Making variations to this, as usual. I hope you don’t mind!
Fem!Reader ahead.
IMAYOSHI
“Senpai,” you say slightly breathlessly as you skate over to the edge of the rink, still in costume. The arena crowd is dispersing, allowing you to take a longer look at your upperclassman from university and make sure that his form is not some sort of mirage in front of you. He has that noncommittal smile on his face, as per usual, leaning against the railings. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“What kind of senpai would I be to miss such a cute kouhai’s performance?” You laugh, looking down at your feet while internally trying to dismiss his words as mindless flirting. The two of you are close, but you feel as though you are dangerously crossing the line between friendship and something else—you want it, but you are so unsure if he does as well.
He flirts with everyone, you tell yourself those words like a jaded mantra, he sees you as nothing more than a kouhai.
“Congratulations on the win.”
“Thank you.”
“I bumped into your coach earlier.”
“Ah,” you reply, wincing inside at how unintelligent it sounds, “and?”
“He said something interesting to me about training you.”
“I hope it’s nothing embarrassing,” you say half-jokingly, but truth be told, the old man knows a lot about you from spending time with you too much.
“It isn’t,” comes Imayoshi’s answer, “I’d say it’s rather sweet.”
“Don’t act like you’re going to tell me if you aren’t, senpai,” you let out a chuckle, being far more acquainted with his teasing than you would like. Imayoshi’s smile drops and you freeze at the serious look on his face.
“He said he tells you to imagine that you’re performing just for me.”
You wish for the ice to crack so that you can disappear into the depths of the earth, because you would rather do that than face Imayoshi’s eyes, sharp and all-knowing. Why would your coach spill that out to him? You want to avert your gaze away from him, only to find that you cannot. Not only his stare is powerful enough to keep yours unmoving, he has a hand cupping your cheek, preventing you from looking at anything other than him.
“That’s so damn cute of you, d’ya know that,” he murmurs, a smirk slowly forming on his face. “And for that, I’m gonna have to do this.”
He leans down, tilting your head up to meet his lips in a kiss.
SAKURAI
“Delivering lunch again today, Ryo?” Your coach says, greeting the younger male that just entered the studio. Sakurai smiles sheepishly, bowing slightly to reply the greeting, before finding himself entranced by your fluid movements on the floor, creating mesmerizing patterns with the ribbon. He has seen you perform before with different apparatuses, but the sight never fails to hypnotize him.
“Just a minute or so until the end of this routine,” your coach announces, “sit tight.”
Sakurai nods, and the two of them proceed to watch you execute the rest of your routine, leaping, jumping, twirling the ribbon. At one point you catch his gaze and smile at him in acknowledgement: “Thank you for the lunch”? “I’m happy you’re here”? “I hope you like the performance”? Sakurai still has no idea what your smile means, though that is not enough to stop the blood from rushing ever so slightly to his cheeks. You look exceptionally beautiful—you are wearing the competition outfit today, possibly to figure out if you can move well enough in it.
“You know,” the coach mutters, “I always tell her to perform as if you’re the only person watching. Seems to work.”
A yelp almost left Sakurai at the statement, his face flushing a deeper shade of pink. He fears another weird sound might escape him and presses a hand against his lips to quell them. The second he looks at you again, pirouetting with your ribbon, he realizes that his feelings just might be returned—he just cannot help but keep his hopes up.
“Hey, Ryo-kun!” You say, jogging lightly toward him almost immediately after the final move, “Thanks for coming today, too.” He smiles back at you, only to notice that your coach behind you is giving him winks and slow nods.
“S-Sorry for interrupting practice,” he blurts out. You pinch his cheek casually.
“I thought you grew out of that habit! What did I tell you about using the s-word around me?”
“Sorr—Um, here’s your lunch!” He quickly says, almost jabbing your stomach with the lunchbox by how quickly he hands it to you. You sigh in relief, so looking forward to the meals he makes: they adhere to your diet and do not make you want to barf.
“Thank you,” you whisper as you open the lunch box while sitting down on the floor, ready to dig in.
“Um, ___________-chan?”
“Mmm?” is the only reply you can muster with a mouthful of tomatoes.
“You look very p-pretty today.”
Your initial look of surprise melts and you send him a thousand-watt smile while chewing your food—something inexplicably warm emerges at the pit of your gut and you hope that they aren’t butterflies in your stomach. He’s just a childhood friend. He can’t possibly have feelings for you.
A slam of the door tells the two of you that the coach has vacated the studio, probably going out for a toilet break. It’s painfully obvious that the two of you are alone, and Sakurai can only think that your coach is doing this on purpose.
“___________-chan?”
“Yes, Ryo-kun?”
“I’m s-sorry if this is out of the blue,” he says, smiling sheepishly when you give him a scolding look, although you allow him to continue anyway.
“Do you t-think the two of us can… go out, sometime? Like a—a date?”
WAKAMATSU
He blanches when your ballet tutor whispers the words to him, unable to comprehend fully—does that mean you have been practicing with him in mind all this time? Wakamatsu begins to show, albeit not too visibly, signs of panic, and the elderly woman that is your tutor lets out a quiet chuckle at the display.
You are still dancing along to the music you have personally chosen, a song that he finds himself humming along to once or twice during a normal day (you would laugh at the look on the whole Touou’s face as a reaction to the Wakamatsu, humming). The performance hall is silent except for the music and the occasional sound of your feet on the wooden floor panels. When your eyes meet his, the truth sinks under his skin and lights him up like wildfire.
To have your tutor tell you that must mean that whatever you have with him can be more than just friendship… right?
The lights are on again, and with one last graceful
révérence, your performance ends. The crowd responds to your curtsy with loud applause, a good number (including Wakamatsu, of course) even offering a standing ovation.
Flash forward thirty minutes later and you are surrounded by your ballet classmates. Wakamatsu feels slightly out of place in a crowd of females dressed so nicely, some of them not changing out of their costume since their own performance. You won first place for your syllabus grade, and the hard work that goes into your practice sessions make it all the more joyful. He looks at you and understands—he has seen you practice before, has received phone calls from you in which you cry in frustration.
“Congratulations,” he finally says when the crowd around you disperses. “You deserve it.”
“Wakamatsu-kun! You made it!”
“Yeah,” he nods, acting a little self-conscious. He doesn’t know who he is for attending your performance: is he here as a classmate? A neighbor? A boy who likes you in secret?
“Thank you for coming,” you add quietly, a little bit of his self-consciousness rubbing off on you. “I’m disappointed you didn’t get me flowers, though,” you teasingly add in hopes to melt the tension between the two of you. Wakamatsu immediately turns red, flustered at his own mistake.
“I-I can get you flowers now, if you want,” he says a little too loudly and you secretly stifle a laugh, “there are people selling them outside… I should’ve gotten you some before coming to see you.” Now you feel guilty for making him feel bad. You grab his arm, marching towards the exit with a bunch of bouquets on your other hand. Wakamatsu fights back the urge to blush at the casual skin contact.
Another flower bouquet gets added onto the small pile in your arms—beautiful white gardenias.
“You know what,” he says, trying to act nonchalant as he walks with you aimlessly, “since it’s your big win today, is there anything else you want besides flowers?”
“You mean, you’ll grant my wish?” You say, sounding a bit too excited that he has to laugh.
“As long as it’s reasonable,” he quickly adds.
“Okay,” is your last response before falling silent. He notices your hand, the one linked with his arm, tapping lightly at the sleeves of his jacket, seemingly deep in thought.
“I got one.”
“Shoot.”
“I’m not sure if this counts as reasonable, but…” you falter slightly, looking at your feet before meeting his eyes once more, “how about a date?”
Wakamatsu looks ready to explode into debris of happiness and embarrassment
—you look too cute like that, and the fact that you asked him out first… if he were alone in his room, he would pump his fist in the air like a little child.
“Yeah, sure, that’s not unreasonable,” he quietly answers, trying to sound less eager than he actually is, but the hand pulling you closer against him tells you otherwise.
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