It was a Saturday afternoon. Nayuki and Hoshitani sat at the low table in their dorm finishing their homework when Hoshitani's phone lit up.

Nayuki knew the smile was coming before it appeared. He had spent a month trying to ignore it.

Hoshitani suddenly stood and went to the door to slip on his shoes. "Sorry, Nayuki, I gotta take care of something."

Nayuki didn't turn around. He stared at his notebook and asked softly, "What about lunch?"

He barely heard Hoshitani call "Don't wait up" as the door shut. Nayuki gripped his pencil, his chest suddenly tight. Why did he have to feel this way? What did he do to deserve it?

He looked up at the empty spot across from him. Hoshitani's things were scattered across the table, discarded without a second thought. Nayuki hated that he sympathized with inanimate objects.

He closed his books and stacked them on the table. He didn't dare touch Hoshitani's. Instead, he stepped into his shoes and into the hallway.

He caught up as Hoshitani passed through the academy gates and Nayuki kept a careful distance as he ran into town. The three blocks felt like an eternity. Nayuki couldn't take his eyes off his friend, wondering what he was hiding today—and yet somehow knowing and already hurting. It was only when Hoshitani stopped outside the coffee shop that Nayuki realized what he was doing.

What kind of person stalks their friend? I'm the absolute worst. If Hoshitani ever finds out, he'll never speak to me again.

But something in Nayuki was curious. He had to know. He had to see for himself.

Hoshitani entered the coffee shop while Nayuki stood at the bookstore across the street. He picked up a random novel from the outside bins and watched the reflections in the glass, his shoulders hunched and head down.

When Hoshitani stepped back onto the street, he wasn't alone. Otori, his hair down and one side pulled back with a feathered clip, was beside him. Nayuki's heart gave a painful lurch at the smiles on their faces.

They started down the street, coffee cups in hand, talking animatedly. Their shoulders just barely brushed.

Anxiety swam into Nayuki's stomach. He should go home, pretend nothing ever happened. He had homework to finish. And yet. . . .

And yet a small, sick part of him wanted to see this through. He had to know for sure. His heart needed to realize, to stop hoping, to stop wondering and wishing. If the only way to do that was to torture himself, to be the absolute worst and spy on something private, then he would do it.

He closed the novel, returned it to the bin, and followed after them.

It wasn't hard to keep them in sight. Otori was tall; not just that, but he had an aura about him today. His face turned toward Hoshitani, an indulgent smile on his lips—it was an Otori that Nayuki had only seen that day on stage. Even then Nayuki felt they were in their own world.

Hoshitani's laughter—just carrying above the crowded sidewalk—ate at Nayuki's heart. He could pretend they were student and teacher catching up. He could almost imagine it. But as their hands brushed and Hoshitani's ears turned red, Nayuki knew he couldn't fool himself.

The first stop was an arcade. Nayuki couldn't imagine either of them playing video games, but when he spotted them on the dance machine, the location made sense. It started as a competition between them, but as the rounds progressed and Hoshitani struggled on a difficult song, Otori laughed and joined Hoshitani's dance pad. They each took a half, moving in perfect sync, their faces lighting with joy when they achieved a new high score.

Nayuki swallowed the lump in his throat.

Next was a manga shop. Nayuki had never seen Hoshitani pick up a manga, but he never knew he drank coffee, either. To Nayuki's surprise, it was Otori who went down the aisles pointing out favorite series.

"My brother and I read this one when we were little," Otori said in the hushed store. "It was a fun story about troublemaking ninjas. Each volume they made a problem worse, only to ultimately save the village by the end."

Hiding an aisle away, Nayuki closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on a shelf as he listened to the whisper of flipping pages.

"I wonder if Tsubasa ever finished it."

"You should send him some," Hoshitani said. "I'm sure he would appreciate something from home."

Otori chuckled. "It would definitely surprise him."

"You said you talked yesterday, right? How is Hiragi?"

"Over his head in a new production. He's finding it difficult to keep up with his classes and practice, but Tsukigami is coaching him, so he's surviving."

"Wow. I never thought Hiragi would ever be out of his depth."

"He's only human, Yuta," Otori said with a laugh.

Nayuki realized their voices were moving and he hurried to stay out of sight. His face felt hot, his stomach somersaulting.

It's only his name. But coming from Otori it sounds so . . . personal.

Nayuki needed to go home. Of course, he said that earlier and still followed after them. He knew the truth; he knew everything he needed to know. A part of him was excited for Hoshitani. They were friends, after all, and Nayuki would always support his friends.

But a different part—a part Nayuki would never admit to—was angry, burning with jealousy. He wanted to ask Hoshitani what he did wrong. What did he have to do for Hoshitani to look at him the way he looked at Otori?

"Hey Ot—Itsuki? Can I ask you something?" Hoshitani's voice was soft and quiet. Otori must have nodded and he continued. "Um, would it be alright—I mean if you want—uh, is it, well—"

Otori laughed. "Spit it out, Yuta."

"Is . . . is it okay if we held hands?"

Nayuki held his breath. This was it—this was what he wanted, wasn't it? He already knew the truth but here was the evidence that would make his heart stop wishing. The proof that would help him move forward.

"I thought you might ask earlier," Otori said, his tone matching the softness in Hoshitani's. There was a moment of silence—Nayuki could imagine their hands coming together, fingers entwining, that small smile on Hoshitani's face—and then Otori said, "Are you nervous? Your hand is shaking. We can stop if—"

"No, no, it's not—!" Nayuki flinched at the harsh yell. Hoshitani realized he was being loud and dropped his voice. "I'm just so happy. I'm glad you could visit."

"Me, too. My schedule should be opening enough soon that I can visit every other weekend."

"That's great!"

"Depending on your grades, of course," Otori chided.

"Using your visits as a reward is mean, you know," Hoshitani pouted. "I thought my gift would convince you to visit sooner."

"You know I wear it every day, but I've told you before. Bribes won't work on me. This way you stay motivated, right? Don't think you can slack off just because you performed with me. You still have other dreams to work towards."

"I'm giving it my all. No matter what happens next, I'll keep working hard until I can move an audience all on my own."

"I won't be satisfied until you do," Otori said.

They shared a soft, secretive laugh. Nayuki smiled sadly. They seemed happy, and wasn't that enough for him? Hoshitani was happy. He hadn't given up on his dreams, and now Otori was beside him. He was stronger than Nayuki; he was better suited to help Hoshitani. Nayuki couldn't compete with Otori.

Hoshitani and Otori passed by the aisle where Nayuki hid. Nayuki nearly squeaked with surprise, afraid he would be found out, but neither of them noticed him. Their eyes were for each other only. Their hands were clasped between them. Nayuki had noticed it throughout the day, but seeing them openly hold hands, he knew for certain they were in their own world. They were the only person to exist for the other.

Nayuki couldn't compete with Otori—and he didn't want to. He would support Hoshitani. He would continue to find ways to help Hoshitani achieve his dreams. Whatever he needed, Nayuki would be there as a friend. The secret ambition that Hoshitani might see him as long as he stayed close was gone.

Nayuki waited as Hoshitani and Otori paid for their things and then, as they went to get lunch, Nayuki turned the opposite way and headed for home.

His body felt light, like maybe he could dance in the air. A weight he didn't know he had was gone. There was nothing holding him down. He breathed deeply. Everything was okay—he was okay.

Nayuki wasn't blind. In fact, he was starting to see a brand new path before him.

Thanks for reading my first STARMYU fic! I never thought I'd write in this fandom, but after that incredible finale, who could resist?
If you liked what you read, or have constructive criticism, leave me a note! ❤