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It all begins in the lift.
With a cheery wave at the receptionist and a quick glance to check on the potted plant by the front desk, Yui dashes through just as the doors close. It’s not like she’s late - far from it. There’s just something about diving in at the last second that thrills her.
Much like the lady in the lift, who sends a different kind of thrill racing down her spine.
Impeccable is the first word that comes to mind. There’s a careless grace surrounding the way her jacket hangs effortlessly on her shoulders, her hair tied into an impossibly neat bun. Her legs are long and snug in tights that only emphasise how good they look. A glance at the mirrored wall tells Yui the woman has a mole by her chin. It only serves to heighten her allure.
Yui looks down, inspecting her own soaked feet and crumpled blouse and knows whatever slim chance she might have with this gorgeous woman has gone as lukewarm as the tea she served her old manager on his first day.
Maybe Hana was right. She does have a type. People who are so very far out of her league.
(And really, her mind whispers, is that such a bad thing?)
It’s record-breaking how quickly her chest bubbles with the excitement of a crush. It sends shockwaves through her limbs, all the way from the roots of her hair and down to the tips of her toes.
She steals another glance, taking in all she can, savouring their short time together. So smart and poised, the lady is so different from the girls in the teen magazines she used to pour over, but still just as glamorous. It takes all her willpower not to run her gaze over the woman’s body, to commit their fleeting encounter to her vivid, rose-petal framed memory.
Oh, if only the lift could start to slow, then stop all at once. Being trapped would be quite nerve-wracking, but Yui is certain she’s read something about fear and love going hand-in-hand. Even then, she supposes, the lady would barely flinch. Maybe they’d strike up a conversation, share a few stories, eventually get tired of waiting and sit together cross-legged on the lift floor as if they were sharing secrets at a sleepover, and then, just like in movies, they’d play truth or dare and-
The woman is looking straight at her.
“Are...you okay? You’re quite red…”
Yui forgets how to breathe.
The daydream in her head evaporates, replaced by a weakly flickering neon sign that reads ‘Help!!!’ in the same shade as the woman’s lipstick.
She should really say something. Anything. That would be ideal.
“Indigestion.”
Great. Well. That’s something.
Her mind conjures up another scenario, one of her being ejected down a long, winding chute opening up beneath her, a destination charted to her bed to dissolve into her duvet from sheer mortification. Never has she been more thankful it’s a Friday.
And yet, after all that, the woman baffles Yui. She nods. Just nods, simply, as if she isn’t witnessing a real-time meltdown and explosion rolled into one. A ‘meltsplosion’, as Suga would probably call it. Yui certainly feels as jumbled as that word sounds.
In the mess her mind creates, the one redeeming factor she treasures is the lady’s small, soft smile.
***
“Your mind is miles away today. Who is it this time?”
Her payroll department counterpart and good friend Suga takes the seat opposite her as she stirs her coffee. Milk with two sugars. Average, not like the four Suga deposits into his own cup, or the zero his boyfriend - and manager - Daichi has in his own.
“Does Yui have a crush again?” Daichi asks, slipping into the seat beside Suga, both with those stupid matching grins they always have when they discuss the target of Yui’s daydreams for the next few weeks.
How on earth can they tell?
If only she could be as charming as Suga, or as confident as Daichi, or as classy as the lady-
Oh. That’s how.
She drops her forehead on the table with a thunk, not hard enough to dispel the wisps of rose-tinted thoughts floating through her head. No matter how many post-it notes she desperately scrawls FOCUS! on, she can’t get the woman out of her mind. (The way her stomach clenches reveals that maybe she doesn’t want to).
With a groan, she moves her head to the side to smush her cheek against the table. Pathetic, really. This is what she’s reduced to.
“Oh no, we’re not moping again today.” Daichi commands with his no-nonsense tone. He’s right. Of course he is. She’s a team captain, for goodness sake. She needs to act like it.
Yui gives herself another few blissful seconds before complying, lifting her head to face the couple in front of her. Everything about them is blissfully lovely. Like when Daichi checks his phone, which she knows for a fact has a photo of Suga on their first ever date as his lock screen, and smiles at it before opening whatever indecent text Suga has sent him to make him choke on his drink.
Suga, with his uncanny and sometimes downright unnerving ability to understand her thoughts, reassures her.
“Don’t worry. I mean, it took Daichi three months to ask me out properly even after he sent me all those flirty emails.”
“Hey!” Daichi protests.
“I can believe that.” Yui laughs as Daichi throws her a look of betrayal.
“It was sweet though,” Suga’s tone is softer as he gives Daichi that sappy look they always share whenever they’re around each other. It makes her chest ache.
“Shame he accidentally sent one to the director.”
“Suga!”
She talks it over with Daichi and Suga and it helps a little. It’s enough to ward off the pangs of longing in her chest as she stamps her pile of invoices that threaten to topple over at any given moment.
She tells herself that she’ll go for it again. Next time, she’ll strike up a conversation, tell the woman how pretty she is and maybe she’ll make a comment back, or offer her a shy smile, mole moving as her lips quirk, and then she’ll ask Yui what floor she works on and if she’s ever free, they could grab lunch together and-
Yui represses the urge to yell and grabs her phone, shooting off another text.
I need another pep talk!!!
***
“Okay, so what does she look like?” Suga folds his hands together, adjusting his unnecessary glasses in the manner of a therapist. Yui tells him that and he nods sagely, thanking her for the compliment. Next to him, Daichi snorts.
“Koushi, we’re not trying to indulge her,” he reasons. Suga dismisses him with a wave of his pencil.
“Spare no detail,” Suga states, putting on a weird fake accent for good measure.
“Well,” Yui starts, letting herself drift back to that familiar, cosy nook in her mind. “She’s basically like a model, but like, a business model. You know, hair in a bun, seemed kind of quiet but powerful aura, like clear blue eyes, really nice figure, skirt the appropriate length but legs still…” Yui cuts herself off, face ablaze.
“Sinful?” Suga adds, doing nothing to help. “I can empathise,” he nods again, less sagely and more mischievous, patting Daichi’s thigh next to him. Yui lifts her head from where she’s buried it in her hands and the look on Daichi’s face tells her he’s not faring well in this interrogation either.
After some spluttering, Daichi manages to compose himself. “Give me the pencil,” he orders, with no real malice in his tone. “You’re making it worse.”
“No!” Suga clutches onto it like it’s a pearl, refusing to relinquish power. Yui watches the two of them pretend to squabble, tangling themselves up in each other and her pink, patchwork sofa cover. She takes in Suga’s laughter as Daichi tickles him, the wicked grin on his face as he finally nabs the pencil out of Suga’s hands, reclaiming his glasses in the process. As always, the two of them are caught up in their own world. Yui is patient and waits for her friends to come back to reality. Goodness knows how patient they are with her.
“Okay,” Daichi says, putting on his glasses. “Do you at least know what her name is?”
“No,” she replies woefully as Suga mouths what kind of questioning logic is this?, but then she perks up. “But I remember she got off on the floor below us.”
Daichi’s eyebrows furrow. “On third floor? And she has her hair in a bun?”
“Yeah, and a little mole by her chin.”
“Maybe she’s my long-lost sister,” Suga supplies, observing the cogs turning in Daichi’s brain.
A few seconds pass and Daichi answers. “Maybe,” he chuckles, directing his ‘level two’ intensity stare at Yui.
“Or maybe she’s the new supervisor for the finance department.”
***
Daichi’s words echo through her head, spinning in circles like a carousel. Supervisor.
Distantly, she remembers the email buried amongst the mass of others about interviews, and her brain sparks, connecting it to Daichi’s remark a week ago of being on the panel. Something about the candidate, young, not much previous experience, but good attitude and potential. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Third floor was marketing and research - and as it had turned out, the only floor with rooms free for interviews all day.
Monday morning of a new week. The first day for the new supervisor.
“I’m afraid I can’t catch you if your knees turn to jelly,” Suga whispers with a snicker, passing by towards Daichi’s office (which now, mercifully, had the soundproof door fixed). He narrowly escapes her slap on his arm.
Ten o’clock, Daichi had said. She glances at the clock after every document she date-stamps. Already, her stomach is swirling.
Normally, her crushes are untouchable, nestling between the pages of glossy magazines under her bed or divided by opposing platforms of the train station. But today, Daichi comes out of his office with a wonky tie, and announces that Kiyoko-san will be here in ten minutes.
Ten minutes until her heart bursts with excitement and embarrassment.
***
“Nice to meet you, Yui.” Her voice is soft and mellow and it tingles through Yui’s body. Up close, she can see faint freckles that sweep over her cheeks. To some a blemish, but to Yui another sign of her infallible beauty. She doesn’t dare chance a glance at Suga and Daichi, who are no doubt having the time of their life as she tries not to melt when Kiyoko-san says with a smile that stops her heart, “I look forward to working with you.”
She replays the encounter in her mind a few times, modifying it, pitching Kiyoko-san’s voice lower, letting their handshake linger. The next part is evaluation, marking her own performance. Sure, she delivered her own greeting more croaky than confident, and her hands were definitely clammy when she shook Kiyoko-san’s. But on the whole, especially compared to the time she dropped her coffee when the barista winked at her, she considers it a successful first meeting.
Likewise, it seems, so do Daichi and Suga.
“I’m so proud of you!” Suga tells her later at lunch and Daichi squeezes her shoulder. She knows they’re exaggerating partly for humour, but she also knows there’s a larger portion that’s sincere. Maybe she’s got a grip on this. So what if her boss is hot? She can deal with this maturely, like a grown-up. Professionally. Like an adult.
(She manages to last a week before Kiyoko-san praises her and she date-stamps her hand).
***
It’s been a month and Yui barely knows anything about Kiyoko-san. She understands their professional boundary, understands not everyone is comfortable with small talk. She doesn’t push her, instead putting effort in to her work, in to reigning herself in from spacing out when she catches the scent of her perfume. She appreciates the fact that Kiyoko-san is a competent supervisor. Not everyone is that lucky.
Still, she can’t help but take note of how Kiyoko-san eats at her desk for lunch, only seems to check her work mobile, never joins the home time rush even when the clock strikes five.
“I kind of feel sorry for her.”
Daichi chews his lunch thoughtfully. “Maybe she’s just that type.”
“I get what you mean though,” Suga agree, munching on a stolen chip from Daichi’s plate.
“Do you think she’s lonely?”
“What, and she’s waiting for you to be her saviour and spice up her life?” Suga winks as Yui splutters defensively.
“God knows you spice up mine,” Daichi pretends to complain, and just as unconvincingly, pretends to grimace as Suga leaves a big sloppy kiss on his forehead.
Yui rolls her eyes, cheeks still simmering. “I’m just saying! Maybe she just needs someone to open up to her first? I remember my first few weeks were hard.”
“Yeah, especially when you have Daichi as your boss.” Suga giggles as Daichi’s cheeks colour again.
Yui hides a smile behind her hand. Their back and forth is always fun to watch, a sight that leaves her feeling warm and wishful.
Daichi clears his throat, adjusting the neck of his collar as Suga twirls the fabric of his tie around his fingers. The fact that he could be so authoritative around his staff but like putty in his boyfriend’s hands makes her sigh. Hopeless romantic is a label she’s willingly embraced.
“Uh, Yui, don’t die but your girlfriend is outside.”
Yui spins her neck around in record time. It’s a wonder she hasn’t developed whiplash.
She thanks whichever architect decided the staffroom should have glass walls, blessing her with a full view of Kiyoko-san nodding politely at a senior manager’s brutish voice, wearing an emerald green dress that fits her in all the right places. A trickle of guilt seeps into her mind, the professional voice willing her eyes not to fall lower. (But of course, they do, and even from the side, her legs are still a sight to behold).
Reading her mind with his unholy trickster powers, Suga whispers wickedly, like a mini-devil on her shoulder, “I bet you wish you were that dress right now.” Daichi, cackling along with his boyfriend, is definitely not the angelic counterpart. Just the mere thought of Suga’s words make her face burn something fierce.
Ignoring the glee Daichi and Suga derive from her tomato-red face, she focuses on her heart and brain racing at top speed. Perhaps this is it. The chance she’s been waiting for.
“I’m gonna ask her if she wants to join us.”
She slaps her cheeks with her hands, building up an unwavering courage.
Which promptly snaps in half when Kiyoko-san turns her head in alarm.
Alas, Yui groans, as her two traitorous friends corpse with laughter, the red string of fate looks a bit tied up today.
***
Kiyoko-san strolls out of the lift like she’s fresh off the runway and approaches her desk.
“Sorry for this Yui, would you be able to call the supplier and get the stapler replaced? I have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“No problem!” Yui hates how breathless she sounds. Kiyoko-san nods and gives her that small smile, the one Yui cherishes like a magpie hoarding its collection of shiny objects. She almost gets lost in that smile, the way it curves up so delicately, the way it highlights her pink lipstick, muted but luxurious, probably feeling as soft as it looks-
“W-wait!” She blurt out, nearly tripping over her chair. Kiyoko-san raises her eyebrows and makes a “hmm?” noise, a noise Yui already knows she’ll be replaying in her mind for the next hour.
“What perfume do you wear, Kiyoko-san?”
Kiyoko-san blinks, almost as if she’s never been asked a question like that before. She pauses for a while before responding with the brand.
“It’s a lovely scent.” Yui hopes her compliment sounds sincere. Because it truly is a lovely scent, dizzying but in the best way.
If the office had been it’s usual level of noise, she doubts she would have heard it. But here early in the morning, with no ringing phones and no printer jams, she catches it.
“Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
The rest of the day is nowhere near as good in comparison.
Yui’s demeanour is generally upbeat, but the hold music takes the cake. After an eternity, the supplier simply tells her to call back and finally, when she manages to get through to someone, they refuse to replace the product.
“I’m sorry, but you supplied us with a faulty product,” Yui explains for the third time, biting her cheek. She can’t just back down.
The man on the other end doesn’t extend the same courtesy. He tells her with a tone growing louder by the second that maybe she shouldn’t have waited a week to tell them and there’s absolutely nothing they can do.
“The contract allows a thirty day return,” she counters but the man argues back. She’s not on even on loudspeaker but she can see her colleagues wincing in sympathy.
“Transfer the call to me.”
Yui has no idea when Kiyoko-san returned from her meeting but the look she fixes her is one she doesn’t dare to question.
“I’m putting you through to my supervisor.”
Calm fury is really the only way to describe it. She’s only seen this kind of thing happen once before, and that was when Daichi practically crucified the creepy guy who tried to harass Suga right before firing him.
“I am explaining this quite simply. You supplied us with a faulty product, and we have the right to return it for a refund. Considering how you have handled this issue with my colleague and clearly believe we are wrong, I would be more than to happy to explain to your manager exactly why one of Miyagi’s biggest finance offices will be using your rival supplier from now on.”
Yui watches awestruck as her superior tears into this man with a dignity she can’t fathom. Kiyoko-san puts the phone down, satisfied, a spark of fire still glinting in her eyes.
“Don’t take nonsense from men like that.” Kiyoko-san informs her, expression softer around the edges. “Let me deal with it.”
In this moment, as cheesy as she knows it sounds, Yui feels like the princess being rescued from the dragon by her queen in shining armour.
***
Things develop slowly, day by day. It’s a habit now, for Yui to ask what perfume Kiyoko-san wears. The smile she gets in return keeps her going.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Yui’s never had a problem making small talk but it’s here where the smile starts to dwindle. Even though Kiyoko-san always reciprocates with the same question, she can almost physically feel the cavern between their answers. Two months along and still Kiyoko-san usually answers with either ‘work’ or ‘family’. But now, she gets an answer in return.
“How about you?”
Yui reels off her plans on her fingers; shopping with Hana for their beach outing, a quick visit to her sister’s, then stopping over at Suga’s for a catch-up.
“Sawamura-san is rather close with Sugawara-san, isn’t he?” Kiyoko-san comments.
Yui can’t discern the emotion her voice. It sets her on edge. Her mind whizzes through the possibilities. Jealousy? Bitterness? Oh god, was it...disapproval? Panic strikes her like a bolt of lightning. All this time, she hadn’t even considered it. It couldn’t be true. There was absolutely no way.
But just to be certain.
“Yeah, they’re, um, together. They’re both really great people.” She finds it within her, the tenacity at the tail-end of her sentence. She also finds within her the feeling of her stomach churning faster than her washing machine on full spin. Maybe she’s just blown it, almost being disrespectful to her boss. But she can’t restrain herself when it comes to defending the people she loves.
It seems like an eternity before Kiyoko-san replies “I don’t doubt it.” The smile returns and it sends a heady rush of relief through Yui’s body. She slides back into her chair, a sigh escaping her lips. Kiyoko-san’s eyes crinkle with an emotion Yui is too distracted to decipher and her soul evaporates from her body.
Who knew Friday mornings could be so wonderful?
***
The end of the financial year leaves very little time for longing glances and elaborate daydream journeys.
Days go by in a flurry of documents and emails and more often than not, she finds herself checking them at home.
Besides the weekly team meetings and workshops, Kiyoko-san is an ever present fixture at her desk. In this month of finance hell, Yui hasn’t once seen her manager leave later than her.
“I don’t know how she’s getting through it all,” Yui says, gently tapping her fingertips on her mug, as if it contains the weight of her emotions.
Lunch with Suga and Daichi, as rare as it is nowadays, presents the opportunity to merge the personal and professional.
“She seems to be good at handling pressure,” Daichi notes, munching on his fifth stress biscuit of the day.
“A bit like you then, babe.” Suga affirms, feeding him another.
Yui doesn’t doubt their words. She’s witnessed Kiyoko-san’s impressive ability firsthand. But it doesn’t stop the ache in her chest, the desire to offer help in whatever way she can.
“That reminds me, I dropped in a good word for you at the meeting,” Daichi tells her with a wink, looking very pleased with himself. “She said you’re an incredibly hard worker.”
Suga chimes in, ever determined, “If only those meetings weren’t for you senior folk,” he says, shaking his fist, “I could totally speed things along”.
“Senior folk sounds like we’re pensioners, Koushi.”
“Well, you are an old man,” Suga gives him a cheeky grin.
Yui sighs longingly at their exchange which Suga picks up on immediately.
“Don’t give up!” Suga cheers her on with an affectionate punch. “She’s not as dense as Daichi, so there’s that.”
“You have no respect for your senior folk,” Daichi tries for deadpan but the humour is all too clear in his voice.
Yui knows Suga is right.
She can’t give up. She has to keep trying.
Maybe it’s now or never.
“I’m gonna ask her if she wants lunch. For real.” Yui declares, fist clenched around her fork.
Suga lets out a wolf-whistle. “So bold! I like this side of you.”
Almost as quickly as she delivers her proclamation, Yui falters.
“But what if she doesn’t like me…”
As if the universe hears her call, the woman she fantasies about holding hands with enters the staffroom.
Yui freezes, feeling her face turn crimson. She deeply laments her lack of an off-switch when it comes to blushing.
“Ah, hello Yui.” Kiyoko-san greets her - greets her! her mind yells, as if she doesn’t do so everyday - as she walks over to the coffee machine. The click-clack of her heels is a conditioned stimulus, the heat in her stomach a conditioned response. “What do you have for lunch today?”
Yui almost drops her sandwich in shock. Sure, they’ve made progress on the small talk front, but here, away from their desks, it feels so intimate and personal.
She almost forgets there are two nosy people smirking unsubtly beside her. Well, if her fire-engine face hadn’t given it away, the two people she can’t believe she calls her friends are definitely making it obvious.
It’s been a rather long since Kiyoko-san asked her the question, lost in her thoughts. Hastily, she forms a response.
“Chicken! Er, chicken and lettuce. Sandwiches.”
“Healthy,” Kiyoko-san remarks, leaning against the counter beside the boiling kettle.
“I suppose,” Yui agrees with a nervous laugh, “need to keep up my strength.”
“Yui plays volleyball,” Suga butts in with an infuriating grin, “she needs the protein for her muscles”.
“You play volleyball?” Kiyoko-san gasps softly. The sound is music to Yui’s ears.
She tries to contain her enthusiasm. “Yes!” She fails.
“What position?” Kiyoko-san is actually moving closer now - into to the seat opposite her! Has someone finally answered her many, many prayers?
Kiyoko-san sets down her tea, resting her fingers on her mug. A strand of hair falls over her glasses and she tucks it away behind her ear. The action strikes Yui as so different to her usual, composed self. Even the way her gaze lowers through those long eyelashes, eyes barely meeting her own.
“Wing spiker,” she answers, soft as Kiyoko-san’s smile. It only grows wider when Daichi mentions loudly, “she’s captain of the local women’s club!”
“Do you play any sports, Kiyoko-san?”
“I used to. A long time ago.”
Yui presses her lips together, chest sinking at the painful nostalgia in her manager’s tone. She wants to bring back the shine in Kiyoko-san’s eyes, comfort her in whatever way she can.
She opens her mouth to continue the conversation, hanging on desperately to this thread of potential when she sees Kiyoko-san’s eyes flicker towards Daichi and Suga, as if noticing their presence for the first time.
Abruptly, she stands, and even that action, somehow, is elegant.
“I apologise for interrupting,” she bows towards the two troublemakers who insist it’s perfectly fine and that they were just leaving for that “really important meeting in your office, Daichi?” which Yui is all too aware is code for making out. She has to hand it to Suga - he is an opportunist.
They rush out of the staffroom, eager to give her space, eager to be with each other, but not before a comforting shoulder touch (Daichi) and a highly inappropriate whisper in her ear (Suga) before it really is just the two of them, intimate, alone.
It’s as good a time as any to ask, Yui decides.
“Would you-I was thinking, um, the volleyball club-”
“Are you asking me if I want to join?” Just like that, with a twinkle in her eye, she figures her out.
Yui opts to nod, not trusting her motormouth, biting her lip in suspense.
“I think I’d like that very much.”
***
Help!!!
Twenty minutes later, Suga and Daichi are at her house.
“What clothes do I wear?” She asks them frantically as they step inside.
“Hello to you too, Yui.”
“Sorry,” she replies sheepishly. “I’m just nervous.”
Clothes adorn her room, most scattered across the bed, some strewn over the mirror. It’s like a bombsite, the casualties of her overthinking laid out bare for Daichi and Suga to witness.
“Well, your uniform is good for a start.” Daichi points out, bending down to pick up what he prays is just a skirt.
Suga swats Daichi’s arm, rendering his attempts at cleaning useless. “Be more romantic! She needs to impress her hot date!”
“Date?!” Yui squeaks, head stuck halfway through the neck of her shirt.
“Suga, stop teasing her. You’ll be fine, Yui. Well, maybe don’t stare at her legs in shorts but-”
“Not helping, Daichi!”
“Sorry!” It’s his turn to apologise, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seriously though, just be your normal self. Don’t try and change for her - you deserve someone who likes you for the wonderful person you are.”
A moment passes as Yui absorbs the certainty of Daichi’s words. The atmosphere around them stills, reminding her distinctly of trips to the cinema, lost in those magical moments of an awe-inspiring movie.
(Which promptly disappears when Suga blurts out “God, I love you,” and pulls Daichi into a kiss as they collapse into a mountain of hour-old laundry).
***
In the end, she settles on her comfiest shorts and a loose t-shirt. It’s just volleyball, she reminds herself, just as she reminds herself to breathe when, for the third time in a row, she thinks about the fact that Kiyoko-san actually agreed to come along. She pauses to listen to the laughter of children playing in the park and take in the flowers, bright and blooming. She wonders what kind of flowers Kiyoko-san would like.
Her legs reach the gym and she pushes the door open. Inside, Hana and a few other players are there early, setting up the court.
“Hey everyone!” She greets them, loud and enthusiastic and they all wave back with just as much energy.
“Hey Yui! When’s the newbie coming?” Hana calls out as she walks up to her, slinging an arm around her shoulder.
Yui laughs nervously as her best friend and teammate glances her up and down. Nothing escapes Hana’s attention. Not even the fact that her comfiest shorts are also her shortest.
“She said she’d be here by half past.” Yui looks at the clock, prolonging her stare as much as possible. The seconds tick by excruciatingly slow as Hana’s gaze pierces into her neck. Laser-sharp and aimed right for the jugular.
“Hmm,” she hears and braces herself for what might follow. She etches a reminder on her mental notepad to never let Hana and Suga meet.
“Looking forward to it.”
For a naive nanosecond, Yui breathes a sigh of relief.
“By the way, she’s at the door.”
Yui whips her neck round, potential whiplash and merciless teasing be damned.
There in the doorway, backlit by the evening sun, is Kiyoko-san. She barely hears the soft ‘hello’ that glides out of her mouth. Yui’s heart beats loud and fast like she’s just run a marathon. Kiyoko-san tilts her head slightly, causing the light to catch on the intricate embroidery around her dress collar. The remainder of the outfit is black, but simply for the way it highlights her figure, it rises through the ranks of Yui’s ‘Favourite Kiyoko-san Outfits’ list, close to the coveted number one spot held by the gorgeous emerald green dress.
“Stop being so uselessly gay,” Hana whispers with an accompanying smack too low for Yui to recover any semblance of dignity. At the very least, it kickstarts her brain to forms some kind of sentence.
“Hi!” It comes out as more of a yelp than the casual greeting she had hoped for but at this rate, anything would be better than “indigestion.” She freezes as embarrassment washes over her at the memory. Thankfully, Kiyoko-san doesn’t appear to notice.
“I’ll take your stuff,” she offers, barely straining her arms after she scurries over and lifts the gym bag with ease. It takes Yui a good few steps before she hears Kiyoko-san do the same. (She stubbornly ignores Hana’s humiliating cry of “Show her where she can take her clothes off!” as she leads Kiyoko-san to the changing rooms).
Inside, she notices the jackets on the floor and moves to pick them up, making a mental note to remind the team to clean up after themselves. God knows Kiyoko-san must disapprove of the chaos that is her sticky-note covered desk; she doesn’t need to give her something else to plummet her chances below zero.
Some of the jackets have wormed their way behind the benches and Yui sighs, cursing herself for skipping out on squats. She bends down to pick them up, maneuvering herself to reach through the narrow gap, sticking out her tongue and no doubt half her body until she finally gathers them all.
Once satisfied, she turns back to decide which avenue of conversation starters she’ll pick from her the mental bank she’s accumulated over the years, when she sees the way Kiyoko-san is sitting, hands folded carefully in her lap, averting her gaze. There’s a redness to her complexion but Yui is sure it’s not anger. It couldn’t be exertion, could it? She knows Kiyoko-san goes to the gym. Surely the warm up couldn’t have been that intense?
With all factors examined, that only leaves one possibility. One that she can’t believe could be true.
“You two seem close.”
In an instant, Yui senses her tone. A clipped edge, sharper than when they discussed Daichi and Suga, the colour in her face starting to drain. Again, jealousy is the first word that pops in her mind and this time it seems to stick.
“Hana? We go way back.”
“That’s nice,” is all Kiyoko-san replies. Yui feels the cogs in brain her whir, steadily gaining evidence for her hypothesis, but even then, her chest falls a little at the strain in her tone.
“Been friends since we were kids,” she says, anything to fill the silence.
“Friends?”
Kiyoko-san stares at her, a gaze as sharp as her words had been mere moments again. Yui catches the glimmer in her eyes, framed by those long, graceful eyelashes, and babbles out a response.
“I’ve known her pretty much all my life? We went to school together and she helped me get into volleyball. She’s my best friend.”
“Oh. Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Kiyoko-san smiles, warm and genuine. The margin of error starts to decrease and this time, Yui’s heart rises.
Only then it occurs to her that Kiyoko-san might actually want to change in privacy (Yui wisely avoids a total brain shut down by imagining the alternative). With little difficulty, she overrides the voice in her brain and indulges with one last thread of conversation she wishes would never end.
“How about you, Kiyoko-san?” Yui leaves the question vague, letting Kiyoko-san choose how much she wants to share. She doesn’t quite anticipate the emotional depth of her response.
“You can call me Shimizu when we’re alone.”
Maybe she’s imagining it, the way her eyelids droop, the way her voice pitches a few crucial octaves lower. It’s probably her mental playback filter again, editing the memory back in real-time, complete with sparkly shoujo-manga hearts framing the scene.
“I-I meant when we’re not at work, of course. Since we’re friends.”
But Yui doesn’t think she’s imagining the delicate blush on her cheeks.
“Of course,” Yui echoes back, breathless as she leaves the room, floating on clouds nine and above.
***
Daichi was right. Shimizu’s legs in shorts were the best possible distraction.
Three missed receives and a gallon of water later, she leans her head against the wall, panting from the flying falls her losing team endured.
“I need to get a grip,” Yui moans, chest heaving with defeat.
Hana lays a hand on her shoulder, patting it in consolation. “I don’t blame you though. Her legs are nearly as good as yours.”
Yui pushes herself off the wall, her body reacting automatically to the blasphemy of her words. “As if! Do you need glasses?”
“What, like Shimizu?”
Smugness radiates off Hana’s expression. Yui doesn’t even try to look at her, focusing her efforts on the paradoxical combination of willing her blush away and observing the woman in question.
It seems like the post-game congratulations had cost her one slip of the tongue too many. (It had been worth it for the way Shimizu blessed her with that smile). Even now, hovering outside the changing rooms, tucking a strand of hair away against her ear, Yui thinks she is impossibly charming.
“Go do your thing.” Hana nudges her out of her thoughts.
“What thing?” Yui asks, utterly confused.
“Whatever you were doing that made her stare at you when we were doing stretches.”
“What?”
She can feel her face warming up, coupled with the drop of heat in her stomach, hope burning bright throughout her body. The idea that Shimizu could feel the way she feels, the potential of what could be are thoughts she’s entertained with much enthusiasm. But now, confirmed by someone else, all the puzzle pieces slotting into place, it overwhelms her. It’s a scary possibility but at the same time, it’s exhilarating.
She whispers, almost desperate, needing to be sure. “You’re serious?”
“Cross my heart,” Hana replies, following through with the motion. “Now close your mouth, open it again and go serenade her.”
Yui doesn’t get a chance to speak before she’s hauled over by the arm, earning a few looks from stray members of her time on the sidelines, and deposited in front of a rather startled Shimizu who looks between them in confusion. Certainly a great impression for asking someone out.
Before she can punch Hana’s arm with only a sprinkling of affection, she’s met with the privacy of the changing room that she’s practically shoved into and the world’s most unsubtle thumbs up. The door closes with a bang and then, it’s just the two of them, alone, with words waiting to be exchanged.
Yui braces herself, gathering up all her courage, convincing herself that the shuffling of her feet is her way of expelling excess energy and not at all because she’s about to do the unthinkable.
Here goes nothing. She takes a deep breath and exhales.
“Would you like to watch a movie with me next weekend?”
***
They don’t end up going to the cinema.
Yui squeezes the pillow tightly, draining whatever dregs of comfort she can. Beside her, Suga gives her a one-armed hug. At least the tissue box remains untouched. She’s made that much progress, at least.
“I totally forgot the deadline was this week. She’s probably deep into that spreadsheet.” Yui tries to maintain her chirpy tone, but her shoulders slump regardless. Imagining Shimizu - or rather, Kiyoko-san, since her mental image fits her out in the green dress - sitting at home glued to a laptop screen full of figures was as depressing as losing a match she knew she could have won.
“Chin up,” Daichi says, placing the bowls of popcorn on the table. “It’s just this week and then things should be back to normal.” He sits down beside her, completing the Daichi-Suga sandwich with her in the middle, and she’s never been more grateful for their support.
She grabs a handful from both the salty and sweet bowl, eating her feelings away. A week is too long to bear, with too much chance for Kiyoko-san to change her mind.
“C’mon, what do you want to watch?” Suga asks gently, placing the remote in her hands. The concern in his voice warms her chest.
She flicks through the library, picking a movie full of cheesy rom-com goodness, but her fingers still itch long after she puts the remote down. She’s aware of her phone in her pocket, silent and still. Restlessness overtakes her and she pulls it out. The message from an hour ago stares at her.
Her fingers hover over the screen. She’s watched enough romance movies to recognise the act of her manager sharing her personal mobile number for what it is. Yet, that voice in her mind, the one that generates spirals of worry instead of daydreams tells her that she’s imposing, that she only said yes because she was feeling sorry for her, that she could never work it out-
Screw this.
“Um, guys.” Yui raises her voice as she places the phone gingerly in her lap. “I just told her to come over when she’s done.”
It feels like some kind of comical karma, the way they both snap their heads towards her. Daichi’s eyebrows look like they’re ready to shoot up into the stratosphere and Suga’s eyes are wider than dinner plates.
“For real?” Suga exclaims, shaking her arm with excitement. “Yui!”
The sound of her phone vibrating cuts through the air.
“I can’t look!” She throws her phone at Daichi and his reflexes kick in, catching it with ease, though he fumbles with the device itself, tapping the screen insistently until the message finally opens. Yui observes his expression, waiting to latch on to any telltale sign of which voice in her head was right.
“Dai, the suspense is killing us!”
“Oh, right,” Daichi says, clearing his throat, oblivious to the turmoil each passing second inflicts upon Yui.
“She says, sure, I’ll be there in half an hour, smiley face.” He speaks formally, as if reading off a business report and not the sign that Yui’s worries were unfounded and wait-
“Half an hour?” Yui cries, heaving herself off the sofa. “What do I wear?”
(She misses the look of alarm Daichi gives to Suga).
***
Twenty-five minutes and five outfit changes later, the doorbell rings.
The house is empty, Daichi and Suga having vacated shortly after she’d finally picked her outfit. A pink shirt with an explosion of flowers paired with the same short shorts. A combination she hopes is as lethal as any and all outfits that Kiyoko-san - Shimizu wears.
Yui smooths down her shirt. Right beyond that door was a beautiful woman who was going to enter her house, watch a movie with her, share a few glances, maybe reveal more about herself, and then, right when the main characters were about to kiss-
The doorbell rings again.
“Ah!”
She pulls open the door and nearly faints at the sight.
Shimizu is wearing casual clothes.
The first body part her eyes are drawn towards are, predictably, her legs. Black skinny jeans that fit her just as exceptionally as her dresses with smart black trainers to match. Her gaze moves upwards, sweeping over the plaid shirt, taking in the light reflecting from the buttons on her leather jacket and finally coming to rest on a face smiling at her, pink as her own shirt.
Yui pinches her arm behind her back to make sure. Yep, I’m not dreaming.
“Can I come in?”
She opens the door to chance and fortune follows closely behind.
***
“Spill it!”
“Suga, leave her alone,” Daichi chides, laying a hand on his arm.
“But did you guys kiss?”
“Daichi, that’s so unprofessional!” Yui responds, though her attempt at deflection is undercut with her words muffled by her hands covering her face.
“So you did!” Suga sounds triumphant, almost like he’s won a bet and Yui’s sure the ‘ow!’ that follows is entirely related to that likely possibility.
“Is she still on your to-do list though?”
“Huh?” Yui peers through her fingers in confusion.
“Oh my god,” Daichi mumbles, taking his turn to bury his face in his hands, but the smile peeking through gives him away.
“‘Cause Daichi’s at the top of mine!”
Suga’s booming cackle echoes around the office and Yui’s never been more grateful for Daichi’s soundproof door. She rests her head in the crook of her arm, laying it flat on the desk, deciding to hibernate in this realm of darkness forever. It’s the perfect way to block out the sound and the perfect atmosphere for recalling the memory she’ll preserve in the pages of her floral-print diary for years to come.
***
“I think we need to talk about this.”
Yui turns to her in surprise. Right now? They’re only ten minutes into the movie. Nowhere near the moment the leads stare into each others eyes with the force of a thousand suns.
“About what?” She says, but she knows there’s no use in pretending. Not when Shimizu fixes her that look she can’t tear herself away from.
“You know what I’m talking about.” Her words carry the direct weight of her position but the gentleness laced within reassures her, makes the slope of her shoulders settle with ease.
Yui fumbles with her fingers. It’s one thing confessing to a crush but a crush who's also your boss? When her thirteen year old self prayed she would have a perfect movie romance, this wasn’t the tropey complication she’d wanted to enter the mix.
“I’m moving to another department.”
The sentence hits her full force.
“What?” Yui’s throat closes up. Her brain struggles to process the information.
Lost in the distraction, she barely registers the warmth on her bare thigh. Suddenly, her soon-to-be former manager’s face is too close to her. Every facet of emotion is laid bare on her face, words conveyed without being asked. Her lips are close, begging to be touched, but the distance has never felt so vast. A soft murmur falls from them, her saving grace.
“It would make it easier for us. To be together.”
Employee relationships aren’t frowned upon at their workplace - hell knows Daichi and Suga take advantage of it. It’s the implication that pierces an arrow through her heart, the last word lodging it into place.
Yui feels like she’s on the court, adrenaline pumping furiously through her veins, the sharp shrill of the referee’s whistle ringing in her ears. The signal to go ahead.
“I…” Yui swallows, clenching her fists. “I really like you, Shimizu.” Like the swell of the tides, a weight pushes and pulls on her heartstrings. She bites her lip, trembling with anticipation.
For a few painful seconds, Shimizu blinks at her and Yui can’t gauge her reaction. Her gut tells her to hold on with determination, to wait it out and then, like the clouds parting to reveal the sun-drenched sky, Shimizu smiles.
It’s so soft she almost misses it. The declaration that she’ll never forget.
“I really like you too, Yui.”
And when Shimizu closes the gap and kisses her, bold and shy at the same time, it feels like every single one of her prayers have finally been answered.