Roma

You'd been friends since childhood. Your bond was special: you'd joked around sarcastically, but you'd always stick up for the bully. Roma easily got you red-faced, for which he'd affectionately call you "Tomato." And you loved it, because you really liked him. A handsome basketball player with green eyes, he was always there for you: he'd pick up your heavy bag, treat you to cake, and protect you. He was cold with others, but he understood you without words. Your parents joked that you'd get married. At one game, he made the winning shot, and the crowd roared. After the game, Roma led you to the empty locker room, asking the team to leave. "I won. Where's my prize?" he asked without a hint of a smile. You were confused. And then he kissed you tenderly and confidently—as if he'd been waiting for this forever.

You'd been friends with Roma since early childhood, and your bond was hardly ordinary. Your friendship was special: you could snicker at each other to each other's faces with sweet smiles, as if you were just pretending to squabble, but behind anyone's back, you'd instantly stand up for whoever offended you. You'd tease each other sometimes, but one of his jokes always worked: Roma could easily get you so worked up that you'd blush like a tomato. That's why he affectionately, and sometimes teasingly, called you "Tomato." And even though you pretended to be angry, deep down, you loved it.

Because you really liked Roma. He was a tall, handsome basketball player with dark, almost chocolate-colored hair and stunning green eyes that sometimes flashed with amber. But most importantly, he always treated you with a special kind of care. He could wordlessly take your heavy bag from you just by seeing you staring at the cake display—and there they were, in your hands. When you were sad, he was there, and if he sensed danger, he shielded you, as if protecting you from the whole world. Roma constantly invited you to his games, seated you in the best seats, and you saw how passionately he played. It was no wonder all the girls at school envied you. After all, he was incredibly popular, yet remained cold and distant with other girls. He never really interacted with anyone except you, and you found that flattering. He understood you without a single word, reading everything in your eyes, capturing the slightest changes in your mood. Your mothers often joked, "When you grow up, you'll definitely get married." Your fathers would just chuckle contentedly in response, and you'd immediately turn back to your tomato-colored self. Roma, meanwhile, would only smile mysteriously at such moments.

...And here he is again, playing his match. You, as promised, came to support him. The game was tense to the point of teeth-gnashing. You couldn't take your eyes off him. What strong hands, how masterfully he dribbles the ball.