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In a small Miyagi town, attending Karasuno High School, lived a small girl by the name of Yachi Hitoka: a first-year, a volleyball club manager, lucky enough to have laid her eyes on the most gorgeous creature in the world, and the greediest monster to ever walk the Earth.
Her days were a question stretched out to occupy her mind as long as she was awake: do I really have to feel these things for a girl, on top of boys? When she liked a boy, she sometimes imagined doing things with him, and now that she liked Kiyoko, she imagined doing things with her. No difference to it, no benefit from it, nothing but an abundance of options and the decision anxiety having options always brought her. Except this test was rigged, these options were lopsided. Boys brought acceptance and normalcy and congratulations while she knew Kiyoko would bring side-eyes, bad words, unsolicited opinions. Boys: chocolate and flowers. Over-analysing sessions in all-girls chat groups. Double dates with friends, hand-in-hand on the streets. Kiyoko? Wearing masks. Bottling up emotions that can’t be shared with anyone. Fleeting glances, friendly hugs. Eye contact never too long, silence never too deep because you’re “just friends”. A safe distance between hands. If you fail, then ostracism. Isolation. Violence. Murder.
If Kiyoko would be nothing but trouble, obviously Hitoka should forget her and choose boys. Do away with the thoughts of that soft face, those gentle eyes, the intricate figure, silken hair. Boobs. And down below.
If she couldn’t do away with those thoughts, it was because she was an avaricious, gluttonous beast. Her stomach was a bottomless pit. If she could take boys and like them just as well as girls, but still couldn’t choose boys and forget about the rest, then it must mean she just wanted it all. Filthy, filthy greed. She dared look at Kiyoko. Kiyoko saw her as a friend, she saw Kiyoko as a potential partner. She was together with her in bathrooms and changing rooms, and wow, wasn’t she disgusting, a predator, a voyeur; didn’t she just deserve to be left all alone, on her own, locked away?
Kiyoko made a clawed, fanged, dormant creature inside her come to life in a roar. The text messages from her in the group chat, her gym bag on the clubroom floor, the soft purple sports bra shining through. Kiyoko was luscious, Kiyoko was scorching hot, Kiyoko was sin.
Kiyoko saw her as a friend, let her stay the night, shared her old class notes with her, trusted her with her belongings and secrets and her entire world in all its secluded vastness, in all its enormous smallness. And Hitoka took it all, Hitoka was brazen enough to take it all; then think about Kiyoko in ways that destroy every single friendship code in the world. She was intrusive. She was a hypocrite. She was a heretic.
She dreamt. She wanted things that she didn’t have any right to want, that were not reserved for her. She wanted Kiyoko all for herself, just for a day, half a day into the evening, even. After that, she wanted Kiyoko to take her home. Invite her to bed. Wanted caressing fingers to tug at her clothes, never losing their calm, face never betraying anything, she wanted Kiyoko to strip her bare. Gently lay her on the bed, and take away her coherency, her ability to think, pry her thoughts out of her mind’s grip to leave her nothing but a blank slate of a mind, able to take only what Kiyoko gave her. What Kiyoko allowed her to take. She wanted Kiyoko to keep her awake through the night and into the next day. Let her touch Kiyoko in return, just to ground herself if nothing else, if she was lucky.
She thought this, she dreamt this, and she still dared look at Kiyoko’s face.
It was bad enough at first, when she couldn’t help but get transfixed whenever she was near Kiyoko, close enough to breathe in her aroma. She was the little Hitoka-chan, barely out of middle school, some kind of younger sister for Kiyoko, no doubt. Kiyoko had been Shimizu-senpai. But along the way, as Shimizu-senpai became Kiyoko-san and invitations were exchanged to hang out after school, shopping trips and bakery visits and dessert tastings, Hitoka began noticing things.
Blushes where they weren’t before. Voice going soft, Kiyoko’s head lowering towards Hitoka’s ear, like they had their own little world she wanted to guard against strangers. Hair twirled, shy smiles at Hitoka fumbling over her words, and sometimes—sometimes even a daring hand reaching out for hers when nerves overwhelmed her into incoherent babbling, hair-pulling, chest heaving.
Hitoka noticed, and came to conclusions. Her wishful thinking mottling them, she even started thinking that Kiyoko might also be feeling her nervousness? The same flutter in her chest, electricity in their touches?
Hitoka started believing in the possibility of a future for them. And she was horrified.
Volleyball practice became a method of torture fresh out of the deepest pits of hell. The loud buzzing in her head, tiny evil fingers grazing the insides of her skull, what am I thinking? What am I thinking about my friend? WHAT am I THINKING, she’s a FRIEND, what the hell AM I ALLOWING MYSELF to think, what is this thing that should not be, how did it find its way into my head, my mother is straight, my father is straight, my whole family, my friends are straight, HOW?
Others were also noticing. Hinata asked if she was feeling well, bless his soul, but he has to stay away from me! Stay away, I’m begging you, don’t let me desecrate you.
And Kiyoko. Kind-hearted, soft-eyed, the angel Kiyoko asked her what was wrong. Hitoka shook her head violently; nausea climbed all the way to her nose. She—she pushed Kiyoko away in her panic, barely enough presence of mind to turn the back of her hand, sleeve tugged over it.
She couldn’t ever touch Kiyoko.
Coach Ukai dismissed her from practice; the purple-green she was feeling must be showing on her face. Black spots dancing in her vision, she found her shoes, clumsily changed into them, feeling everybody’s eyes on her, left the gym.
If she was in the wrong for having her eyes on a girl…
Then, suppose she was right and Kiyoko felt the same way.
Wouldn’t that make Kiyoko in the wrong, too? How could she even think that?
But no, Hitoka told herself. She doesn’t feel the same way, because no one is supposed to, and that’s how it should be.
It felt like the true answer was eluding her.
-
At home, in bed, a text message pinged. From Kiyoko, Are you okay?
Did something happen?
Twenty-seven minutes later,
Did I do something wrong?
Hitoka would have cried if her eyes hadn’t been dried up wells. She would only cause trouble for Kiyoko whatever she did, wouldn’t she?
She would only cause trouble for everyone around her, wouldn’t she?
It would have been better if she hadn’t been born, wouldn’t it?
Right though she might be, self-deprecation wasn’t an excuse to make Kiyoko worry. Hitoka opted for i’m fine, just a little stressed out, and wondered what she would do the next day when she would have to face Kiyoko. That push must have ruined whatever they had between them. It was for the best if Hitoka stayed away from Kiyoko, but to make it a natural progression? Letting things go unexplained would only work to make Kiyoko feel bad about herself as an upperclassman, as a friend, as a person.
She rushed for a follow-up text. you didn’t do anythimg!!!! i2m so sorry for pushing you earlier, i’mthe worst. i wasn’t feeling like mysef
What a lame excuse. Was she going to keep running away like that?
Hinata’s call disrupted the pulse of the cold panic against her jugular.
“Yachi-san!” his voice tore through the booming in her ears. “Good evening! How are you doing?”
“Thank you, Hinata. I’m fine… You?”
It had always been easy to open up to Hinata. The fear of sounding ridiculous, of not being taken seriously, was always mitigated to the point of being ignorable, talking to him. She felt her reserve giving way, just slightly. Very lightly touched upon the subject of Kiyoko, and their relationship, only for Hinata to deduce a big part of the issue by himself, and hit bullseye, to Hitoka’s great stress. Though he was kind enough to talk in hypothetical sentences.
So she wasn’t being subtle. At all.
“Yachi-san,” Hinata was saying, “I have a story to lighten you up a bit! Care to listen?”
And Hinata told her about the crush he used to have on Kageyama.
“Of course, it disappeared into thin air the moment he opened his mouth when we ran into each other in Karasuno,” Hinata was chuckling, “He’s like, the best volleyball partner I could ask for, but boyfriend? No thanks.”
She felt a smile tugging at her lips, but the nerves in her were still strung so tight they could break at any given moment. It was tormenting to realise she had nothing but support for Hinata in her, nothing but friendly affection, yet she’d been vile when it came to herself, throwing herself insults, calling herself names.
“Oh, and Yachi-san?”
“Hmm?”
Hinata told her about the captain and his vice from Fukurodani; they were boyfriends. Kuroo-san from Nekoma asked Tsukishima on a date once. His sister, Natsu, proposed to Chiyo-chan from next door. His mother sewed them bridal veils.
“People love people, all around us.” He paused, as if he was giving Hitoka a moment to think things through. “It’s not boys love girls, girls love boys. It’s plain people.”
Hitoka didn’t know when she’d started crying. She wasn’t making any noise, but it was as if Hinata had a people-sense tingling, because he scrambled to disperse her clouds.
“Uh, sorry for being all heavy! On this fine night! I was just really bwuhh for a moment, wanted to get things off my chest, you know? I’m sure you and Shimizu-senpai will be fine!”
When Hitoka thanked Hinata in a voice barely above a whisper, a piece of her heart reached through the phone and kissed him on the forehead.
-
The fear would not succumb easily. Her heart was in her throat on the way to school, morning practice given an early start by Hinata and Kageyama. Hinata greeted her, eyes so soft Hitoka could cry.
He was so strong to keep his ground in a hateful world like theirs.
Hitoka passed the time with Hinata and Kageyama, throwing them balls, thinking about what Hinata’d said last night about his crush. It was undeniable that there was a different kind of tension between them, a unique relationship of personalities half-compatible at best somehow fitting each other down to the slightest alcove. Just like that, it was unfathomable how anyone could hate them for it. But most importantly, it was amazing how Hinata refused to let hate deter him.
Maybe she wasn’t as alone in this as she’d thought she was.
Hinata and Kageyama slowly spiralled into their usual banter, leaving her to her own devices, which were heavily distorted, so she found herself thinking and worrying, yet again.
She was looking at Tsukishima.
There used to be a time when she thought he was very beautiful; she wouldn’t mind his hand in hers. He was the tall blonde from the other college preparatory class.
She’d just found herself in high school. Every turn she took, there were tall and intimidating people and Tsukishima was one of the only who didn’t strike fear in her with his height. It might have been the disinterest in his eyes.
She was looking at Tsukishima, who’d been asked out on a date by Kuroo-san from Nekoma, and wondering. If she knew the boy she used to have the tiniest, most superficial crush on—a crush that lasted for a total of two and a half months until she met Kiyoko—had been asked on a date by another boy…
Of course she wouldn’t have felt the faintest trace of disgust.
If she knew Tsukishima had gone out with Kuroo, and with Yamaguchi. If she knew he crushed on her, and then Tanaka-san. If she knew he got into a relationship with Hinata and Kageyama, after-practice dates filled with bickering, Hinata placating, she still wouldn’t have felt the faintest trace of disgust.
So why was it so hard to stomach when she did it herself?
Hinata’s words sent her into a war with herself. It was unthinkable that she would hate any of her friends for loving, for extending their hands to people, disregarding genders.
But it was also unthinkable that she would come to terms with her own self. It was wrong when she did it. It was only wrong when she did it.
She didn’t want to make Hinata feel bad, about himself or about her, with her problems. With him out of the equation, she didn’t have anyone left to talk to about it.
The upper years were filtering in. She heard there was a mock test for third years approaching; a need to study for it while keeping up with club activities and training for their upcoming matches. She’d been meaning to offer taking over the managing so that Kiyoko could study with a clear head, but there was no way of going around it with this tension between them she brought upon herself.
The initial greeting was friendly enough. Hitoka traced melancholy in the slight upturn of Kiyoko’s lips, but wrote it off as her usual wishful thinking; she’d also read butterflies in the smiles Kiyoko sent her way before, after all. An echo of her wish that she mattered enough for Kiyoko to be sad over her.
“Hitoka-chan,” Kiyoko started, cautious like a bird ready to fly away any time. “How are you today?”
Hitoka fended it off with usual pleasantries. She knew she wanted to talk to Kiyoko about it, but the prospect of it terrified her so much she instantly came to realise that it wasn’t happening anytime soon. Not on her initiative.
When Kiyoko’s eyes cast down, though, and when she saw the shadow of her eyelashes on her cheeks, Hitoka came to realise another thing.
That her conviction to never see Kiyoko sad could beat even what she’d thought to be the most insurmountable of her reservations.
“Kiyoko-san,” she found herself saying. “I’m really sorry about yesterday. Please know that it didn’t have anything to do with you. I want to talk to you about something, but…” she took a deep breath, so deep that six, seven, eight seconds had passed before she continued, she counted. “I can’t find the strength for it.”
Kiyoko said it was nothing, that it was more important for Hitoka to feel all right. She gave her a reassuring smile, but the melancholy Hitoka had traced before was now colouring her entire face amber-pink, like peach blossom petals burning.
Stomach turning over itself in shame, Hitoka couldn’t do anything.
-
Saturday practice loomed in the horizon of a night spent sleeplessly tossing, turning. She’d sent a message to Hinata in the dead of the night, have you ever hated yourself for something that never bothers you in other people?
The early morning came with Hinata’s response. i used to
How did you overcome it, went unsaid, Hinata beating her to it.
then i tried to think of myself as other people
i imagined myself hating my friends for it to force myself into guilt
fake it till you make it, you know what they say?
i still can’t say it’s okay now but i barely feel it anymore
The morning air from the window left ajar made the tears collecting in her eyes sting. Unadulterated pain throbbed in her heart for Hinata, regret for the nights he must have spent unleashing whips of thorn upon his heart, sadness that transcended the trivialities she used to upset herself over every day.
She hated herself all the more for daring to hate herself for being like this, as if, by doing it, she was condoning Hinata’s self-hatred he felt because of what was possibly the exact same thing.
Because, undeniably, Hinata understood. She couldn’t doubt what he was talking about related to her current situation.
Hitoka sent another text, this time to Kiyoko, before she could backpedal out of it. i need to talk to you about something, but i’m scared. force me if you need to, but please don’t let me chicken out. today after practice, if you’re free? Waiting for the reply with her heart beating in her mouth.
Kiyoko replied a simple Okay.
Thirty minutes later, Hitoka almost hitting her head on the head of the doorframe with her start, You never, ever have to be scared of anything when you’re with me, Hitoka-chan. Please remember that… ♡
When she saw the little heart, she dry heaved on her empty stomach.
Her legs giving out under her, she curled around the doorjamb. Starting out silently, salty efflux trickling, form convulsing with sobs.
-
She arrived at the gym late, without her signature hairstyle. The tuft of hair was down to hide her puffy eyes and red nose in her profile, from Kiyoko who always stood on her left. The light from directly behind her concealed them from most of the team, but Hinata always noticed, and Kiyoko. There was no hiding anything from Kiyoko.
Her eyes went wide. If there was no hiding anything from Kiyoko, did she know other things? Her heretic thoughts… Her completely normal and healthy thoughts, she corrected herself; Hinata would be proud. She gave her surroundings a once-over for good measure, just in case someone on the team had mind-reading abilities.
A cold hand was on hers, and she flinched. Panic rising in her throat like bile when she saw it was Kiyoko. This made two. Now you’re going to hate me, suddenly breaking out in a shout in her head like a jump scare, out her mouth without her intervention, “Now you’re going to hate me.”
“No,” pronounced more like an exhalation than a real word, a laugh, an incredulous, pained laugh in its higher notes. “No, Hitoka-chan, of course not.”
She looked like she couldn’t find the words, or couldn’t get them to obey her. Funny, because what word could resist a goddess, this goddess standing before her. Morning light in a halo around her head. Her writing pad was her scepter, her spear.
Hitoka was a deer in her headlights.
In his break, Hinata came to stand by her, silently smoothing his hand on her back in circles. She would give him the thanks he deserved, one day.
After she collected her own strength to stand on her own two feet, live her own life by her own self.
-
After practice, Hinata offered to stay behind for her, making her tear up at having such a good friend, but she refused. To cut off every other lifeline, have nothing but Kiyoko to cling on to, just to burn down every bridge that could lead her back to square one.
There’s no going back now, to herself and Hinata and Kiyoko. Whoever was by her side on this road, and whoever would be.
The only comfort she allowed herself was the familiarity of the second gym. She and Kiyoko sat under the railed windows to the left of the door, back to back.
“Kiyoko-san.” Her voice broke on the very first syllable.
Kiyoko’s steady breathe in, breathe out from behind her. A living being, right behind her, with blood flowing in her veins and air circulating her lungs. Clad in such vulnerable skin, such fragile bones, and she was the one Hitoka gave her heart to.
“Kiyoko-san.”
Breath one. “I’m your little manager friend.”
Breath two. “Two years younger than you, always looking up to you.”
Breath three. “I’m young, my head is in the clouds, I’m a Townsperson B.”
Breath four. “But you see me as a friend, don’t you? I would have long found an empty space in your place, if you,”
A sob. Breathe five. “didn’t like my company, wouldn’t I?”
Kiyoko’s hand softly sheltered hers, from somewhere behind.
Breathe six. “So I find the strength to say this. A friend,”
Breathe seven, cut in half by a sob. “Shouldn’t hide things from you.”
Breathe eight. “I have a confession to make, Kiyoko-san.” Her voice trembling on each syllable, uncontrollably.
Breathe nine. “I think I’m in love with you, Kiyoko-san.”
The tears didn’t fall.
Kiyoko’s shirt absorbed them.
Her hair absorbed Kiyoko’s.
(Kiyoko’s eyes, glazed by tears,
so bright, oh so bright, a goddess’ tears.
Kiyoko’s throat, up and down with a lump swallowed,
so open, so, so open, that Hitoka wants to protect.
The goddess’ most loyal subject.
Kiyoko’s lips, glittering, bitten,
peach-coloured, salt-flavoured, cotton-cushioned,
on Hitoka’s, moving in synchrony
a moment to remember
until the last breath of her life
washes its memory clean.)
-
We are born to love.
Hitoka’s pencil glides over the paper.
We are conditioned to do a myriad of things. Cultures, societies, religions, experiences, parents, friends, pets, teachers, strangers, good ones, bad ones, they condition us to do countless things. Unspeakable evil, untouchable goodness, tied to conditions.
But I must believe, for my humanity’s sake, that we’re born with one thing in mind and heart.
To find our mother and cling to her. Receive her love, channel it out, get used to its feel, generate our own.
We have an instinct for compassion.
“That’s why I had nothing but love and support for Hinata and my other friends.” Hitoka tickles her chin with the eraser of her pencil.
I still can’t quite turn it towards myself, but that’s just a condition I have to overpower.
I will feel comfortable in my own skin.
And those who have a problem with it, won’t be able to do anything but eat their hearts out.
Someday.