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“I’m going to UCLA for college,” Himuro says, like he’s commenting on how bright the sun in shining on the Akita snow or some other mundane occurrence. He’s introducing the idea, letting Murasakibara get a feel for how that might be before he delves into the rest of his future plans.
Murasakibara clenches his jaw, makes a noncommittal noise to let the other know he’s been heard but there’s nothing more he wants to say.
There are a few moments of silence, a few moments of no movement. They both stand, wait for the other to move.
Finally, Himuro smiles kindly and tilts his head towards the exit. “Let’s go get some food. You did well in practice today.” Part of him wants to extend his hand, do something to wash away the feeling of uneasiness he has. In the end, he doesn’t, and he slowly walks away, expecting Murasakibara to follow him as is customary.
Himuro is halfway out the locker room door before Murasakibara suddenly says “That’s in America.” He won’t look at Himuro, just keeps staring down at the floor with an expression Himuro doesn’t quite know how to read and doesn’t quite know if he wants to. “Good for you, Muro-chin,” he finally mumbles, except it doesn’t seem good at all, not when Murasakibara won’t stop boring holes into the ground and not when he suddenly slams his locker door shut.
Still, Himuro manages to bite out a response. “Thanks, Atsushi. Shall we go get dinner?” He smiles again, waits for the other to stand.
Murasakibara doesn’t even look back at him when he says “I’m not hungry.”
Murasakibara actually tries the next practice. Any shot Himuro tries to sink into the net is slammed down by Murasakibara. Shot after shot keeps hitting the floor with a deafening sound. After the 5th one is blocked, Himuro gives the other a warm smile. “You’re really fired up today, Atsushi.” Murasakibara glares at him and stalks to the other side of the court. Himuro chalks it up to fickleness; the more Murasakibara gets praised, the more bored he can grow with the sport. It’s not fun unless he’s being challenged.
Still, the look in Murasakibara’s eyes had a different feel to them, something cold rather than simply irritated. Himuro means to run with the rest of his team to the other end, but finds himself stuck. Lead weighs his feet down, only allows him to watch the retreating figure of Murasakibara instead of join him.
Suddenly, Coach Araki is by Himuro’s side, hands on her hips. “Did someone say something to him?”
He shrugs, and tries to look reassuring. “I did. I told him I’m going to UCLA in the fall.”
There’s a clatter that grabs both of their attention when Murasakibara kicks at a chair. “I’m done practicing,” he announces, walking with clenched fists towards the locker room.
Suddenly, Coach Araki has a vice grip on Himuro’s shoulder and is hissing “Fix it,” into his ear.
“I will.”
Himuro waits until Murasakibara is out of sight before following, trying to reason to himself that it’s just so Murasakibara doesn’t get scared. In reality, he knows it’s the opposite. He knows he’s the one that’s scared, the one that tilted the balance of their friendship and potentially whatever else askew.
When he enters the locker room, Murasakibara is standing in front of his locker. “Go away, Muro-chin. I’m not coming back to practice.”
Himuro patiently waits to see if Murasakibara will make another move. Instead of pushing past him to leave like he was expecting, Murasakibara sits down on the bench, kicks at the lockers and rattles them. “Can we talk?”
“No.” The answer is immediate.
“What if I talk and you just listen?” he offers, standing firmly in the doorway as though he could stop 210 centimeters of frustration and muscle from leaving if Murasakibara decided he wasn’t going to listen.
But, Murasakibara doesn’t decide that. He stares straight ahead, lips in a tight line and hands still clenched together.
Himuro takes this to mean he can speak. “Are you upset that I’m going to UCLA?” He’s met with silence. “Atsushi, I know it’s a big change but I’ll still be here until late August. It’s only February. It’s still a long time away.” He offers a smile that Murasakibara refuses to take. The smile falters, but he still approaches Murasakibara slowly, kneels down next to the bench and looks up at him.
“I know I said I’d do the talking but if I say something wrong, tell me, ok?” While he waits for Murasakibara’s answer, or lack of one, he moves to a more comfortable sitting position, one arm resting on the bench. “I have a lot of good friends in America. I have friends here too, of course. You’re one of them.” He’s starting gently, quietly, keeping the more pronounced emotions he feels under the surface. “But, I just miss life in LA. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“If you can’t explain it, why are you leaving?” Murasakibara interjects, drawing a surprised look from Himuro. “If you can’t explain it, it probably doesn’t mean anything and you should just stay here.”
Himuro’s expression softens, turns to a smile, and Murasakibara deliberately turns his head so he doesn’t have to see. “You could just stay here. America isn’t that great.”
“It’s not as though I’d never return to Japan but--” Himuro is cut off when the locker is slammed shut.
“I’m done listening. Just do whatever you want, Muro-chin.” The words hang heavy in the air as Murasakibara stands up, reduces Himuro to a small figure on the ground.
The other follows suit, standing firmly in front of him even though it feels like he might break with the weight of Murasakibara’s glare. Cautiously, he reaches a hand out to rest on Murasakibara’s shoulder, a gesture of apology. A large palm swipes at Himuro’s and the gesture dies. “Do you think this was an easy decision to make, Atsushi?”
“Seems that way.”
For the first time, Himuro truly frowns. “It wasn’t an easy choice. But, the communications program I want to go into is better at UCLA. I’m not foolish enough to think I have a chance at going pro the way you could. I’m not nearly good enough, so I have to go to college. I know I can do that here but spending more time in America means spending more time practicing English.”
Murasakibara remains silent. Himuro’s shoulders sag. “I don’t want to leave either, you know. It’s far more convenient for me to stay in Japan and not uproot my whole life to another country again. I’ve made closer bonds with people here.” It’s the best he can manage without putting the full weight of his feelings onto Murasakibara.
‘You’re here,’ he wants to say, but the words settle in the back of his throat and get stuck when he tries to say them.
It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair for him to finally tell Murasakibara that he likes him as more than just a friend, only to leave in 6 months and not know when he’d be back in the country. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Murasakibara to be in a relationship with him when he didn’t even know how the other one felt, and when they’d only be able to talk to each other through texting, email, and phone calls that would be absurdly early or late.
It just wouldn’t be fair. So, Himuro looks up helplessly at Murasakibara, trying to somehow convey the way he felt without speaking.
When Murasakibara looks away, so does he.
“Kise-chin said you like me.” The sudden sound of Murasakibara’s voice surprises Himuro. He looks up at the other, only to find him still facing away. “If you liked me, why wouldn’t you want to still be in Japan? I don’t get it.”
Himuro doesn’t quite get it either. “Of course I like you, Atsushi. You’re my friend. But, I like a lot of people in Japan. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go to UCLA.”
“Kise-chin said you like me most.” Silence settles around them as Himuro tries to find his words, tries to make any sense of what’s just been said. He’s expressionless but Murasakibara can tell by the furrow in Himuro’s brow that what he said struck a nerve. “Kise-chin said you like me more than a friend. Why do you want to leave, then?” There’s still no answer, only the soft sound of Himuro’s clothes rustling as he brings a slender hand to cover the expression on his face that’s slowly changing to one of surprise. “Kise-chin said Takao told him that you told him you like me as more than a friend. So why do you want to leave?” he repeats, stepping into Himuro’s space.
Suddenly, the locker room is too small. It’s stifling. It’s hard to believe it’s just the two of them in there and that the room isn’t closing in around them. Himuro uncovers his face, opens his mouth to speak, and is promptly cut off by the sound of the other players making their way into the locker room.
It’s barely above a whisper but Murasakibara manages to hear “Meet me at the gate in 10 minutes.”
The sun barely sits above the horizon, casting purples and pinks across the sky by the time Himuro finally shuffles to the gate. He half expects Murasakibara to not be there, wonders if Murasakibara has decided to cast him off for good. A wave of relief washes over him like a warm spring wind when he sees the other standing at the gate, absentmindedly playing with the snow with the tip of his shoe. “Atsushi,” he calls, and trots over to finally reach Murasakibara. “Shall we go home?”
“Talk first.”
It wasn’t the way he wanted it to be. Confessing at the school gate in such an unplanned manner was too cliche and too rushed for his liking. It was all wrong. “So, you heard from Kise-kun that I like you. To be honest, I didn’t want to tell you.” He places a reassuring hand on Murasakibara’s arm when the other casts him an angry glance from under his winter hat. “I didn’t want to never tell you. But I also didn’t want to tell you only to leave in such a short time. Besides, I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings when I had no way of knowing what yours were.”
He sees Murasakibara roll his eyes. “That’s why you ask people, Muro-chin. You should know that.”
Admonishment from someone younger than him feels strange, but Himuro can’t say he minds. Such behavior was preferable to being outright ignored. “You’re right, Atsushi. But I didn’t feel it was fair to you. I guess there wasn’t really a right way to do this. Either way, you got hurt. I’m sorry.”
Murasakibara stays silent, eyes the hand on his arm, then looks away. “I don’t want you to leave,” he finally declares, covering more of his face with his scarf. The hand on his arm moves away, is replaced by a gentle laugh.
“I know. I can’t help that. But, it’s up to you. I’ll be honest and finally say what I want to say. But, the decision is up to you. I like you, Atsushi. As more than a friend. And I have for quite a while. I’m frustrated you found out because Takao and Kise couldn’t keep their mouths shut, but it’s the truth. I really like you. More than anything. It’s up to you, though. Whether you like me and want to be in a relationship, or if you like me and don’t want to be in a relationship but still want to be friends. Or-- and this is my least favorite option-- you don’t like me and don’t want to be friends anymore.”
Snow lands in Himuro’s hair, and it’s frustrating to Murasakibara that someone can look so beautiful despite the circumstances and the lousy weather. “Kise-chin said he told me because he knew you wouldn’t. He said you move too slow and he was just helping things go faster. He said you should thank him if we get together.”
‘If’ rings through Himuro’s ears. It’s not much, but it’s something to hold onto, a precious idea that meant it was in the realm of possibilities.
He starts to remark how Kise needs his thanks like he needs a hole in his head when Murasakibara interrupts and corrects himself. “Since we got together.”
Any bad things Himuro had to say about Kise bubble into laughter, crisp and clear in the winter air. He extends his hand. Murasakibara takes it.