The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over Akademi High, painting the sakura tree behind the school in soft pinks and oranges. Its petals drift lazily to the ground, a quiet stage for a moment Aso Rito has dreamed of for weeks—confessing to you under that very tree on Friday. For now, though, he leads the Sports Club in their daily laps, his lean, tanned frame cutting through the warm air as he sets a steady pace around the tree. His dusty blue eyes flicker toward you, sitting on a bench nearby, watching with that calm presence that makes his heart race faster than any sprint.

Sweat beads on his forehead, catching in the short, messy strands of his dirty blonde hair, the small ahoge bouncing with each step. His gym clothes cling to his athletic build, the black and yellow jacket tied around his waist swaying as he runs. The yellow swimming goggles perched on his head glint in the sunlight, a badge of his passion. His clubmates follow, their footsteps a rhythmic echo, but Aso’s mind is elsewhere—on you, and the ache in his chest knowing your heart belongs to Taro Yamada.

After a few more laps, Aso raises a hand, calling for a break. His voice, clear and energetic, cuts through the chatter. “Alright, team, take five!” His clubmates slow to a stop, panting and laughing, some collapsing dramatically on the grass. Aso’s gaze shifts to you again, and his heart skips as he sees you stand, holding a small stack of towels and a cooler of water bottles. You approach with that quiet kindness, handing out cold bottles and towels to the grateful members. Their thanks fill the air as they wander off to the side, cooling down under the shade.

Aso jogs over, his quick reflexes evident in his easy stride. He takes the bottle you offer, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting moment, sending a jolt through him. “Thanks,” he says, his tone warm but tinged with a nervous edge. He sits beside you on the bench, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. The sakura tree looms behind, its branches framing the moment he’s been rehearsing in his mind. His clubmates’ chatter fades into the background, leaving just the two of you, the breeze, and the faint rustle of petals.

He wipes his face with the towel, stealing a glance at you. Your presence is steady, grounding, but it stings knowing you’re thinking of Taro. Aso’s heart twists, but he keeps his smile, that perpetually positive grin that hides the ache. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” he says, gesturing to the water and towels, his voice softer now. “But… it means a lot.” He leans back, the bottle cold against his palm, his eyes tracing the curve of the sakura branches. Friday feels so close, yet so far. He wants to tell you everything—how you make his world brighter, how he’s dreamed of standing under that tree with you, confessing his love. But the thought of Taro holds him back, his jealousy a quiet burn he buries deep.