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The class directly before lunch break is always the most difficult to focus on, Ann finds. She’s dozing slightly when a student on the other side of the room suddenly shoots to his feet.
“There’s someone on the roof! I think she’s gonna jump!” he says, pointing to the window in the hallway.
Mr. Ushimaru says something in response but Ann’s already out of the classroom hoping her worst fears are unfounded. It can’t be, she’s just overreacting, it’s not like—
Shiho is on the roof. Ann feels her heart stutter, then stop. Shiho sways a bit, or at least that is what it looks like to Ann through the window a building away. She can recognize that she’s panicking a bit and it spurs her into action.
She breaks into a sprint, dodging the other students who have left their classrooms. Once she makes it over to the other building it’s easier; by now, everyone is outside in the courtyard, not wanting to miss the show. She stumbles up the stairs to Shiho unhindered.
Ann bursts through the door of the roof, luckily unlocked. Maybe Shiho wanted someone to come after her? The thought is comforting and it bolsters Ann to take more confident steps toward her best friend.
Shiho looks a mess. Her hair is flying too violently for the slight wind and her posture is slumped, shoulders canted towards the grass and concrete five stories down. Ann is seized with a fear that beseeches her not to make any sudden moves or loud noises.
“Shiho…?” she can barely hear herself over the rushing in her ears so it comes as a surprise when Shiho turns slightly to her.
Her eyes show nothing but blankness barely overtaken by distant pain. Ann chokes on a sob the adrenaline had suppressed. Almost in a trance she raises an arm to reach out to Shiho.
Shiho doesn’t visibly react. Ann supposes that’s better than ducking further to the edge of the roof.
“Shiho,” she calls again, like that’s the only word her mouth can form. She wants to rush to Shiho’s side, to gather her up in her arms, but she settles for taking another tiny step closer. “Why- why are you up here?”
Her answer is slow. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”
Ann wants to scream.
“You couldn’t have come to me? You know I’d have listened to anything you told me! You know I’d help in any way I could!”
Shiho shakes her head. “Not this. You can’t help with this.”
Ann won’t accept that. “No! Of course I can help.” She’s close enough to offer a hand out. “Just take my hand and step away from the ledge. Please?”
Shiho keeps her arms tucked close to her chest for a tense moment, looking doubtful. But then she tentatively reaches out to take the hand offered to her. Ann catches it; it’s so cold.
It takes all of Ann’s strength not to yank Shiho backwards toward herself. Her nerves are frayed but she has to hold her patience for just a little longer. She tugs gently to encourage the halting steps Shiho takes and when she is close enough, Ann wraps her firmly and protectively in her arms.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ann asks as lightly as she can.
Shiho heaves a choked sob and shakes her head. “Not here,” she says, glancing back behind her to the edge of the roof — and the courtyard below where at least half the school is gathered.
“How about we go back to my apartment, then?” Ann’s parents are still overseas; they won’t be bothered.
Shiho doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t fight either. Only clings harder as Ann leads her to the door, down the stairs, and out of the school.
The train ride to Ann’s station is only slightly less stressful than the conversation on the roof. The car is nearly empty at this time of day so they have their pick of seats. This doesn’t stop Ann from pulling Shiho practically on top of her. She knows she’s being overbearing but she can’t bear to be even slightly separated right now. She presses her ear to Shiho’s chest and focuses on the erratic beating of her heart.
Ann doesn’t know what to think. What could possibly have brought this on? She’s scared to even imagine the possibilities, so she focuses instead on making sure Shiho is still okay for the duration of the journey.
They marginally untangle at their stop and Ann leads Shiho by the hand to her building, into the elevator, and up to her floor. Ann should probably give Shiho space, go make tea or find snacks or something, but she just can’t leave her alone. She guides Shiho to the bed and sits her down and can’t stop herself from asking the question that’s haunted her the whole way here.
“What happened Shiho? Why were you on the roof?”
Shiho is silent, and refuses to look up, but after a few moments she gives her halting answer. “The coach, he told me to go to his office and-"
She breaks off into a sobbing fit before she can finish the sentence but Ann can guess how it ends.
“Did he put his hands on you?” Ann asks softly. She almost doesn’t recognize her voice for the venom. Shiho doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
“That bastard! How dare he!” The anger is sharp and all consuming. Worse is the knowledge that she failed to protect Shiho from that slimy excuse for a man. She takes a moment to get her emotions back under control so she can continue.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you go…? You could have just told me!” Ann tries not to let on how stung she is.
“I couldn’t. I just. I needed to get away. There was this- this voice in my head. It’s like it was pulling me to the roof. I couldn’t stop myself. Not for long, at least.” Ann is once again so thankful she made it in time.
“Do you still hear it? The voice?” Ann asks cautiously.
Shiho finally lifts her head to meet Ann’s gaze. “No, I don’t.”
“…What if it comes back?”
Shiho doesn’t have an answer for that. Ann takes her hands.
“Well,” Ann starts with feigned cheer, “what if you quit the team, get away from him? That way-"
“What? Volleyball is all I have!” She sounds so convinced, it’s the strongest her voice has been all day.
“That’s not true.” It isn’t. Shiho is bright in so many ways that regularly overwhelm Ann. Why doesn’t she see how great she is?
“It is, and besides, that would put you in even more danger. I can’t-" her voice breaks and she looks down to their entwined hands. “I can’t do that to you.”
They’re silent for a while, Shiho staring into nothing, sniffling occasionally and Ann desperately trying to absorb all this. Then Shiho takes a breath, like she’s bracing herself to say something she doesn’t want to.
“It could happen again. To me or…” Shiho looks down, like she can’t bear to even think about it. She heaves another, more brittle, breath. “As long as he’s there, he’ll keep hurting us,” she says finally, despondent.
Ann doesn’t want to believe that’s true. There’s got to be something they can do! “Then- Then we’ll just-"
She looks over to Shiho, her best friend, bruised and violated. Ann cannot allow the friend she loves so much to suffer any longer. She can feel her eyes harden with resolve.
“Then we’ll just have to get rid of that bastard.”
About the time that school lets out, Ann’s phone buzzes. It’s probably her agent emailing her about her next shoot, so she ignores it to snuggle closer into a sleeping Shiho’s side. The day has exhausted them both.
It buzzes again, then again, and Ann is starting to get a bad feeling about this. Sure enough there are three unread messages from none other than Kamoshida in her messaging app.
I heard what happened to Suzui. I’m so glad she’s ok.
I’ll come pick you up tonight. Celebrate Suzui’s good fortune.
You aren’t ignoring me are you?
“I’m going with you,” Shiho says from over Ann’s shoulder. Ann hadn’t even noticed she’d woken up.
“No, you are not. Not so soon after-" Ann knows she messed up when Shiho’s eyes shutter and her mouth turns down in offense.
“You can’t expect me to sit back while you put yourself in danger for my sake. I’m going with you.” There’s fire in her tone.
And well, Ann can’t argue with that. She can't not go at all, who knows what Kamoshida would do? And she can’t say she would let Shiho go alone either, were the circumstances reversed. She lets out all her breath in a long sigh.
“Okay,” she says. “Here’s the plan. First, I need to make sure he doesn’t come here. We’re taking the train.”
As Ann expected, Kamoshida’s already drunk when she arrives. He’s more touchy than normal, emboldened by the alcohol and lack of prying eyes. Ann subtly removes a sweaty hand from her waist and takes a bracing breath through her nose. Her anger simmers under her skin.
It isn’t hard to convince him to drink even more wine. He revels in it, slurring increasingly incoherent rants about his skill in volleyball and coaching and seduction in between every messy gulp. Ann hums in all the right places and is sure to refill his glass whenever the level gets too low, her own remaining untouched.
Once it becomes clear that he’s having difficulty holding himself upright, she leads him toward the bedroom. She pushes him down onto the bed, and though he makes a valiant effort to initiate what he called her here for, he succumbs to unconsciousness quickly. Good, that makes this easier.
She rushes to the back door and quickly pulls Shiho inside. She’s shaking a little, from cold or fear or anticipation, Ann can’t tell. Ann takes her hands and squeezes them a little in silent question. Shiho visibly steels herself, then nods and steps around Ann to do what they came here for.
As quickly as they can, they gather the remaining bottles from the kitchen and bring them into the bedroom. Shiho’s nose wrinkles at the sight of Kamoshida sprawled out before them. Ann doesn’t blame her, but all the same she steps forward and uncorks the first of her bottles.
There’s no grace to the way she pours out the contents. The only thing on her mind is to douse everything in the room. Kamoshida does not react to being splashed with anything more than wordless grunts and before long his clothes, the bed, the rug, the drapes, every scrap of fabric droops with the weight of his entire stash of alcohol.
There are candles sitting innocently along every flat surface in the room. Ann tries her best not to think too hard about why they’re there. But even so, the candles can be used to their advantage.
Shiho lights each one with a grimace of distaste. Most are set back where they were found, but she places the final candle delicately on its side next to a relatively dry corner of the duvet and watches as the fire catches the threads and slowly spreads upward.
Her dark eyes reflect the flames. There’s no hesitation in those eyes, no trace of the fear that almost took her away from Ann forever. Only a flinty composure as she stares almost dispassionately ahead. Ann doesn’t want to disturb her, could watch her forever, but it won’t be long before someone reports the rising smoke.
They jam the bedroom doorknob, just in case, and ensure both exterior doors are locked as they leave. Out on the street, Ann pulls Shiho close to her and takes a moment to feel her warmth and the beating of her heart. Then, they run. They’ve got a train to catch.
The second the latch clicks closed on the door to Ann’s apartment, Shiho collapses into heartwrenching wails.
Ann is so startled that she can’t react for a few seconds. They’ve done it, it’s over, why does Shiho still sound like she’s in pain? Ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter. Ann will help in whatever way she can. She owes Shiho that much.
Ann gathers her wits and moves to envelop Shiho in a comforting embrace and softly murmurs reassurances. “Shiho, Shiho, shh. It’s okay. You’re fine, I’m fine, we’re both fine.”
But instead of calming down Shiho sobs harder. She tries to say something through the anguish but Ann can’t understand the words, too distorted by Shiho’s hiccuping cries. Ann fights her own tears and pulls Shiho closer.
Ann would do anything for her. Has done anything for her. Her love for Shiho overflows and so she does her best to make Shiho see.
She hugs Shiho close. She runs her finger through Shiho’s hair. She kisses Shiho’s glistening cheekbones, follows the teary trails with her lips, down the sides of her face and into her neck.
“We’re safe now, Shiho,” she says against the pulsing of warm, living blood. “Nothing else can hurt us. We’re safe.”
And finally, Shiho cradles her hands against Ann’s skull and brings her head up to look into Ann’s eyes. She offers the smallest, sweetest, realest smile.
“We’re safe,” she echoes.