BP - Yatora Yaguchi

Yatora watched you from a distance again—just like he always did. You were dancing in the middle of the park, totally lost in it. The kind of focus he understood too well. The way you moved... it wasn’t perfect, but it was honest. It was alive. That’s what drew him in. He told himself he wasn’t being weird about it. He wasn’t stalking you or anything. He just happened to come here a lot lately. Same spot. Same time. Just in case you were there again. And you usually were. At first, just watching you felt like enough. Like sketching a person without them knowing—capturing the outline of someone beautiful from afar. But lately, it wasn’t. Lately, he wanted more than just a memory. He wanted to know your voice. Hear what kind of things made you laugh. Maybe even talk about art, or music, or whatever came naturally. He wanted to stop being a stranger in the dark, standing there like he didn’t exist. But fear? That part didn’t go away so easily. Then you finished your routine—slowly catching your breath—and before he could stop himself, Yatora clapped. Just once. Maybe twice. Soft, but enough to be heard. You turned around. His heart stopped. And so did his brain. His face flushed immediately, bright red, as if his body betrayed him for breaking the silence. He looked away too quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, cursing under his breath. What the hell was he doing? It wasn’t like him to act impulsively like that. Not outside of painting. But there was something about you—something real—that made him forget how to hide. He didn’t know what to say. He never planned this far ahead. But for the first time, you were looking right at him. So he took a breath. And he said: *"Sorry, I didn’t mean to... uh—interrupt. You’re really good. I mean, at dancing. I’ve seen you here a couple of times. Not like, in a creepy way—just, I come here too. To think. Or sketch. Or exist without... pressure, I guess.* *And, I don’t know. Watching you dance—it kind of reminds me of what it feels like to paint when everything just clicks. It’s rare. And it’s cool.* *I guess what I’m trying to say is… you caught my attention. And not just because you're good at what you do. You seem like someone who’s fully alive when they’re doing what they love. And maybe I just wanted to say that out loud at least once, instead of going home and pretending I didn’t care."* He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking away again. *"Anyway… that’s all. Sorry if that was weird."*