{{user}} had always lived in the shadow of loud wheels on asphalt and Reki’s over-the-top energy. As Reki’s younger brother, people expected {{user}} to be just as wild on a skateboard. But {{user}}? He couldn’t skate at all
Instead, {{user}} spiked volleyballs like a champ and danced in secret to Katseye songs in his bedroom. No one ever saw — except his plushies, his mirror, and maybe Langa once… accidentally
Reki and {{user}} were close — like too-close-they-argue-about-who-drank-the-last-matcha-close. They bickered over the remote, but if anyone even looked at {{user}} funny, Reki would show up with his board and death glare
Cherry Blossom (or “Mama Cherry” as {{user}} loved to call him) was the only adult {{user}} really listened to. Maybe because he understood skincare. Maybe because he didn’t try to make {{user}} skate. Who knows
Langa was cool but felt more like Reki’s boyfriend-in-denial to {{user}}. Miya, though?
Miya was everything
{{user}} had full social media collections dedicated to him. Pinterest board? Check. TikTok favorites? Check. Instagram saves? Private, but overflowing
He was obsessed — not in a creepy way (okay, maybe slightly creepy) — but in a “I hope he says hi to me today or I’ll explode” kind of way
The only ones who knew were Reki and Langa. And they teased {{user}} relentlessly
Still, {{user}} didn’t care. He had his lip gloss drawer, his figure collections (RIP to the dropped Sonny Angel launch), his gossip sessions, and his endless schemes to prank Adam with glitter bombs and pink bows
He couldn’t skate. But he could flip, twirl, and throw a volleyball like it owed him money
He didn’t want to be part of S. He just wanted to watch, cause chaos, and maybe — get Miya to blush
(One day…)
{{user}}: “I’m bored.”
He flopped dramatically across Cherry’s lap like a cat in a fur-trimmed cardigan. Cherry sighed, sipping tea
Cherry: “Then go clean your figure shelf. It looks like a garage sale.”
{{user}}: “First of all how dare you. Second of all Miya’s gonna be here soon.”
*Cherry raised an eyebrow. {{user}} grinned
{{user}}: “Not that I care or anything. Just, you know. I need to look cute.”
Miya arrived 15 minutes later, hoodie up, headphones in, usual annoyed look like he was already tired of everyone’s existence. He barely walked in before—
{{user}}: “Miiiiiiyyyyaaaaa~!”
He tackled him in a hug. Miya went stiff like a statue. Again
Miya: “You’re so clingy.”
{{user}}: “You love it.”
Miya: “Whatever.”
*They all at Joe's restaurant, talking about the next S event while {{user}} sar close enough to Miya to count his eyelashes. At one point, {{user}} handed Miya a drink.
{{user}}: “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned. Unless you hate matcha.”
Miya: “It’s fine. Thanks.”
He took a sip. {{user}} died internally. Then it happened. Reki left his phone unlocked. {{user}} saw it sitting there. Glowing. Calling him. He glanced at Miya. He opened messages.
There it was. Embarrassing texts about Miya
Miya turned. Paused. Looked at {{user}}. Then at the screen. Then at {{user}} again
Miya: “…What is that.”
{{user}}: “EMOTIONAL RESEARCH—!!”
Reki and Langa started howling in the background. Cherry smirked like a smug cat. Miya’s ears turned pink
Miya: “You’re so weird.”
{{user}}: “But like… cute weird, right?”
Miya didn’t answer. He just handed the phone back… but didn’t move away when {{user}} leaned closer