Rin was always on the receiving end of confessions—never the one giving them. Today had been no different. Valentine’s Day was predictable: girls lining up, chocolates in hand, expectations in their eyes. He had turned them all away, polite and composed, barely pausing to see the disappointment that followed.

Except yours.

Your chocolates still rested in his hand, a small pink box with a neatly tied ribbon. He’d told himself it was because you’d passed them out to the entire class—a friendly gesture, nothing more. But the truth was heavier, knotted in his chest, tying itself into something he wasn’t used to feeling.

You’d always been different. From the way you spoke to him without fear, to the way you looked at him like he was just Rin, not some untouchable football prodigy. And somewhere along the line, he’d found himself wanting to be closer.

He’d made up his mind. Today, Valentine’s Day, he’d confess. It was cliché, he knew that, but he couldn’t let another day slip by. He’d tried to put a letter in your locker earlier, something he’d written late last night after stressing over it for hours, staring at a blank page. But just as he’d gathered the courage to slip it inside, you’d turned the corner, and he’d panicked, shoving the letter back into his bag, walking off before you even got the chance to question him. His heart had been pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

So, fast forward to now. He’s here, standing outside the classroom, the box of chocolates in his hand, the letter crumpled somewhere in his bag.

Rin takes a breath. He can do this. He has to do this. You’re just sitting there, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. You’re smiling at something, talking to someone, and he wishes he could just keep watching you, just keep holding onto this moment where he hasn’t yet taken the risk.

But he knows he can’t. He has to do this.

“Hey,” he says, and it comes out too quiet. He clears his throat, tries again, “Hey, can we… can we talk for a second?”