15 days writing valentine’s day number 15 with Himuro and Midorima

imagine-knb:

Admitting a crush/Secret Admirer

Midorima

It looked as if it had been written on a typewriter, the penmanship so perfect that not a single letter looked out of place. Every line crossed, every punctuation marked looked as perfect as if it had been written in a textbook. Every so often there would be a little flourish, almost as if some personality were coming through in the lettering themselves, but for the most part the paper was bare of any decoration. It was a simple, one paged note. Reading through it, it documented numerous occasions of interaction. It was clear in the language that an admiration had been established and more was craved.

Midorima found himself uncharacteristically biting the inside of his cheek as he read through the note. The wording had been carefully chosen to convey every message that he was receiving and he wondered if it was the same for the other party. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he neared the end of it, where a name would normally be signed. At the end, the simple script that read ‘Your Secret Admirer’ faced him instead.

Midorima sealed the letter into an envelope before slipping it into your locker. Hopefully you’d find it soon.

Himuro

How many times had be been on the receiving end of a confession? Too many to count if he were being completely honest with himself. He’d turned down many admirers before, thinking that none of them had been truly what he’d been searching for at the time. He wondered how many hearts he had broken and how many were still picking up the pieces. It made a frown etch itself onto his face thinking about every one of those people.

He knew exactly how they felt now. Heart pounding and hands sweating, he had to admit that admitting to a crush was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. He could hear the little voice in his head, a conscious or a little devil, telling him that this was the wrong move and there was no way his feelings would be reciprocated. His voice of reason, the little angel, was trying its best to refute every one of those arguments; he should do this, because if he didn’t then he would never know. Had this been the same thought process for all of his admirers? If it was, it was torture.

“I’ve got something I need to tell you,” he started and even those words seemed to burn through his throat, making him want to stop altogether.