(Warning, teenager having a wet dream? No sex or anything in it though.)
The view is fuzzy, indistinct, as if looking through some kind of blurry lens, not quite in focus. The colors of the room are soft, muted, earth tones that don't cause a lot of fuss, comfortable and quiet, like the residents of this small home.
The style is very much Japanese: low tables, cushions, simplicity. There are two futons half-rolled in the single room of living space, as if the occupants had been distracted in the middle of putting them up. The picture pans a little, and an open section of sliding screen shows exactly where those two less-than-diligent housekeepers have gone...
A little further panning, and a shift in angle, and suddenly the house is seen from outside, a tiny little structure that wouldn't look out of place in any of the villages of Kannagara. The outside is slightly worn, but pleasant and homey, and the two forms playing an impromptu game of tug-of-war on the threshold certainly don't seem to mind.
The 'rope' in this particular game of tug-of-war, however, happens to be a small flat cloth-wrapped package, about the size of a small book.
"Come on, Touya, just let me take a little peek?"
Despite the fact that his small hands are wrapped tightly around the book, the shorter of the two teens seems not the slightest bit distressed by the over the 'fight' happening between them at the moment. In fact, his eyes are downright playful behind his large round glasses, and there's a certain tinge of amusement to the way his lips turn down, attempting a pout.
"Please?"
And despite you - the dreamer, the watcher, the narrator, whatever it is you are! - being outside the tall, broad-shouldered, athletic form, being out from behind brown eyes, what you feel is no different from what is felt by the young man wrestling with Yukito for the book.
A wash of affection, almost overwhelming, and a certain crumbling sense of determination.
"I told you it's not quite ready yet!" The words come out almost plaintive, as if begging to be allowed to keep the secret just a little longer.
"But it's already wrapped..." comes the protest, and there's a 'stumble' forward, so that boys and book both are sent off the porch, sprawling out on the ground beneath, Touya's form sprawled across grass and, both arms going up.
Of course the package goes flying. Because of course it's not the book that is being caught so desperately. No, it's a slender, almost delicate, light-haired teenager... and both hands grasp at Yukito's shoulders, tug him in safe against Touya's body to cushion his fall...
And there's the embarrassment, again washing over just as if you were this awkwardly large teenager, with his big hands and his too-long legs and his getting-slightly-shaggy dark hair. It's strange to see it from outside, to watch the blush spread across his cheeks, the way his face turns to the side, as if desperate to hide the expression.
Because of course it's not like anyone is going to die from falling off such a large porch!
But there's soft laughter, and one small hand goes up to adjust the round glasses, and then there's just the slightest pause before the light weight atop Touya squirms away, one hand reaching out for the fallen prize.
A quick roll, and then Touya is on top, pressing Yukito into the ground and making damn sure that his friend isn't going to be able to pick up that book. There. It's all settled. Just give him a minute and then he'll slide his hand a little that way... grab the book... make a dash for the house and find somewhere else to hide it for just a little longer until he's absolutely sure he's ready to show what he's writing to his best friend...
Except - uh - what was that plan again...?
It's completely forgotten as slender arms loop around Touya's neck, the warm smile moves closer, too close to be ignored no matter how much Touya tries to turn away.
And suddenly, the perspective is completely different. In fact, all sight is gone, all sound, all outside input everywhere is silenced, ripped away, blinded.
It's all replaced by nothing but warmth, the whisper of your own breath, the pounding of a heart that has suddenly decided to beat out of your chest, the rush of blood through body and emotion through spirit and thought pounding through the brain...
It's like the adrenaline of soccer and martial arts and checking your savings account and getting your test scores back and being injured and being healed and terror and hope all in one single second of every moment of suspense in your entire life crammed together, pressing-and-crushing-and-lifting-and-breaking-and-building-and...
The soft voice filling the darkness, the whisper of 'you should just tell me to my face'. Everything crashes at once, the buildup to those quiet words a framework - construction everything is about construction - that collapses in an instant when the wrecking ball of Yukito's beautiful-teasing-sincere voice smashes into it.
[Touya wakes up with his pillow dragged out from under his bed and held against his body. His face turns bright red and both hands go up to his face, covering it. He'll just curl up and die now, with his sticky pajama pants.]