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You like to always tell yourself that your morning runs around campus were only getting longer because you need the extra conditioning for volleyball practice. It relaxed your muscles, warmed them up for the strenuous practices ahead. The burn in your legs mad it easier to jump a little higher, move yourself around a little faster.
It had nothing to do with your boyfriend. You weren't trying to avoid him until he left for classes, trying to avoid the pointless arguments that he would start.
It was only for conditioning. For volleyball.
You told yourself that the extra trips to the campus gymnasium on the weekends were just to get in some extra practice spiking. The women's volleyball team was shooting for nationals this year, the team was the strongest it had ever been. You were a first string wing spiker, there was a lot riding on your shoulders, the extra practice was necessary.
It had nothing to do with the way your boyfriend would berate you for something stupid like outdoing him. He played basketball, after all, there was no comparison. Yet, he would start his brutal attacks, spewing his ill will at you like a snake spitting venom. He reminded you how he wanted you to fail, but that was okay.
It was only for the team. You were the ace, you had to practice harder.
You told yourself you were only tired from studying for finals, and not from having to clean up your boyfriend's drunken parties and having to have food made for him in the morning or whenever he decided to wake up. It had nothing to do with the dark circles under your eyes. The blotches of red from falling asleep at the kitchen table. The stiffness in your muscles wasn't from that at all.
That's what you had been telling yourself before you finally broke up with him, moved to the campus dorms, and never looked back.
Now you ran those long trails to get rid of all of those years of pent up frustration from the verbal abuse, but it was worth it to finally leave all of those nasty words behind. You spiked the ball harder, received a little faster, called to your team a little louder, to work through the whirlwind of suffocating emotions from watching his face twist in rage at your declaration of leaving him. But it was full of confidence, and strength, something the team had missed and never bothered to bring up. You studied to busy your thoughts from ever drifting toward him ever again, but it was good because your grades had risen once again and you were climbing to the top of your classes. Everything was to better yourself.
Everything you had ever done to avoid him and his ways were now things that you to rid yourself of him entirely.
It felt so good.
This morning was no different. You had classes in a few hours, the sun barely kissing the sky in the early wake of morning, so you grabbed your water bottle and wallet, a damp cloth to wipe away the sweat you'd no doubt work up, and pulled your hair back tight to keep it from your neck. At the door, you slipped into your runners, grabbed the black jacket from the hook to the right and pulled it on, zipped it up to your chin, and dropped your wallet and phone into the pockets after finding a song you liked. Keys from the hook next to the now empty jacket hook dropped into the other pocket. Earbuds slid into your ears as you headed out the door, taking the stairs at a brisk pace.
You did this every day. Today, though, was the first time you'd done it without thinking about him.
Once down the flights of stairs and in the dormitory lobby, you headed toward the double doors. The cool winter air that met you inside the warmth of the dorm knocked the wind from your lungs a bit, but you stepped outside anyways. Left, right, all clear to go.
Your runs had managed to find a comfortable length somewhere along the line. Around the main buildings, the dorms, the little park on campus, the student run shopping district and back around to the women's dorms. They were always so invigorating, waking your mind from sleep, your body from any stiffness, your soul from the heavy burdens you liked to place on yourself. The burn in your muscles gave you a pleasurable feeling of just being alive and light, no worries to hold you against the ground. The music playing from your phone filled your peacefully empty mind, and you allowed yourself a rare smile from behind the cloth of your jacket. You fell into a steady rhythm soon enough, legs carrying you effortlessly around the sidewalks of the class building, the pond trail in the park, the little streets of the university shops. They carried you straight to the familiar little café that was empty this time of the morning, your half way point. You checked your phone. Record time. You allowed yourself another smile as you walked inside to take a break.
That smile intensified at the cheerful greeting from the counter as the morning barista bounded from the back room at the sound of the bell ringing above the door. The girl had golden strands of hair that looked like rays of the sun had graced her. Round, soft eyes the color of sweet chocolate, widening as she waved energetically from behind the counter at you as you stepped into the warmth of the café. Her eyes were full of that warmth, too, and you smiled at the way they sparkled. Her smile beamed so brightly that it could have rivaled the sun breaking the skyline and filling the coffee shop with a warm, golden light. There was a swell rising in your chest that you couldn't bring yourself to fight down as you approached the counter. You didn't have to tell her your order, she knew it by heart.
When you'd first met Hitoka Yachi, you had wandered into the café on a morning you just had to get away from your apartment. You were out of breath and the cold fall air was too much. You had stumbled into the shop to just rest for a bit, but the girl behind the counter had come to see who was in the store before hurrying over to you. She'd been frantically nervous over how red your face had been, how out of breath you were. Her hands flitted around and she eventually scrambled to get you some water and a cup of coffee. You'd tried to leave, but she insisted you stay, and with the panic so clearly written on her face, you hadn't the heart to say no. So you'd stayed.
The next day, you came by again. You ordered what Hitoka had given you the day before and the blond had cheerfully hurried to make it. Then you'd both sit in the empty café and watch the leaves outside, watch the sun break over the skyline. It became an everyday thing.
Until you couldn't face her with the state you'd fallen into. Despite Hitoka's sunny disposition, you couldn't let her ever see you so worn out. She would worry needlessly, and you couldn't bother the girl you called a friend any more than you already had. So you ran passed the café everyday, taking your breaks on a bench in the park a block away. It wasn't nice like the café, it was usually cold and windy, but she could never see you in such disarray. It wouldn't be fair to her. For a while, it worked. You didn't stop at the café, didn't see Hitoka at all, didn't bother her for a few weeks.
Until she showed up at the volleyball team's practice match. You had managed to put on enough concealer to cover the bags under your eyes, the blotches on your skin, so you looked well enough to play. When you faltered and got blindside by one of the spikes, pulled from the game, you saw her. Sitting in the nearly empty stands, eyes wide and full of worry. You cursed under your breath and sulked on the bench for the rest of the match. You didn't look at her, couldn't look at her, not those sad, sad eyes.
You had tried to leave before she find you again after the match, but the blond had been quick to block the gymnasium doors. The look in her eyes broke your heart, she had been such a good friend to you, and you had avoided her for so long to keep her from seeing you like this. Her chocolate eyes were full of worry, tears welling and threatening to fall as you refused to look at her. You couldn't. The two of you had stood there, in silence, for a long time, until a pair of arms was around your chest and a head was leaning against your shoulder. Her shoulders were shaking, she was crying, but for what? For you? You didn't say anything, just bit back your own tears and tried to still the thundering in your chest.
She made you tell her everything. Made you take off all the makeup so she could see the effects of your boyfriend's words. She cried again, and this time, you cried with her. From your spots on the gymnasium floor, you both cried until you were in each other's arms again. You allowed yourself so many tears, so many wailing sobs, and Hitoka stayed in your arms, wordless soothing every ache and pain with nothing but a shaky hug and a lot of tears.
A week after that, you left him.
The next day you moved into the dorms on campus, went to the café in the shopping district, and smiled at the blond behind the counter as she went from mildly shocked to jaw dropped, then to the happiest you could have ever remembered seeing her. She nearly tripped over her feet to round the counter, you barely had in you to keep from running over to meet her halfway. The tight hug you had wrapped the smaller girl in was different from the ones you'd had before. Somehow, but back then you didn't know why.
Now, though, as you sat across from the cheerful blond who was smiling out the window of the café, blond hair glowing with the rays of the sun, a peaceful smile on her lips, you understood. The hand not holding your coffee cup reached over the small table, fingers running over the tops of Hitoka's. You allowed yourself another smile when you looked over to see red crawling up to fill her cheeks, but her smile didn't falter. So you stayed like that, watching the sun rise in the warmth of the quiet café, taking slow sips of your coffee with the little foam hearts dotting the soft brown of the liquid as you locked you finger together with Yachi's.
You could deal without finishing a run for one day.