Something felt wrong. Something in that instinctive gut of his echoed that something wasn't right. Something was off, wrong. And it scared him. Could he be running to find something wrong with her? God, is she safe? Is she alright? He didn't know because of that nagging feeling yelling otherwise. So, he ran faster. He held remembered her terrible condition at school, so he ran even faster.
He turned at the curb, reaching their usual route. He continued running.
The cold air cooled him off, trying to force the anxiety away.
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Tendō waved Hayato goodbye before closing the door and sitting on the couch. Ushijima had left around 5 minutes ago. He didn't talk to them, he only dashed out the door. Partially humiliated and guilty, he picked up his phone.
Kiyomi, change of plans.
What? Why?
He's going to talk to her. I don't know exactly why. Hayato and I told him to go and see why she won't talk to him and that he'll realize once he goes. God knows but he might just be going out for a run but I wouldn't be completely sure.
I hope he goes to her! But how does that affect the plan? I'm slow.
He's probably going to talk to her face-to-face.
That's also great. I just hope it goes well.
Me too.
Although, I am going to talk to her alone. She's being too quiet and I have free time the day before you leave. Coach is letting me off since you'll be practicing.
Today's his last chance since we're going to be busy with practice. He better not blow it.
He better not, you have the tournament just around the corner.
Exactly.
Let me know how it goes.
He went up to his room, catching up on the latest episode of his favorite TV show.
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Ushijima kept running, his breath white in the crisp air.
He knew he was unlovable. Someone so stoic, so quiet, so tall and emotionless, how could she love that? A lump of muscles and hidden emotions.
If she had all that beauty and intelligence, why would she love someone who needs her help that could burden her? Why? Why would she care for such a scarred person, with a soul so impure unlike hers?
He ran through the same cycle of thoughts over and over.
"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."
He didn't know, but he wanted an answer. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted the knots in his stomach to untie.
He approached her house, through their old route. He subtly remembered the things she would say and talk about on their way there. The way her eyes closed when she laughed. The way her graceful hands always sat in front of her, with her two index fingers tracing shapes. The way she granted him comfort through one glance and one touch. He wished he could go back and fix this mess. If he just talks to her, he can leave for the tournament focused and content. He would mend everything, right now.
He was right outside but noticed a figure taking a seat. It could be a guest or parent, so he hid behind a bush. He couldn't tell. He slowly stepped up on a little step and held on to the part of the fence and looked at the figure. Stealing a glance, only for a moment. He stared in pure shock.
It was her.
"Hana.." He whispered, igniting the emotions of love and admiration toward her.
He felt himself filling with warmth, comforted by the sight of her. He felt his chest warming up and his heart pumping with excitement it wanted to jump out. His nervous system was self-destructing and his lungs were more alive than they'd ever been. His feet tingled and his knees weakened he was about to fall. They were overdosing on shock and adrenaline, just as his fingertips were. His skin screamed for touch and his eyes were going to pop for staying this wide.
That was the moment he knew. He could tell by the way his pulse elevated and he heard his heart beating at that moment. His stomach fluttered and knotted at the same time, shaking and dropping all at once. But most of all, his thoughts.
He wasn't sick, he was in love.
She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, a goddess in the body of a woman. She was so graceful, it could've made his heart race even more if it wasn't at its full capacity. The way she looked, the way she sat.
It was the first time he saw her like this, dressed up with makeup. She was wearing a kimono that outlined her waist and her hands rested together in her lap, just as he remembered. Her lips flashed a bright red and her face shone as bright as the very moon that was watching them both. He felt grateful to be sharing the moon with her if it meant he was connected to her. She was the moon. And it wasn't a saying she taught him to use in literature, it was true. It has to be.
Her eyes, what he looked at the most, were looking up at the moon in such despair that he could see from a pretty far distance. His own were being tortured, considering her eyes can't see his. They were begging and pleading and begging without making a peep at the same time. He couldn't gather the courage to talk to her, but he got one of the two answers he ran here for.
"Wow." He whispered, wanting to scream it and gain her attention.
He did prefer her without makeup but seeing this different side of her could only attract him more considering she's always this beautiful.
I'm sorry you're feeling such despair, talk to me.. Please tell me, I love you. Please please I beg you. He ached, that's what he wanted to tell her but he didn't want to overwhelm her. He wanted to be even closer to her, but this image of her was more than enough but made him greedier as well.
He wanted to sit there and admire her until the end of time. Worship her if he could. Who knows? His knees were already forfeiting.
He doubted if she loved him or not. She knew lots about him and she even touched his palm soothingly in that very place he stood because she knew he was anxious then. He stepped down from his spying stance and took a deep breath, ready to approach her again. This is the third time he'd wanted to approach her and he won't let it slip from him. He'll hold onto the last remaining string of this opportunity if it was tangible.
But by the first step forward he took, the door of their home opened. He saw from behind the bush that her parents stepped out, so he knew that it wasn't a good time. They were going to a funeral since they were wearing dark colors.
It most likely wasn't the time to talk to her if she's just experienced a loss. It could be someone she knew, maybe not! He wasn't willing to take that gamble and have her dislike him for opening such a subject so late at the worst time possible.
Before they could see him, he left. His heart not pumping with fear. He didn't know and may never know if she loved him or not, but he confirmed upon seeing her that he could no longer deny that he was in love with her. Her eyes, her hair, her cheeks, her personality, her smile, all of her. Every inch and every dimple, he helplessly fell in love with her. And funny enough, it wasn't the first time.
The new image of her took comfortably took its place in his mind. He finally admitted something to himself, he was capable of love. It was crazy to think of it this way. But with it, came the self-conscious feelings to corrode it.
After all, I've done, she won't love me. There's no way she doesn't hate me. I must be the reason why she's like this.
Since he was completely busy tomorrow and the day after, he didn't have any more chances to talk to her before they left for the tournament. He blew it. He wanted to talk, he didn't want to wait until the end of the tournament. But he had no other choice. He didn't want to hurt her even more. He'd wait until they got back, so he can muster up something to say to her. He hated the thought of being that far for that long, but he forced himself to believe she'd be fine. He didn't want to risk anything, he wanted to let things flow on their own because he didn't want to mess things up. He couldn't do it to her.
I get it, I would hate myself too. Who wouldn't?
That feeling of guilt kept pulsing through him until he got home.
"Talked to her?" Tendō asked quietly, still reading.
"No." He said coldly, not making eye contact. He was going to continue talking and tell him everything until he realized he didn't need to prove anything to him. Nor did he owe him an explanation. He wouldn't dare give him that satisfaction of being right. Why would he care?
The tripping guilt followed him, he found it hard to forgive himself before she could forgive him.
But what Ushijima didn't realize is that he didn't know for sure and certain if he's the reason behind her sadness.
But in the end, he found himself reminiscing about how lovely she was. She was exquisite in every way from every perspective. Her precise features, like her nose. It was shaped so ideally, a different shape would've made her a different person. The almond-shaped eyes possessed a color that possessed him. Carved into her face, they were carved into his mind. So full and plump, every inch of light was the nonpareil varnish that made them flawless in every way. He could beg and plead to meet her gaze again if he had the courage to, he was like a man starved. Her hair was undoubtedly faultless, blissful. Her eyebrows were full and tamed, giving her face the sheer power her features could rely on. What of the eyelashes which hid her eyes? They were curved upwards, looking up at the sun and waving up at it. They were full and countless and were like the sprinkles that completed a child's dessert, perfecting them. Her cheeks were so plump and youthful. She was gifted with a natural blush on them, they were always rosy and ready to compliment her when possible. Her cheekbones were also sharp, he had contemplated if they were being sharpened by whetstones along with the other cutlery in her kitchen. That pinned his thought straight to her cooking. God, would he kill to eat more of the food her hands blessed him with? He remembered the Hayashi rice he had eaten so quickly he couldn't put his fingers on the spices she drizzled on it. Why hadn't he eaten it slower? Then, he could've remembered her sublime cooking skills too. In the very end, he found himself wandering around her lips, her full lips. They were made by a potter, she was the sculptor. Her cupid's bow was sharp and equal on both sides; overall, her lips were one color. United, they attracted him so easily. They were rosy, pink, and lush. They broadened when she smiled and moved harmoniously when she spoke. He wanted to touch them, he was sure he'd feel cotton, or silk, or velvet, or satin too. In a moment, he only imagined her face altogether and could feel a sting. He had pictured kissing her. First on the cheek, then on the lips. It was inevitable, he couldn't push it away and he didn't want to. He wanted to kiss her and reassure her that she was everything he or anyone else could want. He wanted to kiss her and apologize even if she forgave him, he would keep going. He was a man starved after all.
But her looks weren't what made his heart feel imprisoned and threatened. They were an addition to what he loved most about her, her personality, her heart. Her kind heart that was always beating for others.
She was the most generous person he ever had the fate to meet. She gave everything to everyone. She cooked him food when his mother didn't take care of him when he was sick. She healed him with the touch of her fingers and the touch of her heart. It was embedded deep beneath her rib cage but if she could rip it out and give it to someone who needs it, she would. She would always give all her effort in everything she did and she still does, even without his presence. There was one thing he didn't like. She always put everyone before herself. She prioritized others before her own needs. She'd do it if she could starve and give a less starving person what they need. He felt a twinge of guilt. Why does she? Why is she so generous and caring? He saw how she was with the younger children around her, in her neighborhood. He saw how she took time from her birthday and tutored him instead of going out. She visits Mrs. Sasaki and helps her with her medication whenever she can. She takes care of her flowers like her own children, but when does she care for herself? She was the only person who displayed the true meaning of caring. That night on the roof. He wasn't a close friend to her, yet she still understood that his beating heart was burdened and helped him overcome his problems. She understood, even though she could be dealing with hell right now. It's like her heart beats for everyone else, her lungs breathe for anything else, and she gives all she can to whoever needs it. She gives her heart away to be used and butchered and that's what he did if he was right about his prediction. He didn't know if she loved him, he'll never understand. If she were in his shoes, she'd know. That's who she is. She's the only girl he'll ever love.
Awake and thinking, the depiction of her under the moonlight lived in his mind.
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Author: YES YES YES YES YES YES HE LOVES HER WOOP WOOP