Chapter Text
The beginning of Shouko’s world starts with a bang.
In fact, it starts with multiple bangs. Tandano-kun’s fists against the desk, the slam of her chair against the floor, the pounding of her feet as she flees the room—the pounding of his feet as he turns to chase her.
Komi-san!
Are you—
Are you bad at speaking with others?
Yes, her world started with a bang indeed. There is no other way she could possibly describe it.
(No—that’s incorrect. A miracle? A gift? No matter the word, their first, true interaction is something undeniably precious. That is a truth she will not negotiate on.)
Perhaps she should start again.
The beginning of Shouko’s world starts with Tadano Hitohito on her first day of high school; with monochrome bleeding into chalkboard green, dusty white, and cherry blossom pink. He promised to end her loneliness and she vowed to be his friend.
It’s been a long time since those lonesome days.
And now as she looks at him, surrounded as he is by friends and chatter and smiles like he should be, she realizes that, oh—
He was lonely too, wasn’t he?
Before she met him—before he met her—he was alone. Sure, he had Najimi, but that was the same Najimi who had a hundred lunch appointments per day; the same Najimi who blocked out timetables for friendship management. Najimi was Tadano’s friend, but Najimi wasn't his.
Not like her. Not like Komi Shouko.
Shouko is his. She had stumbled into their friendship on trembling, fumbling legs and Tadano had taken her with grace and understanding. No matter how much her mouth betrayed her, Tadano had not. He had never left her. He had never mocked her. He never got tired of her; he never complained to her; he never complained about her—
As much as she adores all of her friends, every single name that is etched in her notebook, none of them will ever be hers the way Tadano is.
Rumiko comes close, but for different reasons—different ways. Rumiko is the sister she never had: loud, bubbly, and full of life. A best friend that will cry to her, complain about life, and defend her without question.
But Tadano—Tadano is safety, security, home. He is the ground that catches her feet; the cushion that cradles her fall. Stable. Steady. Trustworthy. He takes people at their best and worst, at their most superficial with their weirdest quirks, and he treats them with dignity—with empathy.
It’s no wonder that both she and Rumiko fell in love with him. That Katai-kun, scary as he is, respects him. That her classmates now want to hang out with him.
It’s a bit funny: she always thought being in love with someone would be so much scarier—devastating, all-consuming. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Tadano that makes it different.
Tadano Hitohito was her first friend. Tadano Hitohito is hers, and she would never have it any other way. No matter how much time has passed, how many of her friends may drift or choose to leave—there are none that would ruin her like Tadano could.
(And though he could, she knows that he won’t. He is too kind to destroy, too gentle to scar. This, among many other things, is why she trusts him. This, among many other things, is why she can be brave. No matter what happens, she will always have him.)
And there she goes again, spiraling into her thoughts. But Tadano makes it so easy—forgetting to think about him. Because he’s like the air: he’s always there, and he is always taken for granted. He has a way of slipping into the background—there, but not.
Average, they say. Forgettable, they call him.
Shouko does not think so. She can peer past that veil; see him the way he has done for her. But it’s hard, it’s so hard, because Tadano seems accustomed to a life in the backdrop. If it weren’t for her struggles in social situations, sometimes, it feels like Tadano will just fade out of conversations—reduce himself to a phantom warmth at her shoulder. Even as she is now, awkward and fumbling, he tends to act as a soundboard for the social pleasantries she cannot utter. In a way, the way he is normal is just as much a wall between himself and others as her own communication issues.
So she fights to keep him in her forefront. Because he is lonely, like she is. Because, despite his efforts, he might even have less friends than she does. Because few are the people who ask after Tadano Hitohito; who search, specifically, for his company. Because, to others, he is just a guy—utterly average, utterly normal, and utterly unworthy of attention.
(Because for as much as she needs him, he needs her as well. Someone who relies on him. Someone who cares about him. Someone who thinks he matters.)
Many of her classmates call her God; she’s not sure if they would call Tadano anything at all.
(She’s not even sure they would have known he existed, had he not been hers. She doesn’t like to think about it.)
If it were up to her, Tadano would be the moon. Understated and outshined, but no less lovely. Soft and kind; a light in the dark that leaves room for other stars. The kind of light that you would never miss, not until it’s gone at new moon. And even then, it comes back. The moon always does.
Kindness. Guidance.
Hope.
That is how she would describe Tadano Hitohito.
(It doesn’t help that the moon is always beautiful, no matter its face.)
She cannot imagine a world in which they are not together, and she doesn’t want to imagine such a world either.
But sometimes—
Sometimes, she wonders if he knows that too.