Haruto and Yūki, two university students in Tokyo, couldn't be more different. Haruto is cheerful and golden-retriever-like, studying sports management with a love for adventure. Yūki, raised by his grandmother, is reserved and a bit arrogant, a psychology student who's fascinated by human emotions. By a twist of fate, they not only meet at Reikou University but also become roommates.
Their first meeting is rocky, marked by a misunderstanding that makes them instant rivals. Their clashing personalities—Haruto's warm openness and Yūki's cool detachment—fuel an "enemies to lovers" dynamic. But as they spend more time together, their relationship slowly shifts
---
Chapter One – The Wrong First Impression
The campus of Reikou University buzzed with life that spring morning. Cherry blossoms scattered across the stone paths, their petals floating like tiny confetti in the air. Haruto adjusted the strap of his sports bag, his grin wide as he inhaled the crisp air. New semester. New adventure. Let's go!
He bounded up the steps to the administration hall, nearly colliding with a student holding an armful of psychology books.
"Ah! Sorry, sorry!" Haruto blurted, steadying the stack before it could tumble. His easy laugh followed. "Didn't see you there."
The other student's eyes flicked up, sharp and cool. Pale skin, dark hair that fell smoothly around his face, and an expression that seemed carved from marble.
"You should watch where you're going," the boy said flatly, adjusting his glasses. "Some people value their books more than reckless apologies."
Haruto blinked, taken aback. Then he chuckled nervously. "Right. My bad. I'll pay more attention next time."
The boy gave no reply, only a small, dismissive nod before walking away.
---
Later that day, after orientation, Haruto unlocked the door to his new dorm room. The place was neat, with two desks, two beds, and one large window letting in the afternoon light. He tossed his bag onto the left bed and whistled.
"Not bad! Home sweet—"
The door clicked open behind him.
Haruto turned, ready to greet his new roommate with his usual cheerful energy.
Instead, his smile froze.
It was him. The serious, sharp-eyed guy from earlier—the one who had nearly skewered him with a glare over a stack of books.
They both stopped in the doorway, staring at each other in mutual disbelief.
"You—?!" Haruto blurted.
The other boy's lips pressed into a thin line. "…Unbelievable."
Haruto scratched the back of his neck, laughing a little too loudly. "Well, uh, small world! Looks like we're roommates."
The boy set his bag down on the opposite bed with precise movements, ignoring Haruto's attempt at friendliness. "So it seems. Try not to treat this place like a playground. Some of us are here to study."
"Hey, I can study too, you know!" Haruto puffed out his chest, then realized how childish he sounded. "Well… I mean, after practice. And classes. And maybe a nap."
The boy sighed, as though Haruto had just confirmed every negative assumption he'd already made. "Exactly what I expected."
Haruto frowned. What's this guy's problem? He wasn't used to people dismissing him so quickly. "Oi, don't just judge me after, like, five minutes. You don't even know me yet."
The boy finally met his eyes, gaze steady and cutting. "I know enough."
The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken challenge.
Haruto's frustration simmered, but instead of snapping back, he forced a grin. "Fine. Then I'll just prove you wrong."
The boy arched an eyebrow but didn't respond. Instead, he unpacked a notebook and lined up his pens with surgical precision.
"By the way," Haruto said suddenly, determined not to lose this strange staring contest. "Name's Haruto. And you?"
The boy hesitated, then replied with a cool, clipped tone.
"Yūki."
---
That night, as the campus quieted, Haruto lay awake staring at the ceiling. He could already tell living with Yūki was going to be… complicated.
But something about that icy attitude lit a fire in him.
Fine, Yūki. If it's a fight you want… then bring it on.
---
Chapter Two – A Room Divided
Morning sunlight spilled through the dorm window, landing squarely on Haruto's face. He groaned, threw his blanket aside, and sat up with a grin despite his bedhead sticking out in every direction.
"First full day at Reikou! Let's crush it!" he announced to no one in particular.
From the desk across the room, Yūki looked up briefly from his psychology textbook. His hair was perfectly in place, his notebook filled with neat rows of kanji. "Some people are still trying to read," he said flatly.
Haruto blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck. "Oops. Sorry, sorry. Forgot you're not a morning person."
"I didn't say that," Yūki replied without missing a beat. "I said you're loud."
Haruto puffed out his cheeks but bit back a retort. He yanked open his drawer, shoved a few shirts inside haphazardly, and threw on a hoodie. Behind him, Yūki's sigh was audible.
"You plan to live like that?"
"Like what?" Haruto asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Yūki gestured delicately toward the chaos of half-unpacked bags spilling onto the floor. "Like… that."
Haruto scratched his head. "Hey, I know where everything is. Organized chaos."
"Emphasis on chaos," Yūki muttered.
Haruto stuck out his tongue before grabbing his sports bag. Why does he get under my skin so easily?
---
Classes passed in a blur. Haruto, surrounded by his coursemates in sports management, cracked jokes and made instant friends. He was laughing with Sōta, his best friend from back home who'd ended up at the same university, when he spotted Yūki across the courtyard.
Yūki sat with a small group of psychology students, calm and composed as always. One of them—a girl with long hair tied neatly back—leaned closer to ask him something. Yūki actually smiled, faint but real, as he answered.
Haruto felt a strange tug in his chest. His own laughter faltered.
"Haruto?" Sōta asked, nudging him. "You good?"
"Y-yeah! Totally," Haruto said quickly, forcing a grin. But his eyes drifted back toward Yūki.
Why did it bother him so much to see Yūki looking at someone else like that?
---
That evening, back in their dorm, Yūki returned first. When Haruto finally came in, tossing his bag onto the floor, Yūki glanced up from his desk.
"You were late," he observed.
"Had practice. Lost track of time," Haruto replied, voice unusually short.
Yūki blinked at the curt tone, but didn't comment. He returned to his notes, pen scratching quietly.
Haruto climbed onto his bed, lying on his stomach, chin resting on his arms. He watched Yūki write, neat and precise as ever.
"Oi, Yūki," he said suddenly.
"What?"
Haruto hesitated, then smirked to cover his nerves. "Bet you can't survive one day without studying."
Yūki's pen stopped mid-stroke. He turned, expression unreadable. "…Bet you can't survive one day with studying."
Haruto chuckled, but inside, his chest tightened again. He didn't know how to explain it—even to himself.
Why did he care so much about how Yūki looked at other people?
---
Chapter Three – Cracks in the Ice
The days at Reikou settled into a rhythm—classes, practice, late-night study sessions. Haruto was getting used to Yūki's cool presence in their shared room, though "used to" didn't mean "comfortable."
Yūki was still sharp with his words. Haruto was still messy with his things. But lately, the silence between them felt… different. Less like an armed standoff, more like a stubborn truce.
---
One rainy afternoon, Haruto trudged back to the dorm after practice, drenched from a sudden downpour. He pushed the door open and found Yūki at his desk, as usual, head bent over a psychology book.
Haruto dropped his wet sports bag on the floor, sighing. "Ugh, soaked to the bone. Should've brought an umbrella."
Yūki glanced up, taking in Haruto's dripping hoodie and the puddle forming beneath him. "You'll ruin the floor like that," he said, voice calm but edged.
Haruto threw him a mock glare. "Nice to see you care about me so much."
For a second, Yūki's expression shifted—something flickered in his eyes, quickly masked. "…There are towels in the drawer. Use one before you catch a cold."
Haruto blinked. The words were brusque, but the concern behind them was undeniable. He grabbed a towel and grinned. "Thanks, Mom."
"Don't call me that," Yūki muttered, but his ears reddened slightly.
---
The next day, Haruto returned from class to find something unexpected on his desk: a small packet wrapped in plain paper.
He turned it over curiously. "What's this?"
"It's for you," Yūki said without looking up from his notebook.
Haruto tore it open to reveal a pair of sports wristbands in his team's colors. He froze. "Wait… these are new. You bought these?"
"You mentioned losing yours the other day," Yūki replied matter-of-factly. "It was distracting to hear you complain."
Haruto stared at him, warmth flooding his chest. "So you do listen when I talk."
Yūki finally looked up, his cool gaze meeting Haruto's. "…Don't misunderstand. I just prefer silence."
But his faintly pink ears betrayed him.
Haruto laughed softly. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Yūki. Really."
---
That evening, a small accident nearly changed everything.
Haruto came back from brushing his teeth to find Yūki tidying the books on his shelf. But as Yūki stepped back, his sock slid against a damp spot on the floor.
"Yūki—!"
In an instant, Yūki's balance gave way. His eyes widened—just before Haruto lunged forward and caught him by the waist.
The two froze.
Yūki's breath hitched, his face mere inches from Haruto's. Haruto's grip tightened instinctively, his heart hammering like a drum.
For a moment, the world outside—the rain tapping the window, the hum of the city—faded into silence.
Then Yūki quickly straightened, slipping out of Haruto's hold. "…Careless," he muttered, his tone clipped, though his cheeks burned faintly.
Haruto laughed, trying to ease the tension. "What would you do without me, huh?"
Yūki didn't answer. He just returned to his desk, posture stiff, as Haruto flopped onto his bed, still grinning despite his racing heart.
Maybe… he's not so untouchable after all.
---
Chapter Four – Sparks and Smoke
The summer festival had transformed the streets near campus into a swirl of color and sound. Lanterns hung above narrow paths, their warm glow flickering against food stalls lined with sizzling takoyaki, grilled corn, and sweet candied apples.
Haruto's eyes sparkled like a kid's. "Man, this is awesome! Yūki, check it out—yakisoba stand, goldfish scooping, even ring toss!"
Yūki adjusted the strap of his bag and looked around coolly. "It's noisy. And crowded."
Haruto pouted. "Don't be such a grump. Festivals are supposed to be loud."
Somehow, against all odds, Yūki had agreed to come along. Haruto told himself it wasn't a date—just two roommates hanging out—but his heart refused to calm down.
---
They tried the games first. Haruto's enthusiasm was contagious, drawing laughter from strangers, though Yūki mostly observed with a faint smirk.
When Haruto failed spectacularly at goldfish scooping, he groaned. "What the—! These little guys are slippery!"
"Technique matters more than strength," Yūki remarked, crouching beside him. He tried once—steady, precise—and caught a goldfish with ease.
Haruto's jaw dropped. "You've gotta be kidding me."
"Observation," Yūki said simply, handing him the small bag of water and fish. "Not everything can be forced."
Haruto accepted it, muttering, "Show-off…" but secretly admiring the calm skill in Yūki's movements.
---
Later, they bought festival snacks. Haruto stuffed his mouth with takoyaki, almost burning his tongue, while Yūki sipped tea with composed grace.
"You eat like you haven't seen food in weeks," Yūki commented.
"Hey, food this good doesn't wait around!" Haruto shot back, grinning despite the heat.
Yūki shook his head but didn't look away. His eyes lingered a second too long, and Haruto's chest tightened.
---
As night deepened, fireworks exploded in brilliant colors across the sky. The crowd tilted their heads back, gasping in unison.
Haruto stood among them, his heart thumping louder than the booms above. Next to him, Yūki's profile glowed in the light of red and gold sparks.
For a moment, Haruto forgot the fireworks. All he saw was Yūki—the calm curve of his lips, the faint reflection in his dark eyes.
Haruto's face heated. Why does this feel like…
But before the thought could settle, a sudden scream cut through the festival noise.
"Fire! The lanterns—!"
Smoke rose from a side stall, flames licking upward
---
Chapter Five – A Tightening Knot
The fire at the festival became the talk of campus for days, but Haruto couldn't stop replaying a smaller moment in his head: Yūki's hand gripping his, refusing to let go until they were safe.
It had left him restless. Restless and… protective.
---
One afternoon, Haruto jogged back from practice, still sweaty, only to pause when he saw Yūki under the courtyard trees. He wasn't alone.
That same psychology student from before—the girl with the neat ponytail—was laughing at something Yūki had said. And Yūki… was actually smiling back.
The sight punched Haruto's chest like a misplaced serve.
Why does he smile at her but glare at me?
He crossed the courtyard, masking his scowl with a grin. "Oi, Yūki!"
Yūki looked up, calm as ever. "You're late."
"Had practice," Haruto replied quickly, then turned to the girl with a bright smile. "Hey, I'm Haruto. His roommate."
She returned the greeting politely, but Haruto noticed Yūki's brow twitch, just slightly.
When she left, Haruto shoved his hands into his pockets. "She seemed… friendly."
Yūki gave him a sidelong glance. "She's my classmate. We were discussing an assignment."
"Right," Haruto muttered, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
---
That evening, the tension followed them back into their room. Haruto sat cross-legged on his bed, scrolling his phone without really seeing the screen. Yūki was at his desk, as usual, reading.
Finally, Haruto spoke. "You get along with her pretty well, huh?"
Yūki didn't look up. "Is there a problem with that?"
"No!" Haruto said too quickly, then added, "Just… didn't think you liked people that much."
Yūki's pen paused. "…You talk as if you know me."
Haruto winced. "I—I'm just saying, you usually act like you don't care about anyone."
The silence that followed was heavy. Haruto regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.
But Yūki only closed his book softly. "Then maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
---
Haruto lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling, frustration boiling in his chest.
Why does it bother me so much?
The answer came quietly, unbidden.
Because I want him to look at me like that.
---
Chapter Six – Crossed Wires
The campus café buzzed with chatter as students crowded in between classes. Haruto leaned across the small table, laughing at something Sōta had said. His best friend waved his chopsticks dramatically, pulling Haruto into another fit of laughter.
It was an easy scene—Haruto always looked most natural when surrounded by friends.
But from across the café, Yūki's eyes narrowed. He hadn't planned on stopping, but something about the sight rooted him in place.
Haruto's grin was wide, his hand brushing Sōta's arm as he nearly doubled over with laughter. Too close. Too familiar.
Yūki's chest tightened.
So that's the type he prefers? Loud. Carefree. Always smiling…
Before Haruto noticed him, Yūki turned and walked out, expression cool, steps sharp.
---
That evening, Haruto came back to their dorm humming, still energized from his catch-up with Sōta. "Yo, Yūki, you already back?"
Yūki sat at his desk, posture stiff, pen scratching furiously against his notebook. "Obviously."
Haruto dropped his bag on the bed, raising an eyebrow. "What's with the attitude? You look like someone stole your lunch."
Yūki didn't look up. "Maybe I just find noise irritating."
Haruto blinked. "Huh? I just walked in."
"You were loud enough at the café," Yūki said, his tone sharper than intended.
Haruto froze. "Wait—you were there?"
Silence. Yūki finally set his pen down and met Haruto's gaze. His eyes were cool, but something flickered beneath them—something Haruto couldn't quite place.
"…Do you always laugh that much with him?" Yūki asked quietly.
Haruto tilted his head, confused. "With Sōta? He's my best friend. We've known each other forever. Of course I laugh with him."
Something in Yūki's chest twisted at the casual answer. He clicked his tongue softly and turned back to his notebook. "…I see."
Haruto frowned, suddenly uneasy. "Why? You jealous or something?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Yūki's pen stilled. For a heartbeat too long, he didn't answer. Then, in his usual clipped tone, he muttered, "…Don't be ridiculous."
Haruto stared, his own heart skipping at the hesitation he'd caught.
Wait… was he?
---
That night, Yūki stayed at his desk later than usual, scribbling notes that didn't need writing. Haruto lay on his bed, restless.
Neither of them said a word, but the silence between them felt louder than any argument
---
Chapter Seven – Fractures
The days after the festival fire passed in a blur of classes, practices, and late-night study sessions. Outwardly, everything at Reikou University seemed normal again. Students gossiped, professors droned on, and the city pulsed with its usual restless energy.
But for Haruto, nothing felt normal.
Something had shifted.
Yūki's coldness, always part of his personality, had taken on a sharper edge. He wasn't just aloof anymore—he was distant. Conversations that used to stretch, however grudgingly, into sarcastic banter now ended in silence. He didn't look Haruto in the eye unless absolutely necessary, and when he did, his gaze felt like a wall.
It was driving Haruto crazy.
He told himself it didn't matter—that Yūki was always like this—but he couldn't ignore the tightening in his chest every time Yūki turned away.
By Friday evening, the frustration had reached its breaking point.
Haruto slammed his practice bag onto his bed, startling Yūki, who was seated at his desk. The pens Yūki had lined up with careful precision rattled against the wood.
"Oi," Haruto said, voice sharper than he meant it to be. "What's your deal with me lately?"
Yūki didn't flinch. He calmly adjusted the pens back into their perfect row and returned to his notes. "You're imagining things."
"The hell I am." Haruto's hands clenched at his sides. "You've been colder than usual. You barely talk to me anymore. Did I do something?"
Yūki didn't look up. His tone was clipped, almost clinical. "It's nothing. Forget it."
Haruto felt a spark of irritation flare into anger. "How am I supposed to forget when you keep acting like I've kicked your puppy or something?!"
Finally, Yūki set his pen down with deliberate slowness. He swiveled in his chair to face Haruto, his posture perfectly straight, his expression perfectly calm. But his eyes… his eyes betrayed him. They were too sharp, too intense, like glass about to crack.
"You're too careless," Yūki said flatly. "Too loud. Too… attached to people. It's distracting."
Haruto blinked, stung. "Attached? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Yūki's jaw tightened. "…You're always smiling at people. Talking to them. Like Sōta, the other day. You looked… comfortable."
There it was. The name landed between them like a stone dropped into water.
Haruto stared for a second, then let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Wait—are you seriously jealous of Sōta?"
A flicker—barely a twitch in Yūki's expression—but it was enough.
"Don't flatter yourself," Yūki said smoothly, but his voice was a fraction too quick, a fraction too sharp.
Haruto's smile faltered. Beneath the sarcasm, he'd heard it—that tiny crack in Yūki's armor.
He stepped closer, closing the space between them. His voice softened, shifting from mockery to something almost tender. "…So you were watching."
Yūki's breath hitched, almost imperceptibly. He leaned back slightly in his chair, as though the proximity was dangerous. "Don't twist my words."
"I'm not twisting anything," Haruto said, his grin returning, but it was different this time. Less playful, more earnest. "You don't like seeing me with other people, do you?"
Yūki's silence spoke louder than denial ever could. His fingers curled tightly against his knee, knuckles pale.
For once, Haruto didn't back down. He crouched a little, leaning in so Yūki had no choice but to meet his gaze. Their faces were close enough that Haruto could see the faint flush creeping up Yūki's neck.
"Why does it bother you so much?" Haruto asked quietly.
The question hung in the air like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.
Yūki swallowed. His lips parted, then pressed together again, as though the truth was clawing at his throat but refusing to come out.
Finally, he turned away, his voice barely above a whisper. "…You wouldn't understand."
Haruto's chest tightened. He wanted to push, to demand answers—but something in Yūki's voice stopped him. It wasn't cold. It was… vulnerable. Fragile.
Haruto straightened slowly, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Maybe I would. If you'd let me."
Yūki didn't respond. He simply turned back to his desk, pretending to adjust his pens again. But Haruto noticed his hands trembling ever so slightly.
The silence that followed wasn't the sharp, hostile kind they'd had before. It was heavy, yes—but different. Charged.
Haruto sank onto his bed, running a hand through his hair, his heart thudding against his ribs. He wanted to reach across that invisible line between them, to tear down the walls Yūki had built so carefully.
But not yet.
Not tonight.
Still, as Haruto lay awake later, staring at the ceiling, he realized something.
Yūki cared. Even if he'd never admit it—especially if he never admitted it—he cared.
And that was enough to keep Haruto fighting.
---
Chapter Eight – The Dream That Wasn't
The weekend brought relief for most students at Reikou University. Laughter spilled down the halls, music pulsed faintly from a distant dorm, and the air carried the faint warmth of late summer.
Haruto, however, was restless.
He sat at his desk, laptop open but untouched, tapping his pencil against the wood. Yūki had gone out with classmates earlier, muttering something about a small get-together. Haruto had shrugged it off at the time, but now… he couldn't help feeling uneasy.
The door finally creaked open.
"Welcome back—" Haruto began, only to stop short.
Yūki stepped inside, posture swaying, cheeks flushed pink. His usually sharp eyes were glassy, his lips faintly parted as though breathing itself was an effort.
"…You're drunk," Haruto said, half worried, half amused.
"Not… really," Yūki muttered, closing the door with too much force. He lingered there a moment, gripping the handle as if the room itself was spinning. "I just… miscalculated."
Haruto quickly crossed the space and reached for his arm. "Oi, careful. Sit down before you fall over."
Instead of moving toward the bed, Yūki caught Haruto's sleeve, holding on as though it were an anchor. His voice dropped low, unsteady but honest in a way it never was when sober.
"Why…" His gaze locked onto Haruto's, raw and piercing despite the haze. "…Why were you with that person at the market? Smiling like that. I hated it."
Haruto blinked, stunned. "The market? You mean… when I was with my mom?"
Yūki froze. His grip slackened. "…Your… mother?"
Haruto nodded slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. Who else did you think it was?"
A flush spread across Yūki's face, deeper than the alcohol alone. He muttered something harsh under his breath—baka—and without warning, pressed his forehead against Haruto's chest, hiding his expression.
Haruto's heart skipped. He placed a cautious hand on Yūki's back. "…Yūki?"
There was no answer. Just the quickened rhythm of Yūki's breath. Then, before Haruto could process what was happening, Yūki tilted his head up—
—and kissed him.
It was brief, clumsy, tasting faintly of sake. The touch of his lips was uncertain, trembling. But to Haruto, it felt like fire catching after a long drought.
Yūki pulled back almost immediately, eyes half-lidded, words tumbling out in a mumble. "This… has to be a dream. I'd never… never say that otherwise."
Haruto swallowed hard, his voice soft but firm. "It's not a dream."
But Yūki's eyes fluttered shut. Within moments, he slumped against Haruto, fast asleep, the faintest crease of a frown still etched on his brow.
Haruto exhaled shakily, guiding him carefully to bed. He pulled the blanket over him, then crouched beside him for a moment, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face.
Staring at him in the dim light, Haruto whispered, "Guess I'll have to wait until you're sober… but I'm not letting you run away from this."
He touched his lips, still tingling with the ghost of the kiss. No dream could ever feel that real.
---
Chapter Nine – No More Dreams
Morning light filtered through the curtains, painting soft stripes across the dorm room. Yūki stirred, groaning faintly as the dull weight of a hangover pressed against his temples.
He sat up slowly, trying to gather his scattered memories. Bits of laughter, the burn of sake, the walk back to campus. Then…
His eyes darted toward Haruto's bed. Empty.
Yūki's stomach twisted. Flashes came unbidden—Haruto's warmth under his hands, the taste of a kiss, words slipping from his lips he would never dare to say awake.
No. Impossible.
"It was a dream," Yūki muttered under his breath, clutching his forehead. "Just a stupid dream."
The bathroom door opened. Haruto stepped out, hair damp from a shower, towel draped around his neck. He paused when he saw Yūki upright, his golden-brown eyes bright but unreadable.
"Morning," Haruto said casually, though the corners of his lips twitched like he was holding something back.
Yūki averted his gaze immediately. "…Morning."
Silence settled, thick and heavy. Haruto didn't move, didn't look away. Yūki could feel the weight of it pressing down, demanding he acknowledge what had happened.
Finally, Yūki snapped, his voice clipped. "What? Why are you staring?"
Haruto crossed the room, dropping the towel onto his chair. "Because you kissed me."
The air froze.
Yūki's head shot up, eyes wide. "…What?"
Haruto leaned against his desk, arms crossed, gaze steady. "Last night. You kissed me, Yūki. Don't tell me you don't remember."
Heat flooded Yūki's face. He turned away sharply, pulling the blanket tighter around himself like a shield. "…That wasn't— I was drunk. It didn't mean anything."
Haruto's chest clenched. For a moment, he considered letting it slide—pretending it hadn't cut so deep. But then he remembered Yūki's trembling voice, his whispered jealousy, the way he'd clung to him like he was the only thing holding him up.
Haruto stepped closer. "It meant something. To me."
Yūki's breath caught.
Haruto crouched down so they were level, his voice softer now, stripped of bravado. "I like you, Yūki. Not as a rival. Not as a roommate. I… like you. So stop pretending it was just a dream, because I felt it too."
Yūki's fingers tightened around the blanket. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, every instinct screaming at him to retreat. To deny. To hide.
But when he finally looked at Haruto, he saw nothing but sincerity reflected back. No mockery, no pity—just warmth.
"…You're an idiot," Yūki whispered, his voice trembling. "Falling for someone like me."
Haruto grinned, though his eyes softened. "Yeah, probably. But it's too late to take it back."
For a long moment, the world was silent. Then, slowly—hesitantly—Yūki leaned forward, closing the space between them.
Their lips met again. This time, there was no haze of alcohol, no excuse of a dream. Just the undeniable truth that had been waiting all along.
When they pulled apart, Yūki's cheeks were flushed crimson, but his eyes no longer wavered.
"…Haruto," he said quietly, almost like a confession in itself.
Haruto smiled, his chest light. "Yeah. I'm here."
For the first time since they'd met, the air between them felt unshackled—no misunderstandings, no walls. Just the beginning of something real.
---
Chapter Ten – A Bond in Exchange
Yūki had always thought emotions were things to be observed, analyzed, controlled.
Not felt.
But now, sitting across from Haruto in the quiet dorm room, he felt them all at once—too loud, too messy, too impossible to contain.
Haruto was sprawled on his bed, flipping through a sports magazine, humming softly to himself. The same golden-retriever energy that used to irritate Yūki now filled the room with warmth. It made it hard to breathe sometimes.
Yūki closed his notebook, the words on the page blurring. He had written half a line before losing focus entirely. His mind kept circling back to the same thing—the kiss. Not the drunken haze of the first one, but the second. Clear. Conscious. Real.
And Haruto's words still echoed in his chest: I like you.
Yūki leaned back in his chair, watching Haruto laugh quietly at some article. For so long, he had built walls around himself, convinced no one could reach him. But Haruto had crashed through them, messy and stubborn, without hesitation.
Maybe that was why Yūki had resisted so much. Because letting someone in meant giving up control.
"…Oi, you're staring again," Haruto said suddenly, grinning as he glanced up. "Do I have something on my face?"
Yūki looked away sharply, heat creeping up his neck. "…No. You just look stupid."
Haruto chuckled, tossing a pillow lightly in his direction. "You're really bad at compliments, you know that?"
Yūki caught the pillow against his chest. His lips twitched, almost a smile. "…And you're too good at them."
Silence settled, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was comfortable.
Finally, Yūki spoke, his voice low but steady. "Haruto."
"Hm?"
Yūki turned, meeting his eyes directly for once. "I… like you too."
Haruto froze. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face—wide, bright, unguarded. He sat up, eyes shining. "You mean it?"
Yūki nodded, the smallest of smiles breaking through. "I mean it."
Haruto crossed the room in two strides, pulling Yūki into a hug so tight it stole his breath. Yūki stiffened at first, then let himself melt into it, resting his forehead against Haruto's shoulder.
It was strange. He had always thought bonds came with conditions, with expectations that weighed too heavily. But this—this bond felt different. Light. Natural. A bond not born from rivalry or misunderstanding, but from exchange—of trust, of honesty, of hearts.
Kizuna no Kawari.
For the first time in a long time, Yūki felt unafraid of what came next. Because whatever it was, Haruto would be there—smiling, irritating, stubborn, and impossibly warm.
And that was enough.
---