Chapter Text
Thump.
It’s discipline hammered into her bones that causes Oguri to open her eyes out of habit. The first few rays of the sun have begun to seep into the small room, illuminating the space in soft pinks and yellows. It takes one second for her to sit up in her bed, and another to rub her eyes.
Thump.
At the other side of the room, curled up underneath a thick comforter, is her roommate, Tamamo Cross. Oguri doesn’t know when it started—the hyperawareness. Sure, she’s always been cognizant of Tamamo. Her presence commanded attention both inside and outside the racecourse, after all.
There were other facets to Tamamo that not everyone was aware of.
Thump.
First, she snored. A lot. Every exhale sounded like a hiccup. Second, she had a bad habit of furrowing her eyebrows whenever she was annoyed. Which… well, after a few months sharing a space made it impossible for Oguri to ignore the small inconveniences that annoyed her. Whether it was mismatched socks or a “poorly seasoned” takoyaki batter (which Oguri couldn’t tell the difference of with her “normal” one, for the life of her), it seemed to be up to course for her to pick up Tamamo’s habits.
Last and most striking, in the first few moments of sunrise, Tamamo’s hair glinted like a diamond.
Thump.
Now, Oguri wouldn’t consider herself the paragon of knowledge, but she knew enough. A sharp pain that radiated in her stomach meant that it was time to break her midday fast and have a filling lunch. A searing twinge at the top of her foot meant a growing muscle strain threatened to rear its ugly head at any moment. A bright smattering of sparks deep in her chest meant that she was happy.
Thump. Thump.
Tamamo’s breath stutters, hiccuping for a brief second before it slows into a gentle lull. Oguri stares.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
So, what name should she give this uncomfortable twist in her chest?
Maybe Oguri just didn’t know enough words. That was Belno’s specialty, after all.
Oguri slides out of bed, taking extra precaution to remain quiet. Despite how peaceful her sleep was, even the sound of Oguri breathing was enough to rouse her awake. Tamamo’s mornings always started an hour after the sun rose, long after Oguri’s first lap around the track.
Sleep would continue to cling to her friend, even as she wished her a soft yo, good morning, Ogurin. And her chest would tighten again, an awkward coiling that made it difficult for her to breathe. All it took was one second before her bearings would return to her, as if a single snap of lightning broke her out of her trance. Then the uncomfortable weight would disappear and give way to quiet peace.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
On any normal day, if the persistent discomfort remained, Oguri could easily outrun it. Enough laps around the track, enough conditioning, and just enough rounds of breakfast could quell the ache.
But sneaking another peek at Tamamo was more than enough for her stomach to fold into itself in agony.
Maybe she was just hungry?
Tamamo was small and stretchy enough like mochi.
Her eyes traveled downwards, tracing the column of her neck and landing on her defined clavicle. Oguri had once made the mistake of assuming her rival was just as soft everywhere else, just because of the full apples of her cheeks, but she was dead wrong. With hard planes of muscle stretching out across her torso, and down to the tips of her toes. The infamous White Lightning seemed delicate at first glance (what with her size and all), but she was just as much of a soldier as the rest of the students in Tracen Academy.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Oguri swallows dryly.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It was 5:15 in the morning on a random, inconsequential Tuesday when Oguri made her move. She’s silent when she crosses the invisible boundary of their shared room, footsteps quiet as she looms over her sleeping roommate. With the shadow of her frame consuming Tamamo, it almost felt as if… she was consuming her, didn’t it?
There’s a cascade of pinpricks that slides through each vertebra, glimmers flashing through her column with every second spent looking at Tamamo.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Tamamo’s bed squeaks when Oguri sits down, springs protesting at the sudden weight. To her credit, it wasn’t enough to rouse her from her sleep.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
She doesn’t know what compels her, whether it’s the phantom force that pushed her into the zone during critical choke-points in her races, or if it’s the weightlessness of the hope that she carried from Kasamatsu to the Central—regardless of what it was, it didn’t change the fact that her hands were cradling Tamamo’s face, brushing errant strands away from her face and hooking it behind her ear.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Soft ribbons wrapped around her fingers, short eyelashes fluttering against the tops of her cheeks, bony fingers opening and closing against her blankets—Oguri didn’t know where to look, even as she drank in all these minor, forgettable details. Tamamo’s eyebrows furrow in her sleep before she cracks one of her eyes open.
“Whuh— what,” Tamamo’s voice is hoarse with sleep, “Whaddya doin’, Ogurin?”
Tamamo squints, blinking at the sudden motion. Oguri’s chest does a funny little flip, and she finds herself reaching the particular zone of hyperfocus that she could only achieve in the last 200m of a race. Every diamond glint of Tamamo’s hair sparkles in the early morning sun, catching each sunbeam with every subtle shift in her wake.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Tama,” Oguri starts, callused thumbs brushing against her cheeks. It was soft. Of course, it was soft; this was Tama. Somehow all the words evaporate on her tongue—though there wasn’t much she had rehearsed to begin with, if at all. “Tama, my chest…”
Tamamo’s eyes fly open, mouth ajar as she stutters, “Y–Yer’ chest…?”
Oguri pauses, looking down at her torso and frowning. “My chest has been aching recently.”
Tamamo makes a gesture with her hands to urge her to explain herself.
“It’s like there’s an… itchy feeling,” Oguri trails off, furrowing her eyebrows. “Like something wants to crawl out of my chest.”
Except it was more than that. Every time she looked at Tamamo, small sparks would pop behind her eyelids just like the fireworks that lit the sky back in Kasamatsu. Every slight brush of their fingertips every time they walked side by side to their class was more than enough for her fingers to tingle with the need to grasp her. The irksome pinpricks would come and go as they pleased, but they were always caused by the same person: Tama.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Whenever I see you, I just feel like I want to—no,” Oguri trails off, gaze falling. “No, it’s because I need to hold you.”
Whatever sleep remained in Tamamo evaporates in an instant. She props herself up with one hand, muscles flexing with one swift motion. Oguri’s hands twitch even as they remain poised on Tamamo’s face, steady as if her hands were destined to be there. Tamamo says nothing, even when Oguri wills her eyes to meet her gaze head-on. It was always her rival that pushed her to break through her limits and reach new heights.
But, now?
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Oguri wanted to devour her.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Listen, Ogurin.” Tamamo’s voice is slow and steady, as if she were comforting a small child. It made sense. “I think yer prob’ly half-asleep, still.” Her accent was always a little more heavy-handed in the mornings, thick and sluggish.
“Or, maybe, yer a lil hungry? Dat could just be yer stomach grumblin’ n’ all.” She offers one of her larger-than-life grins, the specific charismatic smile she projected at URA press conferences under the glamorous lights and cameras.
Oguri knew that, and it was all the more unsettling to be on the receiving end. She surges forward into action. If words couldn’t describe it, maybe she could show Tamamo that she craved her touch and needed them to be skin-to-skin every moment of the day. With their chests pressed so close together, Tamamo would feel just how much her heart craved so desperately to claw out of her chest and into hers, where it was meant to be.
Tamamo yelps. Oguri buries her face in the crook of her neck, pressing her face there.
As expected of her rival, she was right on the dot.
Oguri was hungry.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Eventually, Tamamo relaxes into the hug and offers her a pat on the back. “Did anyone ever tell ya that yer hugs could crush?”
Oguri pulls away and stares at her. “Crush…?”
“Yeah,” Tamamo doesn’t wince, but the wrinkle in her brow was enough to say otherwise. Belno often complained about her embraces and accused her of wanting to wring out everything inside of her, but Tamamo simply took it in stride, pushing back against her firmly. “Crush. Like yer tryin’ ta crush me.”
Crush. She’s heard Norn use it before when talking about her feelings for March, for her, and it never clicked. None of that really interested her, not really, not when the call of the track was far more enticing than anything else the world had to offer. When the scream for air in her lungs made her ache for more, and her legs were threatening to give out from under her… how could she want anything more than to win?
Crush… Yeah, it felt like her chest was crushing itself right now as Tamamo watched her closely.
Tamamo chuckles before untangling herself from Oguri’s embrace. “Well, Ogurin, I think it’s about time fer ya to eat!”
Her grin softens into a smaller smile before she hops out of bed with a spring in her step. All Oguri can do is watch with bated breath as she takes off her night-shirt, baring her muscles for her eyes to roam over as she searches for her track-shirt. She had never felt this curious when she roomed with Norn; she had never wanted to leer over her half-naked body while she changed, even when Norn insisted that she didn’t mind (whatever that meant).
“Yeah,” Oguri tears her eyes away, nails digging into the palm of her hand. “Yeah, I think so.”
She takes a deep breath, steadying her heartbeat,
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Yeah?” Tamamo has her shirt on, and a disgraceful part of her deflates for whatever reason that was beyond her understanding (for now, because Belno would surely be able to put a name on whatever it was that was causing her stomach to churn so uncomfortably). “Heard they had Carrot Hamburg Omurice fer the lunch special. Just da usual fer breakfast, sadly.”
Thump. Thump.
Carrot Hamburg Omurice did sound delicious, if she had to be honest.
Oguri’s stomach grumbles.
Thump. Thump.
Tamamo’s laugh rings in the air, loud like firecrackers in the night sky as she tosses her head back easily. Gone is the fake corporate and marketing grin of the URA press conferences, and what replaces it is her easy, carefree laughter. Oguri’s chest squeezes again. But now she’s sure that it must be hunger that grips her frightfully and glues her legs to the ground.
Yes, it must be.
Thump.
“Do ya wanna do some partner running ‘fore breakfast?” Tamamo floats the idea with a hum, cocking her head.
Oguri perks up and nods, “Yes, I’d like that.”
Thump.
Tamamo extends her hand towards Oguri.
There was nothing more in this world she loved more than a good run around the track in the early hours of the morning, followed by a nice and hearty meal at the cafeteria with her friends and classmates. It was enough. It had always been enough. But, looking at the small hand stretched towards her, and each knobby finger coated with calluses—Oguri couldn’t help the rumbling desire for more, and more, and more—
Thump.
Oguri takes her hand.
Thump.
Tamamo gives her an easy smile and pulls her up.
From how firm a grip she had on her, Oguri could feel every crevice of her palm, down to the tips of her fingers. Tamamo had large hands for her size, long and dextrous fingers that easily branched from a strong and stout palm. Every line, every callus, every memory carried from days of hard work pressed into her own palm. How much more could Oguri take until Tamamo stopped her in her tracks?
She didn’t know, she wasn’t sure if she would ever know, really.
“Ya’ ready?” Tamamo must have been talking about the run and the subsequent razing of the cafeteria afterwards—and for that, she was ready. Warm sun tickles her eyes, glimmering in Tamamo’s bright eyes with a hint of a challenge. Long ribbons of her silver hair trickle down and brush against their joined hands softly.
Belatedly, she forgets that she hadn’t even clipped in her mother’s keepsake, hair just as messy as when she woke up.
Oguri grins and squeezes her hand back.
“Yes,” Oguri replies, her tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.
“I’m ready.”
Thump.