Work Text:
There was truly nothing quite like a good physical education class.
Deep grey clouds churned and rolled in the sky, as bitter and dark as cigarette smoke. Violent winds roared, clasping their invisible fingers around the threads of the volleyball net and yanking as hard as they could, making the net wave like a hole-covered white flag of surrender. The rain had not yet reached the students, but Hairo was well aware that it was approaching like a stampede.
That didn't matter. A little water never hurt anybody, after all!
Nobody else seemed to be focusing on the game, though. Or, the ex-game. Nobody was playing anymore.
Hairo furrowed his brow looking upon the others, scuttling and scrambling about frantically for what shelter and security they could get their hands on. About five boys were putting whatever they could find over Teruhashi like an umbrella.
Hairo felt a bit small in that moment, shoes anchored to the ground, a frenzy of panicked classmates spiraling around him like a cyclone. He knew that what the group needed was motivation, though.
“Come on guys! We can't give up just because it’ll rain!”
Nobody was listening.
“We can do this! This weather’s got nothing on us! There’s no way we’re giving up now.”
Nobody was listening. Nobody wanted to withstand the storm.
“We can't give up.”
Nobody was listening. Of course, he was quieter this time; so it made sense.
“We can’t..”
Nobody was listening. He had practically whispered that, after all.
He felt the first cold drop of rain trace an icy line from his temple to his chin. The second landed in his hair and was caught there.
They quickly sped up, each drop hitting his skin and clothes and hair like little bullets.
He watched as his classmates screamed and scattered, rushing inside unpermitted. Some were still behind him as he faced the main school building, and they rushed past him like the wind that tossed his wet hair about, pushing and shoving.
“We-” He noticed how hoarse he suddenly sounded, so he cleared his throat and raised his voice to be heard over the ruckus.
“We can’t give up now! Rain isn't anything but falling water!”
Mr. Matsuzaki was herding the kids inside with an umbrella over his head.
The students shrieked as thunder boomed in the sky, storm clouds briefly flashing a radiant white.
Hairo did not move. He didn't feel like he could.
He didn't know whether to feel betrayed or just plain stupid.
He didn't know what he could say to make the others see this the way he did.
Actually, he didn't know whether he meant what he said at all, but the thought of giving in made him feel ill.
The last of the students had almost passed through the door.
Another bang split the sky, the flash coming near-instantaneously.
The others had all gone inside now, with the exception of Mr. Matsuzaki, who had noticed his absence and was approaching, umbrella in hand.
“Hairo! What are you doing just standing around!? You're gonna get sick!”
Hairo didn't feel like responding.
“Come on. We’re going inside, with the rest of the class.”
Actually, it would be more accurate to say that he couldn't find it in himself to respond.
Matsuzaki’s eyes scanned Hairo’s face. “..Hairo? Are you okay?”
But he owed the teacher a response, didn't he? “We… we can’t give up this easily, right?”
He was shocked at the way his voice came out, all shaky and frail and miserable. Matsuzaki seemed to think similarly of it, until he took on a melancholy sort of expression.
“We can talk about this inside,” said Matsuzaki, trying to be firm about this matter but not sound angry.
Hairo did want to go inside. He feared being struck by lightning, which once again went off like an explosion in the sky. He feared being looked at like a stubborn, childish fool by the classmates that respected him more than almost anybody else just that morning. He feared Matsuzaki’s judgement.
He actually felt a little chilly, too.
He had no other option, but he couldn't bring himself to move, or even say another word.
He’d be giving in. He’d be giving up.
“Hairo.”
Hairo wanted to step back, to run. To never be seen again.
However, he wanted to get inside and dry off and be okay just as badly.
He didn't move a muscle.
Matsuzaki took a cautious step closer.
“Listen. This isn't giving up. It’s dangerous to stay out here with the lightning and the rain. We’re just moving this game to a sunny day, okay?”
Again, Hairo did not move.
“Nobody will hold it against you if you go inside.”
Hairo wanted to break free of the frightened deer-in-headlights state he had so suddenly assumed. It took all of his will and all of his strength to nod at what his teacher had told him.
Matsuzaki put a hesitant hand on Hairo’s shoulder. It seemed like he feared to frighten the boy.
His hand was warm, and Hairo knew that he could feel him shivering.
Hairo forced all of his will and all of his power into one movement, to break himself free, to seek some sliver of comfort or at the very least to end this terrible moment.
He stepped forward.
As that step had him approach the building which he had so feared entering, he felt a sort of sting behind his eyes. He sniffled.
Matsuzaki put his arm back down and took one step in the direction of the building.
Hairo glanced at Matsuzaki, tried to blink what he hoped was just some rain out of his eyes, sniffled, and merely hoped not to freeze up again.
He looked at his most trusted teacher again and did what must have looked incredibly stupid (and even a bit rude, given the fact that he was completely soaked): he, in only two swift steps, ran up to the man and clung to him, arms wrapping under the other’s and fingernails digging into his shirt. He pressed his face into his teacher’s shoulder, suppressing sobs that would make him look even worse.
He felt relieved when he felt the hug reciprocated, even if just with one arm, the hand of which was gently but firmly placed upon his upper back. He felt safe, and much warmer than he had just standing in the cold.
That rain which had once beat down upon him was reduced to a simple pitter-pattering sound by the umbrella which hovered above him.
He took this moment to breathe, smelling (though hardly able) the damp air and a hint of laundry detergent as it lingered on Mr. Matsuzaki’s shirt.
He pulled away from the hug, seeing the wet spot he’d left on said shirt. “Sorry..”
“It’s okay, Hairo.”
Hairo sniffled again. “We should go inside, shouldn't we?”
“We should. The other students are already at lunch.”
Matsuzaki started toward the door, and Hairo followed, not making much of an attempt to stay under the umbrella seeing as he was already sopping wet.
When they got inside, nobody else was in that part of the hall.
Matsuzaki spoke. “I should probably get you a towel from the nurse’s office before you get your uniform wet.”
“Oh, right. Yeah.” Hairo was still in his gym clothes. One sleeve had come unrolled.
Matsuzaki left for a minute, came back with a towel, and left Hairo to change.
Once he was done with that and the towel was dealt with, the two of them ended up going their separate ways, but not before Matsuzaki passed Hairo a small slip of paper.
It said ‘Guidance Pass’ on it. Hairo always spent so much time thinking about Matsuzaki as the gym teacher that he had forgotten that he's the guidance counselor too.
Matsuzaki elaborated: “For when, or if, you want to talk about what happened today. I'm worried about you.”
Hairo looked at the paper, then put it in an easy-to-access part of his bag. “It would help to talk about it.. I'll probably stop by during a break or lunch.”
With that, they parted, Hairo rushing off to see what food he could snag in whatever time was left of lunch.