Kidou's hands slowed and the stack of papers gradually slipped from his grasp, sliding onto the wooden table, unsorted.

The sound of shuffling paperwork made his eyes wander across the room to where Fudou stood.

Just how long has he kept it to himself? The days have already aged into months, then into years, and then into the pooling dread that he would have to live his entire life in regret— all because of three unspoken words.

His fingers worked their way into a tangle, tightening into a ball that very much resembled the one that was lodged in his throat. He felt suffocated, even though the windows were wide open and the sheer silk curtains billowed in the breeze.

The other boy remained unbothered, his head tilted down whilst wearing the softest expression Kidou had ever seen. There was a sort of translucent gleam draped over his skin as it reflected the orange glow from the dying afternoon light. Kidou tried to steady his breathing as his eyes travelled, exploring further— the thick fan of lashes shadowing his cheek, the curve of his collarbone, the jutting of knuckles as his fingers worked—

"Hey, dumbass."

Kidou jolted, and his eyes shot back up.

"You're slacking," Fudou said teasingly, his playful eyes curled into crescents and the edge of his lips tugging up into the same-old smug grin that he always wore.

The air around him was curiously placid despite the flash of sharp teeth, and Kidou felt fireworks going off in his heart. He wondered what exactly he had fallen in love with.

Well, for starters, Kidou loved the way Fudou slouched in his seat; Lazily, almost like a rock star. His arms would hang loosely by his sides and his head would tilt up in that unbearably arrogant way that made Kidou want to march over, yank his collar and pull him into a kiss.

Then it was the way his eyes spoke. A surfeit of mute emotions. Shaking pupils, with the green so intoxicating they could leave stains.

His eyes could kill souls, Kidou thought.

Perhaps the most unexpected of all would be his words. Razor-sharp and laced with thorns. But carefully picked. Every sentence was concise, knowledgeable and thought-provoking. When he was being an ass, however, that was a whole different story.

Kidou decided that he loved all these things. He loved all of Fudou's strengths, weaknesses and his faults. That was love, wasn't it? Appreciation. Acceptance of imperfection. Patience.

The hammering of his pulse resonated through his eardrums, the rush of blood almost deafening, and it felt like time had slowed.

Fudou's image blurred, the colours blending together, melting, yet he couldn't bring himself to wipe it away. His goggles were his last line of defence, seeing that the armour around his heart had crumbled to dust. Was the hurt really supposed to be this tangible?

A part of him dreaded this. This dizzy, borderline nauseating feeling of heat and longing and love. Dreaded it not for its joys, but for the inevitable, gripping fear that came with it. The fear of rejection, judgement, and pain.

Oh, but the excitement of uncertainty was so tempting! What if. What if Fudou said yes? What if their friends were supportive? What if his father could understand?

What if they grew old together?

Colour rushed to his ears and the words bubbling in the pits of his stomach were ready to erupt. His lips split open with a gasp of hope but quickly, he stammered to a stop.

He knew once it tumbled out of his mouth, there would be no going back.

And there was no way he could say it.

"Kidou."

His lips trembled as he took in Fudou's penetrating stare; his inquisitive, dark eyes turning into oceans that swallowed him with the guilt of what could have been.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "Fudou, I'm sorry."

It was best to keep it to himself.

He already knew it wouldn't last.

His hands moved again, and Fudou dropped his gaze.