Bloom
Michiko Kaori

Author's Note: If you really want to immerse yourself into the mood of the story, give these two a listen!

Somewhere Only We Know by Keane
Bloom by The Paper Kites (one of my ultimate AyaPin songs!)

*No copyright infringement intended!

She runs right after graduation.

And by right after, she means the immediate second after she had thrown her cap into the air and met with her family. She can't even remember the excuse she'd come up with. All she can recall is saying something about her locker and the perplexed faces of her parents and siblings that followed, but, Ayane decides, that would be something she'll worry about later, for far more important matters are to be entertained.

Well, just one important matter, really.

Momentarily, Ayane regrets having worn the Mary Jane pumps she chose for footwear because, while they made her look all the more striking and considerably taller, they did not make for the best running shoes. Blisters will be inevitable, she realizes grudgingly, but she doesn't care because she just can't get there fast enough! Her lungs are on fire and—are those cherry blossoms that she feels sticking to her hair?—she thinks maybe the lump in her throat is actually her heart threatening to burst out of her. And though there are so many thoughts and voices swimming and mixing together in her head, what rises above all else is the promise she made with a man who had auburn hair and the loudest laugh.

Everything about it, from how their chat escalated and the things that had been said, took her by surprise. It was during her class' Christmas party, she recalls; they ended up walking the same route home, much like various other times prior. One conversation led to another and, before she even realized it, she had pushed him into admitting his feelings for her.

Now that she thinks about it, Pin looked just as surprised as she did. He obviously didn't plan on telling her that night, or ever, for that matter. A barrage of apologies was sent her way and he nearly left, already turning his body away from her, talking about not bothering her any longer and walking on the other side of the road instead.

But she caught his mitten-clad hand with hers and Ayane felt her heart swell because he looked at her like she was the most precious thing and he didn't even deserve to see a glimpse of her. He's always been the loudest voice in the room and he trots around like he's superior, but when it came to her, he almost became meek and his eyes were so very soft with longing and awe—like he can't believe she may actually consider him.

It's the first time Ayane understood the sentiments of the heroines in Chizuru's shoujo mangas.

Their hands remained interlaced as they continued walking in silence, making the December air even thicker with the unaddressed subjects. It wasn't until they've reached her house that Pin broke off their hands, although reluctantly, as well as the silence.

Right after graduation, come to the P.E. storage room. If you aren't there, I'll take it as your answer.

He had spoken in a hushed fashion, breath barely tickling her flushed cheeks, before he walked to the path of his own home, leaving with her the weight of his words and the image of his back.

He didn't talk to her when school resumed; at least, not for longer than necessary. It made her feel uneasy, bordering on irritated. She felt like a toy that had been used and put aside when finished. She did not deserve to be treated like some putty in his hands! So, one afternoon, Ayane was determined to give him a piece of her mind. But during lunch, whilst in a conversation with Chizu and Sawako, she felt like she was being watched. Ayane felt rightfully piqued as she looked around the cafeteria just to see if her notion was right.

She ended up staring right back into Pin's dark eyes.

It was then that she realized how difficult it must be for him, the restraint he must have been constantly exercising so as not to stray from the 'agreement'. He can't talk to her, even if he wanted to—and he did. But they were reminded of their respective social roles by the building they entered and the very clothes they wore. They couldn't; at least not yet.

The time came when Ayane had finally acknowledged to herself the affections she harboured for Pin, and she quickly realized the looks and the secret smiles were not quite enough. It's a foreign feeling to her, seeking the warmth and touch of another. Looking back, Ayane found it funny how she had done so much more with the boys she'd dated in the past, none of whom she held feelings for, but now that she had someone she genuinely liked, she wasn't even able to hold his hand.

So, to satiate her yearning for contact, sometimes she'd swiftly brush their fingers together when no one looked. The first time she'd done it he practically jumped and his eyes were so wide with surprise that she couldn't help but giggle when she passed him in the hallway. The second time and the others that followed, his reaction was not as comical, and it seemed as though he was anticipating it. It's interesting to note, however, that Pin had never initiated the contact, even on that December night, it had been Ayane. But it never bothered her, because he knew he was savouring it as much as she did.

It was the closest they had to intimacy.

They couldn't, after all. Not yet.

But now they can.

She's nearly there—she's so close she can see him fidgeting and pacing around, his silhouette stark against the pale concrete. He's waiting for her; the image is one she'll have imprinted on her mind forever. The reason why he's acting this way, the nervous jerks and his restless limbs, they're all for her.

Slowing down, her run turns into a walk, giving herself time to catch her breath. Whether it was her ragged inhale and exhale of air or the clicking sound of her heels, she isn't sure, but whichever it may have been, it makes Pin's posture rigid.

"You're here," he says simply, voice nearly a whisper. Ayane would have been offended that he'd thought she'd change her mind if it weren't for the emotions overcoming her.

The orange afternoon sky makes his naturally tanner skin look incandescent. Although the black suit he wore, she notes with a small smile, is slightly more wrinkled than when they were in the graduation ceremony, (it's probably due to his movement and his nerves) she still can't help but admire him because he looks so very dashing. The best part is: he's hers.

Realizing she needn't control her urges any longer, she steps closer and raises her hands to touch his face. Her touch is tentative, memorizing the feel of his skin; he was, to her, like water in the desert. Her fingers travel from the sharpness of his jaw line, the subtle dips in his temples, the tautness of his forehead and finally the tenderness of his cheeks, her palms cradling its apples while stroking the cheekbone. The smile tugging on Ayane's lips grows even wider.

"You're wonderful," she says fondly, blushing at her own words because she's never been one to be vocal about her thoughts. But he is, inside and out, and she needs to make him see how great she thinks he is—how she thinks perhaps he's more precious and priceless than anything she's ever held.

Pin is smiling, too, mirroring Ayane's. They stay like this for a few moments, inching ever so slightly towards each other, as though, should they move any faster, the moment would collapse in front of them. But soon enough, his fingers find the curve of her small waist and what a contrast it is compared to his large hands! Slowly, she feels him dipping his head to her level (which would have been considerably lower had she not worn these pumps, so she mentally pats herself on the back for this one), her hands moving from his face to his neck. One hand, in particular, grips the tie he's wearing to tug him towards her, gently and playfully. She feels him smirk into her hairline, doing just what he's told, the distance between them shrinking to an inch's worth.

He's terrified, actually. Maybe she can tell. But he can't help it; he isn't used to getting what he wants, especially not someone as special as her. He thought she might flee. He thought she'd find a boy her age who may give her so much more than he might. There are basically a hundred and one—maybe more—good, valid reasons for her to say "no", even so, she's here. She ran to get to him, caressed his face and called him wonderful and he fears he might ruin the mood by suddenly doing push-ups or running a lap or two because his veins are absolutely blazing with his affections for Yano Ayane.

It isn't everyday that a guy like Arai 'Pin' Kazuichi can be given such a big chance with the greatest girl.

Her arms are looping around his neck, and his own wrapping around her waist, and maybe it's her toga and his suit that's making that small rustling noise, but neither of them processes this because he's finally holding her against him; their chests touching, both hearts beating with an increased speed.

"I've waited so long to hold you like this," he murmurs into her hair, intoxicated with her feminine scent. She whimpers because she has waited too. "I didn't think I'd ever get to."

When their lips touch, it's whisper-soft; fragile and delicate like a sheet of glass. He won't remember who closed that last centimeter's worth of distance, but he finds that it isn't important because all he's thinking about is how her lips are so supple. And what may have started as hesitant becomes more confident as they exchange even more tender kisses; compensating for the many instances they had to hold back.

Pin feels Ayane's hands find his hair, her fingers gingerly grasping fistfuls of his gelled spikes. He thinks it may be her way of communicating with him, so he follows his gut by pressing his lips against hers with a tad more force before gently biting her bottom lip. A tighter grip to his hair and a needy whine that she barely recognizes as a noise that had come from her mouth is how Ayane responds.

It catches him off-guard, not quite ready to hear such a sound escape her lips, but before he could even think to conceal it, he's already smirking into their kiss. She breaks away, half-embarrassed and half-indignant that he'd tease her at a moment like this, but, before long, she's grinning too, in spite of herself; brown eyes shining with fondness and cheeks a pretty shade of red. The sight is enough to make his face color a bit.

He doesn't think he's seen anyone look as beautiful.

The grin on Ayane's lips becomes a full-blown smile when she laughs at what she'd done to Pin's hair.

"I'm sorry about that," she tells him, her hands already trying to restore his trademark spikes for the locks of hair now drooped from various angles. He swats her hands playfully.

"No, you aren't," he accuses although there is no real heat behind his words.

"No, no, I'm not," she starts; smiling. Her fingers weave themselves into his hair once more, the tips of her polished nails lightly gliding against his scalp, leaving a rough but oddly calming sensation in their wake. Some of his hair had become soft, a result of her combing through his hair, causing a few bundles to fall against his forehead. "But I kind of like it."

Pin scoffs, but the upturn of his lip betrays the irritated pretense he's projecting. "Whatever, at least I don't have cherry blossoms sticking out of my hair."

She doesn't know which came first, the rapid widening of her eyes, the blood rushing to her face or the embarrassment. Regardless, Ayane's hands still in his hair and immediately make a move to blindly grope her own hair to take out the pink blooms, but Pin ultimately stops her by laughingly twining their fingers. Perhaps he laughed to make her know he said it in good spirits and not to ridicule her, even so, it does nothing to heal her ego. Eventually though, his laughter dies down, however, by the furrow in between her brows and the frown that took away her smile, it would appear that she's unimpressed.

After a sweet peck on her cheek, with an impish grin, he teases, "Don't worry, I kind of like it."

The way he adopted her earlier sentence makes her break into a reluctant smile and they stood there, holding hands, while dumbly grinning at each other. She has done this before, with her previous boyfriends, but she never felt like she does while doing so with Pin. She never felt her pulse thump, never felt like her brain would short-circuit with her senses running high, and never had she actually wanted to do such an admittedly cheesy form of displaying affection—only with him.

She notices the curve of Pin's lips become a neutral line, their distance being such a small gap and all. It causes her smile to falter as well as a throb of worry to ripple through her body.

Was he having second thoughts?

However, when his breathing becomes a tad more irregular and a few more other subtle hints—like the back and forth squeeze and release of their hands, and the fact that his eyes were suspiciously favouring the pavement over looking into her eyes—she realizes, with extreme ardor, he's nervous. She doesn't understand how he could still be unsure of himself after what they've done and the waiting they've endured for each other, but something about his hesitance is strangely endearing and it fills her heart.

While she was right about his nerves acting up, Ayane didn't quite know about the internal battle Pin was having with himself. He had months to figure out what to say to her, should she choose to meet with him after the agreement they had that December night. He had it at the top of his head, too! He supposes he never was quite prepared for when Ayane actually arrived, because he didn't, not in a million years, did he think she actually would. And so, out when all the lines he'd rehearsed.

"Ayane," Pin starts, shakily. "Can I take you to dinner?"

Her mouth is a tad dry and breathless; the sound of her first name rolling off his lips having sent tingles to her heart. She is surprised when she finds herself able to reply.

"When?"

"Tomorrow. And for as long as you'd allow me to." He says. Oh, how hopeful he was to a fault.

Actually, he truly needn't ask, she would have gone with him in a heartbeat. "Alright," she says and then, with an afterthought, she continues, mumbling shyly. "Kazuichi."

Her voice was so soft, she was wondering if he even heard her or if the courage she'd gathered to utter his first name was for naught. But there, on the apples of his cheeks and on the tips of his ears, were the faintest tinge of pink. This girl clearly does not know what she does to him.

He lets go of her left hand, though he keeps the other clasped with his, as he leads them back to the front of the campus. The prospect of their future together—the hearsays, their too-similar personalities and the whole shebang—should terrify her. But Pin's, or rather, Kazuichi's grip on her hand is firm while tender, giving her the comfort and assurance she needed as well as shooing away the remaining voices that cooed fears in her ears.

There is a boyish smile on his lips when he tips his head towards her.

"You should know that you're a very lucky girl!"

Ayane replies by punching him on the arm gently, which he laughs at, but, deny it as she might, she knows she most definitely is.

Author's Notes:

Well, that's that! I hope I did them justice. I wanted to add some more 'action' but I felt like it would just ruin the purity of their feelings for each other. I tried not to rush it and just thought of the possible physical and emotional tension a young man and woman may have for each other by being so near each other but are unable to be with each other. I'm also hoping I didn't turn them too out-of-character.

Also, this is actually a sequel of sorts to one of the many fics I'm working on, which is, funny enough, longer than this. The reason why I'm publishing this first is because I'm extremely lazy and I'm not positive that I'll finish it as soon as I'd like. But because I need my AyanePin fix and the fandom is much too small and the manga is much too slow, I just felt the overwhelming need to contribute. So, err, ta-da?

Do tell me what you think! Love and constructive criticism are much appreciated! (And, yes, I am aware of my tendency to ramble on too much.)