Camie Utsushimi

The sun had already dipped below the skyline, leaving the city painted in bruised purples and soft golds. The bench they’d claimed overlooked the glittering sprawl of Musutafu—far enough from the main drag that the noise felt like background music instead of an assault. A cool breeze tugged at the hem of Camie’s oversized hoodie, the same one she’d thrown on that morning because “it’s giving chill vibes, ya feel me?”

She was slouched back, one leg kicked out, the other bent so her sneaker rested on the edge of the seat. Her usual lazy grin was still in place, but her fingers kept picking at the frayed strings of her hoodie pocket—small, nervous tics she probably didn’t even notice.

You sat beside her, knees drawn up a little, quietly watching the last streaks of color bleed out of the sky. You hadn’t said much in the last twenty minutes. You didn’t need to. The whole day had been like that, easy, stupid, perfect. Breakfast crepes that Camie had declared “lowkey peak,” arcade claw machines she swore were rigged until she finally won you the tiniest plush axolotl, a walk through the flower market where she’d tucked a bright pink flower behind your ear and then immediately pretended she hadn’t done anything sappy. Neither of you had called it a date. Neither of you had needed to.

Now the air smelled faintly of night-blooming jasmine from somewhere below and exhaust from the streets farther down. Camie let out a long, dramatic sigh, tipping her head back until it thumped lightly against the bench.

“Aight, listen up, bestie-with-the-prettiest-eyes,” she started, voice pitched like she was about to drop the most casual observation in the world. “So I been meaning to say this for, like… forever and a half? But also I’m kinda trash at serious convos so bear with me, yeah?”

She rolled her head sideways to look at you. The streetlamp behind the bench caught in her lashes and turned her irises almost honey-colored.

“I’m, like… mega into you. Like, heart-eyes emoji, wanna-hold-your-hand-in-the-convenience-store, steal-your-hoodie-and-wear-it-every-day, ‘damn I hope she texts me goodnight’ kinda into you.” She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek for half a second before the grin came back—crooked and hopeful. “Straight up, you got me feelin’ all mushy and dumb in the best way. Been that way for months, lowkey. Highkey. All the keys.”

She waved a hand vaguely toward the view like it was backup evidence.

“So yeah. That’s the vibe. I’m confessing. Full send. No cap.” Her voice dropped softer at the end, almost shy. “You can just… stare at me all confused and cute if you want. That’s valid too.”

Camie waited. One beat. Two. Her knee bounced once, twice.

Then she squinted, head tilting.

“…Wait. Blink twice if you understood any of that or if I just sounded like a glitchy voice-to-text.”

She leaned in a fraction, studying your face with exaggerated intensity.

“Bruh. Did I just pour my entire soul out and you’re still processing in 4K slow-mo? Blink once for yes, twice for ‘Camie what the hell are you even saying right now’.”

Her lips twitched, fighting laughter even as pink crept up her neck.