Chapter Text
You ever look in the mirror and feel like you’re staring at... a placeholder?
That’s what I’ve always felt like. A placeholder. A seat-filler in someone else’s story. I’m the guy people walk past in the hallway and forget two seconds later. I’m the name teachers forget to call, the one whose jokes trail off into silence, who only speaks when necessary and even then, hesitantly.
It’s not that I hate people. I just… don’t see why they’d ever want to get close to me.
I was born average. Not just in grades or looks -though yes, painfully that too- but in presence. It’s like I exist on a lower frequency. People don’t tune into me. They don’t have to. And I convinced myself that was fine. I got used to it.
I didn’t want to chase attention. I wasn’t craving affection. Relationships, especially in high school, seemed ridiculous to me temporary flares in a sky that eventually darkens again. Fireworks with expiration dates.
People fall in love during school like it's some kind of rite of passage. They cling to one another for a semester or two, break up before winter or right before graduation. Tears, drama, forgotten promises. I watched it all like a play I was too disinterested to audition for.
And I thought I was right. I told myself I was better off avoiding that mess.
Better off alone.
I even found a kind of peace in that. I had my little joys tasting tap water and judging it like some kind of hidden connoisseur, reading manga when the classroom grew too loud, finishing homework in silence, unnoticed. Quiet was my rhythm. I believed happiness came after high school, when things “finally start.” Love? That could wait. That could come when I’m no longer some awkward, forgettable teen.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Then she happened.
Chika Komari.
A name that should’ve been as fleeting as any other girl’s. A voice I expected to pass like wind in the trees brief, light, forgettable.
But it didn’t. She didn’t.
The first common thing we genuinely shared and not because we are member of literature club is tasting tap water. Just water. We were talking about how the school’s fountain had this weird metallic aftertaste and chlorine. I didn’t think anyone else noticed that kind of thing, let alone cared. But she did.
I thought she was joking. She wasn’t.
That was the first crack in the wall I’d built.
And then, little by little, more cracks formed. Small talks became longer conversations. Sarcastic comments turned into shared laughs. We’d compare notes not about classes, but about the types of novels we read and write. The patterns on which character should be a top or bottom regardless of gender. The way silence felt different depending on the time of day.
It was strange.
Strange... how something so simple could feel so warm. So real.
She didn’t try to fix me. Didn’t call me out for being reserved. She just listened. Laughed when it felt right. Waited when I needed pauses. And somehow, she made me feel like I wasn’t fading into the background anymore.
I started to think that maybe this isn’t just temporary.
That terrified me.
Because if it wasn’t temporary, then it mattered. And if it mattered, then I had something to lose.
I wanted to retreat. To pull back and remind myself.
“High school relationships never last.”
That was the rule, right?
But with every moment I spent with her, I realized something I hadn’t dared to believe before:
It doesn’t have to be temporary unless you want it to be.
Maybe the reason most people fall apart after high school isn’t because love can’t survive… but because they never really wanted it to last in the first place. They wanted the excitement, not the depth. They liked the spark, not the fire that stays lit through the dark.
Chika… she wasn’t just a spark. She was warmth. Consistent. Gentle.
She made me believe in the kind of connection I thought only existed in fiction.
I remember one afternoon when we became third years, we were sitting by the riverbank. The wind was just cold enough to make her shiver. She tried to hide it, but I saw it. I didn’t say anything. Just took off my hoodie and gave it to her.
She didn’t say thanks. She just smiled in that quiet way of hers like she was telling me this moment matters, she was overjoyed that she complimented me as not being insensitive like when we were first years.
That day, I realized that it’s not about how long something lasts. It’s about how deep it goes. Some connections echo forever, even if they started in the most fleeting places.
I used to think I’d be fine alone until I reached happiness.
But now… I know happiness isn’t a finish line. It’s not some goal you earn after you graduate or get a job or become someone “worth loving.”
Happiness is a person looking at you like you matter.
Happiness is someone noticing the way you always leave one earbud in, and asking why.
Happiness is sipping bad water together and pretending it's wine.
Happiness is her.
I didn’t know what the future holds. I don’t pretend I suddenly have everything figured out just because one girl changed my life.
But I do know this:
I’m not just a placeholder anymore. I’m not a background character.
Because she saw me. And now… I see me too.
And if this connection we share born from silence, jokes, and tap water can survive beyond high school... then maybe love isn't as fragile as I thought.
Maybe it can last.
Maybe it already has.
Maybe that text that night was the catalyst.
Maybe, it was the truth. No, it is the truth.
That's where forever started.
I closed the notebook and let the pen rest beside it after I added the last three lines. Ten years. That’s how long it's been since we started walking the same path. And not a single day have I looked back with regret.
She taught me how to love slowly. Deeply. To feel things I had once convinced myself were unreachable. She laughed with me. Cried with me. Stood beside me through all the quiet and chaotic chapters.
I used to think relationships in high school were meant to fade. That they were just short stories, not novels. Most of them ended before the seasons could even change. I believed ours would too.
But she stayed. And so did I.
We proved to ourselves that it didn’t have to be fleeting. That something could last if we wanted it to. And we did.
I remember Tanaka-sensei. His eyebrows furrowed in disappointment, the way he looked at me like I had broken something precious. He thought I had cheated on Riko. We told him the truth. Riko had let me go first. Or more accurately, she never held on. We weren’t even officially a couple. Just a blur of maybes and not quites.
When he heard me out, his expression softened. He placed a hand on my shoulder and said nothing else. That silence was more comforting than any apology could be.
Of course, when Riko found out about me and Chika, she acted like we had committed a crime. Not because she was angry, but because she saw the perfect opportunity.
Every single day, she teased us.
She called Chika a homewrecker. Told me she was still waiting for us to break up. Said she would swoop in the second I was single again. It never felt cruel. It was just her way. Mischievous, loud, but never mean. Sometimes I wondered if she truly meant it. But when I caught her smiling behind Chika’s back, or telling her how lucky she was when she thought I wasn’t listening, I knew better.
She was happy for us. That was just her way of showing it.
So much had changed.
Now I run a little restaurant that opens before the sun. Chika’s siblings, Susumu and Hina, help during the busy hours. They're loud, but reliable. Their bickering fills the empty spaces when customers are scarce. They complain about the work, but they keep showing up.
Kaju still stayed the same. She still calls me Onii-sama but the biggest change is that she now has a business. She said.
'If Onii-sama has a restaurant then I'll create a store where you can get all fresh ingredients! Its like cooking together as if we're married coup-'
I want her to find love now.
Chika writes full-time now. Her books are on shelves I never thought we’d see her name on. She gets letters from readers, interviews from magazines, invitations to speak at events. I still remember how she used to fall asleep during Literature Club meetings because she is always exhausted. She makes it the Literature Club. I remind her of it every chance I get. She just glares and says I should be honored she chose to marry me despite remembering all that.
I slid the notebook into the drawer and sat back in my chair. The morning light spilled through the windows, casting soft gold across the study table.
Then I heard a quiet creak from the bed.
"Kaz?"
Her voice was small. Still half-asleep.
"You’re up," I said, turning my head.
She sat up, red hair messy and eyes half-lidded. She looked beautiful in the way only Chika could. Real and unfiltered, still wrapped in sleep and morning light.
"What are you writing this early?"
"I had this urge to reflect about me and about us, how you changed my world."
She walked over, rubbing her eyes, and sat beside me. Her sweater sleeves covered her hands.
Then she gave my shoulder a little hit.
"You romantic idiot."
"I said something sweet. Why am I getting punished?"
She yawned. "Because I know you. You probably also wrote something embarrassing in that notebook."
"I’ll let you read it in a hundred years."
"Maybe I’ll wait till Riko steals you. Then I'll publish it and title it To You Before Me."
I chuckled. "She still says she’s waiting for us to break up."
"She texted me last week. Told me she was one breakup away from claiming what's rightfully hers."
"She’s never going to stop, is she?"
"She’ll be teasing us at our funeral."
We laughed softly. The kind of laugh that comes easy after a decade of knowing each other. I reached for the kettle and poured us both some warm tea.
"You’ve got that look again," she said quietly.
"What look?"
"The one where you start thinking about everyone else."
I smiled. She knew me too well.
I thought of Anna Yanami, my first friend. She is still wandering the world tasting every cuisine and vlogging, sending postcards from places I couldn’t even pronounce. Still single, still searching, and still claiming every man she met was probably the one.
Lemon Yakishio is living in America now, a pro athlete. Her games streamed at the restaurant every time I could catch them. Customers cheered when she wins. In the track, no one is faster than her in women's division.
Riko Shiratama had become a fashion designer. Her pieces were loud, bold, unapologetically her. She still flirted with Tanaka-sensei every chance she got. And every time she teased me, she made sure Chika was in earshot.
Tsukinoki-senpai writes boys’ love novels and her fans love her for it. She insisted on using me as a character template at least once. Tamaki-senpai, her editor, swore she had no control over her anymore.
Shikiya-senpai was a streamer. She played games most people couldn’t even clear on easy mode and somehow, she was still the most gentle person I knew.
Then there was the President Hokobaru. Still cool. She is accompanying Sakurai-kun and Basori-san, the three of them were traveling the world before Sakurai’s overseas job started. Basori, of all people, had become a lawyer. No one saw that coming. Just like no one had expected her to fall for me for a time. That story ended quietly. Just like it should have.
The Ayano couple has six kids now, triplets, twins and the youngest. They are on vacation this summer, I just don't know where.
The Hakamadas who I thought would have a volleyball team of babies subverted my expectations and settled on two. At first I couldn't believe it but I accepted the reality. Just like the reality of how weird they looked while sharing ice cream that one time.
Still gives me chills.
Chika was watching me again with that small smile.
"You really love them," she said.
"I do. But you’re still my favorite."
She raised an eyebrow. "Even over Riko, your real soulmate?"
"Don’t tempt fate," I muttered. "She’ll probably show up at our door if you say that too loud."
We both laughed again, soft and slow.
I stood up and walked toward the door.
"Breakfast?"
"Surprise me."
She rested her head on her arms and watched me move. Outside, the city hadn’t fully woken up yet. Inside, the only sound was the sizzle of oil and the warmth of the morning settling between us.
We didn’t have kids yet. Maybe someday. Right now, it was just the two of us. Her writing, my cooking, a home built from shared memories and quiet mornings like this.
Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I realized this was what forever felt like.
I woke up to the scent of ink and old paper.
It wasn’t strong, just faint enough to pull me from sleep. That, and the sound of something being gently closed. A drawer maybe. No clattering pans. No door slamming. Just silence and the smell of comfort.
He was up again, writing.
I sat up slowly and rubbed my eyes, the morning sun warm against my skin. The blanket slipped from my shoulders. My hair was probably a mess, but I didn’t care. He’d seen worse. And I had a suspicion he’d written something embarrassing again.
"...Kaz?"
He turned toward me. That quiet smile he always gave me in the morning the kind that made my chest ache in the most familiar way was already waiting.
"You’re up," he said.
His notebook was already tucked away in the drawer. Which meant I was too late to steal a peek. He was annoyingly good at hiding things I was curious about. But I knew him. That book was probably full of gentle thoughts and awkward poetry he’d never let anyone see or maybe about us or him.
"What are you writing this early?"
"I had this urge to reflect about me and about us, how you changed my world."
I sat beside him, still sleepy, sleeves pulled down over my hands. I yawned and gave him a soft punch on the shoulder.
"You romantic idiot."
He feigned offense.
"I said something sweet. Why am I getting punished?"
"Because I know you. You probably also wrote something embarassing in that notebook."
He chuckled and leaned back a little. "I’ll let you read it in a hundred years."
"Maybe I’ll wait till Riko steals you. Then I’ll publish it and title it To You Before Me."
He laughed again, that warm, low laugh that filled up the whole room.
"She still says she’s waiting for us to break up," he said.
"She texted me last week. Told me she was one breakup away from claiming what's rightfully hers."
I rolled my eyes and grinned.
"She’s never going to stop, is she?"
"She’ll be teasing us at our funeral."
We both laughed. Honestly, I didn’t mind. Riko had a strange way of loving people. Her teasing was just her being herself. Behind all those over-the-top lines and fake declarations of love, there was something genuine. And I knew she’d never actually try to come between us. She’d rather die than admit how happy she was for us.
Kaz got up to pour tea. I watched his hands. The same ones that cooked for dozens of people every day. The same ones that held me in place when I was about to run away because I was afraid to confess, the ones that embraced me, the one that reached out to me even though I threw a water battle at him all those years ago. Steady now. Strong. Familiar.
"You’ve got that look again," I said.
"What look?"
"The one where you start thinking about everyone else."
He smiled. I was right, of course.
He was probably remembering his friends again. He always did that on mornings like this.
I didn’t interrupt him. I just watched, quietly, as he let the memories pass through him. He looked older than when we first met, but not in a bad way. He looked full. Like someone who had lived, stumbled, healed, and found something worth staying for.
I thought of everyone too.
Anna, who sent me a postcard last month with a picture of a beach I couldn’t pronounce. She scribbled on the back, “Found a cute guy with zero emotional baggage. It’s suspicious.” She is still chasing love like it was a story worth retelling.
Yakishio, who messaged me last week after a game. "How’s Nukkun? Still not using gloves in the kitchen? Idiot."
Riko, of course. Her outfits were always too bold for this town, and her comments always one sentence too far. But she never missed a birthday. Never forgot an anniversary. She’d once sent me a bouquet labeled, “In memory of the version of you who always tells Prez to die.”
Tsukinoki-senpai sent me a copy of her new BL book with a post-it that said, "Guess who’s the uke this time?" Tamaki-senpai texted me the same day. "I told her not to base that character on your husband. She didn’t listen."
Shikiya-senpai streamed a horror game last week. I couldn’t sleep after watching. Neither could Kaz, not that he admitted it.
Hokobaru-san and Sakurai-san were still abroad with Basori-san. She sent legal jokes now. And selfies of the three of them sightseeing. I remember when she had feelings for Kaz. She was rejected and let it go like it was a passing storm. Quiet and mature. I respected that. I respected her.
"You really love them," I said.
"I do. But you’re still my favorite."
I raised an eyebrow. "Even over Riko, your real soulmate?"
He groaned. "Don’t tempt fate. She’ll probably show up at our door if you say that too loud."
We laughed again.
He stood up and walked to the door.
"Breakfast?" he asked.
"Surprise me."
I rested my chin on my arms and watched him.
The city was still slow outside. The sun spilled softly across the wooden floor. The smell of cooking oil started to mix with the quiet air between us.
No children yet. We weren’t rushing. We had the restaurant, his hands, my words, and mornings like this. We were building something piece by piece, quietly, without anyone’s permission.
We didn't know how love felt before meeting each other, I thought It was the same with Tamaki-senpai.
But now?
Now it felt like sunlight warming the kitchen while someone you love cooked eggs in his old pajamas.
Maybe that’s what forever was meant to feel like.
I couldn't help but think about what happened to me and how it happened.
A silence that might crush me.
That was what my first four months of high school felt like.
Before everything changed.
I still remember the day I first walked into the Literature Club room. I was so quiet, even the floorboards didn’t creak beneath me. I kept my eyes low, clutching my bag tighter than necessary. But in that mismatched little room, filled with dusty books and chairs that never seemed to belong together, I found something close to belonging.
Tamaki-senpai and Tsukinoki-senpai spoke with a softness I wasn’t used to. They shared poems without fear of being laughed at. I could sit quietly in the corner and still feel seen. For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I had to shrink just to exist.
I fell in love with the club before I ever fell in love with anyone else.
But of course, I did fall.
For Tamaki-senpai.
He was kind, but not in a condescending way. He asked questions without expecting perfect answers. He smiled like I mattered. And being the quiet, awkward, hopeful first-year that I was, I mistook that kindness for something more.
It was a slow kind of falling.
The kind you know will probably hurt, but you lean into anyway. I scribbled poems in the margins of my notebook, always careful to keep them hidden.
But Tamaki-senpai loved Tsukinoki-senpai.
I knew. We all kind of knew.
And still, it hurt.
Right before summer break, I was asked to retrieve the Literature Club’s ghost member, Nukumizu Kazuhiko. I barely knew his face then. I’d been told he never came to meetings, like it was some running joke. But when I stood outside his classroom and asked him to come to the club room, he actually did.
That was the first time we spoke. Barely. I had to type in my phone to give the message across.
He didn’t say much. I thought he was the type to disappear. Quiet, uninterested, detached.
I was wrong.
We crossed paths again at a bookstore. I was flipping through manga I wasn’t planning to buy. He noticed. I called him by name without honorifics, not to be rude, just out of habit. He gave me a look and called me “Komari” like we were suddenly on the same level.
I remember thinking he was childish or something.
It should’ve annoyed me.
But it didn’t.
Maybe because it was the first time someone treated me like a person, not a fragile little girl. Like I was his equal.
Then came the training camp. The beach. The weekend that changed everything.
I was clumsy and the result was for Tamaki-senpai to get hurt. Tamaki-senpai stepped in to shield me. Kaz noticed it first. He was about to move but didn’t act fast enough.
It was stupid. It only took for him to act as a protector and I let it all out.. maybe I was guilty or maybe I am really stupid.
So stupid that I ended up confessing. Out loud. In front of everyone.
I told Tamaki-senpai that I liked him. He only told me that he will think about it.
Then he searched for me that night. Rejected me kindly. Gently.
But even soft rejections leave bruises.
Later, Kaz showed up. Concerned. And even though we barely knew each other then, I could tell he cared.
Still, I asked him to leave.
Because I was about to cry.
The return to school felt heavier after that. I was lonely.
But Tsukinoki-senpai surprised me.
She didn’t gloat. She didn’t avoid me. I started talking to her again, hesitantly and awkwardly, because she was still one of the few people I truly valued. And I realized, slowly, that she had always been more than the girl Tamaki-senpai liked. She was kind and honest.
Still, the Literature Club started to feel like it was balancing on a thread. I looked at the bright-eyed new first-years and couldn’t stop thinking about how easily they could leave. How people always leave.
I told myself I had to stay strong. That if people left, I’d keep it together. That I had no right to break down.
Then one night, I said everything in the group chat by accident. I had meant it only for Kaz after our fight. My voice had failed me, so I typed instead.
Every thought I never dared to say out loud.
That the Literature Club meant everything to me.
That I never wanted to be the president, but I couldn’t let the club fall apart. That I hated asking for help, because help meant kindness. And kindness always came from people who had the choice to walk away. I didn’t want to be hurt again by someone who chose to leave.
Being left behind hurts more when someone has been kind to you first.
I thought they’d laugh.
Or worse, ignore it.
But they didn’t.
Kaz's words that night saved me. I still remember how I felt the moment I read them. It was happiness. He didn’t say it romantically, and even though we had argued before, I knew he meant it.
He was sincere. I know because no insincere person will get you home after you passed out. Without asking for anything in exchange.
He said, “I’ll stay with you. Always.”
He didn’t promise me forever. And somehow, that meant more.
Because that was what I needed.
Before I knew it I was falling. Fast.
And for once, I wasn’t afraid.
If Kazuhiko could choose to stay, not out of guilt or obligation, but because he wanted to, then maybe I could believe in something lasting too.
Maybe the club didn’t need to be perfect. Maybe I didn’t have to carry it all alone.
Maybe love wasn’t a gamble with pain waiting as the prize.
Maybe I didn’t have to be alone anymore.
Because he called me "Komari".
Because he saw me.
Because he stayed.
And that was when forever began for me.
I tiptoed towards Kaz.
When I was close to him, close enough to smell what he is cooking I hugged him.
He was startled.
I didn't give him a chance to turn his head.
I turned his head.
And landed a kiss on his lips.
When I pulled away he couldn't help but ask.
"What was that for?"
Bold, shameless, perverted. I can take those words whenever we shared how we started dating. Whenever we share what I did. I'll do it again if I can.
"It's for writing!" I said while I smiled at him.