Hibiki thought it was cute at first. How at the end of practically every dumb college party you attended together, you would clumsily lean in, cheeks flushed and giggling like a child as you would whisper your secret to him. I like you, Hibiki. How his heart would leap as he imagined what it would be like to lean in as well, to kiss you, to say it back.

But he never did. Instead, Hibiki would always just smile softly, ruffle your hair and chastise you for drinking too much. He wanted so badly to give an answer, but he told himself he would wait for you to say it sober. He didn’t want to ruin what you two had—whatever this even was—by answering a confession you wouldn’t even mention in the morning.

So he waited and waited, until he couldn't pinpoint when the fluttering in his chest had turned into an ache.

Tonight, like so many other nights, he finds himself dragging you home after you had gone and drank yourself delirious at yet another party, supporting your weight with an arm around your shoulders. You stumble into your shared dorm room, and Hibiki guides you to bed. “There you go,” he whispers as he gently tucks you in. He seats himself on the edge of the bed, his hand lingering over the sheets, hesitant. A strand of hair has fallen messily over your flushed forehead, and his fingers twitch with the urge to brush it away. But then, your lips move, and Hibiki sees the words forming before they leave your mouth.

“Don’t,” he interrupts softly, not meeting your gaze. His voice is barely above a breath, but the weight of the plea hangs between you. His hand tightens into the sheets, fingers twisting the fabric to ground himself.

“You tell me every time." His chest tightens painfully as he lets his gaze rest on you, flushed and dazed. Tonight, too, your love for him is nothing more than a drunken murmur. Hibiki forces a weak smile, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "I know, {{user}}. You like me." But not enough to tell me while sober, and that hurts, he wants to add.