Chapter Sixteen

"Right, this is for the Shiratorizawa Chronicle," said Kazane as she leaned against the scoreboard with a tape recorder in hand. She smoothed her braid as she composed a headline in the air, "Kenjiro Shirabu: the man on campus, the freshman setter, Shiratorizawa's latest star athlete…quite the slew of accolades, Shirabu. Who's the man behind them all?"

She held the recorder to his face.

"S-Sorry?" He stammered, nervous to have been singled out from the others.

Kazane stared him down like a hawk.

"Come now, don't be shy. Our readers want to get to know the newest members of the dream team. What ambitions brought you to Shiratorizawa?"

The others watched gleefully as Shirabu sweltered before the chief sports contributor of the school newspaper, trying very hard to gather his words into an intelligible statement. After a few lingering moments of uncomfortable silence, he settled on, "...I like volleyball?"

Kawanishi smirked. "You sure about that, buddy?"

Shirabu glared at his teammate, looking slightly harassed.

"Yes, I would think that's a given," Kazane pressed on in her deep voice, "but what I want to know is what gets Kenjiro Shirabu out of bed each day. What motivates you?"

The setter had been discussing the article all morning with the others, eager to share what he had planned to say to Kazane Fujiwara as his first publicity stunt as the new team setter. But just as one had a propensity to forget the names of their favorite bands when asked on the fly, Shirabu had completely forgotten everything he prepared for this moment. It provided the greatest entertainment for the others to watch him struggle before the tall, commandeering beauty that was Shiratorizawa's cheer captain.

Shirabu grew increasingly flustered.

"Erm...breakfast?"

Kazane pursed her lips. "Quite the silver-tongue, I see," she said drolly.

Semi held himself as he laughed behind Jin.

"Freshman jitters," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes, "they never disappoint."

While the team waited for their turn to give statements, Tendou paced in the background, anxiously awaiting the end of practice. Uniform Day had arrived – a moment of extreme pride for the first years. They had finally been deemed worthy of the team, surviving a grueling training regimen that separated the strong from the weak. It was the first major milestone aside from being admitted into the volleyball club. As such, Washijo always made a grand ceremony of it, calling the players to the stage, one by one, bestowing them with their very own jersey.

The excitement in the gym was palpable. The whole team stood dressed in their official attire. Instead of a motley crew, they were now the fitting image of a highly polished battalion. Students in the mezzanine were whispering ecstatically, eager to capture their first glimpse of the players in their gaming finery.

This was a momentous occasion, indeed, and one that came with its fair share of pageantry. The whole afternoon had been blocked out for public relations, and yet Tendou was eager to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. He stalked the gym, running fingers through his hair as he passed the open threshold overlooking the school. His gaze flickered to the studio windows for what felt like the umpteenth time.

"Satori! If you don't stop burning a hole in my floor, I'll send you up the slope!" Washijo threatened. "You're pacing like a caged animal. Stop that!"

Tendou rounded on him.

"You're right. I'm restless," he agreed. "A run would do me a world of good. Five laps ought to do it, I think. I'll try to be back before sundown!"

Washijo peered at him with brows slightly raised in shock. Never before had he had a student accept one of his threats so agreeably. It left him deeply confused.

Tendou didn't give him time to come up with a counter-threat. Pulling his jersey over his head, he tossed it to Saito who was busy keeping track of their inventory. The team watched him, concerned. Even Kazane looked taken aback. It wasn't like him to walk out on a chance at the limelight. Something was definitely wrong.

"But – what about our team picture?" Shirabu protested, sounding very inconvenienced. "The yearbook photographer is coming by any minute now!"

"Sorry Kenjiro, I'm not picture material right now," said Tendou as he threw on his black shirt. He wasted no time dallying, catching Ushijima by the doors.

"Wakatoshi, something's off," he confided in him quietly. "It might be just a hunch, but I need to go see for myself."

Ushijima frowned. "Hanamura?"

Tendou nodded.

"Go," he said. "This is more for the first years anyway. Do what you need to do."

Tendou clapped him on the shoulder before striking off into the bright sunlight. He picked his way toward the school entrance in case Washijo kept watch from the gym doors, but once on the other side, he climbed over the brick wall and sprinted back towards the main building.

It was odd. He felt anxious all afternoon. It needled at him with the same incessant fear of leaving the kitchen stove turned on. As far as crushes went, this was borderline ridiculous. He had accepted his feelings for Hanamura, but never imagined that it would heighten the effects of frequency delusion. He couldn't get her out of his head all day.

As his class left the computer lab that afternoon, he spotted Nurse Hino in a close conversation with Ms. Moriyama. There was a bottle of fish oil on the counter between them, but their facial expressions were a degree too serious to be fixated on something as benign as dietary fats. They both glanced at the door, Nurse Hino asking Ms. Moriyama something that caused the younger woman to shake her head with a shrug.

Suzume comes to the library every morning, she said, her voice just loud enough to catch his ear. She's usually the last to leave every night too.

I'm concerned, Miki, said Mrs. Hino, tugging at her scarf, she looks terrible.

I would imagine she's homesick, agreed Ms. Moriyama. It's always hardest on the first years.

The nurse tapped her nails against the counter.

My philosophy has always been: if they can cry they can tough it out, she said bluntly, but Hanamura looks like death warmed over. I think I'll have a word with her homeroom teacher, Osakabe. I want to contact her parents too. Something's not right.

Nurse Hino was a surefire weathervane when it came to situations of concern. If she was worried about Hanamura, then Tendou had good reason to as well.

Three weeks had gone by since he last saw her in the studio, and it was nearing the end of the first term. She was focusing on her studies. He respected that, planning to tell her how he felt once finals were over. Not a moment sooner. But the conversation he had overheard in the library nagged at his discipline, wearing away at his desire to give her space. Though he was comforted to know that Mrs. Hino was already on the case, he wanted to see for himself how Hanamura was faring.

With this goal in mind, Tendou climbed the eight flights of stairs to the top floor, taking two at a time, then three. He powerwalked past the school infirmary where he saw a soccer player lying in bed with a bandaged ankle, her teammates cheering her up with a group selfie. He marched past the teachers' lounge where he could hear Mr. Harada ranting angrily on the proper usage of 'there, they're, and their.' The disciplinary committee was holding a hearing over a student who left a tuna fish sandwich in his locker over the weekend. Shouts of "Where were you on the night of July 12th?" and "Objection! I want legal representation!" and "Order! Order in the Court!" could be heard from outside a nearby classroom. The hall seemed to elongate like the ones in Hitchcock films. The faster Tendou walked, the longer it took to cover ground.

By the time he reached the end, he was winded.

An argument drifted out into the hall.

"Tsubomi, how could you?" President Fukuhara was saying, her voice sharp with disappointment.

"Me? She was the one who deserted the project!" Tashima pounded a fist against a table, furious. "She had all that time to come up with ideas for the poster, but did she do any of the work? No!"

"Regardless, we don't treat our members that way," said Fukuhara, "especially our underclassmen!"

Tashima scoffed.

"What about my treatment? The offer was made for both of us, Noriko. Since Hanamura backed out, Washijo declined from letting me design the poster. It was a chance! A chance at something important, and she squandered it!" Tashima's voice cracked, sounding strained. There was a long pause. When she spoke again, it was in a much smaller voice. "I was angry, alright? I worked hard on those ideas. I never meant…I never meant to take it out on her."

Tendou paused at the doorway, observing the grim scene from outside. The art club was gathered at the worktable in the center of the room, the atmosphere tense and emotional. Fukuhara and Tashima were facing each other from across the table's midsection, members standing on either side in a close conference. Just a few feet away, he saw Izakaya holding a folded canvas, his glasses askew. Asano was beside him, fishing out more canvas from the metal waste bin.

One of the bundles toppled to the floor, revealing paint as thick as brownie batter.

Tendou's blood ran cold. That was Hanamura's work.

"Reiko, Takashi," he said, entering unannounced, "What's going on?"

The entire room fell silent. The group at the table froze, but it was Asano and Izakaya who looked most relieved by his presence.

"Tendou!" Asano cried out. "Oh, thank goodness you're here!" She stumbled on her way to approach him, tripping over the refuse strewn across the floor. Izakaya followed closely behind her as she scampered across the studio. "Suzume never showed up to class! Her workspace is empty! All her paintings are in the trash!" Her voice began to waver. "I don't know where she is – she's not answering her phone – She's not at the dorms – something's happened to her!"

"Easy, easy," Tendou steadied her, placing hands on her shoulders. "We'll get to the bottom of this. She can't have gone far. She's hopeless when it comes to directions." He smiled, trying to calm down Asano who looked ready to burst into tears. "Don't worry, Reiko, I'll find her."

Izakaya stepped forward, intent. "Can you use your ESP to locate her?"

Tendou lifted a brow. "I have strong intuition, Takashi. I'm not a psychic."

"It's the same damn thing!" Izakaya insisted, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt in hysteria. "It brought you here, didn't it?"

Tendou had never seen the first year so upset. "You're right," he said quietly, prying his shirt free. He was surprised to see Izakaya so worked up over another classmate. Normally, it was his prerogative not to care. Hanamura's absence had clearly caught them all by surprise.

The others had approached them by now, looking eagerly to Tendou. Tashima was the only one who remained at the table standoffish.

"Have you seen Suzume?" President Fukuhara asked him searchingly. "She was last seen before second lunch."

"No, but Hino and Moriyama were discussing her in the library this afternoon," he explained. "They think she's suffering from homesickness."

He met gazes with Tashima who looked troubled by the news.

"Tsubomi, take care of how you treat others," he said not unkindly. "She's just a first-year, ya know."

"I know that!" Tashima snapped, her brow etched with guilt. "That's why I confessed. I went too far and now she's discarded her work." She covered her face. "This is all my fault."

"None of it's ruined, thank goodness," said Yamada sensibly. "The paintings are a little wrinkled, but we can hang them up in her closet."

"We can put her things on the shelves too," agreed Fukuhara, her gaze still on Tashima.

"Good. See what you can do to put things back in order," said Tendou, "I'll find Suzume."

Asano and Izakaya followed him to the door.

"Here, take this," said Asano, pressing a bit of paper into his hand. "Call me when you find her. In the meantime, I'll explain the situation to her roommate. We'll try to have some cookies on hand to cheer her up. She likes snickerdoodles. Maybe Akiko and I can find a way to sneak Argus into the dorms too. We've been plotting it for weeks now. My sister's too much of a goodie-two-shoes, but this might be the right motivation."

Tendou pocketed her number with a smile. "You're a good friend, Reiko. I'm glad she has you."

Asano blinked, pulled from her scheming.

"Oh, well – that's…that's neither here nor there," she said, blushing. Tendou headed for the door, but she caught him on the arm, preventing him from leaving. "Wait – wait, there's one more thing!" She said, glancing briefly to the group before she spoke, "I think you ought to know that Suzume really likes you, Tendou. You're important to her," she said in a low, confidential tone, "Normally, I wouldn't share such information, but maybe she'll open up to you if you insist. She hasn't been herself lately. It's had us worried."

She shared a look with Izakaya who nodded.

"I saw her holding a paintbrush the other day," he said ominously. "That's not like her."

"Alright," Tendou said simply. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He was struck dumb by the knowledge that Hanamura thought he was someone important. A pang of regret washed over him, and he wished he hadn't let his own feelings of mistrust keep him from finding out what was really going on. Hanamura had looked so sad. Maybe she didn't want him to leave the studio after all.

Tendou closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he was no longer Satori Tendou but Shiratorizawa's legendary menace. Every sense was awakened and attuned to the fullest degree possible so that when he looked at Asano and Izakaya, they both regarded him with determined hope.

The Guess Monster was on the hunt.

Tendou tore off down the hall and into the stairwell. He cut through a gaggle of first-year girls discussing the upcoming finals, making them all scream in terror as he long-jumped over their heads. On the second floor, he encountered a dramatic scene: Ms. Oshiro was hastily evacuating students from the science lab as plumes of colorful smoke streamed from the open doorway.

"And that, my fellow chemists, is an exothermic reaction! But let it be known that handling highly flammable solvents can lead to situations like this," she gestured at the billowing, color-changing smoke, "We call this in the field the Rainbow Flame Demonstration. Rumi Hara – !"

A slender girl dressed in a flame-retardant suit stood at attention. "Yes ma'am!"

"Can you tell me the best way to eradicate a flash fire?"

"You can't! It's self-extinguishing!" She answered faithfully.

"Very good! I suggest we all wait here in the hall until the methanol burns off," said Ms. Oshiro.

The science club stood and observed the rainbow smoke with gasps of awe.

Tendou sprinted past them, meeting the principal's secretary on the ground floor who was fussing loudly about the commotion happening upstairs. In fact, he was so incensed, he neglected to cite Tendou for running inside the building, a title three offense in the student handbook.

Back out in the open air, Tendou held an image of the campus layout in his mind, wondering where a distraught first year might seek refuge. Hanamura had explored every inch of the school on her various scavenging quests, but it wasn't enough to dwell on where she'd been. He had to think deeper. Where would someone like her go?

A memory came to him. The afternoon in the yard when she methodically tied a bundle of sticks. There was a look of contentment on her face. The act was provincial, yes, but also practiced, masterful. Then – the park. The yellow frisbee. Hanamura was prepared to climb the tree as if she climbed trees her whole life. Her eyes scanned the low-hanging branches, her mind quietly planning her route up into the canopy. She had looked so disappointed when he told her tree-climbing was prohibited in the city.

Intuition, As Tendou had come to learn, was knowing how people thought in moments of duress.

The needle of his compass pointed to the stone path.

He knew exactly where to go.

. . . . . . . . .

The afternoon was a deep, rich orange by the time he finished scouting the park's perimeter. Sunlight glimmered on the water with the same fiery hue as a thousand red goldfish. Tendou swiped at the sweat on his brow, folding over his knees to catch his breath.

She had to be here somewhere. He could feel it in his bones. The park was the closest thing to a safe haven for someone who was accustomed to living in the country. If Hanamura bolted anywhere on campus, he was a hundred percent certain it would be here. But as he surveyed the empty park benches near the water, he could locate no traces of her anywhere.

Where are you? He thought, restless.

As he stood there panting, a black book suddenly tumbled from the branches of an old maple tree, hitting the ground with an audible flap. Tendou followed the trail of falling leaves into the canopy where he caught the unmistakable sight of mussed hair peeking through the foliage.

Tendou cracked a smile.

Hanamura was in the tallest tree in the park, nestled against its trunk twenty feet off the ground. Such height was not for the faint of heart, and Tendou found himself thoroughly impressed by her choice in hiding spot.

As he drew close; however, he discovered that she was crying. Her shoulders were trembling, and he could hear the devastation in her throat as she heaved a great sob. The sketchbook laid open on the grass, it's pages bent on one side. But she didn't seem to care, her head already buried in her hands, shaking.

Tendou paused on the grass. He had an uncontrollable desire to walk away. Seeing her cry was too much, a shock. He glanced around to see if there were any other people in the park, but there was no one, only Hanamura. She heaved another great sob and the sound of it constricted painfully in his own chest. Steeling his nerves, Tendou approached the tree.

"Suzume?" He called out, hesitant. "Are you alright?"

Shocked, Hanamura whipped her head around, her eyes filled with fresh tears.

"Satori?" She croaked.

At the sight of him, her face crumpled, and she quickly dapped at her eyes.

"What – what are you doing here? Don't you have practice?" She sniffed, trying to compose herself. She turned away from him, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe away her tears. She was dressed in street clothes, her backpack sitting on the branch beside her. He had the inexplicable notion that she was planning to flee. There was a map of Sendai stuffed into the side pocket, the sleeve of her jean jacket poking out from the top. Frowning, he reached down and retrieved the fallen book, careful to smooth out the bent pages.

Hanamura shifted, preparing to bail from the tree.

"No, no," said Tendou, stopping her. "Stay right where you are! I'll come to you!"

He stuffed the sketchbook into the waistband of his shorts and jumped for the nearest branch. It had been ages since he climbed a tree, and Hanamura had picked a particularly difficult one. Using his long limbs to his advantage, Tendou grunted as he hooked a leg over the lowest cleft and hoisted himself up.

It was slow going at first. Tendou broke into a sweat as he climbed, still winded from having sprinted through campus. As he steadily drew nearer, he was astounded that Hanamura could achieve such a feat. The bark was slippery and soft, making footholds difficult.

"No! Not that one," she called out anxiously as she watched him reach for a branch, "the one beside it is much sturdier!"

Tendou took her advice, gripping the limb that would put himself in alignment with hers. He was breathing hard, the tip of his tongue peeking through his teeth as he snaked through the upper canopy. The main branch bobbed up and down with each step, bowing dangerously under his weight. Hanamura reached out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him to safety. It was not the most graceful move. Tendou lurched forward, throwing a hand against the trunk for balance, but his body pressed tightly against hers. For a moment he couldn't breathe.

"Ah," he said, swallowing thickly. "Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome," she managed shakily.

She let go of his shirt and they sat gingerly on the branch.

"I had no idea you're a black belt in tree-climbing," he said, amazed. "How did you even get up here with your backpack?"

Hanamura sniffed. "Lots of practice," she said with a frown. "What are you doing here?"

"I was kicked out of club," he said, "so I came to see what you were working on in the studio, but your friends said you never showed up. We found your closet empty."

He watched her carefully. The words triggered a fresh wound. Hanamura had a look of shame on her face when he handed back her sketchbook. "Did something happen?" He asked. She looked away, continuing to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

"I had to leave," she said, setting her sketchbook in the notch above her head. "I didn't want anyone to see me like this."

She was indeed pallid, her eyes red and puffy, her face drawn into an expression of bleakness. The fire he had witnessed at the scrimmage game had all but extinguished, the green of her eyes now colorless as slate. Was this homesickness?

"Suzume, what happened?" He asked. "What made you want to run away?"

She refused to make eye contact. Her jaw clenched and she balled her hands into fists. He could sense archers at her walls, taking aim to decimate any outside threat. She was a thistle covered in thorns now. One wrong move and he would come away bleeding.

Slowly, Tendou shifted on the branch. He didn't push her to explain or rush to reassure her, he simply let his presence calm her down a bit. They were alone in the park, hidden in the leaves. He behaved as if they had all the time in the world.

Incredibly, it worked. Hanamura took a shaky breath.

"I'm on academic probation," she said, at last, surrendering.

"Probation…," Tendou repeated with a frown. "What does that mean?"

She broke into a sob.

"I might lose my scholarship!"

Fear. It rang out with the same clarity as a glass figurine smashing against the floor. She was breaking.

Tendou moved, laying hands over hers in a show of deep concern. "But you're a good student. You're smart!" He said adamantly. "I've seen you cart more books out of the library than Ms. Moriyama herself! Something else is at work here." He squeezed her hands, urging her to confide in him. He leaned forward, trying to catch her gaze. "You can trust me, Suzume. I won't hurt you."

Hanamura peered at him, afraid.

"We're close, right?" He pressed, searching her face. "Surely we can be honest with each other."

Her gaze fell to his hands. They dwarfed hers and were rough from climbing, but they held her firmly. Her face contorted in pain and she lifted them, pressing the back of his fingers against her eyelids. Her lashes fluttered like moths against his knuckles.

"It's too hard, Satori."

"What is?"

"All of it – Sendai, Shiratorizawa, the art club," she said haltingly, "I had no idea it would be so hard to fit in! I'm too different!"

Hanamura's thorns pricked his skin, drawing fresh pain to the surface. It began to weep through his armor. A familiar heavy feeling began to weigh him down. Not enough time had passed to erase the trauma of being misunderstood.

"I get it," he said, shifting closer. "I know how you feel."

Hanamura hiccupped.

"How? You're the most confident person I know!" She argued.

This admission caused him to frown.

She was referring to his mask. The thing that kept the irreversibly broken person he was underneath hidden. Its sole purpose was to blind others, keep them at bay, forever fooling them into thinking he was impervious to pain. Though it had protected him all these years, he was beginning to see it for what it really was – a mask of fear.

"Not always," he said quietly, "Most of the time it's just for show…I struggle with fitting in too." He stared at the leaves, his face screwing up with discomfort. He had never spoken about his years of torment with another person. That chapter of his life had been locked and sealed away, never to see the light of day again. But as he spoke with Hanamura, he knew the moment demanded honesty, vulnerability. They were dismantling their walls now. Stone for stone, brick for brick, until they stood on equal ground.

His eyes drifted to her backpack.

"I've wanted to run away too. Many times," he confessed. "Being different comes with a great deal of hardship, and not everyone is willing to understand you – no matter how hard you try to convince them." He pulled his hands back just far enough to catch her gaze. "But being different isn't wrong, Suzume. You should never feel ashamed of who you are. You belong here just as much as everyone else does."

Hanamura shook her head.

"But I keep messing up no matter how hard I try," she said, "I keep letting everybody down."

Tendou reached for the branch above his head, struck her choice of words. His intuition immediately told him this was something far more serious than grades and a few harsh words from Tashima. Hanamura's voice rang with old guilt – the kind of guilt that, if left unchecked, could warp a person's perception of themselves. He thought of their late-night walk in downtown. There too, she had touched on an old wound. Could this be the source of her homesickness?

"That story about the tar…," he said with a frown, "you've never forgiven yourself for that, have you?"

Hanamura shrank back, shocked.

He had hit a nerve.

Tendou pressed on, confronting the real issue at hand.

"Your parents are the ones you're most worried about. You don't want them to see you fail."

Hanamura looked panicked now, her eyes flitting between both of his rapidly as if waiting for him to condemn her. She took another labored breath, but it caught in her throat, making her eyes water.

"We almost lost everything because of me," she said, the water running down her cheeks now. "My parents were so worried." She gazed up into the leaves, lost. "Seeing them suffer like that – I couldn't bear it." She stayed like that for a long moment, only breaking the silence to say, "I promised never to be a burden again."

Tendou took in the strong set of her shoulders now sloped with grief.

"That's a hard way to live," he said solemnly, "never being able to ask for help, to lean on someone."

He thought of Ushijima and quickly realized the irony of his situation. Was he not the same? By keeping everyone at bay, was he not also depriving himself of the right to ask for help, to lean on someone in his moment of need? If Ushijima hadn't stepped in to defend him at the scrimmage game, he never would have worked up the courage to ask him for advice later that night.

Thanks, Wakatoshi. You calmed some of my fears tonight.

Tendou took a breath.

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, syncing in his mind with sharp clarity.

"Suzume, I think you have this all wrong," he said gently. "Your family wanted you to take this opportunity – not to make them happy – but to make you happy! They know that being an artist is extremely important to you. That's why they wanted you to come to Shiratorizawa. They would never expect you to be perfect – no one does! Making mistakes is part of the journey."

Hanamura lowered her gaze, her face etched with pain.

"But that's the thing. I don't know if I am an artist." She said, sounding as if she were revealing the true heart of the matter. "What if I'm just someone pretending to be one?"

Tendou scoffed, the statement producing a sharp smile.

"Don't be ridiculous." He grabbed her shoulders, indignant. "I've seen you paint. You're an entirely different person. Time slows to a crawl and you're in another world! That isn't pretending – how could it be?"

"But I don't know why I do it! Tashima says true art is supposed to mean something," she said, frustrated, "My work has to communicate something, or it doesn't have any value. I didn't know there were so many rules!"

Tendou's smile broadened. They could have been cut from the same cloth, so in tune they were to their unconventional approaches to their craft. He saw a fire begin to rekindle in her eyes, forged in anger. If she had a bucket of paint handy, he was certain she would have been able to translate her ire into a blistering red inferno. Her paintings and emotions were one and the same. It was what drew him to her in the first place.

His voice was warm when he spoke.

"Everything in life has rules. The ones that matter most are the ones you make for yourself."

Hanamura was withdrawing, her eyes going dark. He shook her gently.

"Do your paintings hurt anyone?"

"No."

"Do they make you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then who cares what Tsubomi or anyone else thinks? You're a good person, Suzume. Anything you make that brings you joy is meaningful enough – you are enough."

Tendou's voice cracked unexpectedly, and something oozed from the gaps between his ribs. He saw a flash of a young boy who stood gripping his shorts with an open heart. The image shocked him to his core. His words had conjured an old memory he had buried deep down inside of himself, and it demanded to be reconciled.

You are enough, he found himself saying to that boy. They don't determine your worth. Only you have that power.

Something shifted in the air. There was a great release, a huge crushing sigh. The wind cut through the trees, rushing the leaves and dragging at their hair and clothes savagely. He reached out and held Hanamura as he wished he could have held himself in that dark moment in time. To be utterly surrounded by unconditional love, to have someone see you spiral into a pit of unworthiness and draw you back up. All that pain continued to ooze out of his memory, and he sat still, letting it wash over him as he remained strong against the surge.

Hanamura wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, her fingers digging into his shirt like claws. The tension drained from her body and she leaned against him, spent. He didn't mind. He remained firm, the mast holding the sail against the storm. Her sobs ebbed and flowed. He could smell the sap from the maple tree mingling with her warm chamomile skin. It was earthy, durable, honest.

When she, at last, pulled back, the bleakness was gone, and she stared at him like one of her paintings – full of questions and silent wonder.

"Why are you so good to me?" She asked.

Tendou leaned his forehead against hers, the shadows of his past cleansed into a quiet peace.

"I thought you would have figured that out by now," he said softly.

Hanamura looked confused.

"But…but I thought you and Isami were…," she couldn't bring herself to finish.

Tendou retracted.

"Isami? You knew about that? How did you – ?" Tendou shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

He reached for her hands, tethering their two worlds together.

"I want you," he said, dropping all pretense. "You're different, but you're the right kind of different – my different. I don't have to be someone I'm not when I'm with you."

Hanamura furrowed her brow, her face crumpling again, and he was distraught that his confession was about to make her cry. Satori, you idiot! He berated himself. But before he could apologize Hanamura leaned forward, closing the short gap between them to press her mouth against his. The act was clumsy, impulsive. She missed her intended target, pressing lips to the corner of his mouth. Tendou blanked, his words of apology evaporating faster than a snowflake on hot skin.

She pulled away, eyeing him fearfully.

No, there was no need for fear. Not anymore. He moved, threading fingers into her hair and lifting her chin so the evening light gilded her face in red. The space was so tight between them, their breath mingled for a second until Tendou leaned in.

The heroes in his comic books always kissed the leading lady with a dazzling display of showmanship. They would often catch her at the waist, tilt her back, and lay a chiseled jaw against hers. But there was the fragileness of Hanamura's heart, the dampness of her cheeks, and so he moved gently. He kissed her back, claiming her mouth like a drop of rain rolling down a leaf. Cool, soothing medicine to a bleeding heart.

When they pulled apart, they were both dazed.

"Were you really going to run away?" He asked her.

Hanamura cracked a smile, revealing the dimple in her left cheek.

"I figured if I could find the bus stop, the rest would work itself out," she said with a small laugh, "but then I remembered I don't know which bus to take."

"Well, it's fortunate you have a terrible sense of direction," Tendou grinned back. "Otherwise, I'd have to scour all of Sendai to find you."

But as he tangled his fingers in her hair, smoothing back the bangs that covered her eyes, he kissed her, and it was with the promise that he would have scoured all of Japan to find her.

A/N: Alright, we made it to the end of Act II! Wahoo!

When I started writing this story, I felt that Tendou's greatest hurdle as a romantic lead would be overcoming his trauma from elementary/middle school. Developing feelings for another person, in a way, requires letting go of control. Intimacy is the result of trust and a willingness to be vulnerable - something Tendou struggles with in this story. In canon, we see him make no visible reaction to being called a monster or labeled as scary. Instead, it's implied he takes ownership of it, using it as a sort of emotional armor. Without achieving this deep vulnerability, any romantic pairing I devised seemed to fall flat or superficial. I had to find a way to dig down deep so that he could not only advocate for Suzume, but for himself as well.

Talk about getting inside someone's head. fu fu fu fu... :D

You all handled that nasty cliff hanger like champs. Things really do pick up from here, so all my romantics out there - assemble! The time is nigh!

"All the Sand in the Sea" - Devotchka

"Six Who are Strong are Strongest" - Haikyuu OST

"You Are Enough" - Sleeping at Last

Diane, CeeDee, thank you so much for your reviews! I'm so happy to know I'm not the only one who likes to see characters trudge through the trenches to watch them grow. Some of Haikyuu's magic is definitely the portrayal of its very relatable characters. They have weaknesses and vices, and yet they persevere. That struggle is the best!

Thank you so much for reading! Until next time.

lavendermoonmilk