'And my feet will not stay on the ground
You anchor me back down.'
The darkness of the classroom made Toshiro weary.
He was so tired lately. Tired of staying awake, keeping busy, trying to knock the soccer team into shape, maintaining his grade point average, tired of his friends who either cared too much or too little, and tired of the monotony and boredom that high school was becoming.
The overhead projector light was dim and flickering and stinging his already-exhausted eyes. Toshiro copied down Kurotsuchi-sensei's notes on the effects of guerilla warfare as quickly as he could, then leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes while the rest of the pencils around him scratched away at their papers in lazy, half-hearted efforts to keep up.
The noise of the pencils soon dulled into nothingness, then the flashing of the overhead projector light as slides changed ceased to show behind his closed lids.
Though it felt like seconds, when Toshiro regained awareness again, it wasn't from a short rest but a half-hour-long nap.
Thankfully it was not an abrupt awakening, and the lights weren't even on when he opened his eyes, which he appreciated because it likely would have pained him. Gentle pressure was being put on his shoulder, a light touch accompanied by a soft, soothing voice: "Hey. Hitsugaya-kun, wake up."
He blinked several times, drearily, blinked until his eyes adjusted to the darkness and the still image of a calm, smiling face came into focus. Startled, he shook off her hand and straightened up, blinking and stifling a yawn as he tried to figure out what was going on.
"Class is over," Momo whispered helpfully, as she stood to her feet and slung her bag over her shoulder. "See you Monday."
Toshiro was still slightly disoriented as the students around him all began to stand and shuffle out of the classroom, Momo included; Kurotsuchi-sensei sat behind her desk, oblivious to all but her paperwork, illuminated by a tiny, cheap-looking desk lamp propped up on a stack of textbooks.
Class really was over.
He placed his hand on his desk and glanced down at the paper that his fingers came into contact with; the sheet was upside-down, for whatever reason, but he discovered why when he picked it up and stared at it.
All of the notes were filled in by an unfamiliar, but tidy, careful and thankfully legible hand which he knew to be Momo's. Confused, gratified and somewhat impressed, Toshiro slid the notes into his textbook, tucked it under his arm, and hurried out of the room.
He managed to run to his locker, grab his things, and shove his way through the throng of eager-to-leave teenagers out of the school doors and down the walk. He didn't slow his feet until he caught sight of a turquoise ribbon tucked around dark hair, making its way through the crowd at its own, reserved pace.
Toshiro eased to a stride as he caught up to Momo and said, as indifferently as he could, "Thanks for the notes" as he passed by.
Momo gave a start, obviously taken by surprise, and looked mildly flustered as she exclaimed, "You scared me! Don't do that!"
He didn't apologize. He only fell into step with her.
They walked in absolute silence for a block and a half, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind of atmosphere that never required a conversation to be tolerable. A crisp breeze pecked at their skin and the chattering of other students, pleased by the prospects and promises of the weekend, filled their ears, but he was still mighty aware of her, walking to his left, one hand in her coat pocket and the other clutching the strap of her bag.
Toshiro couldn't help but wonder if Momo might have expected something in return for writing his notes, but he wasn't quite sure how he should word his concern without possibly offending her.
As he contemplated this, the pair of them passed a tree with low-hanging branches, which caught onto Momo's ribbon and unfurled one of its loops. The end flapped in the aforementioned breeze, but before it could loosen itself any further, Momo's hand snapped up the ribbon, pulling it out of her hair and grasping it in a totally irrational fear that it should escape.
"Don't worry," she breathed, turning to Toshiro, "I held on this time."
He almost felt inclined to smirk at the misfortune that her ribbon continuously seemed to encounter, but only said, "Weirdo."
Her mouth arranged itself into a frown – or was it a pout? He didn't know; he could only see her from his peripheral vision. "At least I don't fall asleep in class!"
"I'm tired," Toshiro said grouchily. Falling asleep wasn't such a peculiarity; it was a natural response to exhaustion. "Good thing it's the weekend, because that's when I get my rest."
"Oh?" Momo wound the turquoise ribbon, much like a bandage, around one of her fists and slid her hand back into her pocket. "I thought you would be the sort to go out a lot more on weekends."
He understood exactly why she should come to that conclusion, since he did know a great many people and he was sought after quite heavily when it came to parties and outings, though he declined the vast majority of them and only ever attended soccer-related celebrations or the odd birthday party.
Toshiro wanted to sigh, but felt like that would be the wrong thing to do. Instead, he wrinkled his brow in thought, and told her honestly, "Too many friends is like having no friends. You're better off having a small group of people you trust. It'd be better that way."
There came a pause in which Toshiro wasn't quite sure whether he had said too much or too little. She seemed to be mulling over his words.
"Yeah," she finally agreed in a small voice, "I'm sure it would be, too."
He left her at the train station and continued to walk on his own, headed for a nearby neighbourhood soccer field that the school soccer team sometimes scheduled for their after-school practices, being that this field was much larger and much closer in size to the stadium they would play in were they to make it to the nationals.
But that was how Toshiro came to suspect, much to his chagrin, that Momo Hinamori was not only rather nameless in school, but also quite friendless.
Then again, Toshiro hadn't been lying at all when he told her that sometimes, he felt friendless too.
Toshiro found Renji, Ichigo and Karin, Kira and Rangiku in the park. Karin had left her backpack and coat at the foot of the scrawny-looking tree under which she normally watched the boys' soccer practices while waiting for her older brother, and had joined the others in what appeared to be a two-on-two scrimmage. Rangiku was one of the team's managers, and the only one who had been chosen involuntarily – she needed the extra credit in order to receive a passing mark for Physical Education.
"Where's the rest of the team?" Toshiro asked, annoyed, as he approached the group. "Is this the turnout for today?"
"Nah, I'm sure more will show up," Ichigo said optimistically, waving a hand in dismissal as he ricocheted a pass from Renji off of the side of his shoe into the goal. Spinning on his heel with triumph, he caught sight of Toshiro standing with his arms crossed and his expression unimpressed, and corrected himself: "Uh, yeah, you should really think about tightening the discipline around here."
Fuming, Toshiro pressed his fist to his head and growled, "How can we expect to get to nationals if the team doesn't even show up for practice? Do you think we can even win our Thursday game if this keeps up?"
"The Thursday game is in the bag," Renji hooted, returning from having retrieved the ball from the other side of the goal posts. "That high school is a sack of sore losers who can't even walk the length of the field without tripping over their own shoelaces. What're you all uptight about? We got this, Captain."
Sensing that Renji was only serving to worsen Toshiro's mood, Karin intervened: "Thursday's still a way off. There's time. Just make sure the others show up to practice on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and you'll be fine."
Toshiro glared at her. "Do I really have a choice, now?"
Without letting her answer, he called for the manager ("Matsumoto!") and immediately began to coordinate an intensely vigorous practice schedule that included morning, lunchtime and after-school practices for Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, and even one for Thursday morning.
"As manager, you have access to the team's phone list, don't you?" Toshiro said. "I'm entrusting it to you, the responsibility of letting everyone know about these schedule changes. Posting it on the bulletin in front of the gymnasium isn't going to cut it, understand?"
"Yes, Captain!" Rangiku chirped obediently, leaving Toshiro feeling more uneasy than ever about whether or not she would perform her duties as instructed.
Toshiro decided to join the game and entertain himself for a couple hours while they waited for some more faces to show. However, none did, and Toshiro was beginning to grow restless.
Thursday. After the weekend, over which the team never met, they would only have three days to practice. They had come so very close to losing their last game – only managing to scrape a victory because of a shootout.
"What's the time?" he shouted to Rangiku, who looked up from where she was fiddling with her cell phone behind her textbook, and conveyed the answer by gesturing with six fingers.
Toshiro cursed to himself, realizing that it was growing late. He didn't think anyone else would come, and as much as it irked him, he knew it to be the cold, hard truth. Furthermore, he wanted to spend some hours in the hospital before visiting hours ended; Toshiro's grandmother had been confined to a hospital room since Toshiro entered his second year of middle school, which was when he had been traded into Ukitake's care.
He told Renji and Ichigo and Kira to continue playing as long as they liked, grateful to them for even having arrived to practice, and resolved to become stricter as captain of the soccer team. He was just turning to leave the field when Karin ran up to him and clapped him on the shoulderblade.
"Come on, stay and play some more soccer," she suggested breathlessly. "You seem like you could use a little fun these days. Loosen up! What's the matter?"
Toshiro stopped walking and glanced up at the darkening sky. What was the matter with him? He felt awkward and alone. He felt like there was no way they could win their next game, let alone make it to nationals. He felt like his dreams were drifting away. He felt like his time was drifting away. He could feel chances, opportunities, people, all slipping through his fingers. He felt a lot of things, but there was nothing that he felt comfortable enough telling Karin, or anyone at all, because they wouldn't understand.
"Loosen up." Karin.
"We got this." Renji.
"I'm sure more will show up." Ichigo.
They didn't understand. They could only give him excuses, condolences, reassurances. He hated those, he didn't need them.
"Nothing's the matter," he lied easily. "I'm too tired to play today. Remind your brother to come to early-morning practice on Monday."
Lately a strange feeling had come over him, one that disconnected him at his hinges and made him feel like all of him was beginning to fall apart. In spite of his hard, tough character – or perhaps because of it – Toshiro Hitsugaya was slowly coming undone.
It happened on Monday afternoon.
Toshiro had bought an extra water bottle from the school store for after-school practice before he headed to AP History after lunch. He found himself deterred by Rangiku as he left the school store, again deterred by two insignificant and rather annoying underclassmen as he organized his books at his locker, and deterred a final time directly outside of his classroom door by a girl in his grade trying desperately to convince him to come to her upcoming birthday party, despite having never held a conversation with him beyond asking whether or not he was standing in the food or drink line.
"Glad you could make it to class," Kurotsuchi-sensei said icily as he somehow managed to slip into the classroom mere milliseconds before the late bell rang.
Toshiro smartly chose to ignore her, and went right to his seat. Momo had her head down, scrutinizing her notes intently in a last-ditch study effort before the quiz.
"Didn't study?" he said, although the answer was clear.
"Yes," she said, obviously quite harassed, and tucked stray hair behind her ear as she leaned in closer to try and make out the words she had scribbled when she'd been rushed. "I was too busy writing this weekend."
"For other classes?" he asked; in stark contrast to Momo, he was feeling mighty prepared for the quiz to come. He had read the chapter for lack of anything to do while Granny had napped at the hospital last night.
"Um, no, actually," she said distractedly, "it was just, like, personal writing."
Toshiro didn't quite follow her meaning, but he leaned back and stared dully at his closed textbook in front of him. "That was stupid of you," he said frankly.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
It had slipped out, just randomly, easily, like water out of his open mouth. He froze as the final word came, not daring to move, not daring to correct himself or speak any further, only waited for something along the lines of a pained expression, or an insulted gasp, or tears, or a glare, or any indication at all that his lack of sympathy was unacceptable.
As a child, Toshiro had been a bit of a brat. He liked to voice his thoughts, whether or not it wound up hurting the other children. Idiots were idiots and morons were morons and to Toshiro, there was no way around that, so why skirt the issue?
As he graduated from grade school, he came to understand that society would tolerate his honesty less and less as they aged. Friends branched off into cliques and social circles, and when one of them took offense, they'd all take offense.
Toshiro was rather rapidly ostracized for this reason, but as he approached middle school, he began to keep quiet a whole lot more. His opinions, he realized, were not always exactly what others wanted to hear, and though he could refrain from speaking them aloud no one could necessarily prohibit him from thinking them.
Occasionally, though, one of the harsher thoughts would slip through, when he found himself extremely frustrated or at his wit's end with somebody, and usually the aftermath of these incidents involved avoidance of one another.
At first, Toshiro had simply chalked it up to the majority of kids being hypersensitive and in denial about their own flaws. However, soon he came to believe that perhaps he was just overly critical. After all, these remarks were never made as jokes. He wasn't trying to tease or bait or poke fun at them; he meant exactly what he said to them.
Thankfully, Toshiro had underestimated Momo Hinamori. A little laugh came bubbling out of her lips, and though it was a little laugh, it sounded that much louder and clearer to him all because he had not foreseen it in the least.
Momo's laughter was short-lived, but echoed in his ears as she closed her textbook and slipped it beneath her seat, at which point Toshiro said uncertainly, "Uh … Hinamori?"
She turned her eyes on him, and he saw that her laugh had faded into an impossibly kind smile, and she simply and honestly told him, "Oh, pardon me. I just think you're amusing."
Toshiro just stared at her.
Apparently perturbed by his attention, Momo gave him a sideways glance with raised eyebrows and whispered conspiratorially, "Well, I'll work on it."
It took him a whole second to realize she was referring to her stupidity.
Then, she accepted the quiz booklet that was being handed to her by Kurotsuchi-sensei, clicked her pen, and immersed herself in the words.
Toshiro, still somewhat caught off-guard, accepted his own quiz booklet absent-mindedly. In his mind, he recounted all of the times that Momo Hinamori had ever shown her smile, whether it be when she offered to hole-punch a worksheet for him, or when he handed her some artifact that was being passed around the class, or when she greeted him silently every afternoon before class started. Somehow, thissmile had been nothing like the rest.
And he realized, that until this smile, he hadn't even thought that all the others might've been fake.
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