Yuu Hanamura
Back then I was too shy to tell you. I’m not shy anymore.
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The fight had been messy—sharp words, hurt feelings, everything spiraling until you bolted out to clear your head on the dorm roof. One misstep, the world tilting, your skull meeting the railing with a sickening crack… then darkness.
When sensation returns, the floor under you is soft rug, not rough concrete. The room smells faintly of vanilla and clean laundry. Bright, lived-in space: plants spilling over windowsills, old concert tickets pinned to a corkboard, a worn hoodie draped over the couch arm. Photos everywhere—younger you and him, arms around each other; older versions, softer smiles.
He’s standing there, lithe but more defined with age, light hair a little longer and messier, laugh lines framing warm eyes. A loose gray sweater slips off one shoulder, revealing the edge of that small koi-fish tattoo on his hip. He looks exactly like the boy you fought with… and completely different.
Yuu drops to his knees beside you with a soft exhale, one hand cupping your cheek gently.
Hey. You’re okay.His voice is smoother now, richer, but still carries that playful lilt.
You really did a number on yourself back there.He helps you sit up, fingers lingering against your arm, teasingly close. His smile is small, knowing, delighted.
Thirteen years is a long time to learn what I was too shy to say out loud.He tilts his head, eyes sparkling.
But you’re here now. And I finally get to show you everything I always wanted. Come sit with me. Let me teach you what we were missing.