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"When I was younger," Michimiya says one night, throwing her head up to look at the night sky, "I believed that when I grew up, I would grow wings and fly. Every time I drew myself, I always had a pair of wings because I was so sure that they would grow in by the time I turned 18."
Sawamura turns to look at her from his spot next to her, perched over the balcony railings, and his smile is soft, almost indulgent. "Did they?"
"If they did, I wouldn't be here right now. I could be - oh I don't know - maybe somewhere in Paris or Venice right now," Michimiya laughs, throwing her arms out into the warm night air to spin in a circle. The busy street, seven floors below, spins with her into a dizzying trail of lights that wraps around them, dancing at the peripheral of her vision and enfolding them within their own world. A gust of wind snakes through her hair, whipping it into her face, and she feels a warmth bubbling in her chest, rising like it can bring her up into the stars above.
Besides her, Sawamura begins to laugh too and he reaches over to intertwine his fingers with her, grounding her to a stop until she tumbles back into his arms ."Then where would we be?" he asks, tucking her windswept hair back behind her ears, rough fingers affectionately tracing the curve of her cheek. "I'm glad you didn't."
The moonlight sweeps over him, illuminating him with an ethereal glow; even though Michimiya stands in the shadow of the rooftop awning, when he looks at her, she thinks that maybe she's glowing too. And Michimiya isn't sure if she's dizzy from the spin or love, but she sways to the tune of the crickets chirping, clings to Sawamura, steady beneath her fingers, and smiles. "Me too."
---
Somedays, the crushing insecurity gets to her, yanking her downwards when all she wants to do is rise up, unfettered by her chains. She's never been the best, always soaring right underneath the radar, and it's difficult sometimes, when she sees those younger than her shining on the court. As she watches the first years on Sawamura's team practice at Karasuno, noting the pin point precision of Kageyama's tosses and the way he handles the ball so flawlessly, she grudgingly admits that talent is not something she possesses.
But then she turns to look at Hinata, who rises higher because of Kageyama. Together, they form an effortless synergy, a mutualistic relationship as they polish each other to shine the best they can. On his own, Hinata posseses an incredible jumping ability, but also the perseverance, the determination to sink hours in until his craft is honed. That, Michimiya thinks, is something they have in common. And briefly, she wonders if she can ever find someone who balances her as well as Kageyama does Hinata. She can't rise to the top alone, but if she can find someone willing to accept her faults, reforge them until they became her strengths, maybe she can make it up there someday.
For now, she internalizes those thoughts, buries them deep down so that they will never escape her control. For all her faults and doubts, she is captain of the team and she will have to carry the burden in the only way she knows how. Volleyball is as much of a mental game as a physical one, and Michimiya can never falter when there are eleven pairs of eyes looking at her. On the court, after the whistle is blown, she must be steady like the ground beneath them, immune to all hesitation, and carve out the way forwards almost as if a general going to war. It's a daunting prospect.
She admits that she's not the perfect captain though. She's too lenient, too lax with the other girls and as the practices dwindle down from eleven players to ten players all the way down to one, she can only hope that by the time regionals draw around, that she will be enough to pull the team through. As the date ticks closer, her hours at the gym grow longer. By herself, there is only so much she can do, but she works harder, plays harder, as if her sweat and tears alone can miraculously transform into the ability of ten other people.
Then they lose.
Afterwards, it's easy to accept the proffered apologies, the guilt, of the other girls at first, but when she leaves the locker room, everything comes tumbling down. As soon as the door closes behind her, she breaks down, insecurity and shame welling up and pouring out in a crushing release. And with that, comes the barrage of ifs. If she had gone for the last ball. If she had made her serve in the first set. If she had practiced harder the night before. And most of all if she had pulled the team together before everything spiraled downhill. Maybe then, they would have made it through. It's a bitter ending to her volleyball career and a sour taste remains in her mouth even after she cleans herself up, gets ready to leave.
Before she can get up however, the door opens and she freezes.
"Michimiya?"
Sawamura peeks through the door and his face is somber, almost apologetic. Instinctively, Michimiya draws away, attempting to hid her red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks. For a moment, none of them speak. The silence stretches on uncomfortably as Michimiya tries to stem the tears and just when she thinks that Sawamura has left, he settles next to her, his shoulder a warm weight against her side. He doesn't push or probe for a reply, but instead waits, sprawled on the cold tile floor next to her, steadfast and patient.
"I wanted it so badly," she confesses after the tears stop, voice still shaky. She rubs her eyes until they are raw, as if she can erase the replay of the final point from the reel looping through her mind. The whistle blows. The ball floats, skipping off an arm, floating towards the back of the gym. And she can see it, two feet above the ground, just over an arm's length away. Then she reaches. It falls. The whistle blows. Game over. "I wanted to win." Her voice is shaky, but she reaches to brush away her hair, sticky against her tear-stained face, and turns to face Sawamura.
"I know. I'm sorry."
His voice is hushed and it triggers a chain reaction of regret, sorrow and then tears that roll down her face again, warm and wet. He extends an arm to her and she turns and presses her face into his jacket. Enfolded within the creases, she lets her tears fall freely, throat clogging with all the words she wants to say but can't. On all the things she could've done, would've done but didn't do. Above her, Sawamura presses his chin to the top of her head, rubbing circles into her back. And when she pulls back to wipe at her cheeks, to apologize for her transgression, he catches her, hand wrapping around her uniform.
"Someday," he says, eyes kind. The word, twisting off his tongue like a promise, an absolution of sorts, makes Michimiya's breath catch, dissolving the past, releasing the present and invoking the pledge of tomorrow.
---
"I'll be back soon," Sawamura says, hovering at the edge of the door. "It's just a short business trip, I promise. If you need anything, just call."
Lounging on her bed and reading the latest volleyball magazine, Michimiya looks up and smiles. "I'll be fine, Daichi," she reassures, stretching out with a small yawn. Their shared bed creaks as she shifts. Then laughing, she jokes, "My editor wants me to get a draft in next week anyways so I'll be too busy to miss you."
Sawamura makes a face. "Your editor is the devil, I swear. Remember that time we went out to Kobe for our third anniversary and you had a deadline the day after? You spent the whole trip typing it up. I went on the Ferris wheel by myself."
"You mean she gets stuff done," Michimiya corrects, eyes twinkling, "You just don't like her because the last time you guys met, she said you had a horrible fashion sense."
"Do I?"
"Mhm not gonna say anything," Michimiya snickers before putting the magazine down and getting off the bed. The floor is cold beneath her feet and so she does an awkward skitter hop to the door, loping an arm around Sawamura's neck and getting on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Sawamura's cheeks turn red and it amuses Michimiya endlessly that even five years into their relationship, Sawamura still blushes when she kisses him. It never happens when it's the other way around so she takes advantage when she can with surprise kisses at home, in public, anywhere.
"I'll see you in six weeks," she calls as Sawamura leaves. Halfway down the stairs, he turns to wave, grinning with his bag strapped across his chest and suitcase in hand. Then he's gone.
Michimiya spends the next week curled up in her blanket, steamed cup of tea in hand, banging out the draft for her second book on the laptop. It's a children's book on the misadventures of a boy and his friend, aptly titled The Little Giant, and for a while she's too immerse herself in the flow of the story to focus on Sawamura's absence. On the ninth day though, she finishes the book with a flourish and sends it on its way to her editor. For a while she distracts herself by watching the latest game of volleyball on television, but as she turns around, flushed with excitement, to comment on the latest thrilling save, it hits her.
"I thought you forgot about me," Sawamura laughs when she rings him up that night. She's sitting at their wobbly table under the yellow glow of the kitchen light, phone clutched to her ear, two cups of coffee at the side. "I was going to call first, but I didn't want to distract you from your book." His voice is soothing and as Michimiya lets the sound of laughter wash over her, she can feel the built up stress from the week crumbling away.
"I almost did, but I couldn't," she says, tucking the phone between her neck and ear and cupping her hands around the warm cup of her coffee. She breathes in the steam, letting it wash over her face. "It's going wonderful though, you know? I think it's even better than the last book I wrote."
"I bet it is," Sawamura replies warmly, and Michimiya can practically feel him next to her, chin tucked over her shoulder as he wraps his arms around her. "You should show Hinata. He'd be ecstatic to hear about the title."
Michimiya smiles even though Sawamura can't see her across the phone line. "I will once you come back - weren't you always saying how you'd like some kind of Karasuno reunion? I saw Taneka the other day and he seemed pretty on board with the idea. When are you coming back?"
Sawamura groans. "I was hoping to be back tomorrow, but something came up so I'll probably have to wait another week or two. I don't even want to talk about it. Some people here can't follow instructions even if they were printed out and stuck to their foreheads in bright red letters. The other day someone tried to tell me that the brain was a muscle. I swear, it's like I'm dealing with a bunch of prepubescent teenagers again." There's a pause where Michimiya is pretty sure that Sawamura is rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "Sometimes I want to punch them in the face," he says, with a resigned sigh. Then softly, "I miss you so much right now."
"I miss you too," she admits, pressing the phone into her cheek. "Today I accidentally made two cups of coffee instead of one because I forgot you weren't here. I don't know what do with other one now."
"Drink it?"
"I don't want to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night though," she says, intertwining her fingers around both mugs and soaking in the heat emanating from the porcelain handles. It's almost hot enough to burn, but she relishes the way the heat simmers, just cool enough to hold onto.
For a moment, there's a sound of static as the noise of something shifting on the line fills Michimiya's ear. Then Sawamura's voice returns, this time sounding closer, and she can hear his every breath, steady and even, to the beat of the kitchen clock ticking in the corner. "Save it for me then," he says, grin evident in his voice.
Michimiya chuckles. "I hope you like cold coffee then - "
"As long as it's your coffee," Sawamura interrupts, trying not to laugh. And it's so cheesy, so overly romantic that Michimiya can't hold the snort that breaks out of her chest.
"Sorry," she giggles, bending down to sip at her coffee to stifle the laughter, but she only ends up guffawing once again and spilling coffee down her shirt with a yelp. From her phone, Sawamura's laughter rings out too. "I'll call you tomorrow," she promises, trying to mop up the warm spill. "I kind of spilled the coffee so I'll have to make a new one when you come back then."
"I'll be waiting," Sawamura hums.
"I know - love you."
"Love you too." And the phone clicks off.
---
The closest Michimiya has ever gotten to flying is on court, surrounded by her teammates, and even after she leaves Karasuno, trades her captaincy for a cap and gown, it's difficult to forget the roar of the crowd cheering them on as they walk on the court. In middle school, they lose their first game and she cries as the last whistle blows, signaling the end of a match, the loss of a point. In high school, they lose their last game and she cries again in the empty locker rooms, last whistle blow still echoing in her ears, the end of an era. But in between all that spans an infinitude of tales: a swatch of bruises decorating her knees, a signed volleyball underneath her bed, a hanging trophy from their first tournament win.
At her university, she sneaks into the gym, the smell of waxed wooden floors instantly wrenching her back into time because even after the bruises fade, the volleyball deflates and the trophy breaks, the connections remain, forever tying her back to a time when she had lived, breathed volleyball with 11 other girls at her side. There's no net to set up, no kneepads to pull up, but she manages to find a volleyball in the ball bin, underneath the soccer ball and the football, and serves it across the gym, watching as the trajectory of the ball soars right underneath the shining lights. It hits the other side with a loud thud, and caught up in a sweep of nostalgia, Michimiya lets it bounce into the wall and roll to the side. She's not dressed to play, but she can't resist passing the ball to herself, setting it into the wall, never hitting the floor.
She hasn't played in months so the motions fill stiff, oddly foreign, but it's invigorating, reliving the ache as the ball bounces off her arms, smacks her hand. Running after the it, Michimiya can almost imagine the frenzied activity of their practices right before a game. Even though she had always been too lax as a captain, their practices had always been filled with the noise of shoes squeaking on the floor, determined shouts echoing off the walls and most of all soaring laughter rising to the ceilings. The ache wells up in her chest and so she runs faster, as if she can outrun the emotions threatening to close up her chest.
And at the end, when she's out of breath and sweaty, feet forming blisters in her flats, she lays down in the middle of the court and stares into the blinding lights. The cold floor seeps into through her clothing and it feels good as it presses flush against her sweaty skin. It's silent except for her own breathing, but if she listens just hard enough, she can just almost hear a faint echo of a whistle blowing the distance.
The next morning, she digs out her old yearbook, scans the page until she finds a list of numbers, and calls.
---
"I want to talk to him, Yui," Tamiko says, appearing on their doorstep, basket in hand.
"For what?" Michimiya asks, suspiciously eyeing the basket in her sister's hand. She loves her older sister, but Tamiko has always the more impulsive, less forgiving of the two. When Michimiya was seven, she met her first bully after the boy next door pushed her into the mud. Tamiko had swept out, fists clenched, to the house next to theirs for a good hour before coming back looking eerily pleased. The next day, in school, the boy shuffled over awkwardly and sullenly presented her with a shoddily crafted apology note. When Michimiya was fifteen, a girl in her math class stole her treasured journal and threatened to share it with the rest of her class. Again, Tamiko had swept out in a blaze of rage before coming back home late at night, notebook dangling from her finger and sharp smirk painting her face.
"Mom's busy right now," Tamiko says without batting an eye, perfectly composed, "and I feel like it's time I have a chat with your boyfriend. Sawada, was it?"
"It's Sawamura," Michimiya mumbles, trying to push her sister out the door. "We're all good. There's nothing to talk about."
Tamiko plants herself in the doorway, eyes narrowed at Michimiya with all the sibling authority she can muster. Like Michimiya is sixteen again, caught stealing Tamiko's dress to go to the school dance with her friends. "As your older sister, it is my responsibility to verify that this Sawamura is worthy enough to -"
"Yeah, yeah," Michimiya cuts in, whining slightly, "I know. Just take it easy, please? I don't want you to scare him away. I kind of like him like this, so you better not ruin it."
"When have I ever ruined things for you?" Tamiko laughs, eyebrows raised. Then she tilts her head thoughtfully and places her hands up in a sign of goodwill. "I promise I'll leave him in the exact same condition as when I found him." Reluctantly, Michimiya takes a step back to let Tamiko in, and pleased with Michimiya's compliance, Tamiko slips under Michimiya's arm to make her way into the apartment. Michimiya sighs, following her to the kitchen table where Sawamura is sitting.
"So I heard you were dating my sister, Sawamura-san," Tamiko says, completely tactless as usual, and Michimiya rolls her eyes.
"This is my sister, Tamiko" Michimiya cuts in, at Sawamura's baffled look.
Sawamura's eyes widen with realization and without preamble, he gets up and dips his down respectfully. "It's a pleasure to meet the other Michimiya," he says with a slight smile. "I assume you’re here to talk about Yui? Don't worry, if I ever accidentally hurt her, she'll probably kick my ass before you even get here."
"I like him already," Tamiko cackles. "Yui, why don't you go work on your book while I talk to your boyfriend here." And she pulls open the door to practically shove Michimiya out.
Banished outside the kitchen, Michimiya alternates between pressing her ear against the door to try to catch their conversation and browsing through channels on their television. She trusts both of them whole heartedly, but it doesn't stop the nagging worry that wedges itself in her mind. Eventually she settles on a cooking show, bubbly chef walking the audience through the process of making a meringue pie, and curls up with her old blanket, falling into a half-sleep state, the rambling words of the show filtering through her brain as she drifts in and out of consciousness.
She stirs when the sound of a door closing registers in her brain, and reaching out to stretch, she yawns, rubbing at her eyes. "Tamiko?" Her voice is still blurred by speech and so she turns over, almost toppling off the couch, to look at the commotion. A pair of warm hands catch her before she falls, laughing as Michimiya blinks up confused.
"She just left," Sawamura explains, settling into the couch next to her. "We saw you sleeping and didn't want to wake you up, although I guess that didn't work out anyways."
"Oh." For a moment, she pauses, letting her sleep-muddled brain catch up with the situation, and then suddenly jerks up, remembering why Tamiko had even come in the first place. "I'm sorry about that. How'd it go? She didn't scare you away, did she?" She pulls herself up to sit next to Sawamura
"No, she's very protective of you. I like her. Maybe even better than you," Sawamura jokes, eyes alight with a mischievous glint. "Maybe I'll leave you for her next time."
Unperturbed, Michimiya punches Sawamura in the shoulder lightly with her first and laughs. "Like you can live without me always reminding you to bring your lunch. And I can kick your ass, remember?"
"True. Your sister would kick my ass too if that ever happened."
For a couple of minutes, they watch as the chef pulls her meringue pie out of the oven with a dramatic flourish. Snuggling into Sawamura's side, Michimiya feels an affectionate warmth bubbling up and she wants nothing more than to sink into the couch, Sawamura's arm wrapped around her shoulders, forever. Outside, the sun begins to set, enfolding the room with a soft orange glow. Drifting off into sleep again, Michimiya vaguely hears Sawamura mention something about Sugawara wanting to visit too, but she's too far gone to care.
-
Two weeks later, Sugawara shows up at their door, smile oddly evil for his usual sweet demeanor. "So about you dating Sawamura…" he trails off and Michimiya groans.
---
Back in middle school, eyes still stinging with the frustration of her latest volleyball venture, Michimiya had looked up into the eyes of Sawamura. Eyes wide, he had stared right back, wiped her tears away and coaxed the ball from her tight grip. If you don’t go into it intending to win you never will. And as Sawamura walked her through the serve once again, she had internalized the maxim, repeated it until it she had ingrained it within every breathe she took. Throwing herself into motions, she clawed her way up with a single-minded determination to mold herself into the motions and forms of volleyball, staying until the janitor came to lock up the gym before stumbling back home exhausted. It became second nature to push harder, train longer until she soared to captaincy in her third year. She will never be the best there is, but she will become the best she can be.
When she meets Sawamura her first year at university, in the opposing team's stands at her college's volleyball game, she resolves to confess regardless of his response. If you don’t go into it intending to win you never will, he said. And she does.
Sawamura's standing with Sugawara, encompassed within a crowd of fifty other students dressed in their school colors of blue and white, and he looks just as Michimiya had remembered him. A smile tugs at the edge of his lips as he surveys the game, arms crossed, head cocked, as if he too lives vicariously through the games of others now. He turns to Sugawara and laughs, making her heart skip a beat. Slipping through the crowd, Michimiya calls his name, but it's lost to the overwhelming din of the crowd. She tries to push closer, but is repelled by jostling bodies, and so she calls out again. This time, Sugawara hears her and he looks over, eyes widening. She watches as Sugawara digs his elbow into Sawamura's side before gesturing in her direction with a bright smile. As if in slow motion, he turns, running a hand through his hair, and as they make eye contact, his face slowly breaks out into a grin.
"You too?" He asks, later as they go out for ice cream at the end of the match. Sawamura's team had lost, but he didn't seem to mind, offering to buy them both ice cream with an unfaltering smile. In the heavily air-conditioned store, Michimiya is acutely aware of their proximity, a small, shared table the only thing separating the two of them. Sugawara had left right after the game, smiling apologetically to her and fixing a stare on Sawamura as something indecipherable passed between them.
"Even if I can't play," Michimiya explains, "I miss it too much to give it up now. I've spent so much of life on it that I can't just let it go."
Setting down his spoon to lean his chin on his hands, Sawamura nods. "I couldn't balance the school work and the team," he says ruefully, eyes flicking up to meet hers. "So in the end, I had to quit."
"Weren't you mad?" Michimiya wants to know, because she can't imagine giving up volleyball on her own volition.
Sawamura smiles, all teeth. "I threw a tantrum the day after. Suga had to drag me out of my room after I locked myself in there for three days straight. For the longest time, I kept trying to go to practice even after I left the team. And when our captain kicked me out for the sixth time in a row, I almost punched him." Then he leans back, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Now I just watch when I can."
"Fair enough," Michimiya laughs. "When I didn't make the team, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried the entire night before my roommate broke the door down to use the toilet." It hurt at first, surrounded by many players more talented and more athletic than her. But now it remains a bearable ache, reminiscent of all their losses back in high school, that she compresses until it's only a painful twinge in her memory. "We have pickup games though, the other girls and I," she says thoughtfully, "You should come. And bring Sugawara and the others too if they still plays."
"I'll check," Sawamura promises, leaning in casually to catch a strand of Michimiya's hair as the air condition blows it astray. She blushes underneath his touch and suddenly remembers why she came in the first place.
"What have you been up to?" Michimiya asks abruptly, placing her hands flat on the table. A knot tightens in her stomach and she swallows uncertainly, feeling a frission of anxiety run up her spine.
Sawamura blinks, caught off guard. "Nothing much. Finals aren't until next month so I've just been hanging around. Sometimes Suga and I go to the games. We meet up with Asahi too when he has time. He's out in Tokyo though so we only see him about once a month."
"What about your girlfriend?" Michimiya tries tentatively, feeling a heat rise up in her cheeks. "I mean, it’s fine if you don't want to say," she backtracks quickly, "it's cool if you don't have one - wait - not saying that it's good you don't have a girlfriend -"
"Michimiya, I don't have a girlfriend." Sawamura looks slightly flustered and all of a sudden Michimiya feels terrible.
"I'm sorry," she tries to explain, "I didn't mean to suggest anything - " She stumbles over the words and frantically presses her palms against her cheeks to cover up her spreading blush. "I'm sorry," she repeats, wanting to bang her head against the wall.
"It's fine," Sawamura laughs, "I don't mind. I just didn't find anyone I was serious about in my university."
Tension dissolving slightly from her shoulders, Michimiya exhales, trying to recollect herself. "Then, maybe we can meet up again sometime?" She asks hopefully, twisting the hem of her shirt nervously underneath the table. She watches Sawamura's face carefully for any reaction, and when his face remains carefully blank, she takes a deep breath and pushes on. "It was nice seeing you after all this time, and I've kind of liked you since high school so maybe we can go on a date sometime?"
Making sure to look into her eyes, Sawamura wraps his fingers around hers and smiles warmly, as if he's been waiting for this all along. "I would love to."
---
On their fifth anniversary, Michimiya and Sawamura head to a small party thrown by Asahi, who is the only one out of all of them with a house big enough to fit everyone. To Michimiya's pleasant surprise, almost her entire old team shows up, small gift in hand, and they spend a good solid hour retelling to her their match from the week before. Sawamura's old team shows up too, and as she soaks in all the old faces, still very dear to her heart, she can't help but appreciate the new ones too. All three of Michimiya's roommates had shown up, somehow contacted by Asahi, and as they spill into the room, Michimiya watches in amusement as Tanaka instantly takes a liking to all three, following them around like an overexcited puppy. Michimiya's editor drops by an hour in, albeit only for a short stay, and had congratulated them with a small smile, then promptly asked Michimiya when she would get her next draft in.
And between the numerous retellings of how Karasuno had won the championships the year Sawamura had reigned as captain, with each version growing wilder and wilder, and the loud uproar that had occurred when the previous Seijou captain crashed the party to challenge them to an impromptu pickup game, Michimiya drinks a little too much, stumbles a little too far, and watches tipsily as Kageyama and Oikawa face off across the net. She had wanted to join the game on the net set up in Asahi's backyard, but as she went up to serve, the world had tilted slightly before she carefully put the ball down, and decided it was probably best to hold back this time. So sitting on the sidelines, scoreboard in hand, she watches the teams face off against each other.
"Having fun?" A voice to her side asks. Michimiya turns around and sees Sawamura crouching next to her. His cheeks are slightly blushed from the alcohol and his hair is slightly mussed, but Michimiya lopes an arm around his shoulder to drag him into sitting next to her.
Then she frowns. "Why aren't you playing?"
Sawamura laughs, running a hand through his hair and tilting his head to the side. "I was, but then it got a little too intense for me. After I almost got hit in the head with Oikawa's serve, I decided that drinking and volleyball probably don't go well together." He jerks his head towards the court. "It's getting crazy out here." And as if right on cue, a loud screech sounds from the court as Kageyama and Hinata collide while trying to run one of their famed quicks. Besides her, Sawamura sighs, rubbing his head. "I don't even know what to tell them these days. I told them not to try it since Hinata got the punch and rum mixed up somehow. But look where we are now."
"Well," Michimiya says, smiling fondly, "Some things never change I guess. I missed this though." She looks over again, and the volleyball game had derailed into a full on chaos, with a cup of beer standing precariously in the middle of the court on one side, and a line of players lining up on the other side. She watches as Sugawara goes up to serve the ball at the cup, concentrating heavily with furrowed eyebrows, and then miss the cup by several inches with a slight scowl. Then Yamaguchi steps up, bouncing the ball several times before holding it up to serve. This time, the ball hits the cup right on, and the crowd gathered around them roars, picking him up and depositing him at the drink table. "Would this be a good time for you to step in?" She asks, gesturing at the commotion, eyebrows raised.
Sawamura glances over and shudders. "Not me. At least not anymore, thankfully." He looks back at Michimiya, slightly contemplative.
"What?"
"Why don't we get out of here and have some fun? At this point, I don't think that they're going to notice that we're missing."
Michimiya sets the scoreboard to the side and laughs. "Alright, where to?" And Sawamura smiles.
They end up stumbling to the park by Asahi's house, too drained to go any further. Drunk on the spiked punch, inebriated with joy, they collapse on the swings, looking up into the skies above. The night wind drifts between them, as if carrying them higher and higher as they swing into the stars above. Michimiya kicks off her shoes one by one, watching as they land among the wood chips and laughs, feeling exhilaratingly free. Like this, she feels unconquerable, swinging to the highest heights. Unclasping one hand from the chain, she reaches up, as if she can grasp the shimmering moon that hangs by her ear.
From besides her, Sawamura yells something, lost to the sound of wind rushing in her ears.
"What?" She yells back, exuberant, turning to look at him as her hair whips into her face.
On the other swing, separated from her by only a thin pane of air and the sound of the wind rushing in, Sawamura grins and yells something again, but Michimiya can only make out a faint jumble of sounds. She hits the peak of the swing's trajectory, soaring almost out of the seat before her tight grip on the chains jerk her back, tethering her to Earth and pulling her back down to the ground as her stomach drops. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she pretends that she's flying, lost in the sky and peering down at the Earth below. The swing lurches back up and as she approaches the crescent moon, Sawamura calls out one more time. This time, as Michimiya cranes to look over at him, she understands.
Jump.
Holding her breath, she waits until the swing reaches its highest peak, following the trajectory up, up, up. For a split second, she's balanced perfectly in the air like time has stopped. And as she looks into the dizzying ground below, then into Sawamura's face by her side, eyes alight with a steely fire, she uncurls her fingers from the chains.
She lets go.