It is natural, after a while, to see her. He invites her to dinner, spends time with her on the weekends, even makes her lunches when he is in an especially good mood. He thinks of these things with a quiet understanding, knowing that they are part of the progression in their sometimes tumultuous relationship. But what he thinks of most, when his mind is wandering and she is the topic at hand, is the time when she snuck into the music room. On that day he played the piano anyway, well aware that she was sitting only a few feet away with a smile on her face unlike anything he had ever seen before. She had run away before the song was over, but on their walk home she had been oddly silent, smiling quietly to herself with her books clutched tight to her chest. He knew then that he had made her happy, that a wish had been fufilled, but didn't think much of it then.
But after a few months he is finding himself thinking of her more, actually wondering if she will dare sneak into the room again, if she will show up one day in time to hear him play the new piece he has been working on. It feels awkward to write music but he has little else to occupy himself with in his free time, and even if he feels it is rubbish he knows that she will appreciate it. After all, even his worst cooking is (usually) accepted graciously, and the meal finished without complaint...
He wants her in the music room. He realizes it slowly - that he wants to play for her, really wants to play for her - and knows what this means. It means far more to him, to the both of them, than it would to anyone else. It is not that he is comfortable around her, but that he feels something for her that he has not felt before, and may never feel again -
He waits a few days. She doesn't intrude on his privacy again and he realizes that she wants to be asked. So he does what she wants: he asks her.
Or tells her, rather.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
"I'll play the piano for you today." Her eyes shoot up to him from the bentou in her lap and he can tell that she is startled, especially after the chopsticks fall out of her hand and land none too gracefully on the table. "After school," he continues, watching her gape at him, "so make sure you're on time."
"Na - Narumi-san, a - are - "
"What?"
"Are you sure?"
That isn't what she's asking and he knows it, but he still looks into her eyes - those warm eyes, the ones he is beginning to lose himself in if he's not careful - and answers her real question, the one she won't dare voice -
"Yes."
Yes.
She is early, already waiting outside the room when he climbs the stairs to the fifth floor, and when he catches sight of her there is the hint of a flush on her cheeks, as if she has run the whole way to meet him. He looks at her nonchalantly, trying to hide the fact that he is suddenly nervous, that there are new feelings surging through him. Now he regrets it a little, asking her here; he doesn't know why he would do such a thing -
"Are you really sure, Narumi-san?"
No. He doesn't regret it at all. Even if he doesn't fully understand.
"I'm sure."
He takes his place at the piano and she sits at a desk, close enough to stay in his line of vision but not so close that he will be disturbed as he plays. The silence in the room is unsettling, and as he places his hands on the keys he is aware that he can even hear her breathing, that he can hear his own breathing, just a little more rapid than usual. She has affected him like this after all, caused him something that is not quite a pain but not so pleasurable, not yet -
Not yet, he thinks, and knows why he has asked her here after all.
He plays for her, plays for her alone, and halfway through his rough sonata he can see that she is wiping tears from her eyes, crying even as a smile settles on her mouth and never leaves. "Stop that," he murmurs, and continues the melody, his movements now automatic - how much has he practiced this song, after all? He is not even looking at the sheet music - and his focus only on her. "It's nothing to be sad about."
"I'm not sad," she chides him, and laughs, tears streaming down her cheeks. He has never seen her cry before. He never wants to see her cry again. "I'm not sad at all."
"Are you happy, then?"
"Yes."
"Is this what you wanted?"
"Yes..."
"Is it really?"
She can't reply this time - she has buried her face in her arms. He glances at his hands and then lifts them from the keys, ending the music abruptly. It takes him a moment to steady himself enough to leave the piano, but he finally makes his way over to the desk, kneeling carefully in front of her crumpled figure. She laughs softly, lifting her tearstained face just enough to look at him, and her voice is unsteady. "It can't be real..."
"Why not?"
"I..." Her eyes are pools of emotion, and she releases a sound that is torn between a laugh and a sob, the sound clutching hard at his heart. "I love you, Narumi-san, I've always..."
"I know." He reaches for her hand. "I finally noticed."
"I'm not... I don't deserve..."
"I already told you." His fingers twine with hers and he feels it, knows what it is, understands the feeling that is flowing through him. "I already told you that I was sure."
"I'm glad..."
"Ah," he says, but what he means is so am I.
She is more to a high school girl to him; she always has been. She is the only one who listens, who understands, the only one willing to sacrifice her life for his. She is his friend and she is his lover. She is everything to him.
He isn't afraid anymore.
"Narumi-san...?"
"Hm."
"Do you..."
She doesn't need to ask - she knows the answer now - but she isn't asking because she doesn't know. But the reason isn't important, because from this day forward, Narumi Ayumu will always be happy to oblidge her every whim. Even if it means kissing her for the first time with his knees aching against the hard floor of the music room and her face streaked with tears...
Well, he thinks, and smiles against her lips, that isn't so bad after all.