White Gold
by Rae

I don't remember when it struck me. It was just one of those things; like a bolt out of the blue or a hammer crack to your thumb or whatever but this kid isn't what he seems.

Sure, he's polite to a fault. Of course he stands out in a crowd. He's so damn tall so it just makes sense that he'd catch attention, even if it isn't wanted. And hell, the way he looks at me sometimes just turns my guts to mush for even thinking impure thoughts. So unassuming.

Ha. I've learned how backwards it all is. There's so much more than that carefully polished surface.

He lets his guard down around me sometimes. Talks to me like a friend and a partner, not just a senpai from tennis club. Not just some senior he plays doubles with on the courts.

At first, it kinda startled me. I'd been completely fooled too, or just hadn't bothered to look at him. To really see him. Peer beyond that awkward, thin smile to see what was really going on. To meet his eyes and not look away.

He told me once that he liked it when I did that. That I was the only person at this school that would actually make and maintain eye contact when he spoke to me. I wouldn't admit it at the time, tried to smash that little gloating voice in the back of my mind, but I couldn't for long.

I liked it too. The fact that he trusted me. He, in not so many words, told me I could do something that nobody else could. He made me feel unique again. Special. Honestly proud of something I'd done.

It had been so long since I'd felt that way.

But that was months ago.

Right now I sit here watching him. Listening to him talk about how 'annoying' his sister is with all her hair products piling up in the bathroom and I can't think of anything to say. All I can do is stare in awe at how the sunlight plays over him and if I tilt my head just a little to the left, he really does look ethereal. His skin, his smile, that hair. Just…everything.

Even now I hear people compare my Choutarou to silver. To a metal that's cool and weak in comparison to others.

And the thought strikes again: He's not. Silver loses it's shine over time. It tarnishes. He won't. Not ever, if I have anything to say about it. He's more precious than that. Warmer than that. Worth more than that.

He's white gold to me.

The End

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