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“Do I…frighten you?”
Sakaki regretted the question as soon as it left her lips.
Kaorin recoiled. Her shoulders stiffened. She closed in on herself, bringing her arms to her chest. Her mouth opened and closed, struggling to respond, reminding Sakaki of a fish out of water.
But as they stood in the quiet comfort of Yukari’s classroom, the first two present for homeroom, Sakaki believed it was still warranted. Kaorin’s reactions to her presence had haunted her. Often, whenever Sakaki was near her, Kaorin averted her gaze. Sweat dampened her brow, marring her pretty face when the droplets trickled. She shuffled in place, the embodiment of apprehension, or she jumped to attention like a soldier confirming an order from a drill sergeant.
Sakaki couldn’t fathom why. She had believed they were friends or even closer. She was acutely aware of how she intimidated others with her tall stature, flowing dark hair, and unintentionally stern demeanor. And while her friends accepted her, laughing and even cracking quips about her height -- she hadn’t forgotten how Chiyo-chan begged for it back -- it was Kaorin who worried her.
Entering their senior year, Sakaki had hoped it would end. But regardless of her attempts to appear more feminine, softer to the touch, Kaorin flinched or cried out. Despite the years that had bled like the rays of orange sunshine crossing into the room, Sakaki couldn’t ease Kaorin. In return, Sakaki fretted, knowing her appearance made heads turn, eyes narrow, and whispers spread, her gut churning from the thought that Kaorin was the same.
Kaorin swallowed the lump in her throat. “Wh-what? No, no, uh, Sakaki-san, I-”
She trailed off. She nibbled on her lower lip, which Sakaki noted was a peach color. She must’ve applied the lip balm Sakaki purchased for her at the convenience store on their way home from school. But although it tugged at her heartstrings, the small comfort hardly soothed the tension in her spine.
Kaorin sucked in a breath. Her legs pressed together, and her hands clasped by her waist. Her knuckles burned, bordering on pallid with how harshly she laced her fingers.
Snaking her hand behind her neck, she looked down at Kaorin. The height difference was notable, too many inches for Sakaki’s liking. She had always been a giant among her peers, too sturdy and wide in places she wanted to disregard. Tomo had once teased her, saying her footsteps were thunderous like the giant she was. Even when Kagura swatted their friend over her empty head, Sakaki’s cheeks burned with shame.
Kaorin crept closer. She reached out only for a squeak to escape her. She cupped her mouth, brows knitting as if she had bitten into a lemon.
She spoke through her tense fingers. “I don’t - I mean, Sakaki-san, have I - have you felt like this for long?”
For as long as we’ve known each other, a bitter part of her mind stated.
Sakaki shunned it. She shoved it down in the crevices of her brain. She nodded, taking in Kaorin’s small, shuddering frame.
Her gaze found the tiled floor. Sakaki watched as her chin dipped to her chest. Kaorin didn’t immediately answer, and the air stagnated around them. The clock ticked, clamoring as the second hand moved, time continuing regardless of their impasse.
It was far too much. Like stones on her shoulders, Sakaki felt burdened by her body. She hated how everything felt stretched beyond its limits. Her legs, her skin, the frayed relationship she shared with Kaorin, all because she had asked what should have remained locked in her head and eventually forgotten.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she announced, closing her eyes.
“No!”
Kaorin’s shout echoed. Sakaki gasped, her chest squeezing. Kaorin lunged, almost tripping on her shoes, and she seized Sakaki’s hands. Her smooth, flawless palms warmed the callouses and scars of old puncture wounds on Sakaki’s fingers.
She shook her head so quickly that Sakaki thought it would unscrew like a lightbulb. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, illuminating the dark irises like stars in the night. “It isn’t you, Sakaki-san! It’s me! It’s always been me,” she cried, choking on her words. “B-because-because I - when I see you, when I’m around you, I get stupid! My body won’t cooperate with my brain!”
Sakaki hesitated. She remembered the sports festival when they competed in the three-legged race. Kaorin had said a few oddities, such as suggesting they remain tied together when Sakaki couldn’t undo the knot.
“A-and it’s not just that! I get weird!”
“‘Weird?’”
“Weird!” she exclaimed again, only to wince. Her round face was flushed, and a familiar sheen of sweat crossed her brow. But she tittered, breaking off with a sigh. “See? Just like that. I think-I think about how I am around you and how I must annoy you, s-so-”
“You don’t annoy me.”
Her firm interjection cut through Kaorin’s quivering response. Kaorin sniffled, floundering. The clock’s ticking returned, and Sakaki smothered its sounds from Kaorin’s ears. She pulled Kaorin closer, bringing her in for an embrace. She knew her strength, carefully applying pressure on her waist as she held her, Kaorin’s gasp tickling her earlobe.
“You never annoyed me,” Sakaki vowed.
She trembled, quaking so terribly Sakaki thought she’d faint. But she slowly hugged Sakaki, resting her head on her shoulder. An undeniable surge of relief shot through her. The warmth exuded from Kaorin ameliorated Sakaki’s uncertainties.
In the stillness of the classroom, they communicated in a form hardly used. She had thought Kaorin was averse to her touch, always shocked whenever Sakaki grazed her. But nestling together, unbothered by footsteps echoing in the corridor, they gradually tore down the barrier between them, the suspicions and regrets of their feelings and personal woes. (At least, Sakaki believed that to be true when Kaorin tightened her grip.)
Kaorin breathed out her answer. “A-and you never frightened me, Sakaki-san. You never could.” Sakaki heard her gulp. “When I jumped around you, it was because I thought I was a bother to you, so I kept acting, um, obtusely.” She quickly wiped her eyes, hiccupping, Sakaki already missing her touch. “I’m sorry I worried you. I should’ve been more open and-”
“Don’t apologize.” Sakaki’s fingers caressed the top of her head, and she breathed in her apricot shampoo. “I’m glad.”
Tears blinked off her eyelashes, leaving wet stains the size of pinpricks on Sakaki’s blazer. “‘Glad?’”
A muted hum pressed against the roof of Sakaki’s mouth. In their years together, Kaorin was reactive to a fault, earning concerned stares and entertained giggles from their classmates. One time, Miss Yukari stopped in the middle of a lecture to whip a piece of chalk at Kaorin’s head when she squealed after Sakaki had lent her an eraser.
“You aren’t scared of me, so, it’s okay. We cleared the air.”
Perplexion marred her. Kaorin pulled back, gripping Sakaki’s toned forearms. “But do you feel that you intimidate others, Sakaki-san?”
It was the first time Kaorin had ever questioned her. She was prone to agreeing with Sakaki to a fault. If Sakaki chose a dessert while dining at a fancy restaurant, Kaorin selected it, too, regardless of the toppings or flavor. It was a worrisome trait that had followed Kaorin throughout their high school experience, but Sakaki found herself on the receiving end of her boldness. Kaorin’s thumbs pressed into her arms, massaging the tension out of her muscles. She hadn’t realized how hard she had been flexing now that Kaorin alleviated the aches.
At Sakaki’s pensiveness, Kaorin answered on her behalf. “Then, what if we held our heads high?”
Such a spirited proclamation drew the air out of Sakaki’s lungs. Kaorin brightened just as the room filled with sunlight. She reached up, leaning on her tiptoes. And in her moment of bravery, she cupped Sakaki’s cheeks, keeping her stable.
“Sakaki-san, if you say yes, we can be better together. I’ll work doubly hard to be someone you can be proud of, and no matter what, I’ll ado - ah! I mean, help you if people are mistreating you! Always! Absolutely!”
Her cry beckoned curiosity from the hall. Classmates poked their heads inside. Murmurs arose, but Sakaki hadn’t paid them half a thought. The girl who had always admired her stood on equal footing. It felt like she had finally overcome herself, meeting Sakaki in the middle and providing the same opportunity.
A grin tugged at the corners of Sakaki’s lips.
“Together sounds nice,” she said softly.
And as she embraced Kaorin, their friends’ surprised mutterings rising to the shouts, Sakaki looked forward to the rest of their senior year.