in the cafeteria in the morning, trying to stomach a full meal before practice, and it's as he settles next to you and scratches his belly sleepily that you realize something.
that feeling in the tips of your fingers whenever he's around—an implacable urge to hold his hand. the way the slope of his shoulders catches your eye, the desire to rest your head there.
the light you always find in his eyes, even in the early morning—
(and of course it's in this moment, something so purely routine, something ordinary, that you realize. not the mind-blowing revelation you once thought a prerequisite, once thought part-and-parcel with how this worked, but something simple. you would laugh, if not for the pre-dawn hour, if not for the fact that this one thing has knocked the breath from you without your even noticing.)
you love him.
god, isn't that hilarious? just when you'd decided, no, maybe this ephemeral concept of "love" wasn't for you, he goes and makes himself a fixture in your life. and that's what he is, really—fixed and constant, not just someone who you see and speak to and sit next to everyday, but an axis upon which at least a part of your world revolves.
and, actually, saying that he "made" himself a fixture—that's not totally fair, considering you let him do that, considering it was never a one-sided process. let him get close, let him see you, the bits and the pieces and the cracks, let him become someone you turned to and relied on and looked forward to seeing—
oh. oh.
yes, you do love him. love him because you know him, the way he grew to know you, and who could know kuramochi youichi and not love him? was such a thing possible?
figures that someone like that would be the one to upend your understanding of yourself. rather fitting, considering he's able to read you as easy as a picture book where before you'd been a book of crossword puzzles.
(seven letters, three word phrase—the second letter is "L"; often said between partners to express affection and commitment.)
you wonder if he knows this about you, too. wonders if he worked it out before you did.
it would hardly be a surprise, after all, given everything else he's figured out. the way he's able to cut through the layers and the facade and find the person underneath the character, under the role.
the thought used to make you uncomfortable; still does, really, when it's most anyone else that's trying to pick you apart.
and maybe that was part of the problem, before: the conscious knowledge of someone trying to figure you out, break you down. with him—it was a matter of unfolding, defenses giving way after time and some prodding, not totally without conflict but certainly not consistently contentious.
a scalpel, maybe, instead of a pickaxe.
"you okay in there?"
you blink. "hm?"
kuramochi smirks, an expression made softer by the sleepiness in his eyes. "you were zonin' out."
you smile. "just thinking."
"you're always doing that," he mutters, words coming around a mouthful of food.
"same way you're always committing a crime against table manners," you respond, throwing a napkin at him.
"rules don't apply before the sun rises."
you might just be right about that.
"and it's too early for you to be grinning like that, you bastard."