Archive of Our Own ^beta

Miyahara is born in a normal hospital to a typical family.  As the only daughter, she tries to be the best daughter she can possibly be.  Studious, polite, with a predictable future written for her into her very name.  She is born, above all else, safe and uninterested in the unnecessary.

The first time she becomes aware of Manami is when they are 9 years old, albeit as nothing more than a tag on an empty desk on the desk in front of her. The fact that she has to stretch her arm over the extra space is annoying, but tolerable. As the recently elected class representative, it is only sensible that she handles this space, and graciously passes around papers to her peers. It makes her feel adult, even though she has to sit up on her knees in her chair to reach. It is not undignified, because she is met with a polite, "Thank you, Miss Rep," every time.

Though she is a child, she takes great pride in having a title.

So much so, that when she is handed a folder with that particular empty name on it, she strikes her shoulders as square as she can, even with how the papers feel like they may dwarf her.

"Your classmate lives next door to you, apparently, but has parents that are too busy to come pick up absentee work ... I'm trusting you to get it there, alright?"

The teacher meets Miyahara's eyes with her gaze, and she bites her lip.

"Please count on me!"

She trips out of the room, only ten minutes after the rest of the class. As she pulls herself together, finds her shoes, organizes the papers from their loose-leafed mess, friends quietly gather.

"The Manami kid really is our classmate?" "I thought for sure it was going to be some kinda ghost ..." "Class Rep, are you really gonna go? All alone?" "Seems scary ... what if the reason that kid hasn't been here is because of having parents who catch kids and lock them up in a cage?"

She scoffs and tries not to show the quake in her voice. "Don't fear monger." Miyahara feels herself calm at the chance to show off her vocabulary. "It's fine to be so worried, but there's no reason to. Do you think the teacher would have told me to do this if it weren't safe?"

"If you're sure ..." "I wasn't really scared though." "Yeah, we're just joking around, right?" "It's no fun if it's just a normal kid."

"I don't have time for fun." She brushes a stray hair away from her glasses. "A representative is here for the sake of maintaining order within the class." As well as popping any creepy rumor the moment it appeared, considering that it would not show well upon her reputation if people knew just why she lost every red pen she had ever been given or why she kept herself to odd numbers if she could help it.

Placing the files into her backpack, swinging it around onto her back around both shoulders, makes her pull herself together enough to step out of the elementary school doors and begin the short walk home. She's never met this Manami before. Though she remembers trucks and boxes being piled into the house two months previously, she has never seen any child mixed into the bunch. If it is someone who seems to so pointedly refuse to take a step outside to play or even attend class to begin with, it was difficult to imagine why anyone had to bother with stepping in to aid that mistake in the first place.

The thought of parents using a fake child for a trap floats to her mind again and she shivers, just as quickly reassuring herself how foolish it is.  She has grown up with stories about monsters, especially ones who love to steal and feast upon young girls who stray too far from safety, in books and the whispers of peers.  But there is absolutely no way such monsters could be able to so easily move next door to her normal everyday life.

"And if they did," she mutters to herself, "I would give them a good talking to." It is plainly rude to interrupt someone's orderly life with evil intent to begin with. If they are trying to waste her time, she decides, it is only her right to inform them as such and demand they let her go without repercussion. Miyahara is a hard worker, devoted to her assignments and family. If nothing else, she has earned this.

Though she fills herself up with logic and sense and courage, she still stops by her own house first, jogging past the Manami household faster than she would have on a normal day. Her mother's small car is not present, and she does not see her father's shoes at the door. She allows herself one pitiful childish sigh, before sitting at the first step to the rest of the house. Miyahara pushes her backpack to slide off her back, almost petulantly, before dragging it in front of her, rather than removing her still shiny purple sandals. She pulls out her stately black pencil bag, removing one particular gel pen before neatly tearing a sheet of paper from one of her many notebooks, to begin writing a short note. Something that was absolutely not the equivalent of a will, but nonetheless, definitely had many functions, just in case she had not made it home again when her parents finally arrived.

All she brings with her when she steps outside again, ten minutes later than she had planned, is the folder with Manami's name and address scribbled at the top. She can walk across the grass, between small summer-green bushes, to get to the doorway, but chooses to take the longest way around possible, each click of her heel against gravel, and then elegantly paved walkway, echoing in her tightly clamped jaw.

It's safe. It is a doorway just like her own. She stands on her toes, to have the buzzer directly in eyesight, before she presses it. The buzzer is faint on this side of the door, but the sound reassures her. It seems unlikely for demons to have a working doorbell.

Despite this swell of confidence, she slowly realizes that no one is coming to the door. She considers ringing the bell again, but instead grips the printouts a little harder. For all she knows, whoever is on the other side is merely wanting some kind of proof that she is a rude impatient child. Though that is plainly silly. Still, she waits five more minutes before pressing the button again, holding it down for a few more seconds than she had previously.

It takes ten minutes of standing stock-straight at the door before she allows herself to admit that no one is coming. Letting her shoulders fall, she looks across to the windows of the house, finding they are all protected by typical off-white curtains. Definitely too easy to absorb and show blood, her classmates would think. If Miyahara were more adventurous, she would look at the sides of the house, see if there was a basement, anything at all.

She sits on the front step, holding the file against her legs, as she looks across the road that passes these houses. This stranger's. Her own. Every other kid heading home would have arrived by now. She herself is supposed to be working on homework, supposed to pull out what leftovers her parents arranged if they did not arrive home in time for dinner, supposed to go through her list of chores, supposed to clean her bird's food and water, supposed to finish reading a new book she had picked up at the library three days ago. She is not particularly interested in someone who has not come to school at all within the two months the year had been in session. In fact, more than anything, Miyahara is frustrated that this family was breaking so many rules, causing so much inconvenience, causing her such bother.

So much so that rather than continue to wait out the hour, she gets up, and she stomps back home.

If they are monsters who will punish her for being a rude child, then they will have to come to her house, and contend with her family's rules and regulations, before they are allowed to steal her for even a moment. A monster that would dare step so far out of bounds when it never followed a single requirement is nothing worth fearing to begin with.

At home, she takes the note that she had written in such fear, and rips it to shreds.

The file full of printouts becomes a new addition to her desk, not yet a year under her own name, but neatly fitting to herself, her design. As she finishes her homework, she hears the front door open, and slips down the stairs in excitement. She has a parent to eat dinner with tonight.

As the night passes, and the next days come, she does not forget about the packet. However, Miyahara does freeze when asked if she delivered it, giving a quick nod, commenting on how nervous she was in front of Manami's parents. The teacher seems to agree, and she is glad that her lie held true.

Rumors of the ghost increase, as a friend manages to get Miyahara to admit that she did not actually meet or even catch a glimpse of this young Manami who was supposed to exist. Though it should give her all the more reason to confront her fears, go every day, make those parents answer and accept and give proof that their child was alive and well, it only makes her anxiety about the house just next door worse. Three days pass, and she finds she cannot even bring herself to step outside to her balcony, instead leaving the door closed and sanctioned off with flowery curtains, and a chair set in front of it for good measure.

It takes a week and a half, and a day off, coming home with an ambitious three new books to try reading through, before she regains a semblance of confidence. She unclips her shoes, and walks up the stairs, keeping a hand on the railing at all times, even with the small smiling hum that reverberates in her chest whenever she sees the books she presses to herself.

Miyahara places the three books upright on her desk, sliding two book endings to the sides, half decoratively. She puts her hands at her sides, as she admires them sitting there, imagining owning more and more books, all her own. And it is still a beautiful day. It is an indulgence, but she chooses one novel, and slides open the door to her balcony.

And stops.

The window across from her room is open.

Not just that. The curtains are pulled back, rippling along with the early June wind. And in the room across the way, the home of that ghost who never comes to class, she could see a bed, blank white walls, and a small figure with absolutely terrible posture.

When she drops her book in shock, they do not look up. Walking forward, leaning slightly over the railing, she can see that they have a handheld in their lap, attention fully devoted to its small screens.

She speaks, nervous, too loud, without her typical logical planning. "I've never heard of a ghost who plays video games." And wants to slap her hand over her mouth, trying to remember if there are any legends about ghosts who take offense if you speak to them out of turn, if you say foolish things, and she can't remember but -

"Me neither."

They respond so matter-of-fact that her panic ends prematurely, and she pushes up her glasses instead.

"Well, of course. Anyone would know ghosts don't exist to begin with."

"Really?"

"Yes! It's entirely impossible. Ghosts are just a myth made up to scare naughty children into behaving."

"If you say so."

Their gaze doesn't move from their game system to look up to who they're talking to for even a moment, and she folds her arms tightly across her chest, full of intent.

"Y-you know!" Her practiced words sound broken when she tries to put them into use. "It is considered polite to, to look at people, who are trying to talk to you." She can't even bring herself to tell them they are being so rude, that she will not tolerate it, that if they are related to the ghost she's supposed to give these papers to, then it is only sensible.

But it does make them turn their head. They don't close their game, but they scoot closer to their window, and at this angle, some of the daylight actually hits their face. It makes them squint, grimace, but she can see their dark head of hair, their cold gray-tinged skin. They look young. Even younger than her. "Okay." They open up their eyes and look directly at her. It's too earnest. Embarrassingly so.

"T-that's better." It makes her forget her next words for a few more beats than she had intended, but they don't move from their window sill. "So are you ... are you Manami? My teacher told me to give something to you."

A slow nod. Their mouth moves, they cough, and repeat themself. "Yes. I'm Manami." They frown. "A Manami. There are a few of those. You should talk to my mom." Their head falls limp to the side, before they open their mouth in recognition. "But I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." They move their hands and push themself away from the window, falling back full into their bed. She sees one of their hands rise up again, weakly pawing at the curtains to try to push them closed, but failing.

"How can I meet your mom, then?"

They don't say anything more, not a hint of skin or hair comes back into view, but she hears the sounds of their game resume, saying all it needs to. She stamps a foot, hardly making a sound in her socks, hardly making herself feel any better, and she turns back inside.

And she steps back out, to pick up her book, to fill the space where the printouts had been collecting dust, and out the front door just as quickly. This time, she does cut across the lawn, this time, she jumps up onto the front step, with a sound click of her heels, this time, she does not just press the doorbell, but she raps her knuckles against the frame, because this time, she will talk to someone.

So this time, Miyahara hears steps, towards the door, and manages to stop her knocking just before it opens and reveals one woman towering over herself.

"Hello, ma'am," she says, as her eyes are still drifting upwards to her face, "I'm here to deliver some work from ..." As her eyes land on her elder's face, on her tired eyes, on her wide fixed smile, her voice turns up into a question. "School?"

"Ah. Yes. Thank you, miss." She reaches down a hand, and Miyahara can see her pearly applied nails.

Even with her nervousness, she's quick to push it into the proffered hand, but can't stop herself from talking on. "Miss Miyahara. I'm the class representative."

Manami's mother gives an amused hum before stepping back from the door, and Miyahara hops away from the door just quickly enough to avoid being knocked in the nose by how quickly she slams it shut. She stands there, for a moment longer, before mumbling something about a job well done, and trotting back home, sighing over a scuff on her shoes from her hurry, back up the stairs, into her room, and in spite of herself - back to her balcony, again.

The child across the way, the rude one, the one wasting a beautiful day sitting inside playing video games, is sitting up again. And this time, it has the file of printouts that Miyahara had been meant to deliver days ago.

"So you are the right Manami ..." So they aren't a ghost, after all.

They swing their head around. "I said I was a Manami." And they drop the file, and hold their head, wobbling in spite of barely sitting up at all. "Mom said a class representative came to deliver this." They put their hands back down, and pull out one paper. "I've never met a class rep, before." She catches sight of their eyes as they drift up to her, yellowed and off. It was probably just the lighting. "So that makes you ... the rep?" And out loud, they say her name.

She nods.

They start to go on, with just her given name, and she nearly jumps out of her skin, "Don't do that!"

They startle only half as much as her, but it is the most emotion than she has seen out of them yet.

"That's rude." She is firm, and they nod as firmly as she speaks. "You are supposed to call me by my title. It is only polite."

"Okay ... Miss ... class representative." Their mouth moves, seeming like they are washing the words around their mouth. "Class rep. Got it." Their smile is pathetic, weak, not reaching their eyes in the least, but their entire expression is soft. "I am Manami Sangaku. Thank you."

It makes her heart stutter, and she wants to yell at them. "Don't be so wishy-washy when you speak."  She knows all about crushes and boys, but she isn't supposed to be affected.

Every movement and word of theirs is lethargic and infuriating. "Oh? I don't think I could be like you, though ..."

"You can't be like me!"  They didn't have to be.  "You're supposed to be a boy, aren't you?"

"If you say so."

She feels embarrassed for having said anything in the first place.  Hasn't a clue what to call them.  "Just use more energy! I can hardly understand you."

They yawn. "Alright ... rep ... seeya later."

This time, when they reach for their window, their curtains, they manage to pull them over and shut, though not without a wave, though absolutely without giving her the chance to say goodbye to them.

Manami Sangaku is probably not a ghost.

But that's the most she can tell, from one interaction with them, from one moment of a mother and no one else, and it is foolish to want.

She still finds herself counting the days, until their window opens up again, until they finally attend class for the first time. It is only two weeks before the end of the first term that they arrive, thirty minutes late, to be waved to the only empty desk in the room, in front of her. Their clothes are baggy, new, a tag left on awkward-fit shorts. She leans her head around them constantly, trying to catch their eye, seeing how they sit with their head hanging, staring at their hands and playing with a pencil.

Since it is their first day, she does not bother them, but she keeps a note in the back of her head to speak up if they continue acting this way. She answers questions as she always does, and they do not seem to react when the teacher calls on her over their head, or when she gets up to walk past them for her lunch. She returns to see the teacher kneeling by their desk, seeing them nod without looking at her face, seeing the teacher turn to wave her over to herself at her own desk.

"Listen, Miyahara ... since you're Manami's neighbor, I'll need you to make sure to get his work to him even in the future, alright? There are some reasons he can't always be here, but he seems to think you're a nice person, so ... I'm trusting you on this, alright?" She pats her shoulder. "You're a wonderful young lady. The best class representative we could ask for. I know you can be a good influence."

For all Miyahara's internal objections, to someone missing this much school, to someone having to depend on others so much, she finds herself swelling up too much over her teachers words, that she doesn't voice a single complaint.

"I'll do everything I can."

She glances to them as she walks back to her desk, disappointed when they don't look up, yet again.

The teacher does not call on them, as she would most reticent students, and the class ends without them speaking up once. It is only when most of the class has filed out, at the end of the day, that Manami lifts their head and walks out after the rest. By the time Miyahara makes her way out as well, when most other kids have managed to leave or walked up elsewhere to wait, they have not left the front of the school.

She walks past them, as they sit down on the bottom step, leaning against the middle railing. She even walks down the schoolyard, to the street, turning at the gate. But she turns back. She looks back through the gate, sees them sitting as much like a statue as they had been before, and she stomps her foot, and lets herself fume for one entire moment, before almost running back to the stairs.

"Manami!"

Their response is slow, slow as sauce out of a bottle fresh out of the fridge, and they rub their eyes first. "Oh ... it's the class rep."

"What are you doing sitting here?"

"Am I not supposed to?"

"No ... well, I mean, that's not what I mean!" She tries not to bite her nails. "You shouldn't just be sitting here alone. Should I get a teacher? Do you not know where to go?"

They stare at her, and stare at her, and stare at her. She steps to the side, uncomfortable, and their eyes don't move, now on the open gate where most of the kids who have not yet left stay. "No. I'm waiting."

"For your ..." She remembers their mother. "Your dad?"

Their shoulders shake as they smile, for the first time with teeth. "Maybe. I don't know."

"How long will it be?"

They shrug.

"That is ridiculously irresponsible then!" Miyahara sits herself down so hard beside them she accidentally hits her tailbone, but bites her cheek through the pain. "Considering that I'm the class rep, it is my responsibility to make sure that you are safely picked up."

The ensuing silence allows her to recover from her pain, but equally causes a feeling of unease to set into her yet again. She would never say this, normally. It was annoying and overbearing and anyone else would say as much, and she already felt herself regretting it, but -

"Thank you."

"What?"

They don't repeat themself, and they close their eyes, leaning their head against the railing again as though they could just fall asleep there. While she expects that a normal person would lift up their head and complain, she feels that perhaps she should not be comparing Manami to most of the people she has met.

After all, they didn't know anything about etiquette or school. Given time, they'll understand. For now all that mattered was her getting to work on her homework, and studying, and preparations for end of term exams. As an hour passes, and no one arrives, she begins to feel that perhaps it would be quicker and safer to just walk home her assigned charge. She looks to them, about to bring up the possibility, only to find them staring directly over her shoulder at her work. It takes all her internal training not to squeak and run away, leaving her stone-still as they blink at her.

"What are you doing?"

Manami seems to be capable of near inhuman patience, as she pulls her spirit back into her body, and explains, "I need to study, and if I have to be here, I may as well use my time wisely."

"Hm."

"M-maybe we should walk home, actually...?" She pushes her fingers behind her glasses to rub her eyes. "What I mean is, would you feel better about walking home than continuing to wait for your parents."

"No." Their answer is quicker than she's ever heard from them before. "I like to be outside ... don't you?"

She grimaces a bit, looking around. "It's pretty as long as bugs aren't getting in my face."

"Oh. I guess."

"Well ... if you want to keep waiting here, then why don't you work on some of your printouts, too? Your parents will be proud of you if you try to work even when they don't have the time to be around." Miyahara can't help but put up a pointed finger to match her words.

They open their mouth for a moment, slowly close it, and pull around their backpack. She realizes that they are wearing a long sleeve shirt in this weather, wonders how they could stand the heat, but sets her gaze on their messy papers, nearly jerking them out of their hands just to organize the mess. She doesn't understand how they have this much uncompleted, doesn't understand why they're here like this today, but she decides that questions don't matter. There are enough problems directly in front of her to tackle, and she does, sliding closer to them until their shoulders are pressed together, as the two of them stare over papers and vocabulary and arithmetic, correcting their awkward handwriting, drilling over the same formulas she learned the year before until they look dizzy, handing them another pencil of her own when their only one breaks.

It is the first time she has ever actively studied with anyone successfully, and she expects her demands and instruction to meet some kind of wall, but the only wall she meets is when Manami shrugs their shoulders. They keep listening, though. They nod. They slump against her shoulder and she stumbles over her own words into silence, content quiet. Her mind buzzes not just with everything she learned in a class, but everything she's read in books, and when she starts talking again, she realizes that she had long since gone off topic into a book she had read a month before.

Even with their head awkwardly fit into the crook of her neck, they nod when she pauses. It makes her feel dizzy, a kind of dizziness that she scoffs at and brushes away. When they yawn, she finds herself yawning along with them, leaning her head against the top of theirs, huffing and closing her eyes ...

"Oh, how picturesque."

Her head cracks around, and Manami falls over into her lap, and their teacher is standing right behind them with a bemused smile.

"I-I'm sorry! We were waiting for Manami's ... parents ..."

Scared of being reprimanded, realizing she has never stayed on campus this late before, that the sky was beginning to take an orange tinge, worried that her parents will arrive home to see that she isn't there, every anxiety piles up at once, but Manami is still laying across her lap, and that is an immediate problem.

So she pulls them up again, first, before standing up, before brushing off her skirt, before bowing in front of her teacher. "I'm quite sorry."

The teacher puts a hand on Miyahara's head, and she stands up straight again, trying not to sniffle. "Oh no...  It's okay, Miyahara. I'm glad you kept an eye on your classmate like this. The two of you looked so cute like that. But I think maybe at this point, the two of you should just walk home instead of waiting ... your parents are probably at home."

"Yes, ma'am. I will."

She turns, dutifully straight, as the teacher walks away, down the courtyard, and only looks down when she feels a tug at her skirt. Manami is still sitting there, staring at the ground, their hand weakly gripping the cloth.

"...I'll get you home."

"Okay."

The walk that normally takes her twenty minutes is a full forty-five with Manami in tow, as they stop and pick at rocks and plants, handing her flowers that grow from the weeds and putting them behind their own ears, sneezing so hard they fall over. And just as much moments where they stop and sit and do nothing at all, but breathe, and she stands beside them, unsure and confused but patient. It is her job to get them home safely. She plans on it.

"You're not very strong."

"I guess not ..."

"Hmph. Don't just accept it. That's your biggest problem, I think." She pulled at the petals of one of the flowers they handed her. "You'll definitely get stronger, if you keep walking. You'll get stronger if you come to school and work at it!"

"Really?" They are hesitant, watching the petals fly away behind them.

"Of course.  It's obvious!  That's how the world works."

"Okay."

When the two of them reach their street, Manami pulls the weeds from out of their hair, and bunches up their shoulders. Miyahara almost wants to run down the rest of the way in celebration, but she keeps pace with them, until the two of them are standing in front of their house.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mmm. Maybe."

She grabs the back of their backpack. "Don't tell me you're going to skip school again."

They shrug.

"Fine then, I'll make sure to ..." She wants to say she'll personally knock on their door, pull them out herself, but the thought of their parents makes her feel awkward. "Wait at the street for you. For ten minutes only, okay? You'd better not be late."

"Heh..."

"What's so funny?"

They laugh a little more, genuinely, out loud, unlike the weak silent attempts they made earlier. It would be nice if not for the fact that they were walking away from her without promising.

"Manami, promise me!"

They reach their door, and wave, and go inside, not a word left behind.

"That's not a response!"

She stands there for a moment, at the foot of her own long dusk-cast shadow, as though they'll step back outside, and say something, before she walks back home. She's frustrated, but strangely enough, she finds she hardly even minds.  All the way to her house, up to her room, it's strange to think about, and it isn't until she looks up her dictionary's definition of 'picturesque,'and presses her hand against her cheek, that she realizes she has not been able to stop smiling.

It's silly.  That picture-perfect feeling.  If anything could last forever, it would be that.

And it's still silly, when she waits a full twenty minutes in front of Manami's house, only for them to not come out, for her to have to run to make it before the bell at school, for them to not attend at all that day. Again.

The next day she waits only ten minutes, and the day after that. She sits with her balcony curtain pulled back, keeping a glance on the window across the way, hoping that her stranger will show their face again, so she can complain, and berate, and get them to sit and study with her again.

Summer vacation starts and ends without a single show of Manami, and she tries to grow used to a kind of loneliness she hadn't been aware of before, sitting at home alone waiting for parents to return, afraid of over-stepping boundaries at the library, too nervous to offer personal help to people her own age. It's foolish. She hardly knows them. The two of them aren't friends. She shouldn't miss them.

The next term begins, and it takes two weeks before they arrive again, late as before. Nervous, too antsy, she can't say hello, but at lunch, they turn around. "Hey, class rep." They are wearing a name tag that does not have their name on it.

She's thought about too many things to say, once she saw them again. "I didn't expect you so soon." She goes with none of them.

They smile, a little wider. She notices they don't have the same shopping tag on their shorts, today.

This day, and the next, and in the coming weeks, she helps them with their printouts, walking home with them every day they attend school, waving across the way from her balcony on the days they are not. Though they drift off in class and seem hardly present at all, this is the most she has ever seen them exist.

Rumors about them refuse to die down, but they charm people with smiles, even if they cannot keep conversation or company. If Manami is a ghost, they are a most likable ghost indeed, and a welcome addition to their small classroom. It is almost natural, then, that the down-to-earth class representative is always at their side. Someone like her is perfect for handling such a person. Her very own ghost.  Though aloud she denounces such rumors, she delights to herself about the thought.  Ghosts could be eternally unchanging and safe.

The second term is brilliant and Miyahara feels proud and bright and talented, and happy. Her teacher is proud. Her parents are proud. The third term is slower, as Manami seems to freeze alongside the air itself, but she still waits, and offers, and leaves a friendly New Year's letter in their mailbox.

When their window opens again, despite the cold air, they tell her it is the first letter that has ever been addressed with their name.  She internally preens in her excitement, over her admonitions for dragging her out into the cold.

"It's only natural, Manami. Everyone is supposed to get letters like that."

Their last year of elementary school arrives less auspiciously, as their progress seems to entirely freeze at an in-between between absence and presence. The new teacher is more unfamiliar with Manami's normal behavior, and points it out far more often, reminding Miyahara of her place. She needed to be their handler. Better than before wasn't good enough.  But she is busier than she was before, noting more and more gaps in her academic background, and she cannot keep up with the person she needs to be, for them or herself.

Introducing them to cycling is all she can think to do.

And they respond, vibrantly, beautifully, worryingly.  They do not just grow into it.  They change.

The loneliness that grows back into the space between them feels worse than before, when she hadn't known why they weren't there, when it hadn't been her doing. But nothing could stay golden forever.  Her own burden in life was almost too much for her to handle, to begin with.

Though they walk with her sometimes, they more often ride a utility bike, wearing t-shirts for the first time since she had met them as their second summer together comes around. There are scars, that she never has enough time to see for how much they move, and there are bruises that fade and come back just as quickly. Their eyes look brighter than before, their skin is warmer, but they never look the same, day to day.

She sees them race other boys and girls, and feels a jab of envy sometimes, but knows it isn't her interest, or her place.  She is busy, with her own goals, her own path, wound precise and tight around a future.  They talk, sometimes, with those people, but always leave, and come back to her, if they see her, if they are on foot instead. And sometimes, when she is a little too bitter for her own good, she asks questions.

"Were you hanging out with other people, then?"

The two of them are walking home from the convenience store. Despite their cycling, they still pick up junk food, and quietly chew it away before returning home. She doesn't like to waste money on shoving garbage into her system, but allows herself her favorite instant noodles twice a month.

"Not really."

They're always too earnest, but it isn't fair, that she has to always believe them, when they never even look at her.

"Don't you have any friends?"

"You're my friend."

She hadn't thought they'd believe that. "I mean before me, Manami. You don't need to be such a smart aleck."

"If you say so." They don't say anything more, and she assumes the thought has been dropped.

It is not until they arrive home, listlessly waving goodbye as they go through their own door, and her own curiosity gets the best of her through their wide open window.  It's too late in the season for things like this.  That's what she tells herself, when she opens her own balcony door, to inform them as such.  They're liable to get sick, miss more school, they're supposed to be responsible for themself.  They're putting her in danger of the same, if they don't.  But she falls silent, when she sees them curled up against the sill. All that plays in her mind is just how much she doesn't want to have to think about responsibility, for once in her life.  Miyahara purses her lips and swings a leg between the railings.  This story does not feel like it is meant to be hers, but she is here regardless.

"You know ... they're not here anymore."  They speak like they hardly know what they're saying.

October is chilly and laden with spirits, monsters, old tales she should have outgrown at this point. "Who do you mean?"

They pull up their knees, legs, to their chest. "I have you for a friend, is all." They tilt their head up at her, their mouth out of sight. "Right?"

"I'm here because I'm supposed to be." They only ever give her non-answers, but she can never stop asking questions. "But I do suppose I am allowed to indulge. Even people as busy as me need friends."  She lets herself slouch, pushing a palm against her cheek, half to hide her own smile.

"I'm here to be your friend, rep."

She decides to believe them.

The first time she ever enters another boy's house turns out to be her first year of junior high. It is still easier for her to think of Manami as a boy, at least. A different kind of nervousness makes her jolt at every squeak though, worried about their mother, or anyone else, coming down the stairs, looking in a window, just to make it clear that she does not belong here, in their house or their world.

The radio silence with them is not so easy to take when outside the bustle of classroom chatter or whistling chirping nature and she picks at her pleated skirt. She doesn't know which of them is supposed to speak first. Normalcy for, and with, Manami had never grown, never matured, never meant a thing at all. Outside, in her own world, that was fine. She could not be so sure otherwise.

When she came to deliver their absentee work yet again, along with some fresh vegetables she says her parents had insisted upon, they had answered the door half-dressed and nearly green. Her squawk at the sight of them had only been answered with their signature, "Hey, class rep," before falling over into her arms, forcing her to enter their house of her own volition, to ease them to lay on a couch, rather than a table, or the floor. She offered to get them water, medication, but they had waved her off.  Even if they have changed, there are some things that never do.

"I can get it myself."

She closes her eyes, breathing in her nose and out her mouth as she has always practiced, when they get up and walk to the kitchen sink alone. Manami is not someone likely to care or judge. "Have you ever invited anyone over before?" Even if they somehow do, she wouldn't care. They're strange and ridiculous and nothing they could ever think of her could hold meaning.

It is a long pause before they answer, water running over the edge of the cup they hold in the sink, and she wonders if it burns their hands as steam rises from metal and skin. "I don't think so." She is elated, embarrassingly so, for a moment. Until their tone catches her and pulls her back to earth and she reigns in her ridiculous feelings. I think. It could never have been a simple yes or no, and she finds herself running over what that means, before shaking her head in irritation. It would be terrible if they knew how much she thought about them. How much she worries. It was bad enough that she had to be aware. They would laugh if they could hear her thoughts.

"My mom said we can get a road racer this summer."

"Oh?" She tries not to show disappointment in her voice. It was good that there was at least one thing they had not given up on.  She couldn't let herself get beaten out by such a meager showing.  "How nice."

They come back, with red hands, see-through nails, a cup filled with such cold water that the tips of their fingers are turning stock white. Manami looks like a mess, and she feels embarrassed that she can't stop staring at their gray-green tinged skin, old surgery scars, the way their belly bunches when they sit down again, curled up over themself until their cup and fingers brush against the floor.

"It'll be white." They draw themself up like an old spring and sip at their water. "I'll be able to go faster than before. When that happens, you should let me race you again."

Her smile wavers. "I don't think so."

Manami sniffles and accidentally sucks water up their nose, jumping in enough shock to cause what remained to explode out of the cup into their face, out of their hands. She's quick to jump up, stop it from spilling out too far, ask where their towels are. They're slow, always slow on answering, so she leaves to look herself, in the kitchen, grabbing a towel from a rack. She flings it at them, but it catches on the air, and floats across a different chair entirely. They don't get up to grab it, continuing to sit in place, water still dripping from their fingers.

She has to personally wrap the towel around their hands for them to react.

"Thank you."

They never repeat themself, so she stopped second-guessing it.  Miyahara would hold onto whatever refused to change in them, if it meant the two of them could stay together.

As Manami gets their new bike, and as their first year in middle school ends, she feels them getting further and further away every day. Though every word they have ever said still rings as true as the moment it happened, she cannot help but believe that other things will mean more to them, and that they will outgrow those simple melodramatic statements, as much as she was supposed to outgrow this childish crush.

They say hello to her, every time they see her.  Everyone notices how they talk to her, how they sit with her, how she pulls them to attention and wakefulness.  It's embarrassing, but she can't bring herself to stop, because that is what she has always done with them.  But they hardly seem to notice, either their classmates' jeering or her feelings.  They compliment her glasses, her growing hair, her uniform a month after the seasonal change, they ask her to race, but they are not like her.  They do not seem to have much of that weak residual dependence they had on her when they were children.  And if they do not feel anything romantic for her, then she wonders why they even talk to her, old childhood friends who should have outgrown one another long ago.  They do not stop to read fine print like she does.  They do not wake up early every morning and treat each school day like an important goal in of itself.  They do not care for the joy she gets over fresh books or used ones, and she begins to feel foolish that she had ever shared anything of herself with them in the first place.

Few in middle school know about Manami's old reputation as class ghost, and they're more popular than before, though their conversational skills have not improved in the least.  She almost wants to bring it up, invoke the feeling of her safe eternal ghost.  Miyahara is still the studious role model, still the class representative. Few others had vied for the chance, but Manami had still clapped when they heard from her, the first year, the second year. It was incredible, they told her, that she could always be this.

So it hurt, a little, to think that the two of them might not always have late school afternoons to sit together, anymore. But she had done a lot for them, even if she could never hang onto a beautiful forever. She tries to believe that's enough to make her happy, and sits with other people at lunch, who see how she stares and talks about that flighty cyclist that more and more people turn their heads towards.  She tries to accept sitting in her own lane, where she is safe, and assured.

But this year, Miyahara is turning 13. Today, Manami is not at school. It makes the loneliness a little more pointed, to be able to go through the halls on her birthday without a hint of "Rep, Rep, Miss Rep," on her heels, dropping papers and jogging breathlessly after her. At lunch, some girls she is friends with present her with a phone strap. A small blue bird. They knowingly giggle, when she blushes and looks away, mumbling her thanks just as quick as a change of subject.

The bus ride home has not become any lonelier than usual. Rides home with Manami have always been rare, impeded by absence and early release. Today, as ever, she preoccupies herself with books and notes and student government. But today is also her birthday. Miyahara does not intend to be superstitious as a child, or accustomed to flights of fancy, but Manami had a bad tendency to invoke them in her like no one else could.

She makes a wish.

The rest of the evening goes by without it coming true. As well as the next day, though she knows if it did not come true on her birthday, it would never come true.

In the night, far too late for her blood, she hears a knock on her window.

Still too tired, she opens the curtain and answers the door as though it didn't lead to a balcony, answers a dream.

"Hey, class rep."

Manami standing in the moonlight makes their hair look like the night sky itself. They don't step into her room, and she has to step outside to her balcony, and they keep in step with her, toe to toe. They have grown taller, no longer shorter than her, now at eye level, and Miyahara feels that if she had her glasses, she wouldn't be able to stand so close right now.

She takes a deep breath. "Good evening, Sangaku."

They tilt their head, and she can hear their hair shift across their shoulders, can vaguely make out a smile. She feels a hand take her own, hot, sweating, kind of gross. The kind of hand that you're supposed to wash first, but she takes it, and she pull their hands up between them.

"I'm so sorry I forgot your birthday."

"It's okay ... it's fine. I'm not the kind of person to get bothered by such small worries."

"I'm sorry..."

They lean their head against hers, and she can hardly hear anything, for how loud her heart beats in her ears. "You're here now, Sangaku, it's okay."

"Have you ever known anyone who died before?"

Miyahara can barely hear their question, especially over their nose brushing so close to her own, their breath against her cheek. She feels too warm, but they are even hotter, somehow. Memories of their endless sickly skin and days echo in her head, but she doesn't want to believe it's that all over again. She wants it to be them. Wants it to be because she made a wish, because Sangaku wants to be here.

"No. I haven't."

Their question is easy, out of place, but she can hardly care about that.

"Good."

Their lips are chapped and taste a little like iron. She regrets using plain store brand lip balm. They don't say anything about it. Instead, they hum, against her lips, against her cheek, against her shoulder, and the two of them rock gently in the wind until she feels too tired to stand and lets them sink down to the ground of her balcony.

She doesn't want to leave them there. But she can't bring herself to speak.

The next morning, they are no longer there, they are not at school, and they do not bring up the kiss when she sees them again. She contents herself in the thought that one wish had the chance to come true, while equally wishing that the entire moment had only been a dream. As long as this can stay as it is, in this safe fragile wordless place, forever, that could be all she would ever want.

Eventually, Sangaku informs her that they want to attend Hakone Academy. She knows it's a fool's errand. Someone who never attends class, never studies, never seems to retain formulas, comes to class with muddy notes and broken pencils, someone who doesn't care, could not make it into such a prestigious private school.

It has been only natural for her, all her life, that she would get into a top private high school, and that it would lead to an equivalent university.  She's never had a choice in the matter.

"Sangaku, have you even completed half of your assignments from the last month of school?" She has done every inch of it, including any bonus excerpt, going above and beyond, but not really, because there are always people who do even more than beyond.  No one insults her for it, but she knows she is being compared, every moment, and any second she manages to hold a top score is not one she can ever make last.  This is the best she can do.

They laugh, as ever, and say, "I can always take the bonus tests, right?"

Miyahara groans, flicks her hair away from her face, regretting the day she ever told them that all that really mattered at this point were exams.

But when Miyahara imagines the future, she has imagined Sangaku there, every step of the way. Always annoying, always admiring, always hers.

They want to get in for cycling. She writes up dozens of notes and study sessions. And because she knows best, because they cannot beat her in any timed quiz or prompted essay, they listen to her every demand, to her every explanation, even when they can no longer hold a pencil in hand and slide face first across the table. Manami listens. It is the best they can do.

They get into Hakogaku, and Miyahara feels a swell of pride, and something else that she pretends she doesn't recognize. She has no interest in admitting to jealousy, that they could get in, that their default did not have to be what her own was, that they could have a world of their own in cycling - it is a feeling that helps nothing, only serving to make her crush all the more frustrating.

But it is more good than bad, and having them at her side when the two of them attend the opening ceremonies proves to make her feel more confident about her own future than she had thought. She joins the student council, they join the cycling club, and their worlds match up in her success and their failure. When other people are surprised, she is only reassured. Things don't have to change. They run out for races now, large affairs with dozens of people for hundreds of kilometers, but everything else feels the same as it ever did.

Even if more people look at Sangaku than ever before, even if they keep rising up in a world she understands nothing about, she reassures herself. There is no one they look at like they look at her. Even if they aren't really seeing her for who she is, that's enough.

They see something in her that no one else ever would, not even herself, and she wished she could live in their head some days.

Because some days, she almost - only almost - hates them.  But it seems unfair.  She's always had a crush, but it goes on, and on, to almost mocking extents, until she wants to hate them.  No one could tell her wrong for it.  If she truly did, it was only her right.  Only fair.  That a young woman like her has to watch everything leave her behind.

She doesn't.  The thought lingers, but she loves them.

When they tell her about their big race, about how it's right in the prefecture, about how easy a trip it is, without actually asking her to come, she tells them she'll be busy. Miyahara has no interest in being the person to dash their hopes. But she goes. To the race that was always assured for them.

Her own words burn in her throat hours after the ceremonies.

She is not a dreamer. Even for the romance movies, comics, and books she hears about from friends, picks up guiltily to indulge in secretly, she knows that life is not meant to go that way. But she still fell for it. The story where a girl cheers on her love interest, the protagonist. The dynamic character she could never be.

"If you lose, I won't forgive you!"

Sangaku had told her once upon a time that she was the only person they had never beaten. In that one moment, like none before, she remembered that. She didn't want that to change. They had to win against everyone else.

She pretends she said it because that's what she was supposed to say. That they would win, and bashfully walk down to her, with the bouquet of flowers, asking her if she really wouldn't have forgiven them. That she would blush and shake her head, shocked, pretending to be annoyed they noticed now of all times. That they would say they always noticed if it was her. That they would give her those flowers. That they would say they couldn't have won without her, that her being there had given them a drive they'd never felt before, and that they had realized -

Obviously, that they were in love with her. Because they should be. They had even kissed her. It was supposed to be that way. That was what every story she has ever heard said she is supposed to expect - supposed to want, and ache for above all else.

Miyahara sits on the train home, dreaming about how it should be, or could be. Annoyed with herself.

The Interhigh ends with Sangaku's loss. She is supposed to be better than romantic fantasies. She wishes she wasn't, as she curls up against the window and tries to stop pitying herself.  It isn't what she wanted for herself, and it wasn't what they needed.  But what they truly needed, at this point, she has no answer.  It has been this way for far too long now.

She doesn't see them return home until late that night, only alerted by the lights across the way flickering to life. For a moment, she's scared, worried that they'll be upset with her for having said what she did, for having left, for not being the only person they couldn't beat, but she forces herself out of her chair, and through the door. Late summer nights, hanging over the railing of her balcony, make her hum familiar tunes, and when the noise subsides across the way, a window slides open.

They look the same.

Their eyes are wider than usual, wet hair dripping across another dolphin t-shirt, but they look like they always do, nothing like how they look when vicious and competitive on a bike. It is hard to believe that person was Sangaku at all.

"How was your trip home?"

"I just biked back. Only part way. Got out of the bus." Their voice is more stilted than their words. "I didn't feel very good."

Anything she can think to say feels too fueled by pity.

"Rep, do you wanna go out?"

"I'm too busy."

"Okay."

It only takes her five minutes to change her mind, running down the street after them in carefully chosen throw-on clothes.  Sangaku is dragging their feet through the gravel, holding a bottle tight enough in one hand to begin to crush it.  They don't notice Miyahara behind them even when she gasps at nearly tripping, not until she puts a hand on their shoulder, and they turn around with the same wide eyes as they'd had through the window.  She waves, but neither of them say anything, as they fall into step.

They're not supposed to be someone who loses.  They're special.  It's a bit of a let-down.  She wonders if, maybe, they feel the same kind of crushing expectations she always did.  If they're hurting.  The thought of asking is terrifying.  For what it may say about them, for what it might say about her, to them.  She lets it go.

They walk the old path of their elementary school. Old chain-link fences, grass, a playground Sangaku had outgrown two years ago that she herself could barely fit herself around. They sit on a swing, slow, and she gets behind and pushes.

"Don't do that ... you should get on too." They smile. "We could have a contest."

Miyahara puts all her weight into the next push, making them slip halfway off their swing, causing herself to slip in loose sand, barely catching herself when they decided to easily admit defeat to gravity and fall to the ground. Rather than walk around to them, she sits in their swing, pulling her legs against herself, leaning against the chain as the whole thing sways.

"I don't care about competitions, Sangaku."

"Ah ... alright."

She wobbles as she forces the swing into motion, just enough, to fit to the wind, to make the creak match the cicadas.

"Did you know you ..."  She considers giving up on the question.  "You look like a different person, in a race."

"...Really?"

"It's quite shocking a change."

"Is it scary?"

She doesn't know why they'd ask that.  "Of course not."  She had never been more scared in her life, but she isn't sure just why, now.  "You're just always so sleepy looking.  If you can do that, I don't see why you can't apply the same level of energy to school."  If it was because they looked monstrous, or if maybe it was just because she couldn't imagine, being so driven.

They stay on the ground, chewing near comically on the bottle, as she swings above them.

"Class rep ... what do you do if you hate someone?"

"You do the polite thing and keep your life separate from them."

"What if I can't do that?"

She closes her eyes, returning to the humming from before. "Learn to love them, if you can."

"What if I can't?"

"I always told you when we were young ... you can't do anything you don't practice at. You'll be weak forever if you say you can't do it every time."

"...That never changes, huh."

Most days she would huff or complain. "I suppose." But tonight, she feels like trying to answer them the same kind of way they always answer her.

"Thank you."

She thinks about what to say in response to that.  How nice it would be if they just stop showing gratitude.  She isn't so strong, that it meant anything anymore.

"You're welcome."

She isn't so weak that she can speak her mind.

It turns out that race is effectively the end of Sangaku's greatest duties in cycling, though it takes three more months before the cycling season comes to a proper close. Apparently it has been the end for at least two weeks already, but Sangaku is late on that as they are everything. Including packets that have been due since the summer had ended, since the Interhigh neither of them breathe a word about. Her own duties go on as they always have, even when they are not present, as is often the case. She has no room to stop, for anything.

Sangaku has fallen through so many moods and states through the last months, all that felt too connected to cycling, where she could do nothing at all to aid in. They act like they are still on the same plane, but it is obvious that she knows nothing about why they had been so much more tired and sick than they had been all year previous. She wants to be fair, but all she can think about is how she doesn't understand how it is possible to have so much space. But the last week has been better. Sweet memories linger even in their kind tiredness, and it lulls her to a certain kind of calm.

November dusk light reflects off the mottled cloth of the seats, and though she knows better, she smiles with the swell of nostalgia it brings. Miyahara can perfectly remember the last time Sangaku took the bus home with her. January, still this same year, but an entire school and route ago. She can remember pushing one of her hair clips into their hands, as she had brushed out all the rain and ice from her hair, the way she had shivered, the way they had clipped the accessory into their own hair and how she had to bite her own tongue to stop herself from laughing loudly enough to wake the baby just three seats away from the two of them. The way that it had been dull and gray just out the foggy window, but the two of them sitting and laughing with such red cheeks was enough to burn it into her memory. And she smiles. Even if she can't reach across to Sangaku's hand, even if she can't bring herself to cling onto it like she did in her dreams, like it was hers to hold. It was enough. This time, it didn't feel like something she was trying to convince herself of.

The bus turns down a new road and she has to squint her eyes as the sun shines against her glasses. She stares down at Sangaku's hand, instead, even though she knows she can't bridge the gap. Knows she didn't want to. Only to finally raise her gaze as the bus turns again, allowing the sun to fall behind one of Odawara's many hills, to see Sangaku's tired stare down at her. Meeting her gaze.

"Do you like this?" Their question doesn't feel curious and their stare makes her all the more nervous, sweating in spite of the cold that makes her curl up her toes.

Yet, she dismisses it. "I don't see why anyone would like having to take the last bus home in the middle of Nov-"

And they interrupt her. "Does this make you happy, I mean." She feels their fingers brush against the side of her hand. Cold. She wants to briskly wrap theirs up in her own, in her scarf, chide them, hold on. "Would it make you happy if we kept doing this?"

She pushes her fingers beneath her legs. "I don't understand, Sangaku..."

"If you want that, then we probably could. Do this forever, you know."

She did want to cling to this forever.  It is something she cannot bring herself to admit.

"I could ride to school and back with you every day."

If the two of them could be happy, like single moments when they were children, when she was capable of doing anything.

"Do you remember when we kissed?"

She has been waiting for so long.

"I could quit the cycling club."

But it is something she never wants to admit.

"We could just ..."

"Sangaku, please." The words die in her mouth, hardly audible.  She wants the moments from before.

"We could date."

"Stop." She was not looking to change. 

"You'd be happy then."

"Would you?"

"...I'm happy as long as you are, rep."

What she wants to say bangs around her head like fireworks, like this was the answer, like this was finally it, but she doesn't say that. Miyahara controls her tone. "Do you like me." It is all she can do, when she is so used to playing the straight man to their absurd commentary. It is not what she has always told herself she wanted. It is all she can do.

"...What? Of course I do."

"No. Sangaku. I mean ... do you l-" The words are sour in her mouth. "Do you love me." It is not fair that she has to ask when she already knows the outcome.

"I always have."

She feels like she's not in a bus, but rather, flying, alongside the trees she can see through the windows across the way behind Sangaku. But not in the way she always dreamed that she would finally have that feeling and she knows. Their silhouette has begun to warp from the way the sun shines behind them, she realizes, as she tries to look at them. She has always known.

"But you're not in love with me."

The truth is obvious, but she wishes that here, they would say just the right words. That they would admit to it being a joke, or that they would even argue, somehow. That her ears burning redder than the fall sky could be about her being wrong, rather trying to keep her voice steady.

"So?"

"So..." The word is just as dull and meaningless, hearing it in her own voice. "So, I'm not going to date you." It is strange, she thinks, how straightforward the end is. The two of them weren't going to date. Not now. Not ever.  That was never going to change.

They don't respond. She waits, as she knows well their tendency of turning situations around, with unquestionable lightness. Sangaku - Manami - could cut through pressure as though they were crashing through from another world with lackadaisical smiling. The bus screeches to a steady halt, Miyahara braces herself against the seat with practiced dignity, but Manami -

Manami keeps moving, tripping forward in the corner of her eye, and as she turns her head, they are already down the aisle, only in sight due to their striking head of hair bouncing along with each step they take forward, and away, and off the bus. They leave.

When the door folds shut with a creak, she can't manage to make her head turn, to look out the window, to make sure that they were standing out there. All she can think about is her eyes burning, and the hitch her breath takes every time she tries to inhale. The bus begins moving again. She reminds herself to breathe through her nose, and finally closes her eyes, leaning her head against the window to let the bumpy thrum of the bus fill her up instead.

She couldn't stop anything she really needed from changing.  It was all so very foolish.

As foolish as absence, and time, and worry.

As foolish as a fight that couldn't have been over something that actually mattered.  The second day, she wishes she had said something else.  The fourth day she realizes she could have said - maybe, that they were wrong about her, instead.  That she could have given them a reason why it was pointless for someone like them to date her, at this point.  Explained that she was actually weak, that she should have outgrown them.  Or accepted, because that was the way it should be - childhood friends who fall in love and get married, like all the stories say.  A girl and a boy, it was only natural.  By the time the week has ended, she admits nothing she said would have changed anything for the better.

By the time she goes to look for help, she understands that nothing could have ever stopped it from happening.

She misses the days when the reason to fear others missing was monsters or ghosts, the days when the only adults or seniors to fear were the ones who were masquerading fiends, the days when it was easy to avoid them, given politeness and roundabout answers.  But as when she was young, she cannot take much of waiting in uselessness.

Toudou Jinpachi is a well-known name, belonging to a well-known face.

His hand is smooth, but not soft. It reminds her of the stream weathered rocks Manami loved to bring into her home, and leave sitting on her desk, either as forgotten toys or unwanted gifts. Nothing like their soft and blistered palms, but she wonders if her own feel the same way.

Manami's window has been closed, curtain shut, absolutely dark, for two weeks now, and he is the only person she can think to go to.

"You're Miyahara, then?" For how often she has heard his boisterous laughter from other rooms, his voice can be surprisingly gentle.

Her nod is abrupt, as much as how she slips her hand out of his and presses it to her side.

"I'm here to ask if Manami Sangaku has been attending to club duties."

His warm smile slips away with the sigh that follows her words. "You're looking to me for help in their case?"

"No!" She looks down. "No. This is just my job as representative."

He motions for her to follow, and she's quick on his heels, as he walks away from his peers, down the stairs, outside, and further, until there is only the two of them, and the silence is enough to make her feel sick.

"I don't know anything about where Manami is right now. All I know is that they have excused leave. Which is as much as you must know."

She nods.  Tries to swallow, falls into coughing that she tries to hide, with both hands over her mouth.  "Of course."  It was pointless to ask.  If she couldn't find an answer on her own, then she was wasting everyone's time.  She knew better than this.

But he turns to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Miss, I do want to tell you something. I do not believe there is anyone at this school right now who knows anymore about this situation than you do."  Toudou pauses, as though he wants the words to sink in.  It is absurd, but allows her the space to feel like she can breathe again.  "You grew up with them, did you not?  They mention you often."

"Of course they would."  She has a hard time believing it.

He smiles, eyeing her thoughtfully.  "Good, good.  You should think that way!  If you do, it is only natural they will return to you."  He removes his hand from her shoulder, and she only just realizes how light a grip he had.  "I do not believe that child is someone who can leave behind places precious to them so easily."

"But ..." It is her fault, perhaps. She feels like a child, in front of someone only two years older than her, more like a child than she ever felt when she was in elementary school.  "How do you know?"

That question brings back the silence, though this time she feels strangely confident, for it being by her own hand.  But he does not answer her.  "You're the class representative, are you not? Do you participate in any other clubs? Do you cycle?"

"No! I mean ... I don't cycle. I'm really average at it ... I'd rather just ride the bus and read."

"I've heard that you've quite the history as a representative."

"It's expected of me. My parents would be disappointed if I didn't ... t-that's not to say I don't enjoy it."

He nods, as though he was waiting for that answer. "My family runs a popular onsen. Rules, expectations, necessities. It is all taught to children in the family from a young age. Our futures are set in stone from the moment we come into the world."  She would argue, not that it was untrue, but that it was fine.  It was safe.  But Miyahara lets him keep talking.  "I would not call us the same, but consider ... you seem to be someone who has also been taught to live by such stringent ideas. We are not meant to change save for fitting into the space offered to us." A smile. "Our Manami is not so capable of living like that, so I don't know how to help them. But you, miss ... do you have anyone who has opened up your world? Anything that has let you feel pride in yourself, beyond any person?"

"W-well ... yes." She thinks of Manami. Too much of Manami. "Somewhat ..."

"You should be able to feel a pride for your own sake. Not just in what you do for the sake of other people and the world. Change because you want to. As you should." He pulls out a phone, offering it to her, but she shakes her head.  "Manami is not someone who struggles with change in the same way we do.  But, if you have need of support, I may tell you the story of the Mountain God another day.  If you lose patience, or faith, that is."

Miyahara tries to smile, still uncomfortable at his forward offers and insight. "Yes, sir."

He waves with a flourish, when she leaves.

She doesn't take him up on his offer the next day, or even the next week, but it sticks in her mind.

The window across the way opens sooner than she needs his words again.

It is open, even after she waits for an hour, staring at her own phone, wondering if they'll tell her.

So she quietly steps outside, slides the balcony door shut, and sits down with her back against the railings. Her fingers knead at the cloth of her skirt, calming her down, slowly, until she feels like she can speak without the hope of anyone responding.

"Where have you been."

The response does not take as long as she thought it was going to. "At the hospital."

"You were sick?"

"I'm sick a lot."

"Sangaku." Saying their name again is easier than she thought it was going to be.

"I made a mistake." They say it so matter-of-fact. She tries to believe they're merely referring to two weeks ago. But lies are out of the question at this point.

"What happened?"

"I just kinda hurt myself...a little more than I thought I would." Their tone is light. As ever. It's pretty.  "A lot's been happening lately."

"Can you tell me?"  

"I'm sorry."

Her nails dig into her legs as her hands ball up into fists.  They never answer her in sensible ways, but they have almost never refused outright.  She wonders if it is because it is her - if it's because of on the bus - but then she remembers what they had asked, years ago, when they kissed, too well. "Are ... you going to leave?"

"... Do you want me to?"

"No." The word alone could never be enough.

"Then I won't."

They don't say anything more, and the air of the coming winter begins to bite at her knees. Something drips down her cheek, down her neck. It feels like a release.

Sangaku speaks up with another question. "Do you think ... " They pause for what feels like minutes. "Do you think I should quit the cycling club, rep?"

She remembers the last time she heard them ask. Bites her lip hard, nervous about them trying to say they should date again, unsure as to whether she could fend off it off second time. But the next question doesn't come and she realizes that's all they're asking. Something unquestionable.

"Of course not!" She doesn't know how she speaks so firmly to them.  But for all the change that threatens to two of them, there is so much about them that feels so necessary as an absolute.  Sangaku is lazy. Sleeps through at least one class every day. Convinces her to eat yakisoba even when she insists she never wants to see it again in her life. Every single time. Always calls her the class rep. Never once has a catch in their voice when they tell her she is amazing.  "That's the only thing you've never given up on, I hope you realize.  It's utterly wasteful ..."  Her voice catches.  "If you stop now."

And they never forget her. Never stop asking her for a race. But they raced for themself, first, before her.  Even if beating her had been one reason, it was for themself now.  That was the only real change between them, in the entire time she had grown together with Sangaku.  The world changes around them, when they try to live as children they haven't been for a long time.  They could never quit the club.  That wasn't what needed to change, for either of them. 

"Thank you."

"You're so foolish sometimes ..."

Winter forces her back inside, and it takes time before she can enter their house again. They work the entire off-season to finish even half of their missed work, even though turning it in takes her personally wresting it from their grasp, when they say it's a waste to only turn in half-finished work for partial credit. She says doesn't understand it, but some days, she does.

She thought before that she did not want to change, that she did not want them to change, but the more time she spends at sixteen, in love, and unwanting, she realizes that more so, she did not want either of them to have to change for each other.

Manami keeps missing school, keeps cycling, keeps getting sick, keeps falling through moods she can't understand.  Ones that they rarely let her see.  They keep saying hello and doing their work when she tells them to, telling her about races she'll never bring herself to care about.

Miyahara keeps struggling under the increasing weight of school and expectations, keeps falling into envy she doesn't want from how they seem so much freer than her some days, keeps tripping into her worry about their sickness other days.

Some things never change.

"Class rep, when did you leave this morning?"

Sangaku catches her in the hallway, on the way to their second year homeroom, when she has to lean against the wall to reread her new expected duties for the tenth time.

"Half past five, precisely.  I had informed you that I wouldn't be attending the ceremony with you, before the term began."

"But I hadn't known you'd be on the stage, too."

The thought makes her anxiety spike up, but their look of wonder gives her a chance to pull back a sense of calm, however slight.

"I didn't know you cared about student council affairs."

They grimace and though she wants to laugh, she keeps to a rueful smile.  "Not really."  Their tone reminds her of her own, when they ask her about cycling.  "But ... it's you, right?"  The way they go on though - that does surprise her.  "I think it's cool when you can see me on the stage.  I can't even keep up with you, though."  The halls are emptying out, as they rub their head, as her eyes feel like they can't grow anymore in surprise, as ever, if it's them.  "You're going to a world I can't imagine..."

"No.  I'm going to class."  She grabs their arm and starts moving with a jerk that they have never learned expect.  "And so are you."  She doesn't want them to see her blush.

"We don't share as many things this year, huh?"

"Maybe if you had kept up with your studies last year, you could have made it into more of mine."

The two of them reach Sangaku's stop, first.

"That's a pretty high order, rep.  Considering."

"We can't keep waiting around for each other forever.  Have a good day, Sangaku."  She smiles.  "If I have the time, I'll see you later."

"Do you have plans?"

She blushes, just a little.  "One of the girls I worked together with during orientation wants to go out somewhere."

Others do.