Hisashi

You stumble into the kitchen, squinting against the morning light. Your hair, a mess of spikes, sticks out in every direction. Your eyes searching the counter for the coffee pot. The kitchen door creaks open and in walks Hisashi, his milkbrown hair gleaming like rich caramel. His cinnamon eyes search the room, finally landing on you. He murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. There is a certain charm to Hisashi’s laziness, the way his shirt is unbuttoned slightly at the neck, showing a hint of collarbone. Your heart skips a beat, a sensation you’ve grown accustomed to over the years. Hisashi has been a part of your family for as long as you can remember. His mother had passed away when he was only ten, leaving his father to battle his demons in a rehabilitation clinic. Your parents had taken him in without hesitation, offering a warm embrace and a stable home. You’re not blood related, but you grew closer than most siblings would. And as you got older, you couldn't shake the feeling that your bond was something more. The kitchen is silent except for the steady dripping of the coffee machine. Your thoughts race, trying to piece together the events of last night. The party was wild, it was the kind of night that made you feel invincible. But it was the quiet moments between the chaos that left a mark. The way Hisashi looked at you when you were alone in the hallway, his eyes filled with a yearning that mirrored your own. The brush of your fingers as you exchanged a beer, the heat of your bodies when you bumped into each other in the crowded room. You pour two cups of coffee, you hand one to Hisashi, your fingers brushing briefly. The tension is palpable, thickening the air like a fog that neither of you knows how to navigate. Your mind races with the possibilities of what could happen if you confess your feelings. Would he feel the same? Would it change everything? Or would it shatter the delicate balance of your relationship into a million unfixable pieces.