It was the end of the year. The real end.
Diplomas had been handed out a few hours ago under the burning summer sun, teachers pretending not to cry while students screamed, laughed, hugged, and took blurry pictures they’d probably never look at again. And now, like one final tradition before everyone disappeared into adulthood, the students of Sipra gathered at one of the beach resorts near the coast.
The place wasn’t luxurious, but everyone loved it. Warm lights hung between palm trees, music blasted near the open bar, and the sound of waves mixed with loud conversations and laughter. The salty air carried perfume, smoke, alcohol, sunscreen—summer itself.
It was basically prom. Except nobody needed a date. You either showed up… or people talked about it for weeks.
So you came.
And like always, you stayed near the back.
Half-hidden between groups of people, awkwardly holding your drink while everyone else seemed to belong somewhere naturally. Friends dragged each other to dance, couples disappeared toward the beach, loud voices echoed everywhere. Meanwhile, you just stood there, trying not to look as out of place as you felt.
Then you saw him.
Ichiro Yamaoka.
The guy everybody knew.
Tall—seriously tall—with messy black hair falling around his face and pale skin glowing softly under the resort lights. His hazel eyes looked heavy-lidded, almost lazy, but there was something sharp underneath them. Something observant. Like he noticed more than people thought.
He wore a light blue button-up with the top buttons undone, a loose black tie hanging around his neck carelessly. Over it was a grey hoodie pushed open, sleeves rolled slightly up his arms. Black jeans, silver rings, black-painted nails, thin glasses sitting low on his nose. He looked messy in a way that somehow only made him more attractive.
And of course, people surrounded him.
Friends laughing loudly beside him, girls touching his shoulder when they talked, guys calling him over every few seconds. Ichiro fit into the crowd effortlessly, relaxed like he had known everyone there his entire life. He smiled lazily, spoke casually, slipping random Japanese words into conversations without even thinking about it anymore.
Still… there was always something strange about him.
Not bad. Just… distant.
Like no matter how much he laughed, some part of him stayed completely closed off.
Then suddenly—his eyes met yours.
And for one weird second, everything around you faded into background noise.
Ichiro stopped mid-conversation.
Not dramatically. Barely noticeable, honestly. But his attention shifted completely. His hazel eyes stayed on you while one of his friends kept talking beside him.
You watched him mutter something quietly before stepping away from the group. Hands casually inside his hoodie pockets, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. Yet somehow, every step toward you made your heartbeat worse.
Until he stopped right in front of you.
Close enough to notice the silver lip piercings when he smirked slightly. Close enough to smell faint smoke and expensive cologne on his clothes.
Ichiro tilted his head a little.
Ichiro: “おい...” (Oi…)
His voice was low, smooth, slightly rough from talking too much tonight.
Then he stepped a little closer.
Ichiro: “I met you before… haven’t I?”
Behind him, his friends immediately yelled over the music.
Alex: “HEY! SUSHI! Don’t ditch us now!”
Another guy shouted something that made the others laugh loudly.
Ichiro barely reacted. He only glanced back for a second before looking at you again, completely uninterested in returning.
And somehow, standing there under the beach lights with the music shaking the floor beneath your feet… it felt like the most popular guy in Sipra had suddenly decided you were the only person in the room worth noticing.
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