Chapter 3
Matsuda isn't sure when things start to change.
Unexpected until he realizes that it really isn't, unwelcome until he knows it's a feeling he'd always want to have.
They've always had a very easygoing relationship—one where things just sort of happen without them even realizing it, where they could easily fall into a steady rhythm that's all their own.
Pitch can change with one little tweak, though, and that's exactly what happened.
Even then, the tug at his heart—something beyond friendship or fondness—when he sees Tamura, or the warmth that rises to his cheeks when he thinks of things that could be is an odd, unexplainable feeling.
Possibilities, maybes and could bes are things he shouldn't think about because there is no hope, no chance of anything remotely like that.
None.
Not when Tamura's clock is still ticking while Matsuda's is defunct.
It wouldn't be fair to hold him back... it'd be selfish.
He won't do that, no matter how much he'd like to.
He won't.
Detached.
Apathy.
Those are easier.
Those would be so much easier to feel.
But Tamura is a magnet.
He draws people in, makes them feel
something
—most of the time without even trying.
It is impossible to feel apathetic around Tamura.
Impossible.
He's been drawing Matsuda in since they were little kids—snotty, sniffling brats who met through their mothers' mutual friendship.
No matter how much Matsuda has said over the years that Tamura is annoying and insufferable and can be the worst to deal with, he never looks away.
He never wants to look away.
I am not falling in love with my best friend,
is what he tells himself, but really, he knows it's far beyond that point.
He's already past the
careful,
do not cross
zone and there's no going back... which really sucks.
Thanks Tamura.
Really, thanks.
I can't think like that
He's lying in bed, tossing and turning in the middle of the night.
He's been trying to come to terms with this newfound feeling, still doesn't completely understand the details that accompany the how and the why, but he's become a little more adept at putting it into words.
The moment he
is
able to pinpoint is when Tamura was stressing himself out over getting better, over not getting surpassed, over being able to finally beat Ryokuzan Academy.
Because it hurt to watch Tamura rip himself apart like that.
It was painful to watch Tamura feel so inadequate and willing to break himself, leaves an unsettled feeling in Matsuda's stomach, an ache in his heart.
He never wants to let it reach that point again—where Tamura very nearly
does
break himself and snap in two, while nothing Matsuda says gets through to him.
But it's not like that now.
Finally, his words reached Tamura, finally everything settled.
There's no more of letting his heart break as he witnesses Tamura sink deeper and deeper into dark and murky depths where there is no reaching him.
(Matsuda will always fight to reach Tamura, though.
He won't ever willingly let Tamura—someone he loves—drown in his insecurities and doubts, won't give up until he's able to grab his hand, to reach him, to pull him out.)
Love.
He still wants to laugh at the word.
Just double over and laugh to the point where people would probably dub him insane.
It's just so ironic though—falling in love with someone you can't have.
With a soft sigh, he rolls over in the bed, eyes falling on the person who has caused all of this.
Tamura had asked to come over after the incident where he'd nearly snapped and hit Takahashi earlier, when Matsuda had stopped him and finally made him see reason.
Matsuda had agreed, partly because he still felt a little bad about head butting Tamura that hard.
Okay, maybe not.
He probably would have agreed anyway.
Really, he's just happy to see a change in Tamura's demeanor after that.
They had argued for a few minutes about sleeping arrangements—Tamura insisting they share the bed because
"My body is too tired and sore for the floor.
You don't want me to get hurt, do you, Matsu-chan?"
while Matsuda is reluctant.
In the end, Tamura wins.
He almost always does.
Tamura's face is smashed against the pillow, his limbs sprawled out everywhere, his mouth open and drool all over the pillow.
He's truly an ugly sleeper.
Anyone who says Tamura is beautiful has never seen him like this.
He's not.
Beautiful, he means.
Well, he is.
It's hard to explain.
Tamura stands out, draws attention—for his looks, personality, skills—but a lot of people don't know the real Tamura.
Not like Matsuda does.
And honestly, he'd say that seeing Tamura real and genuine—with a smile that's warm and inherently happy, one that lights up his whole face, not fake and put on, exaggerated and a perfect calculation—is something that is beautiful.
It's beauty that's not superficial like the girls who follow Tamura around at school see.
Instead, it's something innate, something that only those Tamura allows to see into his heart will know.
Because despite his flaws and imperfections, Tamura
beautiful.
That's what
makes
him beautiful, real.
Fuck.