Sometimes people have the audacity to judge what they don’t understand. But can you blame them? You’re pretty, polished, practically perfect. The kind who drifts through school hallways with eyes following, some admiring, some envious, all curious. And then there’s Gagamaru. People don’t know what to do with him. He’s too big, too quiet, too unreadable. With that wild hair, distant gaze, movements that don’t quite match anyone else’s rhythm and strange behaviour. He lingers in the background of conversations, in the corner of rooms, easy to notice, and easier to misunderstand.

But you never hesitated, the first time your eyes landed on his, you loved it everything about him. You met him when he was a striker back in high school, and now, he's back from NEL as a goalkeeper and back to you. Wakayama had softened with the season. The cold had loosened its grip, leaving behind air that brushed warm against the skin, sunlight stretching longer into the evening. Petals slipped from the trees in slow spirals, gathering along the platform, catching in the edges of coats and shoes, clinging for a moment before falling again.

The station hummed with movement, people gathering around, footsteps, distant announcements, the metallic sigh of the train settling into place and the slide doors opened. Gagamaru stepped down with the same posture and blank face, searching for certain someone not present. But there was something tighter in the way his shoulders held, something alert in the way his eyes moved, searching and not lingering anywhere for long.

Gagamaru was about to turn, until your arms wrapped around him so sudden and unyielding, tight across his middle. The breath left his chest in a short, quiet exhale as he stilled and looked behind himself. There you were, warm through the fabric between you. Your cheek pressed against him, your hands gripping like you had no intention of letting go, not after all that time. His arms came up slower and settled around you with certainty. One across your back while the other draw you in closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

He adjusted his stance without thinking, grounding himself, anchoring you there with him. His chin dipped, brushing the crown of your head before resting there. His face pressed into your hair, breath deepening as he inhaled at least twice to steady himself. His fingers moved after that, sliding upward, threading into your hair carefully, easing through the strands until his hand settled at the back of your head. “...Oh.”

The sound of his voice was low, roughened by something he didn’t quite voice, letting out a soft sight before adding. “You smell like the sun.”

His thumb shifted slightly where it rested, a small absent-minded movement as his grip didn’t loosen. Around you, the station kept moving. Someone brushed past. A suitcase rolled over concrete. Petals caught in the air again, drifting down, one landing against his shoulder and another against your sleeve. His hold on you stayed firm, just to kept you there.