OUR STORY (BxB)

Chapter 5

-AKIRO-

Little by little, I feel myself stepping out from the shell I've always hidden behind—and it's because of Tamaro. He's been my anchor. With every small gesture, every quiet understanding, he's helped me breathe easier. And because of that, he's carved out a place in my heart. I can't help but wonder if he feels the same... but I don't want to assume. The thought of disappointment scares me more than I'd like to admit.

We were deep into practice when tension snapped between Jemuel and me. It was nothing major—just a small issue—but the stress of everything lately had made me fragile. I missed my parents. My body felt exhausted. My thoughts were tangled, restless. When we started shouting, I forgot he was older. I lost my composure. And, for a moment, I lost respect.

"I'm just telling you what to do," he said, voice rising. "Why are you getting so angry? I'm still older than you. Show some respect, Akiro."

"I did what you asked! Can't you say it nicely?" I snapped, the words too loud, too sharp—then turned and stormed out of the room.

I heard Tamaro's voice behind me, calling out. But I didn't turn around. My chest ached with frustration, my head foggy with emotion. I ran outside without knowing where I was going—just chasing quiet, solitude, something to steady the storm inside me.

By the time I stopped, rain was falling hard around me. Midnight had crept in, and I found myself somewhere unfamiliar, clutching my phone like it was the only thing anchoring me to the world. Tamaro had called—again and again—but my embarrassment kept me from answering.

Instead, I dialed Jemuel.

When he arrived, I didn't wait. I simply pulled him into a hug, overwhelmed with remorse.

"Let's go home," he said gently. "Tamaro's really worried about you. After you left, he talked to me—said I was being too harsh. Then he ran after you, but came back alone. We couldn't finish practice. He's barely spoken since. Just kept calling you, hoping you'd answer."

I stayed quiet the whole way back to the dorm. My thoughts tangled with guilt, tenderness... and a deep, quiet gratitude—for the people who care, even when I mess up.

When I stepped into the dorm, everyone was gathered in the living room—but all I saw was Tamaro. He stood in front of the others, and the moment his eyes met mine, he ran toward me without hesitation. He pulled me into a tight embrace, arms trembling, heart open. I held him back—just as tightly. We stood there, wrapped in each other, crying softly with no care for the watching eyes around us.

"Please," he whispered through his tears, voice breaking. "Don't do that again. I was out of my mind with worry, Akiro."

"I'm sorry," I breathed, turning to the rest of the group. I bowed my head gently, apologizing to them for what had happened earlier. I thanked them—for their patience, their understanding. That night, forgiveness threaded its way through us, and we let it settle everything.

Later, after a warm shower washed away the rain and exhaustion clinging to me, I caught sight of Tamaro on the balcony. The storm had passed, but the air was cold. He sat curled in his jacket and bonnet, fingers wrapped around a cup. I slipped quietly into our room, grabbed my own jacket and bonnet, then opened the glass door.

He looked up when he saw me.

"Tamaro... it's freezing out here. Why are you still outside?" I asked gently.

"Nothing serious," he murmured, eyes drifting toward the dark sky. "Just a few things bothering my mind."

I didn't press. I knew him well enough—when the time came, he'd speak. I sat beside him, silently watching the night stretch beyond us.

"What are you thinking?" I asked after a while.

He gave a quiet smile, one that didn't quite meet his eyes. His gaze dropped to the cup in his hands, fingers tracing its rim.

"There's too much to mention, Akiro," he said with a soft chuckle. I didn't ask again.

And then—he reached for my hand.

I blinked, surprised, watching as his fingers entwined with mine. He didn't look up. Just stared quietly at the way our hands fit together.

"I know these past few days have been heavy for you," he said quietly. "And I understand. But what you did today... it hurt, Akiro. I was so scared. I nearly called the police, you know. They had to stop me."

He laughed gently, but there was sadness beneath it. I could hear it clearly.

I squeezed his hand in return, letting that silence between us say what words couldn't yet reach.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again," I whispered, gripping his hand tighter, like holding on could erase what I'd put him through. I looked up into the night sky, blanketed in quiet, when I felt something warm press gently against my cheek.

He kissed me.

Tamaro kissed me again.

I turned to him, wide-eyed and breathless. My heart forgot how to beat for a moment—just suspended between surprise and something else I couldn't name.

He smiled, gentle and sure.

"You know I love you, Akiro," he said quietly, eyes locked to mine. "I hate seeing you cry. I can't stand it when you're hurting."

His name trembled in my mouth. "Ta–Tamaro..." I stammered, stunned. Was that... a confession? He didn't say whether he loved me as a brother, or... something more. The line blurred and left me floundering between hope and uncertainty.

"Let's sleep," he said simply, pulling me gently to my feet. "It's late."

But I couldn't sleep. Not with his words still unraveling inside me. Not with the phantom warmth of his lips still lingering on my skin. He didn't sleep beside me that night. He left me with tangled thoughts and a heart that refused to rest.

—

The next morning came slow and lazy—our long-awaited day off. Most of the members were meeting with their families, but Tamaro and I stayed behind at the dorm. We played games all day, laughed over silly mistakes, shared long stretches of silence that felt like comfort instead of awkwardness. That was enough for me. Just being beside him was more than I could ask for.

Practice resumed, and The Young Prince filming picked up again. We were in the meeting room when Mr. William briefed us on the week ahead: a fan signing event was scheduled. The room buzzed with energy—excitement, nerves, little waves of anticipation rising and falling. I kept quiet.

It wasn't my first fan signing. But even now, the fear lingered: fear of not being liked, of rejection hiding behind polite smiles. I could take that... but what about Tamaro? What if someone rejected him?

The thought squeezed at my chest. I didn't want him hurt—not by the ones we sing and dance for, not by strangers who wouldn't know how deeply he mattered to me.

—

The day arrived.

Backstage, we sat side by side, preparing to meet the crowd. Tamaro was nervous—I could see it in the way his fingers fidgeted, in the way he bit his lip and kept glancing toward the exit. I reached for his hand and held it tightly.

Not just to calm him.

But to calm myself.

"Akiro, just relax," Tamaro murmured, and somehow, his voice settled the fluttering panic inside me.

"I'm really nervous," I admitted, hands trembling slightly.

"I know," he said, squeezing my hand with quiet assurance. "But I'm not leaving your side. Not today."

We stepped onto the stage together, side by side. Introduced ourselves to the crowd with smiles, practiced ease—though mine was a little tight at the edges. The fans were kind, warm, cheering without judgment, and I felt grateful for every one of them.

Tamaro and I stayed close throughout. We were naturally touchy, sweet, playful—whether cameras were watching or not. It wasn't performance. It was just us.

At one point, we faced each other, and I couldn't help noticing the way his lips moved—how, out of nowhere, he licked them in that quiet, unconscious way. My gaze lingered, trailing after that simple action, and for a moment, the thought of kissing him blazed through my mind. I swallowed hard. He turned away, looking off in the opposite direction, and I silently scolded myself. We were in front of fans. Cameras. The world.

But Tamaro had this effect on me—this gentle, magnetic pull that made it hard to stay composed.

After the fan meeting, we waited in the dressing room for the staff to wrap things up and tell us we could head home. The exhaustion was real—I was smiling so much my cheeks ached, even though all I wanted was to close my eyes and breathe.

Tamaro sat beside me, casual, like nothing intense had happened between us earlier. He could switch off so easily—while I sat there trying to scrub my thoughts clean of lips, of longing, of moments that almost tipped over the edge.

Honestly? When it comes to Tamaro... I have no idea how to control myself.

-TAMARO-

That night on the balcony, it all spiraled before I could stop it.

The way he looked, the quiet between us, the weight of everything unspoken—I couldn't help it.

I kissed him.

It happened so fast, even he was caught off guard. I pulled him gently toward our room after, unable to face the wide-eyed shock in his gaze any longer. Everyone was asleep, and even though I slipped into my own bed, sleep didn't come. And I knew—somehow—I wasn't the only one lying awake in the dark.

—

We've returned to our routine now: practices, shoots, another fan meeting. It went beautifully. Warm smiles, letters and gifts from fans who hold us close in their hearts. The kind of love that humbles you.

But my feelings for Akiro... they're deeper now. Growing quietly, stubbornly, beneath the surface.

Sometimes I ignore him—try to create space between us. But it only lasts until he starts to sulk, and then I'm helpless. His pout folds me in half. I can't stand it.

During interviews, he's often asked to describe my personality. And without fail, he says something about my face being perfect. Handsome. I try to laugh it off, play it cool. But hearing that word come from him—it does something to me. Makes my heart race in places I thought were calm.

He says it almost every day now. And when I catch him staring at me? I pretend not to notice, even though I feel every glance like a spark lighting up my chest. I don't want to show how restless he makes me. How breathless.

But I'm just as guilty. I look at him, too. All the time.

We've been together for years. We know each other down to the smallest quirks. Of all the members, Akiro is the only one who really gets me. Who rides every strange impulse, every skit, every moment of silliness without hesitation. At first, I thought I came off weird—too much. But they learned to accept me for who I am.

And Akiro? He didn't just accept me.

He matched me.

Sometimes we perform skits as if we're in a relationship—and Akiro always plays along. But the truth is, some of those skits? They're more real than he knows. They become my outlet, my way of saying what I can't admit outright. When it's part of the joke, the emotion slips through unnoticed. Camouflaged. Safe.

How do I stop feeling this way... when we're together nearly every hour of every day? The longer we're side by side, the deeper this ache grows. It's not just admiration anymore—it's something messier, harder to hold back. I've thought about confessing. I've rehearsed it. But then I remember... he's still too young. Too untouched by this kind of emotional weight. And that makes everything more complicated.

We flew to Malaysia for filming. It's one of our segments for The Young Prince. The staff gave us a task while we were there—to do a themed group photoshoot. Joshua and Stephen paired off. Harly and Renz, the 94-liners. And me, Jemuel, and Akiro—the youngest set.

I've always loved conceptual shoots and storytelling through photos, so I pitched the idea myself: we'd shoot as if we were beggars, searching for warmth and meaning in a foreign place. To my surprise, they approved it.

We spent the afternoon wandering, scouting locations. As the shoot began, we posed together, shared laughter, and captured dozens of frames. But eventually, I handed my personal phone to Jemuel—asked him to take one of just me and Akiro. That photo wasn't for the show. It was for me. For the quiet part of my heart that only wakes when he's nearby.

As we continued walking, we found a bay walk bathed in sunset. It was perfect. The golden light spilled across the water like a secret written in fire. Sunset has always been my favorite time of day—something about its melancholy grace. Akiro, on the other hand, loves sunrise. Always looking forward. Always chasing something new.

Maybe that's why we balance each other.

Maybe that's why this feeling is so hard to let go.

The shoot was winding down, golden light spilling across the bay walk where couples strolled hand in hand. For once, no one recognized us—which was a quiet blessing. Being rookies in the P-pop industry had its perks; here in Malaysia, we moved like ghosts among strangers.

Jemuel took another photo of me and Akiro—just us, no script. There was a shot where my arm wrapped around his, another where he gave me a piggyback ride, and one where he hugged me from behind. Sweet poses, tender gestures, captured like stolen seconds. I knew I'd keep those photos close—just for me.

When the shoot ended, fatigue sank into our limbs, and we headed back to where we were staying. Akiro and I shared a room again, like we always did when traveling. It was quietly understood between the members and staff. This arrangement felt safe, familiar... ours.

"I'll take a shower first," he said, stretching a little.

"Can we shower together?" I replied, half-teasing, half-serious. "I'm getting itchy already."

My skin was flaring up again—cholinergic urticaria. The heat, sweat, and adrenaline never played well with me. The others knew about it. And this time, I just needed relief.

"A-are you sure, Tamaro?" he stammered, cheeks turning crimson. I fought the urge to laugh at how flustered he looked.

"Yes, Akiro. Hurry, I'm really itchy," I said casually as I stripped down to my boxers and stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door open. If he wanted to join me, he could. I wasn't hiding anything—not this time.

I turned on the shower, letting the cool water run over my skin, and then I heard him behind me. Akiro stepped into the bathroom, wearing only his boxers, hesitant but willing. My eyes flicked to his frame, and I swallowed hard—he was young, yes, but already carrying strength in his build. Muscles. Defined lines. His quiet confidence.

I looked away quickly, letting the steam blur the moment. But inside, everything was louder—my breath, my heartbeat, the words I couldn't say yet.

I turned slowly beneath the water, letting the stream rush over me in quiet relief. Beside me, Akiro stepped into the shower space too, silent, focused, eyes fixed downward. Neither of us spoke, but the air between us pulsed with something we couldn't name. Something neither of us was quite ready to admit.

I grabbed the soap and started lathering my skin, careful not to glance his way—though I could hear the shampoo bottle click open behind me.

"Tamaro... your back's really red," he said after a moment, voice gentle. "Give me the soap—I'll help."

I froze, half-turning. His face was flushed from the steam, or maybe something else. I handed him the soap, then turned my back. I couldn't risk him seeing the physical reaction I was trying so hard to ignore.

His hands moved softly across my back—cool and steady. Each touch was a spark I tried to contain, a heartbeat louder than the water falling around us. I told myself I should've known better. This was a bad idea. But I couldn't stop now. I couldn't turn away from the way he was making me feel.

Once he'd finished, I gently took the soap from his hand and made a quiet gesture for him to turn around. He hesitated, then slowly turned his back to me. I started to lather his skin, tracing the muscle across his shoulders, letting my hands memorize the slope of his arms.

I could feel his breath hitch, but he didn't speak.

I set the soap aside and let my fingers move in slow, careful circles—a quiet massage, something grounding in the middle of all this emotion. He didn't stop me. Just stood there and let me care for him, body slick with foam, silence blooming between us.

"T–Tamaro... I think I need to rinse now," he said suddenly, voice barely steady. He stepped forward, washed the soap off, and reached for the towel with hurried hands. Then he was gone—leaving me beneath the water, heart thrumming like a storm.

But I saw it.

Felt it.

It wasn't just me. There was something in the way he touched me, in the way he couldn't quite meet my gaze afterward. It gave me hope. I wouldn't rush this—I knew better than that. But maybe, just maybe, we were walking toward the same truth. Slowly. Quietly. Together.