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i remember you came running, crying. how could i forget?
(it wasn't often that i saw you cry. you'd always seemed so strong, after all. but you came crying that day anyways.)
your hands were trembling as you'd come running into the yellow rose garden.
(mine were trembling too. i was waiting for you to come. but you looked worse than i did so i hid it by hugging you close and keeping them on your shoulders because—)
your shoulders had been shaking so severely i'd thought there was an earthquake. (and in your heart, maybe there had been one. for that day i saw within those deep blue eyes of yours the beginnings of a breaking heart.)
your face was red eyes were puffy and your voice shook just as hard as your shoulders when you told me oikawa~senpai had almost hit you.
(your rival golden boy had nearly hit you. does amaterasu still favour him? do the gods still favour him?
they probably still do. they are gods and they won't stop favouring someone simply because they'd nearly hit another of their favourites.)
i don't think you ever knew how close i'd been to simply storming up to him and punching his face in (with my hands that still trembled so very strongly.)
i didn't, though because i knew you were still in denial and me doing that to him would only make everything click for you and it would only make you break faster.
so i held you close on the stone bench
(you'd looked so small, you know. but i would have never wished to see you as small as you would've been had we met earlier because you were breaking before me so please stop looking small.)
and wiped your tears and let you cry into my chest.
you nearly pounded your fists into the concrete pathway—
(out of sorrow? maybe fear?
out of anger? maybe frustration?
or perhaps it was out of the rage of a child who'd just lost their childlike wonder?)
—but i told you not to because if you did then your knuckles would be bruised and probably bloody and it would affect your performance in the sport you cherished oh-so-much.
(and maybe me thinking this was selfish which is why i'm somewhat glad i hadn't voiced it but i didn't tell you how i so wished to be something you cherished oh-so-much as well.)
so i let you pound your fists on my arms and my chest.
you punched my skin with such hesitance, but i told you that it was okay because i'd offered and you'd needed to get the anger out, anyway.
it was never good to bottle your emotions up.
(i'd thought that that was what people did. back then i'd thought it was normal.
when you love someone, you let them hurt you and when you hurt because of it you hurt in silence because that's how you show your love— you let them release those pent-up feelings on you.
i was so stupid back then, wasn't i?
you'd always called me that. boke, boke, boke! it was like it was your favourite word.
i'd always denied it with laughter on my lips. i really shouldn't have.
because you'd been right after all.)
i had to wear a sweater the day after but i'm not sure if you'd noticed.
it was a bit painful. (more than a bit, actually.)
i was a bit disappointed you hadn't noticed. (more than a bit, actually.)
but that's on me because i was the one who wore a hoodie on a cold day and you were back to gushing about how cool oikawa~senpai was again.
and we were back to me, weaving you a little flower crown again.
and we were back to you, pressing the old one in-between the pages of an encyclopedia again.
and we were back to us, the water the sky the clouds the sun the silent moon the birds the yellow roses and the angel fountain.
(excuse me. i just realised that i never did get to tell you about what i'd realised about my parents that day, did i?
writing this, i'm just now realising exactly how much i didn't tell you.
