ＩＮ ＹＥＡＲＳ ＷＨＥＮ ＷＥ ＧＥＴ ＯＬＤＥＲ
— you help me with your voice, you listen when my voice was void of sound —

Listen to Tammany Hall NYC (Cindy)

i.

You're in kindergarten. The boys tug at your short auburn hair and the girls giggle about pink and glitter. It's where you meet your best friend and soul mate (you think), Yumi. Her pretty blond hair moves when she walks over to you and offers you some crayons. It is at that moment that your life changes forever. Yumi becomes your best friend, your confidante, and everything you are not (almost forever).

ii.

You're ten when you see a new boy moving in near your house. Your mother wants you to greet them, but you're just to shy and don't know how to react, so you hide behind your mum and just see a glimpse of dark hair — it's a little boy — who's looking through the legs of your opposite person. It's intriguing you, but eventually the nagging at your chest turns into a dull throb in the pit of your stomach and then vanishes completely.

iii.

You're thirteen when you are falling in love for the first time. It's the way you're reacting the same way, with the same words, simultaneously. It's the way he is just totally different from all the other boys ever crossing your path and even though you feel slightly uncomfortable around him, it's not negative — nonono — it's positive, because he can still make you feel oversized butterflies fluttering in your stomach when he comes near you or looks at you from across his class and keeps your gaze there with his.

It's the way you are a girl and he is a boy and it's just pure chemistry.

iv.

You're sixteen when you see him again. It's the way he likes to give mixed signals now, likes to keep people guessing (because they'll never really get him) that you think something has changed. Even though you should keep your distance know — it's not like you can — you're still so drawn to him that it is just impossible to stay away.

And you know that he knows. Knows, that very few times, you (Yoshioka Futaba) come pretty close. And it's only natural then for him to, as Kou Mabuchi (it's Tanaka for you), throw you off course, create a whole new labyrinthine, and burn any leftover bridges — anything that could be used as a clue, because whether he likes to admit it (openly) or not, you could be pretty smart most days.

v.

You're eighteen and you are in love with him. You know it. Have known it since – god, it doesn't even matter, all that matters is you know, feel it willingly – finally.

And it's the fact that something has changed in your relationship towards him. So many times you thought of giving up, but never even once did it hit reality, because in the end you know, you know that there is something between you two despite everything that has happened.

You grab the notebook from him quickly (since long ago, he carries it in his bag), and he looks at you in disbelief, before masking away his surprise with a murky and unreadable expression.

"Give it back, Futaba." (it's the first time he calls you like that)

The first three word come out measured and patient, but your name comes out strained. It makes you feel alive, sparks bursting out in your veins, and adrenaline coursing through you. You want to hear him say it like that again.

You shake your head, jutting your chin out defiantly. "No."

"I'm not in the mood for games. Just give it back."

"Say my name again."

He gives you a curious gaze.

"What? Why—"

"Just say it again like you just did, and I'll give it back. Promise." (what's so special about it anyway?)

He studies you for a second or two, before saying irresolutely, "Futaba."

It comes out more like a question and a little less like magic.

You shake your head stubbornly. "No, like before."

He gives you another look, but this time it's needier and a little more personal. (he blushes, how cute)

"Futaba."

He says your name like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever come across.

You release another breath, closing your eyes, and smiling for some reason. You can't actually decipher why.

"Yeah, like that." You feel him move a little closer, an arm creeping around to your back slowly, just in case you jump away probably, and then his tawny eyes are fixed on you and his forehead is touching yours, you can feel his breathe on your skin and it makes you tremble (just inside), "I love you."

Love. It's like being a hundred feet high above the ground and afraid of heights, but jumping regardless, because that's living — that's falling.

You find his hand, needle your fingers through his, like water through sand, "Me too."

vi.

You're still eighteen, but it's just too important to leave it out. You are walking next to the guy you call your big love, your hands are touching and it's not just your gut feeling that wants to take the hand of your beloved. He intertwines yours with his and it just fits that perfectly, it's making you laugh out of joy.

"This is fun," you play with the collar of his jacket, your noses just centimetres apart, enjoying the funny, a dazed look in his eyes, "You're fun."

He laughs, at a loss of words, "Thanks?"

You pull him closer and kiss him soundly, right there in the middle of the street, as the passerby's and even classmates around you stare, wide-eyed (and some sputtering). (he took your first, now you want to take his first in a relationship)

And this really is, fun that is — being in love, completely and madly.

vii.

You are twenty and some things have changed (some things haven't).

You are waking up slowly, and even though your eyes are still closed you can feel the sun streaming through the gap in between the curtains, engulfing you into a colourful spectrum of light.

The thought that when you open your eyes and the first thing they fall on is the body next to you, you could customise yourself to it. He is still sleeping, judging from the pattern of his breathing. You can recognize it from anywhere. The quiet way he breathes in and out so evenly when he's asleep. Lately, you just can fall asleep when you're together like that.

He's breathtaking and your heart beats so fast, it feels like jumping right out of your chest. When you were younger, you always dreamed of waking up to the sight of him beside you. You dreamed of moments like this, and now that you regained them, you feel extremely happy (even though you're so nervous every time that you just don't know how to handle it).

You try to get up, your feet touching the ground barely — but no, it's not the ground — you feel something slightly uneven and when you're taking it from under the bed, it looks like the notebook you once held in your hands to tease the boy you loved (it could be any other book, though). You smile and flip through, when suddenly you halt and you can't believe it, but now you know the reason he doesn't wanted you to have it.

He stirs a little, and when his eyes open blurrily and he looks up at you, he tries to run his hand through his hair. You move closer to him, letting your hands needle through the curls without thinking.

And it's only when you already started, and he's gazing at you, his eyes clouded, that you realize he isn't looking exactly at you, more at the book in your hand.

You stop suddenly, looking away, and letting your knees come up to your chest so you can put your arms around them instead and hide your blushing face.

Feeling his gaze on your face, you want to get up, because it's just so embarrassing that he caught you. "I—I should get—"

He stops you from getting out of the blankets and when you look back at him, you can see the driving force in his resolute eyes.

"No."

He pulls you back in lightly (the notebook falling out of your hand), and when you turn back towards him, all you can see in his eyes is something so real, it's earth-shattering.

He kisses each knuckle on the back of your hand lightly, and you lean in towards him, putting your head on his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head, intertwining your hands. They fit so well together.

"Look at that."

You keep your eyes fixed on your hands like he tells you to, even as you feel his lips touching the side of your face and tracing down to the side of your lips, and there's something so comforting about this. It's so easy. Like a dream.

"It's not like you didn't knew. You being my first love." (hopefully the last)

You turn towards him, letting him close the gap between your lips in a heartbeat. And his tongue in her mouth is like reminiscing past wonders (and even an outlook to the future).

The notebook on the floor scattered, but one sheet looks different than the others
(faded, dusty and crumbled), there is something special, almost like fascination and love and old times.

"ＹＯＳＨＩＯＫＡ ＦＵＴＡＢＡ"

A/N: Another oneshot. Hopefully not to mature, because I wanted to do something not SO MUCH mature than I do usually. I even heard that people are annoyed with brackets, but it's just my writing style, so I won't just drop it. The guy in her tenth year is obviously Kou as he moved there in her neighbourhood, but she didn't recognized him and even there had an infatuation towards him. Kou is slightly OOC (there are some parallels to my Shuuko fanfic, since I think Kou and Shuuko have many things in common concering characteristics), but just think of him as maturing above his mistake concerning Narumi. I could have brought Shuuko and Yuri in, but I didn't know how, so I just let it be. Hope you like it nonetheless. Probably doing this out of Kous' point of view too.
And btw. love the song so much, since I think it really fits their relationship!

Review ~*