pt. ii 

downpour

MOVING BACK TO Hyogo was as nostalgic as it was disorienting.

You remembered a mixture of countryside and budding local businesses sitting side by side with a few mainstream stores, the only hint of urbanism in the otherwise rural area. The stretch of road that led further into the more city-like neighboring towns had been nicknamed Main Street, a place that lacked concinnity, but more than made up for it with sheer character and charm.

You had once frequented Main Street, generally with the twins by your side or to accompany your mother on various errands, and the stores had been gently worn in; welcoming, familiar, homely.

Main Street was still there, but it seemed in the four years you'd been gone everything had changed slightly, as though someone had moved the furniture in your house two inches to the left. Not enough for you to feel overwhelmed, but just enough that it was jarring.

The bakery on the corner had been replaced by a konbini, the bookstore next door had gotten a new sign, the veterinary clinic the twin's mom worked at had moved several spots down to a bigger lot. Neon signs flickered in windows, the simple word OPEN seeming to scream at you in a crimson red. That, in a sense, was familiar; you were accustomed to the way neon lights would bleed together in Tokyo when night fell, you just hadn't expected to find it here.

It seemed as though Hyogo was finally catching up to the rest of Japan.

Urbanism and ruralism melted together, blurring the areas into this strange mixture that gave you a sense of melancholy.

(You decided you didn't mind it.)

You weren't exactly enthused at moving back, particularly right before you were to start your second year of high school, but some small part of you had been expecting it. It had been over a decade since your father's untimely death due to a drunk driver, a decade since your mother began to grow restless, a decade since she decided one night to relocate to Hyogo for a fresh start.

She did her best to provide a stable life for you, you knew that. She worked hard and she regularly checked in on you, offering you unconditional support in whatever hobbies caught your interest and giving you encouragement when it came to your studies.

But it seemed that once your mother had started moving, she couldn't seem to stop.

She did her best to be present, though it seemed as though you were living with a ghost rather than a person. She was continuously traveling for work, having a meeting here and there and everywhere; if you had to guess, she was in Japan for maybe half the month, the other half spent moving around. She spent even less time at home.

So her presence was in the texts she sent you throughout the day, in the presents she had delivered to your home, in the small trinkets she brought back with her, in the phone calls squeezed in between meetings.

There were times when you wondered if the night your father died, a part of your mother died too.

(There were times when you knew, without a doubt, that it was true.)

As she grew busier, you found yourself growing lonelier and you began to avoid going home, staying until the sensei who oversaw the art club kicked you out of the club room with a fond, yet exasperated smile. You would then take advantage of the spontaneity of your friends to spend the dwindling dusk hours to cram in study sessions and attempt to learn to do backflips and play tag in fenced backyards.

Even after all of that, you tended to spend long nights hunched over your desk, splaying your soul out on paper.

You had never been particularly good at expressing the darker parts of yourself. You couldn't hold onto negative emotions for long, it was draining and left you feeling like a hollowed out shell, so you sought alternative outlets to not only express yourself, but to also rid yourself of anything from sadness to anger. At first, you had tried writing, until one day in middle school you'd taken a class field trip to the National Art Center of Tokyo.

You had liked art before and sketched for no reason other than to have something to do, but after staring at the special exhibitions in the atrium, you felt something inside of you begin to ache. You wanted this. You wanted to create pieces that moved others, that let you connect to someone you didn't even know, that let you visit a slice of another life, another world.

(Dream big, your mother always said. Well, that day you decided you wanted your dreams to be displayed at NACT for the world to see.)

The reasoning for you two to move back to Hyogo was simple. She was going to be traveling more and she'd prefer you to be in a safer place than the heart of Tokyo, where even the strongest willed could be swept away in the blink of an eye.

You were angry, naturally, so you painted your anger in a fit of burning colors and broad brushstrokes and unintentional rips from pressing your pen too hard against the paper, tiny splashes of ink dotting the fissures. Then you stared down at the painting once it dried, flipped it over, and wrote the date on the back.

You closed your sketchbook. You took a deep breath. Then you let your anger go.

(But did you really?)

Hyogo wasn't the only thing that had changed while you'd been gone.

You and Osamu had kept in loose contact, trading book recommendations and stories from time to time. It was mostly texts, with the occasional phone call sprinkled in once you grew older, but photos were a rarity unless they were of a particularly tasty dish he'd made or an interesting food you'd tried at one of the many fusion restaurants littering Tokyo's streets. Never were they pictures of yourselves.

So, when a tall silver-haired teen appeared on your doorstep your second day back, his murky golden mirror a few steps behind him, you were shocked.

For some, four years really isn't that much. For others, four years is a lifetime.

It turns out, you three were in the latter category.

The twins easily reached six feet, and despite Osamu's terrible posture, they both seemed to loom over you. They took up more space than you remembered and not just in a physical sense. There was simply something about them that seemed to fill the air, as though their presence was too large to be contained in their bodies and decided to hang around them in a near suffocating way.

It was awkward to say the least, the two shuffling around the pristine condo your mother had bought, glancing at the half-unpacked boxes scattered throughout the living room.

Less than a few minutes of them being inside, Osamu asks if you want to go with them to one of the cafes nearby and you're quick to agree. For whatever reason, it's stifling inside the condo, and you find that it's easier to breathe the instant you step outside.

Atsumu walks a few paces in front of you and Osamu, huffing at your slow pace and grumbling about the cafe closing before you guys would make it there. Osamu jabs back with ease and the next thing you know the two are fighting, and not just a few half-hearted punches but legitimately fighting. You would've been concerned if the scene wasn't so familiar to you.

It's your laugh that gets them to stop, Osamu in the midst of getting Atsumu into a headlock. Both look back at you and you just wave your hand in dismissal, eyes crinkling in amusement.

"I'm glad to see some things haven't changed."

Atsumu snorts and shoves Osamu off of him, combing his fingers through his mused yellow hair. "Yeah, like yer height."

"Not all of us can be trees." You comment mildly.

"And us trees still want ta get to the cafe before tomorrow, so pick up the pace, pipsqueak."

Atsumu marches off, leaving you and Osamu to trail after him. 

You and Osamu talk, the pauses between your conversation shrinking as you slowly ease back into the rhythm of talking to each other in person.

Atsumu doesn't contribute much beside the occasional quip or random comment, and sometimes you swear you can feel his gaze lingering on you, the back of your neck prickling. But every time you glance at him, he's not looking anywhere near you.

Five days pass by quickly, little more than a blur of unpacking, reorienting yourself with the new Hyogo, seeing the twins, and ink staining your hands as you sketch the night away.

School starts and you find yourself standing in front of a classroom, bowing and introducing yourself to people who have already known each other for a year, if not longer. You're not in either of the twin's classes but you've been the new student before; you know from experience that people tend to confuse quiet and shy, and while you may be the former, you're definitely not the latter and you manage to get to know the people sitting around you.

You blink and your first week of school has flown by.

You join the art club without hesitation, the small group of members welcoming you with open arms. Inarizaki isn't exactly known for its arts, instead placing a heavier emphasis on their sports. Still, the club quickly becomes a safe haven for you.

Unlike elementary school, you and the twins don't spend the better portion of the day together. You walk to and from school with them, silently thankful they stayed behind after their practice ended to perfect their skills so that you could spend longer in the art room. If you see them in the halls you bid them hello but that tends to be the extent of your interaction in school.

However, you tend to find yourself spending time with them on the weekends. Sometimes the weekend finds you sitting under a nearby tree as they play volleyball outside, you working on assignments or sketching them quietly. Other times it finds you sitting on their couch, Osamu teaching you to play a video game while Atsumu cackles, killing your character without hesitation despite being on the same team, and then proclaiming loudly that you suck.

(If they notice how you never seem to be home, instead choosing to wander Hyogo until the sky bleeds dark blue and stars stare at you with familiarity, they don't say anything.)

You blink and a month passes.

It's easy for you to make surface level friends, you're kind and willing to listen, and the novelty of being a 'city girl' has yet to wear off. It's getting to know someone in-depth— to have random conversations spanning from philosophical discussions to if smoothies were really just fruit soup to your biggest fears and everything in-between —that you tend to struggle with. There's always that one thing, be it a moment or a strong liking of the same thing, that would push your friendships to the next level, it was simply finding that thing that caused you trouble.

Thankfully, the thin connection you kept with Osamu throughout the years allows you to fall back into your friendship with ease, and it doesn't take long for you two to get close once more. You aren't necessarily diving headfirst into heartfelt conversations, but you can talk to him about a variety of topics and count on him to respond with his own opinions, never bothering to sensor himself if they clash with your own.

However, your friendship with Atsumu seemed to be forever teetering back and forth on that invisible line.

There were days when he seemed to barely tolerate your presence, sending you scathing side glances and huffing loudly and never holding his tongue. He poked and prodded, trying to dig his way beneath your skin. Your mild reactions— which could be anything from laughing it off to shrugging your shoulders to, albeit rarely, teasing him back —only served to further infuriate him.

Then there were days where he made himself impossible to ignore, sly glances paired with patting your head or ruffling your hair, holding conversations and teasing lightheartedly, his arm occasionally slung across your shoulder so he could push you lightly and laugh as you stumbled, yanking you back before you fell. These types of days found him calling you a variety of nicknames: pipsqueak, short stack, smalls, portable armrest, chibi-chan, gremlin, hobbit, ant ... the list was quite extensive, and not once did your actual name appear.

Apparently, Atsumu was allergic to saying it.

You blink and two more months have gone by.

Summer brings with it a familiar haze, your brief break from school spent filling your sketchbook and then hurrying out to purchase a new one. You stay out late with your newfound friends while the twins attend a training camp, Osamu occasionally texting you terrible pictures of Atsumu tripping over his feet and laughing at the exhausted state of his brother.

In true sibling fashion, Atsumu is quick to retaliate with ill-timed photos of Osamu eating and a video of his silver-haired twin continuously swearing for an impressive one minute and twelve seconds after stubbing his toe on a table.

You spend the Saturday night before school starts again in their backyard, a fire reaching up towards the night sky as you listen to the twins talk over each other as they recount a few moments from the training camp for you. Occasionally, their teammate— a dry humored boy named Suna Rintaro —interrupts them to tell the tale properly, or so he says.

You blink and the warm summer months start to dwindle in favor of an autumnal chill.

The sky had been overcast for the better part of the week and you found yourself wandering around on a Friday afternoon. You'd swapped out your flimsy uniform for a more sensible outfit; jeans with flowers you'd stitched onto the back pockets, a warm cream sweater, and ankle boots.

Osamu was gone for the weekend, having been invited to some wing spiker specific training camp, and with his absence the gap between you and Atsumu was prominent.

You had briefly considered reaching out to him to see if he wanted to hang out, but he'd been in a particularly sour mood ever since Osamu left on Wednesday, so you figured it was best to give him space. Most of your other friends were busy as well, which left you to entertain yourself. You'd been planning on walking around for a little longer when thunder rumbles overhead, causing you to cut your walk short and turn around to head home.

Despite the looming storm, your pace is unhurried, your eyes roving the street and drinking in the tiniest details. You first stopped to take a picture of a flower still clinging to its petals on the side of the road, wanting to sketch it later, and then to take a picture of the top of a small canal formed by two sloping sides of concrete that lead down to a drain. Perhaps you could mess around and make something of it.

Just as you pocket your phone and turn to leave, movement catches your eye. You squint, struggling to see in the dying daylight, hosting yourself up on the canal to peer down. On a broken ledge partway down the side of the canal you can make out a small shaking shadow and you realize it's a kitten.

You have no idea how it got down there, but it's easy to tell that it's stuck and without a second thought you lean over the side of the canal, reaching down to see if you can help it out. A raindrop lands on your head and you grip the edge, stretching as far as you can. A sound of annoyance escapes your lips as you realize you're an inch or so shy of being able to grab the kitten.

It's still shaking but you can see its ears twitching, dark eyes flashing as it peers up at you. If you had any hesitance about rescuing it, those feelings are gone the instance you see it look up at you, mouth opening in a soft meow that's lost to the wind.

Thunder growls in warning. The sky cries in response.

You lean further down, ice-cold rain plastering your hair to your face, your fingers brushing the top of the kitten's fur. It shrinks at the contact and you curse.

The sudden downpour has drowned the world into a monochromatic sheen of grey and water runs down your face in thick rivlets. You blink rapidly to clear your blurred vision, stretching onto your tiptoes. Your fingers brush the kitten again and this time it stretches upwards at your touch. You're able to grasp its scruff, silently apologizing as you begin to lift it up, your toes scratching against the slick concrete for traction.

As you're pulling the kitten up your feet slip and you gasp, careening forward, your heart dropping and your stomach bottoming out. For a split second you're stuck in a horrific sense of limbo, feet scrabbling against the side of the canal, your arm straining as you attempted to lean backwards.

You can feel your hold loosening on the edge as the rain continues to slam into you. You're beginning to cross the threshold of balance, gravity eager to claim you and pull you over the edge, when an arm wraps around your stomach, yanking you backwards. Your back slams into someone's chest, the rain coming to a sudden halt. No that's not right, it's still raining but now it's streaming off of an umbrella overhead, the small pocket of space helping you breath a bit easier.

"-ya thinking? Huh?"

The voice cuts through the static ringing in your ears and the searing heat emitting from the arm wrapped around your stomach drops, a hand turning you around roughly.

You stare up at Atsumu, his grip tightening on your shoulder and the scowl deepening on his face. His eyes flash at your lack of response and a shiver rolls down your spine. "Are ya even listening to me? Yer a fuckin' idiot, you know that?"

"I-"

"What were you even tryna do? Go for a swim or somethin'? Seriously, yer lucky I was walkin' by— is that a kitten?"

His rant is cut off as he looks down and you follow his gaze, realizing that in your dazed state you'd cradled the kitten protectively to your chest. Just like that, the lingering shock washes away and you take a step back to create some space between you two, rain splashing against part of your back.

"I wasn't going to leave him down there!" Your voice is surprisingly steady considering you're shaking like a leaf.

Atsumu's scowl turns into a contemplative frown and then he's pressing his palm flat against your left shoulder blade, pushing you to turn around and then urgering you forward. The umbrella tips haphazardly as you walk, Atsumu a half step behind you. The kitten is shivering in your cupped hands and you hunch forward slightly, hoping to help shield it from the harsh weather.

The route you're walking is familiar and spent in silence, neither you nor Atsumu uttering a single word as he guides you to his house.

By the time you're standing in the entrance, you're soaked to the bone, your shivering rivaling that of the kitten. Atsumu is relatively dry compared to you and he disappears without a word, reappearing with two towels, one of which he throws at your face. You catch it with one hand, holding the kitten in the other.

"Dry off best you can then go shower before you catch a cold, use whatever ya want I guess. Bathroom's third door to the left, though ya probably know that." He reaches out and it takes you a second to understand, but then you carefully transfer the kitten into the dish towel Atsumu is holding. The roughness you've come to associate with him is nowhere to be seen as he carefully wraps the kitten up.

He looks up and frowns at you. "Are ya just going to stand there and catch a cold?"

You take off your shoes, wincing at the feeling of wet socks and quickly peeling them off as well, laying them over your boots. Atsumu walks off and you pat yourself as dry as you can so you don't track water through the house, wrapping the towel around your shoulders as you hurry down the hallway.

You lock the door behind you, surprised to see folded clothes on the counter for you. You don't waste much time in peeling your soaked clothes off your body, hating the way wet denim clung to your legs. By the time you get in the shower your teeth are chattering so hard you're faintly surprised they haven't fallen out. The warm water burns against your cold skin and you slowly have to heat the water up, pins and needles prickling along your body.

Once you're sufficiently warmed up and your shivering has subsided significantly, you get out, drying off and rushing to put on the clothes on the counter before you get cold again.

Both the hoodie and the sweatpants were comically big on you, though at least the sweatpants had a string that allowed you to fit them to your waist. You ended up rolling both the bottom of the sweatpants and the sleeves of the hoodie several times, which looked a bit ridiculous. But you didn't care since the clothes were warm.

You padded down the hallway, your wet clothes and used towels in hand, a little unsure of what to do with them.

You find Atsumu in the kitchen, bent over the sinking and gently washing the kitten's fur. He doesn't look up when you enter. "You can use the washer and dryer."

He turns his attention back to the kitten as you go to deposit your clothes into the washer. Once it's started up, you go back to the kitchen and hover in the entrance, unsure of what to do. Atsumu is now drying the kitten laughing softly as it meows at him. "Yeah, you didn't like that much, did ya?"

He wraps the kitten once more in a new towel, this once fluffier than the previous one, and turns out. "Congratulations," he says, holding the bundle towards you, "it's a boy."

You step forward and take the bundle, looking down at the kitten whose head is peaking out from the blanket. Copper eyes stare up at you and you realize he has a splotch of black surrounding his right eye, a few more speckles dotting the top of his head. The rest of his fur is charcoal grey from what you can see and you can't help but coo softly as he meows again.

"I washed him with the soap ma told me to use." Atsumu explains, leaning back against the counter. "She said she'll bring wet food home with her and to keep him as warm as possible for now. She'll be back any minute."

You'd briefly forgotten about his mom's job as a veterinarian and felt a wave of relief that someone knew what to do. "That's good."

You can feel his gaze on you so you lift your head. For once, he doesn't look away, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes rove over you and the corner of his lip quirks up. "Heh, you look ridiculous, pipsqueak."

You roll your eyes, "You know, when I get a sudden growth spurt you're gonna have to come up with a new nickname."

He scoffs. "Unless you clear six feet, you'll always be a pipsqueak."

The conversation lapses into silence and you can hear the rain pounding against the roof. It's oddly soothing.

After a few minutes, Atsumu clears his throat. "What are ya going to name him?"

You stare at him blankly. His eyebrows furrow together.

"...yer keeping him, aren't cha?"

"Oh, uh I don't know, I didn't really think that far ahead."

"Let me get this straight, you almost take a swan dive to rescue him and yer not gonna keep him?"

You shrug slightly. "I'll have to ask my mom. Besides, I wouldn't know where to start with naming him."

At the thought, you fish your phone out of the hoodie pocket where you'd placed it, thankful for the waterproof case you'd splurged on. You quickly type out a message to your mom and press send, tucking your phone back away.

Atsumu's eyes flicker down to the kitten then up to your face, then back down. "Pipsqueak Jr."

"I-I'm not naming a cat that." You answer incredulously.

"Why not?"

"Just because."

"That's a shit reason."

"Well, what's your reason?"

"He's small. You're small." He makes a hand gesture as if to say, it just makes sense. "Anyways, that's my vote."

You tilt your head slightly. "Wait, if I'm going to keep him, why do you get a vote?"

"Since I helped rescue him," he points a finger at you, "and saved yer ass, might I add, I call co-parenting rights. Therefore, I get a say in the name."

His voice is so sure, you want to laugh. Instead you sigh, exaggerating it slightly. "Fair enough. But we're not calling him Pipsqueak Jr."

Atsumu frowns lightly, scratching the back of his neck. Then his face lights up and you're taken back by the expression on his face, a mixture of joy and mischief painted on his features. He looks at you, an all too familiar smirk appearing.

(Speaking of painting, you wish there was a way to take a picture of him at this moment without invoking an endless amount of questions. Oh well, your memory would have to make do.)

"...I feel concerned."

"It's a great name."

"I still feel concerned."

"Well, now I feel offended."

"I just feel like your naming skills are a bit rusty."

He huffs. "Like yours are any better."

You sigh. "Alright, let's hear it then."

"Nugget."

You pause, mouth open slightly, a rebuttal already on your tongue. But... there's something about the name that's endearing. It's a bit odd, yes, but it's also achingly adorable and the slight puff of Atsumu's chest, the barest hint of pride in his eyes that shows he actually likes the name he thought of, makes you swallow your refusal.

"Okay," you relent, "that's not that bad."

His mom arrives soon after you agreed on the name, welcoming you with a hug and then leaning down to check on the kitten. She takes Nugget from you to check up on him and you sit on the couch, feet curled beneath you, nestling into the fabric of the large hoodie. Atsumu left to go change and you close your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath.

The hoodie smells faintly of cedar trees and a few spices you can't quite place your finger on. It's a warm and comforting scent, one you welcome with open arms.

"Ma is insisting you stay the night 'cause the storm isn't going to let up soon."

Atsumu's voice draws you out of your thoughts and you open your eyes, shifting slightly to the side as he sits on the opposite end of the couch. He's wearing clothes similar to yours; a hoodie from a volleyball competition, worn sweatpants, and mismatched socks, one of which has a hole on the side. He looks over at you, hair damp from a shower, the blonde strands hanging over his forehead. Nugget is curled inside his towel once more and Atsumu places the bundle on his lap, absentmindedly running a finger down the top of his head.

(Forget the Atsumu in the kitchen, this is the Astumu you wanted to draw; relaxed and carefree, his usual roughness discarded in favor of comfort.)

"We also need ta watch Nugget throughout the night. Make sure he's doin' alright. She said he should be, looks to be around 3 months old, but he's a bit small for his age and the rain was pretty cold so better safe than sorry, ya know?"

You find yourself nodding in agreement. His mom comes in to check on you two, bringing with her bowls of ramen that you both devour and a instructions for you two to come wake her if there's any problems.

Nugget escapes his blanket and you smile when he wobbles over to you, fur fluffy and sticking up in every direction possible. He's almost entirely charcoal grey with the exception of the splotch over his eye and a handful of dots littering the rest of his body. His right back paw is also dipped in black and you pet him, feeling his purr vibrate through your hand.

The kitten sticks by you for the first movie Atsumu puts on, the blonde tapping away at his phone and making the occasional snide comment at the plot line. Eventually, Nugget makes his way back over to Atsumu and the blonde puts his phone aside, the kitten curling up in his lap. He begins to pet Nugget, his hand bigger than the kitten's body. At this point the first movie had ended and he'd switched a tv show, his legs stretched out on the couch, feet brushing lightly against the side of your thigh.

Your phone vibrates and you jump, looking down to see your mom's contact flashing across the screen. She must've forgotten about the time difference to be calling you so late but you answer out of habit anyways.

"Hi mom."

"Hi sweetie." Your mom was never one to beat around the bush so you're not surprised when she gets right to it. "You saved a cat?"

"Yeah, it's raining pretty bad out here. I'd like to keep him, he's pretty cute, would make for good company."

Your mom hums softly and a sinking feeling settles in your stomach. You know that sound, it was one she made whenever she acted like she was considering it, but in reality, had already made up her mind. Unlike you, your mother made decisions quickly and with little hesitation, and then stuck to them with a stubbornness that put Atsumu to shame.

"I'm afraid my answer is no."

Your throat tightens with disappointment. "Why?"

"Look sweetie, I don't have the time to get into all the details, but having a pet is a lot of responsibility..."

Your mother's voice, something you usually liked listening to, was instead grating on your nerves as she started to list off reasons why you couldn't keep the kitten. And the anger you thought you had gotten rid of, the anger of moving and the sadness of going to an empty home and the annoyance that you mother thought you were mature enough to live by yourself most of the time but not enough to take care of a kitten—

Without warning, it all came rushing to the surface and you snap at her without thinking.

"I don't see why you care so much, it's not like you're ever home anyways and, for once, I'd like to not be alone." 

You freeze after the words escape your mouth, the flash of anger popping and regret sinking in. But you can't find it in yourself to apologize, for the regret you feel is balanced out by the weight gradually leaving your shoulders at your confession.

You'd never told your mother how you felt, other than the answers she expected, and this wasn't even close to everything you wanted to say, but it was a start.

Your mother is silent and you stare at the wall in front of you, lips pressing into a thin line.

"I don't appreciate that tone."

"I'm sorry for how I said it but I'm not sorry for what I said. It's the truth."

A pause. Then a sigh. She knows it's the truth too.

"You will clean up after him?"

"Yes."

"His vet bills are your responsibility as well. Food, toys, scratching posts, litter box... everything he needs."

"I understand."

She sighs again. "Alright, I suppose it's fine." Someone else speaks and you hear her muffled response before she talks to you once more. "I've got to go, I love you."

"Love you too." You add a soft thank you, but she's already hung up.

When you put your phone down, you're met with a deafening silence. Atsumu is staring at you, the light from the tv casting a strange fluorescent halo over him, one hand still gently petting the kitten's head.

You look over at him, raising an eyebrow in lieu of asking a question. He looks back at you, his searching gaze pinning you in place and seeming to pick you apart, piece by piece. You can't move, the silence clinging to your skin, and it feels as though Atsumu is seeing you, really seeing you for the first time.

It's as freeing as it is frightening.

Then he smiles. It's slow and lazy, his hooded eyes sparking with amusement and the barest hint of his teeth visible.

"Well whaddya know," he drawls out, "you do have a spine after all."

For a moment, you're torn.

Part of you wishes to freeze time and live in this moment, to bask in the feeling of weightlessness, in the feeling of being freed from the proverbial shackles your emotions had placed on you.

The other part of you wishes to run, because this free falling, this lightness, this vulnerability, it terrifies you and all your life you have been taught that it's fine to run and never look back, that it's normal to run in the face of something like this.

Your heartbeat thrums in your throat and your hands curl around the fabric of the borrowed hoodie as you quell the urge to run, choosing silence in favor of an answer.

(Perhaps you were more like your mother than you cared to admit.)

thanks for reading!

let me know what you think :)

also i hope the gif at the top is working, for some reason every time i add it, it'll work for a second and then freeze :/