The sun blazed over the sports field, a relentless spotlight on the chaos of cleats tearing up grass and the grunts of exertion echoing through the air. Yuki perched on a weathered bench at the field’s edge, her sharp eyes locked on Toru as he charged across the turf like a damn gladiator. Sweat glistened on his brow, his muscles flexing with every precise move, and Yuki couldn’t help but bite her lip, her heart doing a traitorous little sprint. But her mouth? Oh, it stayed loyal to her signature sass.
“God, Toru, you’re out there looking like a Greek statue, but I bet you’d trip over your own feet if I so much as waved,” she muttered under her breath, her voice dripping with mock disdain. “All brawn, no brain. How do you even tie your shoes without a manual?”
A shadow loomed over her, accompanied by the obnoxious pop of a soda can tab. Yuki didn’t need to look up to know who it was—Miamura, the human equivalent of a smirk, plopped down beside her with all the grace of a drunk toddler.
“Well, well, if it ain’t the resident love-struck idiot, drooling over Captain Clueless,” Miamura drawled, his voice thick with amusement as he dangled the cold can of soda in front of her face. “You gonna stare holes through him or actually do something about it, Yuki? Or is gawking your cardio for the day?”
Yuki snatched the soda from his hand with a glare that could’ve melted steel, popping it open with a hiss that matched her mood. “Oh, bite me, Miamura. I’m not drooling, I’m… observing. Strategically. Unlike you, I don’t waste my time tripping over my own ego.”
He barked out a laugh, leaning back on the bench, one arm slung casually over the backrest as if he owned the damn place. “Strategic observation, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re two seconds from writing ‘Mrs. Toru’ in your diary with little hearts around it.”
Yuki’s cheeks flared, but she masked it with a scoff, taking a long sip of the soda to buy herself a second. “Please, I’d sooner marry a cactus than doodle anything about that oblivious meathead. At least a cactus would notice if I was in the room.”
Miamura’s grin widened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, come on, don’t play coy with me. I’ve seen that look before. You’re so far gone, you’re practically planning the wedding playlist. Let me guess—first dance is ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine,’ ‘cause you’re a sap under all that snark.”
She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t pop out of her skull. “Keep talking, pretty boy, and I’ll shove that soda can somewhere the sun doesn’t shine. I’m not some swooning damsel, okay? I just… appreciate a good view. Sue me.”
“Sure, sure,” Miamura teased, nudging her shoulder with his. “A ‘good view’ that’s got you blushing harder than a tomato at a farmers’ market. Why don’t you just march over there and tell him? Or are you scared he’ll flex and you’ll forget how to speak?”
Yuki’s grip tightened on the can, the aluminum denting slightly under her fingers. She hated how Miamura could always poke right at the raw spots, like he had a damn map to her insecurities. For a moment, her usual fire dimmed, and she stared out at Toru again, his laughter ringing across the field as he high-fived a teammate. Her voice dropped, softer than she intended. “It’s not that simple, alright? He doesn’t even see me. Not like that. I’m just… the girl on the sidelines with a loud mouth. Why would he look twice?”
Miamura blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. He opened his mouth, probably to sling another barb, but something in her expression made him pause. Instead, he let out a dramatic groan, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, great, now you’re getting all mopey on me. I need a drink stronger than soda to deal with this soap opera. You’re killing me, Yuki.”
She snapped her gaze back to him, the vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a scowl. “Oh, poor you, having to listen to actual human emotions for five seconds. Cry me a river, drama queen. Go chug something and spare me the theatrics.”
He stood with a flourish, tossing her a mock salute. “Your wish is my command, oh mighty ruler of heartbreak. I’ll go chug something to forget this convo ever happened. Try not to pine too hard while I’m gone.” With a wink, he sauntered off, leaving her alone with the echo of his laughter and the lingering sting of her own confession.
Yuki sat there, stewing in her thoughts as the soda grew warm in her hand. The field was still a blur of motion, Toru still a distant, unattainable star in her orbit, but now her mind was snagged on Miamura. Where the hell had he gone? He’d been missing for too long—way past the time it took to grab a drink or whatever nonsense he was up to. A prickle of suspicion crawled up her spine, mingling with annoyance. That idiot was probably getting himself into some kind of trouble, and knowing him, she’d end up having to drag his sorry ass out of it.
“Ugh, why do I even care?” she grumbled to herself, standing up and dusting off her shorts with more force than necessary. “If he’s passed out in a ditch somewhere, that’s his problem. Not mine.” But even as she said it, her feet were already moving, carrying her toward the locker area where she figured he might’ve wandered off to. Her irritation simmered with every step, a mix of unease creeping in as she muttered under her breath, “That dumbass better not be doing something stupid, or I swear I’ll make him regret it.”
The locker area loomed ahead, a quiet contrast to the field’s chaos, and Yuki’s sharp eyes scanned the shadows, her pulse ticking up for reasons she couldn’t quite name. Whatever Miamura was up to, she was about to find out—and if he thought he could dodge her, he had another thing coming.
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