Chapter Text
Perhaps it was inevitable, perhaps Miya’s fall was always meant to come with the practiced grace of a dancer. Perhaps attempting to live in denial had been the foolish choice of a young child, one who was so desperate to cling to his reputation that he sacrificed his health to do so.
Miya was perfect, the kind of kid other parents whispered about enviously as they bitterly wondered why their own children didn’t possess the same talents. He was a model student, a skilled athlete, a natural prodigy in anything he put even a touch of effort into.
He won competition after competition, was first in his class rank, and lived surrounded by praise and media attention. Reporters had become commonplace at his school, hoping to catch the Japan National Team-hopeful hard at work. Miya had what other kids could only dream of, and at 12 he was more successful than most adults could ever hope to be.
He was perfect, just as long as he ignored the crawling sensations on his skin, and the phantom footsteps which followed him wherever he went, and the whispers that floated just out of comprehension. Perfect, if he didn’t let people see how overwhelmed crowds made him, and how he struggled to speak if put under pressure. Perfect, so long as no one saw the way his body tensed and jerked with movements he couldn’t control.
But surely that wasn’t unusual, yes? Miya was certain that everyone heard and felt the same things he did, so there was no reason to worry that perhaps he was, in some way, imperfect.
So long as Miya never asked about it, he could never receive definitive confirmation that others did not, in fact, experience what he did. He could live in blissful ignorance, just so long as he never confirmed anything.
He was fine. He was perfect. He was Miya.
And yet, in the back of his mind, something nagged at his confidence, told him this was a rare occasion in which he was wrong. He knew, deep down, that it was far from normal to hear and feel things that didn’t exist. He knew his way of processing was different, he knew something was off. It terrified him, and the uncertainty ate away at him, but it was fine. As long as he told himself things were alright, as long as he tricked his mind into accepting things as normal, Miya would be fine.
So when a second set of footsteps echoed behind his own as he walked down the hallway, too heavy to match his own and a beat too late to be an echo, Miya elected to ignore them. They were fine, just as long as he didn’t stop to confirm that nothing was actually making them. He’d made that mistake once before.
“Do you hear that?” Miya asked. He paused in the hallway outside the boys locker rooms, turning to check behind himself.
“Hear what?” Takashi asked, pausing a few feet ahead.
Miya turned more, scanning the hallway. “Footsteps.”
Takashi laughed, jogging back and grabbing Miya’s arm. “Stop messing around dude. Come on, coach is gonna kill us if we’re late again.”
Takashi hadn’t heard the footsteps. Miya had, but not Takashi, and sure enough, no one had been behind them. It was more confirmation than Miya cared to have, and he now avoided all talk of footsteps, terrified to learn that perhaps he was the only one who heard them.
Instead, he ignored the hairs rising on the back of his neck every time he heard them, and he ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the idea that perhaps he was being watched. Truthfully, he wondered if being followed would be preferable to finding that nothing was there at all.
His preference was irrelevant, though. As long as he ignored the footsteps, they weren’t there anyways.
Instead, Miya focused on getting to his room and changing out of his school uniform. He pulled it off and swapped it out for his skating clothes, which were draped across the back of his chair, ready for him to change as quickly as possible. His school bag lay discarded on the bed, full of homework he would do later, and his uniform was tossed into his laundry hamper to be washed another day.
For now, he grabbed his switch and unceremoniously shoved it into the small bag he took skating before running back downstairs.
Miya took a water bottle from the fridge and scribbled a quick note to leave on the table, “Out skating, be home soon , ” before grabbing his board from where it was propped against the door and taking off on it.
Within seconds he was consumed by adrenaline, swept up in the very feeling for which he lived and breathed: skating.
The wheels wizzed to life under him, the steady rattling of plastic on cement filling his ears as the wind drowned out everything else. He could feel the power beneath him as energy currented through the board, and soon, Miya was flying.
He took corners as sharply as he could, jumping cracks with practiced ease. It was a path he could take with his eyes closed, keeping them open only to dodge pedestrians, flying by and missing them by mere inches; a laugh bubbled from his throat as Miya and the board became part of each other, working in tandem the way they’d done so many times before. By now, Miya didn’t need to try when he skated; he put his faith in the worn board and in his muscle memory, making it to the skatepark in record time.
“Miya!” Reki called, racing over as his fully-extended hand flailed back and forth in what miya supposed was a wave. He raised his own arm ever so slightly to return the gesture一Reki may have looked ridiculous, but he was still Miya’s friend.
“Hey,” he greeted, kicking his board up as he came to a stop. Reki skidded to a halt in front of him, already babbling about something while Langa watched from a few feet away, hanging on Reki’s every word.
“-and then I said ‘Oh yeah that’s Miya, he’s my friend,’ and they-”
“Wait what?” Miya tuned back in at the sound of his own name, looking up at Reki.
“I said there was this talent scout in town, and he was reading an article about you in the newspaper. So I told him you were my friend! He asked where you went to school.”
Miya blinked. A talent scout? Reading about him? “Did you tell him?”
“Yeah! I guess he’s scouting for the Junior National skating team, he said he’d go check you out.” Reki wasn’t even personally affected by the news, and yet he buzzed with excitement. Excitement for Miya. He was almost touched.
“Junior National team?” he murmured. “Damn.” The opportunity was huge, this could be the shot he was waiting for. The break he’d said for years he was going to have. If he made the National team, his career would skyrocket, he’d practically be guaranteed a place on the adult team when he got older.
“Yeah! Dude, this could be it!”
“Junior nationals,” Miya whispered. He could hardly believe it.
“Che-er, Kaoru is really excited for you too! He probably told Joe already!”
“Kojiro,” Langa corrected quietly. “Congratulations Miya.”
“Thanks.” He offered Langa a small smile一Kojiro had told him that was what you did when someone complimented you. You smiled to show that you appreciated it. Miya thought it was a stupid rule, expressing gratitude was the entire point of thanking someone, but he went along with it regardless.
Soon enough, the excitement had died down and the three boys were back on their boards, racing around the park.
Kaoru had joined them that day, although he was sat off to the side fiddling with something on his tablet, most likely new adjustments to Carla. Every time Miya asked, it seemed the man had done something new to the board, changed it in some way.
The scene was so normal, three kids yelling and skateboarding while a parental figure sat off to the side. It was moments like those which reminded Miya that he was still a child. It was far too easy to get caught up in expectations and appearances, he seldom got the chance to lower the facade and act like any other 12 year old.
Normalcy was something Miya thrived off of. In a life built from the expectations of others, he seldom saw opportunities to behave without the pressure of who might see him. He clawed his way atop the highest pedestal because he had to, but there he sat isolated, cut off from the freedom of a childhood he never saw.
But there, in a place claimed by delinquents, no one would go searching for prodigal Chinen Miya. He was free of status, free of labels, free of-
“Takashi?”
Miya had been looking over at Langa and, when he looked back in front of him, there stood Takashi not five feet away. Miya skidded to a halt and tumbled off his board in his rush to stop, but when he looked back, no one was there.
“Miya!” Langa called, having seen his fall. He came running over, Reki on his heels. “Are you alright?”
At the commotion, Kaoru looked up, rushing over when he saw Miya on the ground. He spoke, but Miya couldn’t hear him.
Takashi had been right there, Miya had seen him. But that was impossible, Takashi and Miya had an unspoken agreement not to visit the skateparks they knew the other frequented. Besides, it was Wednesday, Takashi had a private session with their coach. There was no reason for him to have been there, and yet…
“Miya? Miya!” Miya blinked as Kaoru snapped his fingers in front of the younger’s face. He looked concerned, which meant at any minute he’d start panicking if Miya didn’t tread carefully.
“I’m fine,” he said casually, ignoring the sharp stab of pain that went through his wrist as he pushed himself up. He was an athlete, he competed on injuries constantly. It was nothing to worry about. “I just thought I saw…”
“Saw what?” Reki asked.
After a moment of silence, Miya chose to call Takashi, “An old friend.”
“I didn’t see anyone.” Langa looked curious, which was rarely a good sign. Miya didn’t need him to ask questions that Miya wouldn’t be able to answer.
He didn’t need any uncertainty.
“It was probably nothing,” Miya said quickly. “I’m just tired, you know how it is.”
Kaoru looked skeptical, regarding Miya with a contemplative look.
“If you’re tired, perhaps it’d be best if you went home to rest,” he said coolly.
“Uh, no, I’m not that tired,” Miya said quickly. Grabbing his board. “It’s fine.”
“No, I think you should go home,” Kaoru said again. “In fact, I’ll drive you.”
“But it’s only been a few hours!” Miya protested. It wasn’t fair, even if he was tired, he skated at ‘S’ all night several times a week. It didn’t matter if he was tired, he could still perform.
“Precisely, it’s nearly seven.”
Miya groaned, realizing that Cherry was set on sending him home.
“Reki, Langa, you should head home too,” he said, and although Reki had been giggling up until that point, he quickly stopped at the mention of leaving.
“What! That’s not fair! We’re seventeen!”
“We do have a test in the morning,” Langa pointed out softly. At least Miya wasn’t the only one going home early.
After a few more protests, Reki and Langa made plans to go to Reki’s house and study, while Miya and his board were corralled into the backseat of Kaoru’s car.
The drive was quiet for a few minutes, Miya tracing over scratches in the deck of his board, when Cherry finally broke the silence.
“So what happened out there?” he asked.
“Nothing, just fell,” Miya mumbled, not paying much attention.
“You said you saw an old friend?”
At that, he stiffened, choosing his next words with care. “I was mistaken.”
“Difficult mistake to make when we were the only people there.”
“It was probably just Reki in the corner of my eye.” The lie sounded believable enough, and Kaoru had been focused on Carla, so he wouldn’t have known that Miya was ahead of Reki.
There was no answer, just a quiet hum of acknowledgement while they turned into Miya’s driveway.
“Carla,” Kaoru said quietly, “Automatically accept all calls from Miya Chinen.”
“Calls from Miya Chinen set to automatic acceptance,” the robotic female voice responded.
“If you need anything, call whenever,” Kaoru said. Miya just nodded, before excusing himself from the car.
He wasn’t going to need anything, he was fine .
Slipping his keys from his pocket, Miya unlocked the front door and stepped in, propping his board in the doorway as per usual. He could hear the shower running upstairs, so his mom must have been home. That was rare, she usually worked later than that. It must have been a slower day.
Normally, Miya would be happy to see his mother for a few hours, even if it meant endless questions and judgement about what he was doing in school. But today, he simply wasn’t up for it.
Instead, Miya crept up to his room and pulled out his homework; perhaps he could get it done early and have some time to relax. That was all he needed, to relax. He was probably just stressed from practice and the upcoming competition season. The talent scout wasn’t going to make things any easier, either. He was probably just a bit overwhelmed.
Slowly but surely, Miya got through his homework. He was on his last page of math, relieved to be nearly finished, when his wrist jerked, smearing dark black pen ink across the last few problems he’s done. He cursed softly, checking the damage only to conclude that he had made the work illegible. Choosing to ignore that he’d moved involuntarily, Miya scratched out the ruined row of problems and carefully began to redo them.
If he ignored it, it didn’t happen. Just like how he hadn’t seen Takashi earlier. He was completely fine.
Chinen Miya didn’t see things, and his body didn’t move against his wishes. He just needed to calm down.
Everything was perfectly fine.