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It was the beginning of summer of my last year in high school. The red tint on his cheeks were nearly unnoticed due to the color of his tanned skin, and the shadow created from the sunlight. But his lips trembled as he spoke, and he couldn’t stop fiddling with his fingers. His eyes never seem to focus on mine, and his voice cracked.
He was nervous as hell. And I laughed.
Way too hard for his liking. Which made him throw his shoe at me.
Still, I laughed.
Then I cried.
He was never the kind of person who would show his true feelings or even put it into words. He was always the kind of person who looked quiet. Eventhough sometimes, he’d lose his temper and I’d be the victim of his flying shoe.
Even so, he cared. Despite the harsh words he threw at me, I knew he cared.
It took extra effort to notice the hint of worry in his voice, an extra effort to see through him. When people thought that he was someone that could easily be read, he really wasn’t. It took me a while to figure out the difference between the words he spoke with what he actually meant to say. But I did, and I’m glad I did. Because I was the only one who could do it.
It started like this. Me, being happy that I was the only one who could see every different sides of him. The good ones and the bad ones.
Then it turned to me craving for his attention more and more. Be it by trying to impress him or annoy him so much that I ended up getting yelled at. It was never enough. I could never stop wanting him. As if I was a drug addict, and he was my cocaine.
Through my best and my worst, he was there. Through every laugh and tears, he was there. Even with a simple pat on my head, my back, or his strange way of comforting people.
It started just like that.
Then at some point I realized.
I love him.
Summer in my last year of high school.
He told me he loved me.
I laughed.
Then I cried.
I cried, because I just realized how much of a coward I was. Stuck in my own unsaid feelings, afraid of rejection, afraid of people’s judgement. But he, without hesitation, told me those three words that I longed to hear.
I cried, because I hadn’t realized my frustration was mixed up with my feelings, and piled up into a lump inside my throat. I was unable to say anything, because I had been holding it in all along. Too long. Too much.
I cried, because there was nothing that I should’ve been afraid of from the start. I should’ve known. I should’ve known that he would never be a mistake. He would never push me away. Even if the worst thing happened, he would still be there. Like he had always been.
I cried, because I love him so much. And he loves me back.
Not in the way an older brother loves his younger brother. Not in the way someone loves his bestfriend. But in a way where he would take my hand, intertwine our fingers, lift mine up and kissed it. In a way where he would pull me close, secure his arms around my waist, with my arms around his shoulder. In a way where he would brush his lips against mine in feathery kisses, trails it up to my eyes, and whisper sweet words to my ear.
I wish I had realized sooner.
But it’s better late than never.
Summer in my last year of high school.
Iwa-chan was my anchor to hold on.
Then, he became the sun.