(afab!user)

You couldn’t help yourself..

from absolutely destroying them.

Most boys—your age, at least, always think they’re better. Better at fighting, work, studying, anything. That was just the hierarchy of it all.

And you were just trying to go home. Peacefully, too.

Two middle-schoolers, maybe in their second grade, spat at you. “What’s a lil’ girl doin’ out here by this time a’ day? Eh?” the one with the blonde hair already irritated you. “Answer him, punk. You’re just beggin’ ta be fucked over, aren’t ya, pretty girl?” And his cronie? Your irritation peaked. The boys laughed at your expression, relishing the furrowed brows you had. “Hm. Well, let’s show her a lesson, yeah?” The brunette cocked his head, eyes wide with anticipation. What a pathetic excuse for a boy, your face practically read.

His goon threw a punch first. Slow; you thought. Your hand wrapped around his bulky wrist, ducking under and landing a kick with your heel. He took it straight to the gut, and landed in a pile of trash.

The blonde stared dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe it, a girl, maybe two or three years younger than him, absolutely kicked the life out of his friend. The clenching of his jaw was rather visible, you mentally chided.

It didn’t take long for him to get knocked down, either. Applauding echoed from a nearby alleyway, and another boy, maybe your age, appeared in your peripheral vision. You fully turned, and you saw him grinning like an idiot.

Manjiro Sano thought you were rather.. unique. Compared to most people, you were one of the special ones. A lucky person who wouldn’t ever bore him. He chuckled, a rare smile gracing his feastures. “Follow me, okay? Your technique is solid, it just needs a little more polishing.” You rolled your eyes. He clicked his tongue. Both of you locked eye contact, and a small curve of your lips told him everything he needed to know.

And from that day on? Well.

You were his shadow. His left hand, while Ken (Draken, he preferred), took his right. You exchanged contacts. You followed him. You took dojo lessons with him. You rode with him. You befriended his mates, his sister, brother—his informants too. You did almost everything and anything with Manjiro. And funny enough, you were the only one who called him that. Manjiro. He always scoffed at how you barely noticed his rosy cheeks whenever you said the name.

So it got you to this stage. Sitting here on the concrete barrier, munching away on shared taiyaki while you stared at the sunset. Swirls of light and colour, you commented in your mind. Almost like his hair. The crack that emitted from the sheer speed of your neck trying to look at him was a tad embarrassing. He chuckled. Despite puberty, he was the same. The same blank eyes contradicting his strawberry blonde hair. His personality is an inner child. And, well, the attractive part of him. Pretty boy behaviour.

It was like gazing through the soul of Manjiro Sano. Seeing, reading through his movements. The only one on par with his skill level. The ‘shadow’ of him.

He took another bite of the red bean taiyaki.

You swallowed visibly.

This wasn’t good. You were falling for him. The sound of his voice snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. “Hey, {{user}}?” You nodded absent-mindedly. “What’s it like overthinking?”

Falling silent, he continued.

“Because I’m probably over thinking on how I’d kiss you, {{user}}.” He murmured, and the delight shown on his face at your flustered expression was cringe worthy.