Chapter Text
Sawako spends most days alone. Not really alone, there are always kids around her, running through the classroom, laughing during recess, fighting over crayons and snacks and toys but somehow she still feels far away from all of it. The teachers call her sweet and quiet. The other kids whisper that she’s weird. Sawako doesn’t really understand why. Maybe it’s because she stares too long. Maybe it’s because her voice is too soft. Maybe it’s because she never knows how to join conversations before they end. Whatever it is, she notices the way kids stop talking when she walks near them. Even at five years old, she notices.
So during recess, she sits alone beside the fence with a sketchbook in her lap, coloring flowers with old crayons that barely work anymore. The playground is loud around her, kids yelling across the swings and running through puddles left from the rain earlier that morning, but Sawako keeps her head down, carefully coloring inside the lines. Then a shadow falls over the page. “You missed a spot.”
Sawako startles so hard the crayon slips from her fingers. A boy stands in front of her, pointing at one of the flowers on the page. His yellow hat sits crooked on his head, and there’s dirt smeared across one of his shoes. He smiles easily, like talking to her is the most normal thing in the world. Sawako just stares. Usually people don’t come over unless it’s to laugh at her or whisper something before running away again.
The boy crouches beside her instead of leaving. “Can I color too?” Sawako blinks slowly, then pushes the crayon box toward him with shaky hands. “O-okay...”, “Thanks!” He grins immediately, pulling out the yellow crayon. “I’m Shota.” Sawako looks down at her lap. “Sawako.” Shota repeats it carefully, like it matters. “Sa-wa-ko.” Then he smiles again. “Pretty name.”
Her chest feels weird after that.
From then on, Shota starts appearing everywhere. At lunch, he sits beside her instead of with the louder kids. During recess, he drags her into games even when she barely understands the rules. When other kids stare too long at her, Shota doesn’t seem to notice or care. He just keeps talking to her normally, about bugs he found outside or cartoons he watched before school or how much he hates tomatoes. Most of the time Sawako only listens quietly, but Shota never seems bothered by it.
Eventually everybody just starts expecting them to be together. If Shota’s running through the playground, Sawako’s probably somewhere behind him. If Sawako’s sitting alone during class, Shota eventually pulls his chair beside hers. One afternoon, during arts and crafts, the teacher tells everyone to pair up. Sawako’s stomach twists immediately, her fingers tightening around her crayons before she can stop herself. But then Shota drags his chair next to hers with a loud scrape. “We’re together,” he says immediately. The teacher laughs softly. “Again?”, “Yep.” Sawako lowers her eyes quickly so nobody notices the small smile trying to appear on her face.
After school becomes Sawako’s favorite part of the day. Their houses are in the same direction, so they walk together while the sky turns orange overhead. Shota kicks rocks across the sidewalk while talking nonstop, and Sawako walks quietly beside him, listening to every word. Sometimes there are long silences between them. Sawako never minds those silences when they’re with him.
One afternoon, it starts raining before school ends. Teachers rush around handing tiny umbrellas to students while parents wait outside the gates. Sawako stands near the doorway awkwardly, watching rain hit the pavement in silver streaks. Then Shota appears beside her, holding his umbrella crookedly over his shoulder. “Let’s share.” Sawako hesitates. “B-but-" “It’s fine.” Before she can argue, he grabs her wrist and pulls her outside into the rain.
The umbrella is way too small. Their shoulders bump together the entire walk home while rainwater splashes against their shoes. Shota laughs every time the wind blows water onto them, and Sawako tries not to laugh too, but eventually she does. Quiet at first. Then a little louder. Shota looks at her immediately, eyes bright. “You laughed!” Sawako freezes, embarrassed, but Shota just grins wider, like hearing her laugh is the greatest thing in the world. After that, he tries making her laugh all the time.
Most days fail horribly. Some days don’t. By winter, saying goodbye becomes routine too. Their houses split at the same street corner beside an old vending machine that barely works anymore. Every afternoon they stop there before going separate ways. “Bye, Sawako.”, “Bye…” Then Shota hugs her quickly before running off home. At first Sawako never knew what to do when he hugged her. Her arms stayed stiff at her sides while her face burned hot. But now she hugs him back every time, small and awkward and careful.
Everything with Shota becomes normal frighteningly fast. And for the first time in Sawako’s life, being around somebody doesn’t feel scary at all.