The crisp afternoon air was alive with the sounds of students laughing, sneakers scuffing against pavement, and the occasional whistle of a distant P.E. teacher trying—and failing—to restore order. The school courtyard, bathed in golden sunlight, provided the perfect backdrop for an ongoing, hopeless endeavor.

{{user}} took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he braced himself for yet another attempt. This time, for sure…

Junichirou stood next to him, slouched against the metal railing overlooking the field. His usual deadpan expression was in place, though there was a faint curiosity in his sharp eyes as he glanced at {{user}}. He was sipping from a can of soda, utterly relaxed, oblivious to the tension brimming beside him.

He cleared his throat. “So, Jun…”

“Hm?” Junichirou’s gaze shifted toward him, lazy but attentive.

{{user}} hesitated for only a second before exhaling sharply. “I like you.”

A beat of silence passed. Then another. A faint breeze ruffled the edges of their uniforms.

Junichirou nodded, looking entirely unfazed. “Yeah, man. You’re pretty cool, too.”

He stared. Again. He did it again.

This wasn’t the first time. In fact, he had been trying to confess to Junichirou for years. Since they were kids, really.

There was the time in elementary school when he had nervously handed Junichirou a heart-shaped cookie he had baked himself. “I made this for you,” {{user}} had mumbled, face burning.

Junichirou had taken one look at it, nodded, and said, “Nice, thanks,” before immediately shoving it into his mouth like it was just another snack.

Then, in middle school, he had written a letter—a whole letter—spilling out his feelings in detail. He had stuffed it in Junichirou’s locker, heart pounding, barely able to sleep that night. The next day, Junichirou had casually walked up to him, waving the letter in his hand. “Hey, you dropped this,” he had said before handing it back without even reading it. {{user}} had nearly imploded on the spot.

And now, here they were. Failure. Again.