Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

32 | Admit

"I have an idea," Hayato says. "What is it?" Tendo inquires.

"Go to her house and talk to her. She'll tell you why she isn't talking to you, and you'll figure out if you love her or not." Hayato says.

"How am I going to magically know whether I'm in love with someone or not? That doesn't make sense," Wakatoshi spits back condescendingly.

"It's not about common sense. It's how love works. That makes sense," Hayato responds, smiling smugly at his philosophical words.

'It's not possible, it's just not true,' he thinks. They look away, unsurprised that he doesn't understand. His anger begins building its way up at their mockery.

Why won't they get it? They're the ones who don't understand.

"You know the route to her house, you planted her favorite flowers in your garden, and you ate all the food she made you when you were sick. Or should we keep going?" Hayato voices sarcastically. 

Wakatoshi holds back.

"She's still your muse, right? For your poetry?" Hayato blurts out suddenly. Hayato's the love expert in this trio, since he's the only one with a girlfriend. 

His eyes fly wide. It feels like he's been outsmarted, like in volleyball tactics. And it stings, to the point where it makes him run away. He never should've told him about that.

"I'm not romance material. I don't know how you've conjured that up," he holds his accumulating fumes and stands up with his eyebrows pulled together. He puts his mug of team on the table. It had gone cold. He begins to walk away, rather than running. That's what it feels like.

"You can't keep believing you're this unlovable person, Wakatoshi. Everyone is capable of love and being loved, even when they don't know it." Hayato says positively, sensing the rising tension. 

"Maybe that's why you haven't gone to talk to her yet, because you don't believe that she's in love with you," Tendo says. He tried to hold back, but the flames are too strong. Tendo hit a nerve.

"I don't believe she's in love with me. You finally get it," Wakatoshi yells, his nails digging into his palms.

They don't say anything. They've never seen him this enraged. They've never seen him yell.

"It's so easy to be as careless as you, thinking everyone is capable of love, and that everyone can express emotion like you in a magical world of happy endings. Isn't it?"

Tendo freezes in place.

"When you're labeled emotionless, that's who you are. That's who you'll always be," he says, pointing to himself and his tall figure.

"You honestly let yourself believe that?" Tendo scoffs.

"Yes. Yes, I do!" he spits.

"That's your problem," Tendo concedes.

"Of course it is. I'm the problem. After everything I do, I'm still the problem."

Wakatoshi's knuckles go white. It feels as though his friends have thrown him into a box and shut him in. He can't breathe.

"You don't know what it's like. You don't get it." He's more frustrated than he's ever been.

He wants to let it all out, so he does. He's tired of keeping it all in. He wants to make them understand.

"You won't ever know what it's like to always be the one hurt so carelessly. To always be looked at so distastefully. You won't ever experience the looks on their faces or the fearful eyes when you walk past people. I can't remember the last time I got an apology for being treated like that. What? Do you think my mother feels guilty for putting me through that hell of a life? Do you honestly think she loves me like your parents do?"

He isn't mad at Hayato. It's Tendo who's being conceited.

"When was the last time she asked how I was doing, for god's sake? She's never treated me like her son. I'm from her own flesh and blood, yet I can't remember the last time she hugged me. Don't you think it hurts when I become the highest player of the prefecture, and I have to hear my father's congratulations over the phone, instead of having him say it to my face? Does anyone ever feel guilty when I get hurt?" he yells again, running his hands through his hair.

He's sick of everything he's gone through. He's sick of it all, he continues yelling and each word hurts more than the last.

"Everyone is so embedded in this illusion that I'm this indestructible machine they've made me out to be. They never put an ounce of thought into the fact that I'm human too. I have a beating heart and feelings like everyone else. And you know what?" He feels himself at ease, his head pressed into his hands for a moment. 

He feels his eyes squeeze and unnoticeable tears of frustration form. They aren't visible, but he feels them linger.

"I tried. I tried to change into a person I wasn't. I tried," his voice cracks hoarsely. He can feel their hidden sympathy, and he hates it. He doesn't need their pity.

"I tried to express my feelings and change myself, but where has that gotten me? I worked like a machine, I underwent indescribable amounts of pressure and so many sleepless nights I can't count them on my own two hands. I did all I could and I overworked myself until I couldn't catch a breath, but it was never enough. Nothing is enough. Nothing. I can always jump higher, spike harder, smile better, look happier, I can always make them more proud." He steals a breath.

"No one ever takes a second to think that I can feel too. Not one second to think that the person they treat with such a cold heart is a being. You don't get to sit there and tell me what and what not to feel until you get treated like that. Until you know what it feels like to open your heart to people, only for them to step all over it. Until you get a taste of my reality and need to harden your heart to protect yourself." He gives them no room to respond and turns around.

His mother's words echo in his ears. She was the first to break his heart. He wants to put the cherry on top and keep them nailed into their places. He wants to push them further into the ground, and keep them there until they can figure out a way to dig themselves back out. He wants the next words to carve themselves into their brain.

"You can't tell me anyone ever dared to look at me differently. Look at you, you barely know who I am under the surface. You've fed into the illusion too. You're just like them." He lets his shaking fingers release, feeling the tiny amounts of the breeze moving past each space as they begins to cool.

He walks to his room and sits on his bed. Again, Hana emerges into his thoughts. Will she ever leave? He doesn't think so.

He lays down, drained. He begins to think of why he wasn't enough for her, with all that he does. He tries to deny it, but he knows somewhere in the depths of his stone heart, that she's present and keeps his pulse going. He thinks of their moments together and what she could be doing at this hour.

She remains in his thoughts even when he tries to sleep, as if she can slowly bring him back to her unintentionally. He groans against the pillow, turning to face the wall. An idea comes to mind.

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Author: yes i'm using the same song. it's that good.