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It starts with the curl of Tooru’s of pinky finger against Hajime’s own.
It lies there, sort of tentatively, sort of hello are you happy to see me, so when Hajime links them together, she says back of course you idiot I do I do. The way they realise they’re kinda in love with each other unfolds like a lotus flower in the mornings, slowly blooming as the right time comes, and then, they’re there.
They’re there together.
*
“I hate dreaming about being alone,” Tooru says out of the blue one day, “there’s no one, no volleyball, no you.”
“What’s inside that dream, then?” Hajime tangles her fingers in the hem of Tooru’s tank top, rubbing comforting circles onto her waist. “There’s got to be one thing at least.”
Tooru’s eyes glaze over, a dead sheen passes like the flickering of a single lamp-light on one stretch of road; it leaves just like that. She sucks in air, and breathes, “There’s really just me.”
(and only me)
*
“What do we do when we’re done with the tournament?”
Tooru doesn’t immediately answer; she hems and haws until Hajime crooks her finger into Tooru’s bra strap through the back of her shirt, and snaps it with no amount of greater satisfaction. Her girlfriend yelps, and turns on her with the most wobbly pout.
“Iwaaa-chan—!!”
“Ready to face the truth now, Kusokawa?”
Tooru evades Hajime’s gaze now, but that’s alright. Hajime knows she’s listening.
The other girl begins slowly. “After tournament’s over, we have entrance exams. Then, we have graduation, and, after graduation, we have university, I guess?” Her eyes glance towards Hajime’s quickly. “Are you going to head for university too or are you going to join your family’s sake business instead?”
Hajime announces with no undue boredom in her tone. “Don’t really know yet.”
Tooru squawks and begins fussing over Hajime like some misplaced mother hen; internally, Hajime snorts at their ironic switch of roles now. “Iwa-chan! You can’t be like that! We’re so near to the end of the year, and there’s not that much time to mull about anymo—“
Hajime reaches over to snap Tooru’s bra strap again.
After Tooru’s done whining and trying to return the favour to Hajime, they calm down, start walking back to their homes lazily like ants detouring from their mound. The sky’s purple, the clouds stream like bubbles, and the whole world seems slightly lighter.
*
Hajime’s crying, and she doesn’t feel good, she hadn’t been enough, she—
She hadn’t done her best in their last chance for Seijou to finally meet Nationals, and these tears just fall.
It’s as she’s hunching over, screwing up her face to deal with the sting in her eyes and the break in her heart, that she feels someone come up behind her to—
Hajime jolts when she feels a harsh thwack on her back; that someone had pulled her back strap to slap it against her skin. She whirls around, ready to yell or most likely cry on them only to find that it is just Tooru.
Tooru’s entire face has this pinched aura, but Hajime’s the one in awe because Tooru hasn’t cried yet, unlike the rest of the volleyball team.
(Tooru is strong, and she can only grow stronger.)
“Don’t go back on your own words now, Hajime,” she hisses, low but caring, “because we had six people on that court— in that game— and you were very definitely one of the strongest.”
She smacks Hajime’s back again as if to punctuate her words, to strengthen them for Hajime’s own ears.
And Tooru moves forth, like a tiny spark of fire bidding its time to engulf a whole forest again.
your name is
the strongest
positive and negative
connotation in any language
it either lights me up or
leaves me aching for days.
—rupi kaur