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Sora doesn’t get Momoharu. Then again, he didn’t get a lot of people. He could always feel his eyes following him across the court and at first he didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. After a while it started to feel good, knowing someone was watching him. Well, other people like Chiaki and Madoka, would look too, but Momoharu saw him. Sometimes it seemed like he thought if he looked for long enough, if he didn’t blink, he’d unravel something new. He liked that. Any boy who is under 5’2’’ and plays basketball would.
“You’re shaking.”
He drops the ball and stops running. He notices his muscles twitching, “yeah? I don’t know why? Nothing hurts. Not more than normal, anyway.”
“When is the last time you ate?”
“Uh, I had some chips right after school and ate a protein bar before I started exercising.”
“And when did you last drink water?”
“I don’t know really,” Sora laughs, “I forgot to fill my water bottle before I came for training.”
Suddenly, Momoharu grabs his arm and drags him out of the court. “You’re probably dehydrated. It’s important to drink water while doing any kind of exercise, or you can really hurt yourself.”
When they get to the water fountain, Momoharu lets go of his arm and starts filling the bottle he had in his other hand with water. He can still feel the warmth of where that calloused hand touched his arm and he realizes how close they are to each other. It’s silent now, everyone else has probably gone home and it all feels intimate in a way he is sure is only in his head. He wants to say something, feels like he should, but the silence is so comfortable.
The sound of the water makes for great background noise as he turns and takes in all of Momoharu. He looks up at his blonde hair and notices how his pompadour is slightly tousled, looks down and notices the first buttons of his shirt are undone. He could look for hours and never get bored but the boy turns around and shoves the bottle in his chest.
“Sit down and drink all of this. And then you’re gonna drink some more,” Momoharu says looking to his right, “Pay attention to this kind of stuff. Keep acting like this and you’re gonna get yourself injured.”
The words would sound stern if his voice wasn’t so low and soft. This is the part of him Sora really doesn’t get, the way he sometimes sounds so caring, like what happens to Sora matters to him, as more than a teammate but as a friend. Maybe even more.
Now, he knows that’s just wishful thinking, that it’s never gonna happen. But Momoharu is handsome and strong, a natural leader. And he dresses as if he were a 80s con artist which he found attractive, for some reason.
Still as Momoharu sits next to him on the bench instead of leaving like he thought he would; it doesn’t feel so impossible anymore. After all, Sora always wanted what was supposedly out of his reach.