PLEASE NOTE: grief is discussed and is a recurring theme in this chapter.
1. off-page death of a pet, specifically of a dog. it's mentioned the moment hulk appears and is talked about between him and hyouma.
2. again, off-page death of a parent, specifically hyouma's dad.
stay safe!
-joy
☆☆☆
HE WAS A HORRIBLE FRIEND.
and when he fails his landing, hyouma also realises that the tear sound is similar to a rubber band.
he wants to try and stand up and run away from the prying eyes of the stadium, but his knee feels so fucking painful to bear more weight on top of the shame he feels.
so embarrassing. first season in the first year of high school and the first thing he loses is his oh-so-treasured ability to kick a ball.
hyouma should've been used to it by now; losing things that he cares about, only for them to grow into grief that defines him as a person, whether he cares or not.
so regardless of whether he likes it or not, he'll just have to hold back his tears as he bites his lip hard enough that it bleeds. even with the taste of iron enriching his tongue, he doesn't feel any pain from it. the pop on his knee hurts damn well that he feels numb everywhere else.
perhaps that's why he doesn't notice it until teardrops stain the dirt on his knee.
crying in front of people is more humiliating than the pain he has.
he wants to answer the yells of his name and worried questions of the people around him, but his throat is burning as much as his eyes are. his breath hitches just so his cries can be silent instead of pathetic muffles and sobs. he can't let anyone see him like this, but his eyes can't stop welling up with more tears.
the shouts from the stands are almost as muffled as his sobs are in his ears. he wonders if that asshole y/n is watching his downfall, too. if he's yelling beside hyouma's family or if he's just staring at him like another ghost to grieve.
the medics pull him to his feet to place him on the stretcher, except hyouma feels like the purpose of it is to emphasise that he most likely just tore a ligament in his knee.
and that he was a horrible friend for making light of y/n's injuries, furthermore only realising that after he experienced it himself.
asshole may be a bit too much. that word should be on behalf of hyouma when it's resentment that he clutches with a rubber band, reserved just in case y/n ever runs back, so hyouma will have something to hold against him; against their relationship.
so damn bitter and useless, yet hyouma can't let go. it's the last flake of his stardust that hyouma has. it sprinkles his world in moments of aching, and it leaves its sky begging for more.
he's holding desperately onto the loss of a friendship that never mattered to y/n.
it fucking hurts.
☆✮☆
sometimes, hyouma would catch y/n looking out beyond the window.
he would stare at y/n, and the longing in his eyes that's not directed towards him, that could've never been him, but rather, at the park past the glass frame.
it should've been obvious then, how hyouma and y/n were both longing. except y/n didn't reciprocate his stare, too busy being in a daze for kids kicking back and forth a soccer ball across the street.
hyouma wished they didn't build the centre near a park, then perhaps y/n would look at him.
it didn't matter if it didn't have any more stars, he just wanted to be seen again. he wanted to be nine and feel secure under a gaze that once looked at him as if he was the treasure he'd been looking for in this lifetime; in this universe that had y/n looking for one. that made hyouma the one and only.
it may be that y/n wished he was nine too, frolicking in a field round and about a soccer ball.
if that was the case, then was hyouma in that perfect view? was hyouma the person he thinks of first when the object of their shared ambition springs up to mind?
anyway, seeing children run around with a soccer ball, in a different window in a different physical therapy centre, hyouma gets why y/n's gaze is overflowing with so much compassion it can be yearning.
seeing it for himself now, in the same damned situation and exercising the same damned quad sets, hyouma finally understands.
it's a different type of pain, one no amount of surgeries and therapies can manage. it doesn't get more swollen or relieved, but it's a numbing prompt for a spiral about failing to become the person his nine-year-old self had wished to be.
numb. it's all rehab beginning to feel like.
but at least y/n had hyouma during it.
☆✮☆
"hyouma, do you want me to put on the premier league?" his mom asks, going through channel after channel with the tv remote.
"no, it's fine," hyouma mumbles, picking on the salmon roe in his rice bowl.
watching or doing anything related to soccer pierces him a different tear from his knee: he's impaled by the probability that he won't be able to play the same, if not, ever.
and hyouma doesn't know if he's allowed to feel that way when he underplayed y/n's injuries before. it may be out of fear, but that doesn't justify how he would brush off y/n's concerns about it, even if the latter didn't exactly express them.
plus, y/n tore two ligaments, whereas hyouma only tore one. it's clear to him who has it worse.
hyouma doesn't even remember what those ligaments are, so he doesn't think he deserves to be butthurt over some acl.
his mom only hums in response. she settles on the couch as she decides on a random drama.
hyouma resumes poking at the reddish-orange roes with his chopsticks mindlessly. as he stabs at the hardened rice underneath, he briefly sees a glimpse of y/n in his mind, and how he would've found a way to soften the rice for him.
similar to how there could've been a way around their friendship. perhaps there was.
his poking ceases.
pain isn't a competition.
sure, it could've been worse or whatever, but his suffering is still valid. 'cause his career was at risk. 'cause that shit was painful. 'cause it was him who was hurt, too.
it's easy to belittle his problems, but hyouma has gotten the cues and triggers to stop doing it. and this is one of them.
i shouldn't ignore how something hurts me, he reminds himself. it's not helping anyone, not even y/n.
just because someone has it worse, doesn't mean that your issues don't matter. if it hurts you, then it matters. you're still valid, you know. so go be butthurt over your shit like you deserve to. you were hurt by it.
"eat your damn food!"
his sister shouts, slapping the back of his head using her new obsession: romance novels, sapphic ones. hyouma doesn't think that's any different from her otome games, but she says that a single gay man like him won't ever get it.
"what— i am eating!" he shouts back, caressing his head. that novel must've weighed the same as her hair straightener because he feels a bump on the back of his head.
his sister rolls her eyes as she sits herself down across from hyouma. she turns on her phone instead of turning a page of the book she brought. "obviously not. i bet you're wallowing over those soccer men who are married with three kids."
hyouma huffs. he will probably never get to be one of those men since his knee is essentially damned now. "most of them are prioritising their careers over their love life. you should take some notes."
she gasps with her hand over her mouth and her eyes widening. dramatic bitch. "i am going to be my girl's housewife, a plan you can never imagine because you don't get any bitches."
hyouma gasps just as dramatically. "excuse you—"
a sigh interrupts him.
"i get home from work and you two start to fight like animals. i just want to see when this kazehaya boy and sawako girl will confess," she says from the couch, her tone given up on being firm with her kids.
his sister snickers and mutters under her breath, "you can't relate to them, by the way."
she hisses when hyouma kicks her under the table.
☆✮☆
looking back on it now, his relationship with y/n was something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
it's not as if hyouma doesn't know a thing about him, even though that's what he's been saying, it's just... it's just that he was never exactly close with him.
sure, they were almost together twenty-four-seven in middle school, but sometimes it feels like if they were to drift apart at any moment, they would've been okay. almost as though the amount of words exchanged between them doesn't equal the worth of each of them.
it's too bad that they ended up as anything but okay as a result of hyouma cutting things off between them. he values emotional intimacy, but he won't seek it out. he'd rather take the impulse from rage than the initiation for comfort.
but he did it because y/n was the one to drift away first.
not to exactly blame him but it's just so... god. try getting to know y/n for yourself and you'll understand. not understand y/n—though that works too—but what hyouma is trying to go on about here.
there's a chance hyouma was the problem here, snapping and leaving like that.
still, it's not like y/n shouted after him.
silence was his response, yet it said enough and more than what hyouma wanted to know.
☆
vulnerability isn't the son of chigiri's household's strongest suit.
it's an uncharted territory hyouma tries to ignore, one he will never get near even if his sister looks at him with something as strange as concern.
men can and should cry, but not hyouma. and that's not because he's a man, but because he's hyouma. also not because of who he is, but because of the foundation of who he is.
do you feel him?
take this as an excuse if you want, but it's just how he was raised. he's not made of feelings spoken to one another in words or confrontation, he's raised by actions left unspoken and tears a taboo topic. soft conversations go cold with hyouma's bitter nature and averting gaze.
in the world that etches y/n's name in the sky by weaving its constellations, perhaps if hyouma were to let go of his heart for a second and face the world ahead, then he would've gotten the courage to tell him directly: i care about you.
it wasn't only his pride that held him back.
(there is also a fear in me that you would let go of me if you noticed how i loved you.
but you did it regardless, and in the same way, i loved you nonetheless.)
☆
there's no point in trying to figure y/n out anymore— not when they're nothing but words left unsaid.
the fragments of y/n and their friendship pierce his heart, but they do not bleed. hyouma will never let them stain his world crimson as long as they belong to him and y/n.
(and his world doesn't revolve around y/n, however, his axis of rotation is relative to him.)
afternoons of training sessions with his team are replaced with physical therapy sessions. evenings of ranting to y/n about plays from pro matches are long gone and replaced with admiring the clouds and sunset on the way home after rehab, but hyouma thinks about it from time to time.
it's useless to be jealous of not being able to join training and forlorn of losing someone, even if none of those things are really gone.
but here's the difference more striking than the pearly whites of his dad's smile: he can reach one of them, while the other is out of his grasp.
yet he still latches onto the existence of the latter.
☆
talks at dinner and with his family have been less and less. hyouma has nothing to talk about, his rehab doesn't count as a topic when he dreads every second of it. and when a soccer game is accidentally put on the tv channel, it almost pokes fun at him.
does y/n resent him, hyouma wonders, for speaking about his experiences on the soccer team in that physical therapy centre?
hopefully, hopefully not. hyouma wouldn't be able to ask if he wanted to.
but the thought never escapes him—no thought of y/n does—because he'll be reminded when he sees kids his age passing by with grass dirtying their tracksuits from the window of the clinic, and when the faint stars above him form another faux bridge from how close they were with one another.
he's not scared of y/n's resentment, but he's terrified that y/n will let go of it while hyouma's desperately dusting the remains left by a star that was once his. hyouma is willing to be the receiving end of his hatred for as long as he can bear to understand.
of a bridge over clouds and busted links and knees, hyouma doesn't know if they can ever be friends again without resenting one another for the hurt they have caused, for the depart of hyouma and his inability to be patient with his own fucking best friend.
so it has come to his attention—in the middle of his physiotherapist's weekly evaluation—that hyouma might have been the flawed one between him and y/n.
"was that clear, chigiri-kun?" his physiotherapist asks, handing him a paper containing his care plan and assessment. the paper slightly crumples when he does, but hyouma takes it with less effort.
he doesn't look at it; only the letters chigiri hyouma, sixteen, acl tear are unnecessarily bolded and capitalised. he's seen it enough to know.
hyouma stares at his physiotherapist, eyelids hanging and lips downturned. he's tired. today's session was tiring, half squats are hell personified. today's mention of y/n is an ugly, simple drawing of a star left behind on the belongings counter., hyouma leaves it be.
"yes. yes, it was."
☆✮☆
hyouma is sure he's well-versed in grief.
the loss is as quiet as it happens. as silent as everything around hyouma gets when he stares at a deteriorating picture of his father in the hallway.
it didn't affect him much, at least he thinks it didn't. he's not sure how to perceive the man separated from him by a sky and picture-framing glass whose only striking resemblance with hyouma is his smile.
his sister and mom thought otherwise, hyouma can guess that much. even if the look on their faces are incomprehensible when they catch hyouma staring at the frame in the hallway.
he lost his dad when he could barely speak, his last memory of him being a visit to his ashes that have been scattered across the ocean. he looked at the sunset more than he looked at the sea that day. oranges and reds are prettier than a void of nothing that disguises itself as blue. it's just like the colour; melancholic and quiet and something hyouma doesn't know what to make of.
there are no feelings for him to harbour towards his dad. if he had a reason to be angry or sad, then he would've also gotten the answer of whether or not he should be mourning. he doesn't think he deserves to, not when there isn't anything he longs for from him. but he'll never admit that to his family. his dad was someone his sister held fond memories of, someone his mom loved for half of her life.
as hyouma grows older, so do the flowers in memory of his dad.
however, the reminders of him are just as quiet as hyouma's decision about mourning. they're merely there: in the fourth chair of their dining table of the house they bought after his death. in the occasional appearances of his toothy grin in their hallway of picture frames. in the sunset polaroid from the day of his death on the back of his mom's phone case.
he doesn't grieve, not when there's nothing for him to grieve for in the first place. but when his mom shows him pictures of the sunset and when he sees his sister wiping glass frames in the hallway with care, he feels like he does.
he's no longer sure if he's well-versed in grief when he's never been grief-stricken.
does he deserve to grieve alongside them for his dad, who to his family was everything, when he feels little to nothing for him?
should he?
(the earth continues to rotate despite our grief. it moves as if our suffering has no effect on the planet, although we want nothing more than for everything to end right then and there. in moments when something loses its matter, the world makes you feel like you don't.)
☆✮☆
a cat.
in front of the seven-eleven in his district is a cat with black fur and golden eyes.
wow, wonder who this bitch is.
"you're still alive?" hyouma asks, placing the plastic bag in his hands next to him. "if you pee right now, i will cry."
the cat stares at him, its habit of being creepily unblinking has stuck around enough until now. does y/n still do it, too?
"guess you're still kicking," hyouma mutters. his rajitsu tech's tracksuit makes a mild rustling sound when he crouches with his knees glued together. "you're pretty cute."
he reaches a hand out to pet it, only for the cat to jump away without a sound.
he balls his hand into a fist.
"i see how it is."
it meows.
"oh, so now you're talking," hyouma huffs, pulling his hand back.
the cat glances around him, before blinking up at hyouma again.
hyouma follows to look around by turning his head.
"what are you looking for?" he asks, tilting his head at it when he finds nothing worth noting near him.
it blinks at him once, then it stares at him.
it stares and stares.
hyouma sighs.
"you're looking for y/n, aren't you?" he sits next to the cat, but not near enough that he can pet it. he's experienced, he's afraid of what might happen to his face if he touches it.
"sometimes, i look for him too."
the cat is back to blinking like a normal animal.
"do you think he looks for me too?"
it meows.
"yeah."
it meows.
"but it's whatever. i'm not gonna let myself be held back by my friend. ex-friend."
two letters, yet hyouma wants to crumble.
if i was gone, then i would want you to speak of me like i'm still someone you know, so that the life i've had with you wouldn't seem like a regret. because i loved you, and i don't want that to be reduced to two letters and lingering feelings; feelings that are as genuine as my regret.
hyouma sags his shoulders.
"fuck this shit, man," he breathes out, picking up a handful of pebbles only to throw them at the pavement.
the cat flinches.
"oh, sorry, dude. didn't mean to scare you."
it shakes its head in disapproval.
hyouma tilts his head. "oh, you're a girl cat."
it meows, wagging its tail lazily.
"i don't like girls," hyouma mumbles, adjusting his tracksuit pants. "and i'm pretty sure i'm gay."
it meows, and hyouma is almost sure he sees it rolling its eyes.
he flutters his eyelids shut in an attempt to copy his sister whenever she's daydreaming, his hands touch his face just to mock her more. even if she's not here to see it. "i am gay, but like, have you seen eden hazard? who wouldn't question their sexuality after that?"
it does not meow.
hyouma sighs and drops the act. "you're a bitch, you know that? a pretty one. look at your eyes, so pretty."
it turns away from hyouma, but not without a look over at him.
"are you judging me?" hyouma gasps, leaning over at the cat. "is it because i called you a bitch? or is it because you're so insecure of yourself that you can't accept a compliment?"
it meows as it closes its eyes.
"you think i'd understand you? dumbass." hyouma reaches out a hand, testing the waters.
the cat doesn't jump away when he's a hair away from petting it, but still, he retrieves his hand.
something about befriending this cat again doesn't feel right.
it doesn't help when an irking voice that suspiciously sounds like his sister's tells him it's because the cat is his and y/n's.
funny, 'cause he used to think about kissing men as much as he thought about y/n.
haha.
haha... ha.
hyouma slumps further in his seat, folding his arms over his knees and burying his head in it.
"y/n wouldn't have missed you and your ugly whiskers," he mutters, his voice muffled in his sleeves. "'cause he's scared of— fuck!"
hyouma shrieks, flailing his bleeding hand pathetically.
"did you just scratch me?" he asks in disbelief, though the answer is clear when the cat puts its paw back on the ground.
"i was just trying to say he's scared of cats! damn."
hyouma examines the wound on his hand, blood oozing from it every time he presses it.
swearing under his breath, he stops touching the scratch when a paw comes in contact with his elbow.
when hyouma turns his head, the paw is already putting itself back down, and he's met with golden eyes looking up at him again. the colours are pretty like the sun after rain.
"i would call you a bitch for scratching me but i'm terrified that you'll do it again," hyouma says, holding his injured hand away. "so i guess i'll call you meow."
meow meows.
"meow," hyouma either names or mews.
he grabs a cold karinto manjuu from his pocket. he takes it out of its package, and pockets the plastic to trash later.
"y/n would buy me buns with fillings in them before i knew that they're my favourite. isn't that as terrifying as how you scratched me?"
he lays it in front of meow, directly on the ground. he doesn't think this is sanitary for a cat, but he's never taken care of one so he's not sure either way.
"eat up. it's my favourite," hyouma says, pushing it towards meow when it only tilts its head at him. "if you don't eat this then you're officially a bitch."
it stares at it the same way it stares at hyouma before; with a wonder that he can't decipher. it makes him doubt if this is a cat and not a bittersweet reminiscent boy with eyes more dead than the fish meow probably eats.
it fills him with a sense of aching.
☆✮☆
it's not like hyouma's life revolves around y/n or something, no, it just happens that he was around in hyouma's life long enough that his absence in the ceremony of rajitsu tech becomes the first thing he notices.
and that was last year. he's broken a knee and healed it in that timespan.
y/n had no choice but to resign from their middle school team, so hyouma has known, but now that he's seen y/n is no longer following him around the world, the realisation is a glaring reminder of his own guilt.
their promise was broken, anyway.
but the value of it is worth nothing like the way y/n once looked at him.
their friendship was more than a measly ambition agreed upon hyouma in grade school, it was a treasure of priceless merit. hyouma's treasure, but a trinket he leaves to collect dust in hopes one particle will turn into stardust.
hyouma wishes he was nine again, innocent and popular and talented and yet to meet a child from the victorian era who runs a secret society for creepy kids who enjoy creepy sports.
but even then, the world wasn't easy on him. it was only a build-up of a loss that was bound to shatter his pride. he is a squandered jewel, he no longer holds the same value according to y/n, but still, he made him feel like he was a treasure worth looking for.
and hyouma still clasps onto that pride, as shameful as he is.
☆✮☆
"i'm back."
hyouma halts his footsteps in front of meow.
it's sitting on its rear with its paws dutifully on the ground. its ear twitches when hyouma calls meow's name. it's almost like meow's been waiting for him.
"this is the last time i'll be here, though."
meow tilts its head at him. it blinks its bright yellow eyes, and hyouma has an inkling it understands him.
"no reason. i just don't think this is right." hyouma shrugs, dropping a plastic bag in front of meow with his bandaged hand. "this is my parting gift. karinto manjuus."
meow paws the plastic bag, taking a peek at its contents. maybe it doesn't understand hyouma after all, or it doesn't believe him.
"take care."
with those final words, he turns his heel and saunters away.
when he suddenly stops at a turning point.
hyouma glances back, and he sees meow frozen in place. the plastic bag near meow ignored, instead trying to have the sunlight in its eyes glare at hyouma. an unwavering gaze, one that hyouma thinks he could've seen before.
huh.
he stares at it for a moment, before taking another step and walking again.
like human like cat.
☆✮☆
for the sake of not seeing meow ever again, hyouma no longer makes a run to that convenience store.
and that leaves him with no choice but to make detours on the way home.
but as hyouma strolls through the sidewalk, he squints when he sees a burly man frantically looking around. the star-shaped sunglasses perched on his head are on the verge of falling.
hyouma's feeling like a good person today, therefore he's going to help.
he approaches him, and stops at a good length behind him just in case the guy wants to jump him.
"excuse me...," hyouma tries to interrupt.
"meow! where are you?!" this massive guy with a massive voice yells, coursing through the bushes and making some of the branches explode. something in hyouma's gut is telling him to run away, but the dude sounds like he's on the verge of crying— oh god, his sunglasses have fallen.
"excuse me, sir...."
"meow! please come back! i promise i'll give you that silly red bean-filling bread! please! i won't restrict you on any human food ever again!"
"sir!" hyouma shouts, squeezing his eyes shut.
the taller makes turns to look at him, warm beige cheeks stained with tears—oh god he's already crying—and his exposed collarbone is a mix of leaves and freckles.
he blinks. "junior?"
hyouma blinks back. "what?"
his eyes well up with more tears. "junior! it's you! my saviour!"
"sorry, what? shit! don't hug me!" hyouma shrieks, slapping his arms away.
who is this guy, and why is he calling hyouma junior? what's that supposed to mean? how are his hands so damn muddy when he's looking through bushes?
he sucks in his comically large snot before making himself meek despite his bigger appearance. he turns to look at hyouma again.
"have you seen my cat?"
"um... what?"
"my cat. you know, about this big." he waves his hand. hyouma can't tell if the cat's really that big or if it's the size of his palm. "she got these really adorable eyes. looking at them makes you feel like you're looking at your first love. how sweet!"
"i... don't think i know what you're talking about?" hyouma says, but it comes off more as asking. "who even are you?"
"oh, you don't recognise me?" that's why hyouma asked. "i'm hulk! the strongest captain in all of grade schools! and your favourite!"
hyouma racks up his memory. grade school... grade school... uh-huh, y/n. y/n forcing hyouma to play soccer. y/n covering up for him. y/n forcing him to play soccer. y/n is successful. y/n sitting two seats behind him. y/n's starstruck eyes.
y/n... y/n... hulk... y/n... gay awakening... y/n... y/n— oh.
hulk. right.
"yeah, i remember you." hyouma smooths his hair away from his eyes. it gets in the way sometimes, but he doesn't think he'll feel like cutting it any time soon.
"you do?! yipeeee!" the gleam in hulk's eyes is no longer a product of his tears, but authentic joy. "you were like, one of my favourite eleven members!"
"the team had eleven members."
"exactly! i loooved you all!"
hyouma awkwardly and silently stands in front of hulk as the latter wipes his tears with his dirty hands.
"but anyways," hulk says. "how are you?"
shit. "good, i guess. and you?" hyouma's never had such an english textbook conversation in years.
hulk instantly goes back to sagging his shoulders. hyouma can't get over how comical his broad shoulders look when he does that.
"awful, junior. really awful. meow is gone."
hyouma doesn't like what revelation this might lead him. "who the hell is meow?"
"my cat! the one i told you about just now!" hulk beams. "it has black fur and pretty, pretty gold eyes!"
um.
that's very suspicious.
"why do you look like you're gonna cry?" hulk asks. the answer is because he has just as bad of a naming sense as hulk. but it's a genuine question that makes hyouma want to cry even more.
"wait!" hulk gasps. he's probably aware of the mud in his hands, seeing how he doesn't clasp them over his mouth, just near enough to hide it. "are you one of those empaths that can feel exactly what someone else is feeling?"
"yeah, i am. show me a photo of your cat." hyouma says, his soul sucked out of his body with every vowel.
"sure!" hulk chirps. hyouma is not an empath.
hulk rummages through his fanny bag for a moment. the clattering sounds of glass are a bit concerning, but hyouma has higher priorities than that.
like how he has the same shitty naming sense for the same shitty cat as hulk.
god, hyouma does not enjoy this familiar-though-not-the-same dynamic from grade school.
"ta-da!" hulk shouts, giving his cracked phone screen to hyouma. "so pretty, right?"
and he's right, meow is pretty. still pretty. the cracks of his screen sting hyouma's fingers when he zooms in to get a closer look at the cat's eyes. hulk truly hasn't changed.
"wow... it's... wow," hyouma says, lifeless.
"i know right! she's got that cuteness that just makes you speechless!" hulk squeals, taking his phone back to hug it against his chest.
"she's certainly something."
"she's everything!" hulk grins, and his freckles seem to be smiling as well with the way the sun makes them shine more. "i love animals, man. do you like animals?"
"i like soccer more," comes hyouma's automatic response.
"hell yeah! love soccer!" hulk beams. "i don't aim for it to be a profession anymore, though."
hyouma's eyes widen. "what? why?"
hulk shrugs. "dunno. guess i've just grown of out it."
"but you liked it so much."
"there's more to the world out there than i thought," hulk says, smiling softly. "i knew it ever since pup was gone."
"oh. i'm sorry for your loss."
what do you say to someone who experiences a loss, when your only reference material is your own grief?
no one said anything because you were all too busy mourning for the same loss. a loss you can barely comprehend because you don't even have an attachment to it in the first place. you are deprived of words of comfort to say to them whereas they are deprived of something significant. you stand silent while they cry because the sunset looks really pretty during their death anniversary.
'i'm sorry for your loss.' then what? what comes after, now that the ghost of what was once a living essence hangs in the air? the ghost is ignored amidst everything until you address it out loud. then you notice.
and then they stare at you for mentioning the dead, and you flee out of embarrassment and or guilt. you don't say anything else because you don't know what. you were never taught to, and there shouldn't be a reason for you to be, but in the end, you must.
this is all dragging out like the silence between hulk and hyouma.
"thank you." hulk smiles, his eyes creasing into crescents as he does.
hyouma can't help but mimic his smile. "what was pup like? if you don't mind."
"oooh, i love this question!" hulk claps his hands together. "she was a cutie. mãe scolded her for tearing off the couch one time, but mama laughed it off and had us watch soccer games together on the floor instead."
hyouma snorts. "she sounds cheeky as shit."
"right?!" hulk giggles. "mama called her 'dog' instead of 'pup' because of that once, and she was so sad! she only stuck around to me and mãe until mãe got annoyed and told mama to apologise."
hulk's giggles turn into a fit of laughter, and it infects hyouma to laugh with him, too.
until they're interrupted by a mewl.
hulk stops laughing and jumps to his feet.
he gasps. "meow!"
the black cat sits there with star-shaped sunglasses in its mouth. hyouma doesn't know where it came from and how it picked those up, but as an occult cat, it must've had its ways.
hulk scoops it up and cradles it like a mother would after giving birth to a child. "my baby! my baby! i thought you left me! but here you are with my sunglasses!"
hyouma stares at the cat blinking at him as hulk croons at it. this family reunion has no place for someone who left one of its members like hyouma.
as hulk rubs his cheeks against meow's, meow points a paw out to hyouma.
"junior! i think she likes you!" hulk beams before squealing, "you're such a sweetie, aren't you, meow? befriending anyone without judging! soo sweet of you, girl!"
hyouma's going to ignore that last part. "well... i actually met it before," he reveals, scratching the back of his head. he feels embarrassed all of a sudden.
hulk gasps, and he doesn't need those sunglasses anymore when he has stars in his eyes right now.
"really?!" he shouts, circling hyouma with meow. the sunglasses drop from meow's mouth and to the ground.
"yeah...." i even named her meow, too. fuck. "a couple months ago, i think? i don't remember, i left her," hyouma admits.
"you did?!" hulk's jaw practically drops. "junior! awful, awful, awful!"
he picks meow up by its armpits and pushes it in hyouma's face.
"apologise to her!"
"wait, what—"
it meows before he can finish speaking.
it stares at hyouma with the same sunlike eyes, and he feels as though he's about to melt.
hyouma blinks at it.
"well...," he mutters. "i'm sorry for leaving you behind, meow."
hulk bounces, unable to contain his happiness. "you did it, junior!" he peeks his face out of meow with a grin. "do you forgive him, meow?"
meow raises a paw in the air and mewls.
hyouma tries to smile. "thank— thank you...?"
"yay!" hulk rejoices, twirling meow around. "thank you, meow. thank you, junior!!"
"no problem...." hyouma can only stare at them in disbelief. for years he tried to placate meow only to give up, and then he met it again just for him to leave it behind because it feels too personal to get close to.
and it still felt too personal when he apologised.
☆✮☆
days are starting to go by in a daze for hyouma.
those twins are so annoying he can't be bothered to remember their names, meow is adopted by hulk who gave her the same shitty name, he's gay, and he just can't run right in practice today. and yesterday. and every day.
hyouma sighs.
at least it's no longer raining, but the aftermath doesn't feel any different than its cause. it's gloomy and despondent like it's still mourning for the water droplets lost in the soil. the clouds are at fault for their own loss, but why are they grieving? they don't have the right to. they should've looked at what they've done and dissipated in the sky like the droplets did in soil.
but alas, the clouds still hold water to precipitate. hyouma hopes they fall and disappear quickly.
the puddles left by the rain splatter on his shoes as he steps on them without a care. an umbrella is being dragged by his hand, bumping each time it faces a particularly rocky path; the mud on the ferrule makes faint wet linings on the said path, too.
he has no destination, but as his body is programmed to take him home on any occasion, it might not be true. he might have a purpose.
a man jogging by stops to stare at hyouma.
he looks at him in wonder, as if hyouma is the intriguing one and not him, who's running in this humid weather.
"hmm? are you... chigiri-kun?" he asks, approaching him.
chigiri halts, propping the umbrella to his side. "yeah...," he replies as he tilts his head. "do i know you?"
the man laughs and lifts his cap. "it's me, your coach from junior high."
what's up with hyouma and meeting people (and cats) from the past? it's as though he's getting to a reflection point in a movie, a climax of a goal he missed.
coach nods at his uniform. "i see you went to rajitsu. good job. i'm happy to see everyone in our soccer team doing well."
"everyone?" chigiri asks, skipping his greetings.
coach seems to notice and blinks, and then he chuckles like this is still the hyouma from the soccer team he speaks of.
"yeah. i met them, and saw how they're doing good," he says.
"all of them?"
"oh, no. not all of them. just a couple." he waves hyouma off. "i'm judging everyone else by their high school choices. all which i support."
everyone.
"when you say everyone...," hyouma hesitates, refusing to make eye contact with coach. "do you know how y/n is doing, then?"
"of course, i do! i'm both his coach and homeroom, after all. but he's doing well!" coach lights up, the smile lines around his mouth make his smile more beautiful.
"i was quite strict on him— a mistake on my part, even if i did it out of concern." coach sighs, looking out into the sky wistfully. "he was always in the back and out of touch with everyone. it made me worried if he was getting isolated by his classmates, but it turned out that he was just more awkward and silent than most."
"he kinda was," hyouma replies. whenever someone approaches them, y/n would turn to hyouma expectantly. like he just knows people come to them for hyouma. and only him. "he really was."
coach smiles at him and it's as genuine as his next words: "so i'm glad he has someone like chigiri-kun, who cares about him."
hyouma can't deny the present tense, but he also can't act on it.
"he was quite the character in junior high, wasn't he? so i understand how you might be worried, but— oh! aren't you his best friend?" so why are you asking? goes unsaid when a look of puzzlement crosses coach's face.
"we..." are. were. could've— should've been. "drifted apart. we don't talk as much anymore."
"ah, that can happen." it didn't have to. "i'm sorry for only realising it now. my age seems to be catching up to me."
"it's okay," hyouma forgives. there's no reason for coach to be apologising when hyouma is the liar here.
"but as far as i know, he went to hakuho, a prep school. it surprised me a bit since i thought he'd be pursuing soccer even if it's theoretical, but i hope the young lad is growing well there."
coach laughs, but it's static in hyouma's ears.
hakuho? y/n has been nearer than hyouma thought. it's in the opposite direction of his way home from and to school.
he could've met y/n if he decided to take an alternate route for once. yet he only finds out about it now, two years later from a coach he judged harshly two years ago. and he wouldn't have met him if it weren't for meow.
he doesn't know what to feel. he doesn't think he should feel anything when he and y/n are supposed to be nothing now. it's getting redundant, each reminiscence with y/n comes with a dirty reminder at the end of them. and after that comes nothing but the shitty smell of rain and dirty boots.
the stain of his feelings is a blemish on his once friendship with y/n, and as it discoloured into fear, it seems to never have faded away.
this is not how things are supposed to be, and the word 'this' can be read as their friendship and his sprint the moment he turns his heel.
"chigiri-kun?! it's overcast! go home!" coach shouts from behind hyouma.
"sorry! i gotta check something! see you around, coach!" chigiri shouts back, not looking back. he's done that enough.
his destination is no longer home, however, it's a consideration of one in the past. a possibility at no time explored. it could have been a boy he picks out the stars in his eyes for. it could have been something a little like love.
RAIN IS ANNOYING TO DEAL WITH.
his pace accelerates with each step he takes, and although he's ashamed of his speed not being able to be what it used to be, he runs. the puddles beneath his feet splash his legs as his umbrella flies along with him.
through jagged breaths and a quickening pulse, his mind is a one-way track.
y/n.
y/n. y/n. y/n.
in the whole wide world, somehow, y/n is his friend. his ex-friend. his best friend. dearest y/n, a person he loathes. he can't find an adjective that suits the enigma who stood by his side for his entire childhood. he wanted, wants, to understand him just as dear.
IT MAKES EVERYTHING COLD AND HUMID.
water wets hyouma's socks through the soles of his shoes, but in hakuho is a student named l/n y/n. in hakuho is a prep school with possibly no presence in the sports area.
hyouma is ready to lose y/n at the cost of his dreams, but he's yet to consider if y/n has already done the same.
and the thought terrifies him more than the blemish left of their friendship, one no amount of rain can dissolve.
if only his theme didn't revolve around rubber bands and running and ugly stains, then perhaps there could be a way around his problems. those topics are only a loop of problems; he runs, and then his knee snaps like a rubber band, and the rubber band flicks a stain since it's been soiled by the ground. it's like there's no way around it unless hyouma completely stops running.
his feet are damp and gross. his legs are sticky and he should glance to know when to skip over the puddles, yet he only has his sight for the serenity stripped off of y/n's title.
IT TAKES THE SUNSETS AWAY FROM MOM AND DAYDREAMING EVENINGS FROM SISTER.
nevertheless, he begs for them to share the same fate as he's bound to a promise he didn't start.
although they are now nothing, the years hyouma spent with him were once alive. and they are not running anywhere unlike how hyouma did y/n.
skipping past the gate, hyouma runs around the school— to a soccer field that started and ruined y/n's career. hyouma doesn't know what the career means for y/n, but he just wants to make sure—
hyouma slows down when he hears someone's laughter, and freezes in place when he sees the back of h/c hair.
—that he's not the only miserable one here. that y/n would run to him too if he were to find out hyouma is nearby.
hyouma takes a moment to steady his breathing, tucking his hair, wet from sweat, behind his ear.
he carefully walks to the chain-link fence dividing the school and outsiders. each step he takes derives from anxiety that he might be caught in the act of yearning.
hyouma's breath hitches, the umbrella in his hand almost slips from the sudden looseness.
as y/n sits on a bench far away from hyouma, the owner of the laughter—who's now giggling—places an easy hand on y/n's shoulder. he pats him twice before his hand pauses mid-air near y/n's cheek. it falls on his side, and rises again when a white-haired guy with sagging shoulders approaches them. he slaps him on the back repetitively with a smile. hyouma doesn't think it's encouragement he's giving.
the white-haired pathetically faints and tries leaning on y/n, but y/n evades by swerving his own body to the side— where the owner of the laughter shields him with the same ease from before.
y/n must've said something, because the owner of the laughter lives up to his nickname again and side-hugs y/n. the white-haired whines loud enough that hyouma can hear it, though barely.
y/n moves his head to where hyouma can see half of his face, and he makes out a star in y/n's eyes.
BUT WORSE OF ALL,
hyouma clutches his umbrella tighter as he turns away from them. the laughter of y/n's companion echoes along with hyouma's footsteps, and as the distance gradually separates him from the noise, his stride remains at the same pace.
he lowers his head, as though he wants to hide his intention from y/n and his friends despite their unawareness of his interruption.
RAIN COMES AND GOES,
unbeknownst to him, the corners of his lips have tugged up into a small smile. so in a conscious decision, they tugged again, but back down into a frown.
his mind is no longer a one-way track, for his conclusion is the denouement of a promise he made when he was nine.
YET THE MEMORIES OF YOU REMAIN LIKE FLOOD.
—ADDITIONAL TIME!
hyouma kicks off his shoes, his feet drenching the rug. "i'm home—"
"hyouma."
a gentle voice interrupts him, but the sirens in his head are going off.
because it belongs to his mom.
"mom? you're home early," hyouma says, hiding his nervousness as to why his mom would greet him first.
his mom steps away from the wall she leans on to step in front of hyouma. she was probably leaning there the whole time she was waiting for him.
"you've been crying," she says.
oh.
so that's why.
"no, i haven't."
she sighs, and hyouma is disappointed with himself. "hyouma, please."
he hesitates for a moment. god, he hates this. vulnerability became a zone he doesn't barricade but still avoids at all costs.
typically with his mom.
it's one thing if his sister knows about him, but please, not his mom. she who looks for the nonexistent resemblance of his dad in hyouma, when he can only look back at her with the same red, almond eyes. and he who cannot be the son he, himself, wishes to be.
he stares at her without a word, lips pursed into a thin line. his bangs stick to his forehead like it's imitating a hairclip.
"you've been crying," she says.
over a lot. his friendships, career, future. "it's not over dad, don't worry, mom."
"what?" his mom sounds exasperated. hurt. "i wasn't gonna ask that. i just wanted to make sure you're okay."
"oh." now hyouma is confused. "what? then what else..."
she frowns. "to make sure you're okay. has that not been said?"
"but mom, you're... you're not mad? i just admitted that... me and dad...," hyouma trails off, panic seeping in.
"no? why would i ever be?" her face flushes, and hyouma thinks she might cry. "hyouma..."
"oh."
sighing, she runs a hand through her hair. her grey streaks are yet to be picked apart by his sister. "i've left you two alone for too long. i should've begun cutting off work years ago."
hyouma stands silent. he bites his bottom lip so his rapid breaths won't show. he glares at the ground hard enough so tears won't well up. he won't cry. he can't let the bottle of emotions he's overflowed shatter in the zone of him and his mom. he's been letting it drip by crying occasionally, it can't explode now.
"ma is sorry. she didn't grieve right."
he falls apart.
but what does it mean to grieve right? grief is as unpredictable as it happens, yet it doesn't even hold the same weight every time a (un)known trigger sets it off. one moment you would be numb by the small reminders of them surrounding you, and next, before you knew it, you would be sobbing in front of someone who shared the same loss, but not the same remembrance.
it's different for everyone, and all are valid. but it's not like they're going to notice that. and nobody is expecting them to. would noticing even help? would it help you and i?
no one knows how it works. nothing could've prepared anyone for any kind of loss. how was someone supposed to know the instructions when there was never a manual in the first place? no one wanted one. no one deserved one.
"i should've stayed together with you two more. i should've known something was wrong."
hyouma holds his hands over his face, and tears stain his palms the moment he does. "but i— i don't think i even love dad. i don't... i don't remember a thing about him. i barely look like him. i don't know him like mom and sister do. and i don't care that i don't."
his voice trembles, trying not to sob in between his words. and then arms wrap themselves around him and he melts.
his mom caresses his back with her stubby hands. her hug is warm enough that hyouma forgets there was rain in the first place. "it's okay. that doesn't affect how i care for you. i will love you all the same because you are my son. my hyouma, my reason. one of my two reasons."
even if someone were to get one, then what do they do with the knowledge? it was already out of their control. there was nothing to prepare for in the first place.
you and i would've burned the manual because it sounded ridiculous, and considering the possibility of loss is terrifying. they're still well and happy with you, yet a manual is trying to tell you that it won't last long? that manual expects you to cherish your moments with them, while facing their mortality and ignoring yours? you're already afraid of the thought that your person can let go of your joy, yet the manual is declaring that it'll be unleashed to the fucking cosmos whether you like it or not.
and you're selfish for thinking of only your interest in it, but you can't help it and i don't blame you. you cared about your person and the way they cared for you, too. you're scared to utter the word 'love' because then you'll be acknowledging that it can be gone along with them.
you're sick of it and so am i, so perhaps we'd read one line before tossing it to the fire in commemoration of their funeral.
but what if i was alone? what if my person only had me, and i only had them? who will i share this grief with, for the reason is far gone? this burden that leaves and returns at random points in my life, i want it over with. but without it, i'll lose the last sight of them. my final memory. rather than losing it, i'd rather break down again at the collection of steamed buns of a seven-eleven because i saw a black cat who had similar eyes as them outside the window.
i don't know, but i don't think you'll ever be truly alone. maybe over their remains was a bridge of stars, a bullshit metaphor of a constellation—because we're all just trying to cope—and a new addition to the already starry night. or, just clouds watching your pitiful figure wail the stupid night away. both of those may sound dumb, but at least you're not alone.
really though, if you didn't know, then how was i supposed to know?
i was nothing during that, and am only a tangle of words being written now. and words can only go so far. i can't even use pretty words to make you understand. i can't comfort you.
your experiences and mine differ greatly. i won't be able to bear half of your loss, and you'll never grasp half of mine. you'll understand, but you can't feel it for yourself, even if we went through the same thing. do you get me? do you get the narration i want to show you, our wounds i'm forcing to open, just so we can see how there's truly nothing we can do about it?
haha, funny. i poured my heart out and you're using the narrative as an excuse. fuck the narrative that took them away from me, and fuck you and your narrative for giving me false hope that you even cared. we're talking about grief, please read the room.
but it is not your grief or mine, it is the chigiri's family loss of a dad, of a husband, and in hyouma's perspective: of who could have been.
"'m sorry for lying." hyouma pauses, sniffing. "'m sorry for hiding this from ma."
"oh dear, it's okay, it's okay." she whispers, repeating her response to his childish apologies. he leans more into her embrace, and she accepts him with ease. "oh dear, i love you. hyouma, my son, ma loves you."
hyouma's story does not centre around grief, but his world builds around it.
and i hope yours does, too.
—✭
i don't play about heart to heart's chigiri but if 09 & 10 seem rushed it's bc they literally are. i also unintentionally made the chapters centre around y/n more than i wanted but it's whatever y'all he's the mc.... anyways i love hulk. he has freckles and he's brazilian-japanese and he has 2 moms (one is brazilian and one is japanese. they met at an exchange student program in japan xx) and his mom introduced him to soccer and i love him so much and i stole his nickname from atlético mineiro's brazilian striker, givanildo vieira de sousa, who's mononymously known as hulk. i made up everything else. i love you hulk (the heart to heart character)