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i.
Whenever Hana pays a visit to the Tokyo Esperion team, there’s always a certain someone who would be too adamant to grab her attention in the most absurd ways there are. First, through a wave, or an index finger pointed directly at her like it was some sort of a silly threat, or an injury. It’s always the latter, she observed.
The very first time she encountered that person becoming injured was when she dropped by the field after her advanced English classes ended early. She could have headed straight home and helped her mother at home, but something about football (even if she barely understood a damn thing) and her brother (whom she admired the most), and that person (she doesn’t know why), always pulled her back to observing in the sidelines.
But it was also that very fact that made her suspicious of that man’s actions. After all, whenever she watched by the sidelines, that man always flopped on the floor, like a wild puppy hit in the street, directly on the nose, only to end up grinning like he was the last man standing, and then look at her.
For some reason, it was always her he looked out for first.
“Geez,” she ran towards the field upon taking the first-aid kit from the bench.
She kneeled down to meet his level, opening the kit to prepare the tissues. It was mandatory to stop the bleeding first, making sure that it’s blocked neatly. As she finished preparing, she looked at him.
“You,” she warned, her voice stern. “You’re reckless in the field.”
Ashito looked at her with nothing but guilt as he scratched his head. “Perhaps I am. That’s the nature of the game, Hana.”
She bristled at his response, feeling irritated from his absentminded reply. “I at least know that much, you know?” she replied as she inserted the tissue in his nostrils, just a little firmer than the way she would normally treat people with nosebleeds.
Ashito, then, would heave a yelp from the sudden pressure in his nose. “Careful,” he’d plead, but Hana would be quick to dismiss him. “Tell that to yourself!”
ii.
Ashito noticed that Hana only came to the field every Thursday. But not every Thursday, more like, whenever it’s Thursday, because she never came in fixed intervals. He was sure. He counted the spaces in between her visits and when she’d be away. Most of the time, the days lasted for a five-day interval, a week, two weeks, one and a half week — but it’s always Thursday.
That’s all that matters. That’s enough for him.
He also noticed the time she would arrive. It was always in the afternoon, just between 4:25 and 4:30. She would arrive from the left side of the field, always on their school uniform, and she’d stay in the sideline close to the right back of the field. Then, she’d stay there, standing, looking out at the field with unknowing eyes that pretended it knew things — where the ball landed, how techniques were executed — but in the end, it barely held any understanding. He understood at least that much. He knew her at least that much.
But truth be told? It's not enough. Not yet. Thursdays, 4:25-4:30… It’s never enough.
Ashito learned the taste of metallic blood then, more often than he did back when he was still young and playing football recklessly back at Ehime. He would go home with either a bleeding nose, a bleeding knee, or a bleeding forehead. Then, his mother would reprimand him like a lion broken loose while tending to his injuries, telling him to stop playing football anymore, but she never really stopped him when he sneaked out during afternoon siestas just to play football with his brother the next day.
Ashito realized that Hana was no different to his mother.
She would kneel down to meet his level before she’d scurry over the kit. He’s seen it all. How her blonde hair would drape down her shoulders and the very first question that would come to mind is why she had blonde hair and her brother, coach Fukuda, had deep, black hair. He often received the same question himself — his family, both his brother and mother had black hair, but his was a curly, chestnut brown.
He’s seen, also, how Hana would wrap the tissue around her hand before she’d glance at him, for the first time in a while, with the same stern look on her face. He would always get lost. It was these eyes that cheered him on when he would have scrimmages and matches since his stay in the B team, and it was always that gaze that would follow him like the ball in his feet, even if he never really got to find it in the crowd.
But it’s in these moments, with the viscous crimson dripping down his nose, does he see her eyes fixed on him at such a close distance.
“You’ve done it again,” she said as she inserted the tissue inside his nostrils, her other hand placed at the back of his head to press firmer.
“It’s part of the game,” he’d reply weakly.
“I don’t think it should happen this often.”
He knew that Hana was probably the least knowledgeable person in the entire Esperion team when it comes to football. If there was any woman (which was just her and Anri, really) involved in the team, it would be her who doesn’t know the ins and outs of football itself. But he knew that in order to compensate for his lack of knowledge, she was the one most knowledgeable when it comes to health — something he never really paid attention to.
So when Hana told him that it shouldn’t happen often, there was a chord struck in his heart. Did she know what he was doing? What he was planning all along? If she knew, what would he tell her then? That he’s lost, that he wanted her there, in front of him in this small, fragmented minutes during a football match just so he would calm his nerves and—
“Be careful next time,” she’d look at him. “Don’t be reckless anymore.”
She closed the kit, stood up afterwards, before she would return to the sidelines.
“That’s more than enough,” he’d mutter under his breath with a small smile on his face.
iii.
It was after Esperion’s win in the Takamado Cup did Ashito know that Hana was going to Spain.
He knew by then how little time he had with her. That just knowing about what day of the week and what time of the day she comes to the Esperion football field just to watch him practice was never enough. How little time she had to come to his official matches in youth such as the Premier League. How little, little, time he had left, and how he had forgotten to look for her gaze when he was too caught up with his whimsy football dreams and the impatience that comes with becoming a pro-player.
Hana barely came to the field since the Premier League. The only time he would meet her was during fateful encounters in the street when he’s about to come home after practice, with her on that bicycle of hers that he once rode on (and the one actually cycling in the past), or in the school’s entrance gate where he would wait for her to talk about things related to, well… football (and meal plans).
He’s given it so much thought that he was breaking curfew just to practice in the field.
He’s given it so much thought. He thought that she was really, really amazing, to chase a dream so grand it was more than admirable than his dream of becoming a pro by his one year stay in Esperion. And he also thought that she was really, really selfish, for not telling him anything about her plans of going abroad. He thought they were friends, super close friends, and yet… he wondered why.
He wondered for too long that he had kicked the ball too hard towards the wall and it came crashing flatly to his face, enough to plunge him backwards.
God, it hurts! It hit him straight in the face like a boomerang, and he was thinking too much he wasn’t even able to dodge it. He fell down the ground as he rubbed his nose, only to realize that he was having a nosebleed, the crimson liquid dripping down his nose like the old times during practice.
He didn’t do it on purpose this time, it happened because it was a solid reminder that Hana, who was always the very first person to run towards her with that kit in her hand, was going abroad. He was feeling all these stupid, uncontrollable feelings stirring inside of him once again, and it ignited a spark so strong that it was enough for him to rack his hair in multiple directions.
“Ashito, why are you not resting?”
His head immediately whipped to look at the owner of the voice. Hell, even if he didn't turn, he knew who it belonged to. There was Hana, walking up towards him with that stern look on her face again before he saw how it eventually turned even sharper at the sight of blood dripping from her nose.
“Seriously?!” she remarked as she came closer to him, scurrying inside of her messenger bag to search for any tissues inside. “Are you doing this on purpose, Ashito? Every time I see you, you always have a nosebleed!”
He didn’t say anything for a long second. “No, I was… dozing off. I kicked the ball to the wall and it backfired.”
She looked at him, at the ball, and at the wall before sighing. “You’re always bleeding whenever I see you playing in the field.”
Ashito looked at her as she took a step closer in front of him, carefully wiping his nose from the excess stains before she stopped the bleeding. Then, with another careful wipe, she cleaned up everything as if the mess was never there in the first place.
He was always thinking. Whenever Hana was in front of him, taking care of his mess like he was a little kid, he wondered if he was truly going to miss her, if he was truly going to be alright if she goes to Spain and he would focus on his youth matches, in international matches, and will things still the same afterwards?
For the first time in a while, he felt a sense of fear that was never ever present in his football career. A sense of fear that he couldn’t wrap his around. A fear that was so different compared to the stakes he faced when he was up against formidable players, against gifted players, against pros.
It was actually fear for what’s ahead… a future without this woman in front of her, in every match he played.
“You’re going to Spain,” he croaked weakly, his voice awfully hoarse for no reason. “Why… didn’t you tell me?”
There was an evident look of surprise in her face despite the lack of moonlight shining under their faces. “How did you know?”
“Fukuda told me,” he replied meekly before he fell into silence.
He didn’t know if he had the right to keep pressing. After all, if she didn’t tell him herself, then there must be a reason. So instead, he ended up looking at her with his nose stuffed with that same familiarity again, from the touch of the person in front of him who happens to be… going somewhere far away.
“Hana… who’s going to take care of me when I get hurt?”
He could see, under the faint moonlight, how her gaze softened as she looked at him. He wanted answers, but at the same time, he wasn’t sure if there were any answers at all, in the first place.
“I will,” she replied. “Just don’t get hurt while I’m away. When I get back, you can get all the nosebleeds you have, and I’ll take care of all of it. You hear me?”
Ashito, for the first time in a while, gave her a small smile. “Yeah, I got it.”
He gets it, really. There’s no need to stop her from leaving anymore.