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The sound Momo makes is more a bark than a laugh. “Baseball?”
Okarun rubs at the back of his neck. “And what’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing,” Momo says, forcing her wobbling lips into a straight line. “I just…I never imagined you’d join the baseball team. What changed?”
The tips of Okarun’s ears burn as he focuses his attention on the hall floor instead of Momo’s face. “I figured it’d be a good way to stay fit since I don’t have Turbo Granny’s powers anymore,” he says sheepishly. “Besides, the coach had been bugging me to try out ever since the fitness test last month.”
“You know you can always work out at my place, right?” Momo nudges him playfully with her shoulder. “You don’t have to join some sport just to stay fit; my grandma loves kicking your nerdy ass into shape.”
“I want to, though,” Okarun says, and it’s only once his gaze rises from his shoes that Momo realizes.
“Oh,” she says, eyes widening. “You’re serious about this.”
“Of course I am!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Momo throws up her hands in mock surrender, giggles still bubbling in her throat. “Just surprised is all.” But once she notices the insecure slouching of his shoulders, she quickly tacks on a: “I think it’s cool you wanna join a sport.”
Okarun adjusts his glasses, but despite his attempt to hide his face, Momo notices that bashful flush dusting his cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”
“No, really!” To emphasize her point, she wraps her arm around his as she leads them down the hall. He eases into her hold immediately, matching pace alongside her. “Now I have an excuse to go to a baseball game.”
She’s jerked backwards when Okarun stops in his tracks.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” Okarun quickly shakes his head and continues walking beside her as if he hadn’t stopped. “I just…for a moment I forgot people actually go to those.”
A wolfish grin spreads across Momo’s face. “…Are you nervous about me watching you play?”
He fidgets with his lenses again. “Why would I be?”
“I’ll cheer extra loud, you know,” she says, peering at him from the corner of her eye as his flush brightens. “Make big posters with your face on them.”
An expression of pale horror replaces his bashfulness. “God, please don’t.”
“I can talk to Aira about making t-shirts,” she continues with a sly grin. “We’ll start a fan club.”
“Maybe I’ll quit the team after all.”
“Hey, no!” She jabs at his ribs until it earns a sharp yelp. “You can’t quit yet; you haven’t even started.”
“Then no poster signs,” he says, batting her prodding fingers away from his torso. “And no t-shirts.”
“But I can cheer extra loud?” Momo asks.
“…You can cheer extra loud.”
Momo’s chuckle has a sinister edge when she laughs. “Excellent.” She tightens her hold around his arm as they exit the school doors, the late summer air warm and humid against their skin. “When’s your first practice? I wanna go.”
“Tomorrow,” Okarun says absent-mindedly as he blocks the sun with his hand. It takes only a moment for the rest of Momo’s words to settle in. “But—but it’s not really something outsiders go to,” he quickly stammers out. “It’ll be pretty boring. I doubt it’s worth watching.”
“How would you know?” Momo raises a skeptical brow. “You haven’t had a practice yet.”
“Well—You know—It’s—”
“Don’t care. I’m going,” Momo says sternly before a sheepish smile replaces the hard lines of her mouth. “…Mind walking me to work?”
It comes as a surprise when Momo isn’t the only one there.
“And he said outsiders didn’t come to these,” Momo grumbles to herself.
Several girls whisper to one another on the bleachers, giggling and gossiping and shoving one another as they fawn over their baseball player of choice. Momo snorts as she shuffles to a secluded spot towards the top, tugging her jacket closer around her body as a gust of wind blows through.
“Is that a new player?” one girl asks.
“Which one?”
“That one.” She points, and Momo’s eyes follow the path until it lands on Okarun.
Her heart lurches at the sight.
He’s adorable as he wipes his glasses against his white jersey, cleats scuffing nervously against the clay. Even this far away, she can sense his unease, his shoulders hunched and gait uncertain. It makes her want to squeeze him. And to yell at him to improve his damn posture.
One girl laughs. “He looks so nerdy.”
Momo’s hands curl into fists on her lap.
“He’s probably just the water boy,” another girl says.
Anger simmers beneath Momo’s skin until it warms her face, brow twitching with restraint.
“Yeah, there’s no way a loser like—”
“Hey,” Momo barks down at them, arms crossing tight against her chest. “Will you skanks quiet down? You’re scaring the birds.”
The gaggle of girls startle, backs straightening and heads whipping backwards to stare up at her.
“God, what a bitch,” one girl whispers, and that’s all it takes before Momo’s spirit hands detach one of the promotional banners on the fence and flings it into her face.
“What the—”
“Was that the wind?”
“I don’t care, just get it off me!”
Momo smiles to herself as they work to tear the banner away from the girl’s face, slouching comfortably into the corner of the bleacher.
Maybe now she can finally watch Okarun practice in some damn peace and quiet.
She studies him as he jogs alongside the other boys during warm-ups, and a sense of pride unfurls in her chest—he’s come such a long way since they first met. It makes her want to shout from the bleachers that this kid, that one right there, has worked harder than any of the others to get where he is now, and the only thing stopping her is knowing Okarun would disintegrate on the spot or disappear into the ether if she called any unwanted attention towards him.
Instead, she watches silently, hiding her smile in the curl of her fingers.
“I know he’s fast, but I wonder if he’s athletic…” she mumbles once the warm-ups end and Okarun’s handed the ball and steps onto the mound.
There’s bound to be some people who are great at running track but are horrendous at sports. Okarun’s never struck her as the type to have hand-eye coordination, though she’d never dare admit it to him aloud. Sure, he’s kicked a soccer ball with Jiji during their downtime, laughing and making jokes when he accidentally launched it into traffic. But she always thought he’d pursue a solo sport if the urge were to arise. It makes her wonder why the hell he chose baseball of all things, but the moment the ball leaves his hand, Momo knows why.
Her fingers fall from her mouth, eyes widening as it whizzes past the plate and into the catcher’s mitt.
“Strike one!”
“…Did you see that?” one girl whispers, stray banner clutched in her hands.
Okarun adjusts his glasses before glancing nervously towards the dugout.
“Was—was that alright, coach?”
“The hell you mean ‘was that alright’?” the coach hollers. “Do it again, Takakura!”
“O-okay!”
When he pitches two more strikes, Momo sits upright at the edge of her seat, gaze struggling to follow the blur of white each time it leaves his hand and lands in the catcher’s mitt. He’s incredible. A natural. There’s no way he’s never played—
“Well, goddamn, son!”
“Where’d you learn to throw like that, Takakura?” one player asks, tone betraying his disbelief.
Okarun shrugs a modest shoulder. “That was my first time.”
Several teammates mutter to one another. Some whistle. One throws his cap on the ground in defeat.
“He’s incredible,” one girl says below her, and for the first time since he started, Momo forces her gaze away to peer down at them.
Her stomach twists.
She’d be an idiot not to notice the newfound blush on their cheeks, the way their wide eyes trail after Okarun as he walks to the dugout.
“How cool,” another whispers.
She clicks her tongue, forcing her attention back towards the diamond with a huff.
Of course Okarun is cool.
He’s the coolest person she’s ever met, and him being a good pitcher is one of the least cool things about him. They don’t know how he can recite every cryptid in the northern hemisphere from memory or how he used to travel through telephone lines or how he’d lay down his life for those he cares about. How he’d turn into a monster just for her sake.
They don’t know anything about him.
“Takakura, you’re up to bat!” the coach yells, and Momo’s torn from her sulking.
The bat is awkward in his hands as he adjusts his grip, struggling to find the proper stance at the plate, and warmth floods through her chest at the sight; she never imagined she’d find awkwardness so endearing.
“Is there a correct way to do this?” she overhears Okarun ask the coach.
“Just hit the damn thing.”
Momo imagines him swallowing, the shy bobbing of his throat that always distracts her, the sweat dampening his brow. It’s maddening that she can’t see his face from this position, and her imagination is far too creative, creating varying shades of adorable unease.
It makes her want to bite him.
When the ball comes flying towards him, Momo winces, eyes scrunching shut at the possible crunch of ball against bone. The horrifying sound never comes. Instead, it’s a high pitched ‘ping!’ and her eyes snap open in time to watch the ball soar into the outfield.
“Do—do I run?”
“Go!”
And that’s all he needs to hear.
Orange dust gathers behind him as he darts past one plate and towards another, cleats skidding in the clay as he rounds the turns. He’s at home base before the outfielder can even throw the ball.
(Momo wonders if she’s the only one who notices he isn’t out of breath.)
“He’s so fast,” one girl mumbles in a mix of awe and disbelief.
“Why haven’t I ever seen him before?”
The coach claps him on the back, and Okarun lurches forward. “Great job, Takakura! We might finally have a chance to go to Regionals this year!”
“So, that’s his name.”
“Takakura…”
“Wait, like the actor?”
“How dreamy.”
Momo’s brow twitches, and before she can think twice about it, she’s standing on the top of the bleachers, arms flailing wildly in the air. “Okarun!”
His name belts out like a song from her lips, and Okarun’s head whips towards the stands, eyes wide and face red.
“Good job!”
Her cheeky grin and two thumbs up are met with a bashful smile and wave, his other hand rubbing self-consciously against his neck.
Momo pretends not to notice the stares from the girls below as she settles back into her seat.
She pretends not to listen to their infatuated conversations as the practice continues, knowing Okarun is the center of their attention. She pretends she doesn’t notice the stars in their eyes or the excited whispers when he glances towards the stands.
And she pretends it doesn’t bother her like an itch when she realizes Okarun is no longer her best kept secret.
“Have you seen the new baseball player?”
“Which one?”
“The nerdy one. He’s got glasses and kind of crazy hair, super shy and all that.”
“What about him?”
“We saw him at practice yesterday.”
“He’s incredible!”
“More than incredible. He almost isn’t human.”
Momo forces her feet to carry her faster through the hall, desperate to put more space between her and the growing rumors.
Only a day has passed since his first practice and word has spread like wildfire about the new baseball player. How he’s the best they’ve ever seen, how handsome he is, however…whatever he is. And it shouldn’t bother her as much as it does. He really is incredible; she saw it herself. But Okarun’s always been incredible, and it irritates her that none of these people realized it until he put on a stupid jersey.
It shouldn’t bother her. There’s no reason for it to bother her.
And yet…
“I’ve never seen a teenager pitch like that.”
“Or run so fast! He’s even faster than Sugimoto.”
“There’s no way.”
“I’m serious!”
“It’s true!”
“He’s kind of cute, too.”
Momo’s jaw flexes, grip tightening around her backpack strap.
“Isn’t he? I love his glasses.”
“I think they’re hot. He’s like a nerdy jock.”
Stop listening.
Stop listening.
Stop listening, stop listening, stop listening, stop listening stop listening stoplisteningstoplistening—
“Do you know his name?”
“I heard it’s Takakura.”
“Like Ken Takakura?”
Momo’s face flashes hot.
“His name’s Okarun, you turds!” she snaps, teeth gnashed. She’s certain she must look insane, but a new emotion tightens around her chest until all her frustrations bubble out. “And quit talking about him like he’s some sort of spectacle. He didn’t just drop from the sky!”
“Jeez, what’s her problem?” one of them whispers, but the words die in her throat when Momo’s nuclear gaze pierces through her.
“Wait, wasn’t she the bitch at the top of the bleachers yesterday?”
Momo’s hands flex at her side. “And weren’t you the skanks sitting there making fun of him?”
Two of the girls pale. “We—weren’t really making fun of him, we were just surprised—”
“I don’t care,” Momo interrupts with a deep breath. She’s causing a scene, and the last thing she wants is for Okarun to see her like this. “Just keep his name out of your mouth. In fact, stop talking about him at all.”
“What are you, his girlfriend?”
The warmth washing over her face has a distinct quality this time, teetering between embarrassed and flustered. “N-no.”
“Then what does it matter that we’re talking about him?” One girl crosses her arms defiantly.
“Yeah!” another girl joins in. “It’s not like you’re dating him.”
“So what?” Momo says, struggling to gather herself with a false air of nonchalance. She knows she shouldn’t react this way—she doesn’t have the right. They’re more than friends, that much she knows, but they’re not official. They’re…well, they’re Okarun and Momo. Labels never mattered until this point. “He’s my best friend,” she settles on, the only label that seems appropriate despite its insufficiencies. “Doesn’t mean I like hearing people gush about him like he didn’t exist before.”
“Wait…so, since you’re just friends…” one girl wrings her hands, all bitchiness leaving her body with the new information, “does that mean you could introduce us?”
Momo stares, aghast, before snorting so loud it hurts. “Oh, fuck off!”
“Miss Ayase!”
Momo’s head whips around at the familiar voice as Okarun jogs to catch up to her.
“Hey,” she says with a smile as she adjusts her backpack strap. “I was looking for you earlier.”
“Sorry,” he apologizes as he fixes his glasses, “I was heading to the club room to find you, but I forgot we had a team meeting.”
“Team meetings already, huh?” She nudges him with her shoulder as they walk. “Look at you. So official.”
Okarun smiles slightly. “It was our first of the season, so I didn’t want to miss it.”
“Well, you’re their new star player, so…”
“I am not,” he refutes bashfully.
Cute.
“There are some other really talented players on the team.”
“How humble,” she teases with a formal air. “However, as head of your fan club, I’m obligated to keep calling you their star player, so you’ll have to forgive me.”
Okarun chuckles but doesn’t fight her on it as he continues walking beside her.
She finds she’s grateful for his team meeting. The hallway’s deserted aside from the occasional stray student meandering about. For the first time all day, she isn’t bombarded with whispers about him, his name echoing through the halls as if to taunt her.
(A possessive part of her enjoys that she’s the one who gets to walk beside him like this.)
“By the way,” Okarun begins, and despite the lighthearted air, he fidgets with his backpack strap. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”
She casts a sidelong glance his way. “What’s up?”
“We have our first game next week.” He doesn’t meet her eyes when he says it, but she watches as the tips of his ears deepen a shade. “I—I was wondering if you wanted to come.”
When Momo laughs, his gaze snaps towards her in surprise.
“You really thought you had to ask that?” She playfully pokes his side before taking his hand, smiling to herself when she notices the slight tremble of it. “Of course I want to come. I was already planning on it.”
His eyes shimmer behind his glasses. “Really?”
“What kind of fan club president would I be if I didn’t go to your first game?” She gives a wide, toothy grin. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
And when his hand tightens around hers with a smile, confident and warm, she relishes in knowing this is reserved for her and her alone.
“Damn, what’s with all the babes?” Kinta stares up at the bleachers with a look of awe and bliss. “Do girls normally come to these things?”
Momo’s fingers tighten around the sign in her hand as she makes the same observation.
The bleachers are packed with girls from their school, with only small islands of guys littered throughout, and though Momo hasn’t been to many baseball games in her life, something tells her this is out of the ordinary.
Jiji whistles. “We never get a turnout like this for our soccer games.”
“It’s because you guys suck,” Aira says, deadpan. Her nose scrunches the longer she stares at the crowd. “Sakata’s right, though—what are all these girls doing here?”
Momo sighs, a headache already forming in her temples. “If it’s for the reason I’m thinking…”
“Takakura!”
“Wait, is that him?”
“Takakura, over here!”
Aira’s eyes widen in horror. “No.”
“Yeah.”
Vamola beams with a small clap. “They’re here for Okarun, too?”
“But why?” Aira looks at the crowd with open disgust, and Momo finds solace in knowing Aira is as maddened by the situation as she is. “It’s not like these people ever gave a damn about him before.”
“I think it’s great,” Jiji says with a shrug. “He deserves all the love.”
Aira redirects her disgust towards him. “Your bromance sickens me.”
“What?” Jiji cracks a wide grin. “Any guy would love having this many girls scream their name.”
Kinta nods. “I would.”
Momo’s stomach twists with nausea.
“Are you guys done talking?” Momo snaps, swallowing down the sour taste rising in her throat. “We need to find a spot, otherwise we’ll be watching from the parking lot.”
Everyone shuffles behind her as they make their way to one of the dwindling pockets of space. It’s not the best seat in the house, but it’s not the worst, with a clear view of the diamond and the dugout. Momo struggles to peer beneath the shaded awning, hoping for just a glimpse of him.
And her heart squeezes when she sees him—head buried against his arms and knee bobbing vigorously with nerves.
“Okarun!” Momo yells through cupped hands, and a smile breaks across her face when he hears it, head rising to find the source of the sound.
“Okarun!” The others join in, shouting and waving wildly. Once he finds them, they only get louder, whooping and cheering and shoving their handmade signs in the air.
“Good luck!”
“Kick some ass!”
“You got this!” Momo shouts, and even in the dark dugout, she can see the white of his smile.
The crowd roars with cheers as the team takes the field, reciting chants none of them know, hands clapping and feet stomping. It doesn’t take long for Momo and the others to pick up on them, hoping their voices carry to Okarun’s ears as he approaches the mound.
And the crowd goes silent the moment his pitch slams into the catcher’s mitt.
“…Holy shit,” Jiji mumbles to nobody.
It’s deafening, the way the crowd thunders with applause, the bleachers rumbling beneath their feet. Momo throws up her sign enthusiastically, shouting his name in time with everyone else, and she hopes even amongst all the noise, he’s able to hear her.
The more they cheer, the better he plays, striking out players each time he’s on the mound and gathering points each time there’s a bat in his hand. He’s incredible. He really is.
And for a moment, Momo forgets her bitter feelings.
She forgets she’s just one in a sea of fans, forgets the whispers and the flushed cheeks and starry eyes. She forgets it all because every time his name is chanted, her heart swells with the sound of it. Because it’s what he deserves.
By the final inning, Momo’s throat is raw from exertion, hair clinging to her forehead and hands littered with paper cuts, but she’s euphoric, whooping and leading chants like the self-proclaimed number one fan she is.
And all too soon, the score board blinks red against the night sky and they’ve won.
Momo throws her arms around Aira and Vamola in celebration, each jumping up and down in excitement before high fiving the boys.
“Let’s go see Okarun!” Momo exclaims, smile wide and cheeks flushed.
But then she sees it.
Charging towards him on the field is a swarm of fans, each rushing to congratulate him on the win. She can hardly find him amongst the masses.
A sense of panic settles in that she won’t be the first to congratulate him.
“Hey!” Momo barks as she elbows her way through the dense crowd blocking the field entrance. “Coming through! Watch it!”
But no matter how much she shoves and forces, it’s no use. The crowd thickens the closer they get until it’s impossible to see him amongst the sea of heads.
Momo’s heart sinks like a stone, sign drifting to her side.
“Now I realize why Okarun is suddenly so popular,” Jiji says from behind her. “I’ve never had fans rush the field for me.”
Aira huffs beside him.
“Maybe we should just go,” Momo says after a moment, and the group looks at her in surprise; she must sound as miserable as she feels. “It’ll be ages before we see him at this rate. No point in hanging around—”
“M-miss Ayase!”
Her head snaps towards his voice to find him clawing out from the crowd, glasses disheveled on his face, baseball cap hanging on for dear life.
“There you are!” He tumbles forward with a huff once he breaks free from the pack. “I was looking everywhere for—”
“Dude, you were insane!” Jiji throws an arm around his shoulder with a squeeze. “I didn’t know you could throw like that.”
“You were amazing, Takakura!” Aira exclaims as she hugs him from the other side.
“Amazing!” Vamola echoes.
“Thanks, you guys,” Okarun says with a grateful smile, but his gaze never leaves Momo’s face.
She gives a half-hearted punch to his shoulder, hoping to disguise the way her heart throbs painfully. “You did good.”
“I’m glad you came,” he says, tone earnest, and the throb dissipates to a dull ache.
“…Even though we made posters?” She sheepishly holds up the sign in her hand, ‘GO OKARUN!’ in big bold letters with poorly sketched alien heads adorning the sides.
A wide, easy smile breaks across his face, and Momo’s breath catches in her throat at the sight. “I’m just glad you didn’t make t-shirts.”
Aira groans loudly. “Jiji and I wanted to, but Momo wouldn’t allow it!”
“We were already pushing it with the signs, okay?” Momo says, lacing her arm through Okarun’s affectionately. He’s hot to the touch, near steaming in the evening air, and she resists the possessive urge to press closer. “I didn’t wanna be banned from ever coming to one of these again.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Aira says with a cross of her arms, before a look of apprehension passes across her face. “You wouldn’t do that…right, Takakura?” When he doesn’t respond, she gasps. “Okay, definitely no shirts.”
Okarun chuckles, and when he leans into Momo her head’s dizzy with the musky, clay smell of him.
“Hey, we’re going to dinner after this.” She nudges him with an elbow. “You’re in, right?”
And to her surprise, he hesitates. “W-well—"
“Yo, Takakura!” one player hollers from across the field. “Come on! The team’s leaving to grab fried chicken!”
Momo stiffens beside him, the warmth in her chest turning cold.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out in a rush, and Okarun means it when he says it, gaze lowered in shame. “They told me it’s a tradition after the first game for the team to grab dinner together. I—I can skip, though! It’s really no big deal, I just—I already agreed, so I just have to tell them—”
“It’s okay,” Momo says with a smile she hopes reaches her eyes. “Go get some fried chicken.”
Okarun searches her expression, glasses gleaming beneath the field lights. “…Really?”
“Really.” She nudges him one more time before dropping his arm, only to immediately miss the warmth. “It wouldn’t be right to take away their star player on the first night.”
He glances over his shoulder as the players funnel out towards the parking lot. “Next game, then,” he says once he turns back to her. “Let’s have dinner after.”
Momo’s heart stutters into a hastened rhythm. “S-sure,” she says, cheeks warming. “It’s a da—"
“I wanna come!” Aira exclaims.
Vamola claps. “Me too!”
“Can we do barbeque?” Kinta asks.
“Sure,” Okarun says with another smile.
So, not a date, Momo thinks to herself quietly, hoping her disappointment isn’t evident on her face.
“See you tomorrow?” she asks, chest tightening.
Okarun waves over his shoulder as he jogs to catch up with his team. “See you tomorrow!”
And as she watches him get swallowed by the crowd again, that same ache returns but stronger.
It burns at the edges of her heart while they eat dinner. It burns the entire train ride home. It burns when she brushes her teeth, when she tucks herself beneath her comforter, desperate to escape through sleep.
But it’s at 3 am, when she flings her blankets off in frustration, that she finally allows herself to give it a name.
Jealousy.
“Great game last night, Takakura.”
“Yeah, you were awesome!”
Okarun gives an awkward laugh as he adjusts his glasses, gaze focused more on the lunch table than the ladies giggling on the other side of it. “Thanks.”
Momo suppresses the groan rising in her throat, but much to her delight, Aira releases one for her.
“What’s with all these girls fawning over you?” she says as she crosses her arms with a glare. “Haven’t they seen an athlete before?”
Kinta’s eyes follow the group of girls as they giggle their way across the lunchroom. “Maybe I should join the baseball team.”
“Don’t you have to be good?” Aira snaps, mood soured.
“…I can use my nanoskin.”
She snorts.
“I can!”
“Yo, Momo.” Jiji pokes her cheek with a chopstick. “Why the long face?”
Momo bats his chopstick away with one of her own. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”
“If you’re tired, you can nap in the clubroom,” Okarun offers around a bite of rice. “I have the key, and it’s a lot quieter than—”
“I’m fine,” she says, more sternly than she means to, and she sighs. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to snap at you, Okarun. I’m just a little grouchy today.”
“It’s okay,” he says with a tiny smile, and it only makes her feel worse; he’s always so painfully patient with her.
Maybe it’s because Momo’s given it a name—the jealousy clawing at her chest each time someone approaches him—but all it’s done is make it even harder to ignore. It devours her from the inside out, scraping its teeth beneath her skin until she’s left raw and bitter and miserable.
“Hey,” she says in hopes of dragging herself out from her melancholic spiral, “remember that book you loaned me on alien sightings in Roswell? I wanted to ask you about—"
“Excuse me,” a small voice chimes in across the table, “but are you Ken Takakura?”
Momo’s jaw tightens.
This is the fourth time someone’s come over since they’ve sat down for lunch.
“Huh?” Okarun adjusts his glasses as he glances up. “Uh—Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to tell you I was really impressed with the game last night.”
A bashful flush brightens his cheeks, and Momo assaults the orange in her palm with a pierce of her nail.
“Thank you,” he says with a polite nod. “But if you’ll excuse me, I was having a conversation I’d like to get back to.”
“Oh! Yes, of course!” The girl blushes in embarrassment before bowing at the hips. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”
“Again?” Aira asks as her gaze trails after her. “How many times is that now?”
“Sorry about that, Miss Ayase,” Okarun says with an apologetic smile as he gives Momo his undivided attention. “What were you saying?”
She swallows the sour taste in her throat and relaxes her jaw. “About the Roswell book. Do you really think the US government was involved?”
“Absolutely.” He gives a serious nod. “New Mexico’s known for having top-secret research labs, and it’s incredibly desolate. If they were going to do any testing, it’s one of the best locations to—”
“Takakura!” An arm slings across his shoulder. “You killed it last night!”
Okarun shrinks beneath it, muscles stiffening as he nervously laughs. “T-thanks.”
Momo glares at the boy attached to the arm. “Do you know him?”
“We’re in class together,” the guy says with a clap to Okarun’s back. She doesn’t miss the way he flinches, eyes narrowing. “We go way back.”
“Really?” Momo’s brow twitches. She cocks her head to the side. “Then what’s his first name?”
He hesitates, arm sliding from Okarun’s shoulder. “Come on, why the third degree?”
“Because we’re in the middle of something right now.” She gives a tight-lipped smile lacking any warmth. “So, if it’s not important, then I’d like to get back to it.”
“Whatever,” he grumbles to himself before slinking away to join another table.
“Is someone going to come over every two minutes?” Aira asks, exasperated. “We should’ve eaten in the clubroom.”
Momo huffs a sigh as she takes out her frustration on the orange, tearing the rind back with more force than necessary. “…You were saying?”
Okarun thinks for a moment, scratching at his head to collect his thoughts before remembering. “Oh yeah! So, based on the location, it’s perfect for government testing. There’s another book I can loan you that discusses a lab buried deep in the mountains there.”
Momo perks up slightly with interest. “Really?”
“Yeah! They claim it’s for nuclear testing, but insiders have reported it’s where they house UMAs that crash land in the desert—”
A chorus of giggles drown out his words. “You’re Ken Takakura, right?”
“Not again,” Aira groans beside her.
“We were wondering if you wanted to join us for lunch,” one offers with a flirtatious smirk that Momo wants to smack off her face.
“T-that’s okay,” Okarun says, but this time his polite smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m almost done eating, anyway,” he adds to avoid being rude.
“Then can I at least get your number?” the blonde one asks, and Momo drops her orange as the deafening whoosh of her heart fills her ears.
It doesn’t just burn or ache anymore.
It hurts.
“I’m sorry, but there’s someone I—"
The table rattles with the force of her rising, the lunch tray clenched painfully between her hands. She can’t listen to this anymore. She can’t be here anymore.
Okarun looks up at her with a mix of surprise and concern. “Miss Ayase? Where are you—”
“Leaving.” She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look at the girls and their shitty love-struck faces as they twirl their shitty colored hair. Her gaze remains locked on her tray, and she prays no one notices the way it trembles in her grasp.
“But where—”
“I need fresh air,” is all she says as she pivots to leave the lunchroom, teeth clenching at the girlish laughter trailing after her.
She chucks her food into the trash bin with constricting lungs and burning eyes. She doesn’t hear the calls after her. Doesn’t look back to see Okarun’s face. She leaves as quickly as her feet can carry her to the one place no one will think to look.
But even once she’s on the rooftop, door slamming behind her and heart slamming against her ribs, she still struggles to breathe.
It’s like the airs been choked out of her.
The metal door opens with a creak followed by a deep sigh of relief. “Miss Ayase,” Okarun heaves. “There you are.”
Momo doesn’t turn around from her perch against the wall, palms swiping at the tears gathering on her cheeks.
“You’re gonna miss class,” she says to the pavement and the tops of trees.
“Why’d you leave like that?” he asks instead. His steps are quiet as he approaches, mingling with the distant sound of the cars below. “What’s wrong?”
Momo’s teeth clamp down on her lower lip when it quivers. She struggles for another deep breath through her nose.
“Nothing,” she says, and the way the word wobbles makes her feel pathetic.
A warm hand blankets her own on the stone wall. “Miss Ayase…”
Her resolve crumbles.
“It’s stupid,” she spits to the ground below as hot tears well behind her eyes. “I feel so goddamn stupid.”
Her teeth clench around the words, but they tumble free without her permission.
“I’m jealous, okay?” she whispers, volume rising with each word. “I’m jealous and it makes me feel awful. Everyone is fawning all over you now and noticing you and wanting to be around you, and I shouldn’t feel this way, but I do.” It’s like a dam breaking, the words rushing through. “I should be happy so many people want to be around you. You deserve it, god you deserve it, but I couldn’t even be the first to congratulate you last night. Do you know how miserable that made me? These people don’t even know you! They don’t know how smart you are and how kind you are and how brave you are and how infuriatingly selfless you are, and it drives me insane that they suddenly think they know you.”
Okarun stares silently with an unreadable expression, but Momo can’t stop her heart from pouring from her lips.
“Who gives a fuck if you’re good at baseball? You’re so much more than that, and yet it’s all these people care about. All these girls never gave you the time of day before, and now they suddenly want your phone number?” Momo releases a wet laugh lacking any humor. “And the worst part is I don’t even have the right to be upset about it; we’re not even dating.”
“You have the right to be upset,” Okarun finally says, and Momo raises her blurry gaze from the concrete below to look at him. “It’s not stupid.”
“It feels stupid,” she groans. “I can’t stand feeling like this. As your best friend, I should be happy that people are recognizing how great you are, but…”
“Would it feel less stupid if you were my girlfriend?” Okarun asks, and Momo’s breath hitches.
For the first time since she started speaking, the words struggle to free themselves from her throat.
“You already know how I feel about you,” he says, suddenly shy as his eyes shift to the side, but the hand on hers tightens with the sincerity of his words. “I didn’t—I assumed that was the next step…”
Momo blinks away the moisture in her eyes to look at him properly.
“I haven’t been completely honest.” His gaze trails back to her with wavering confidence. “There was another reason I joined the baseball team. I wanted…” he trails off before taking a breath to gather his courage. “After losing the curse, I was just me again. I know you’d still be friends with me, so don’t get the impression I thought your feelings were shallow, I know they’re not, but…I also know I’m not much like this.” His hand squeezes around hers, and she notices the nervous tremor taking hold. “I just wanted to feel worthy enough for you to date me, I guess. I wanted you to feel proud to be my girlfriend.”
His eyes suddenly widen, as if he’s said the wrong thing. “Not—not to assume anything, of course! If you don’t want to be my girlfriend, I completely understand—”
She punches his arm lightly, a smile wobbling on her salty lips. “…You’re an idiot, you know that?”
He blinks at her with those warm brown eyes she loves so much. “Huh?”
“You didn’t need to join the baseball team for that,” she says. She laces her fingers through his to pull him closer, and he complies with a stumble, shoes awkwardly knocking into hers. “I already feel proud to be your friend,” she says. “So, of course I’d feel even prouder to be your girlfriend.”
Okarun’s cheeks bloom red, glasses fogging slightly. “R-really?”
“Duh.” She smiles, feeling weightless. “You’re the coolest person I know. I don’t give a damn about curses or baseball or whatever other thing you’ve somehow convinced yourself I’m interested in.” She gently pokes at his temple. “So, get that into your thick skull.”
And the shy, warm smile he gives her feels like honey pouring into her veins. “Okay.”
“Good,” she says triumphantly. She’s almost giddy, high from his proximity and his touch and—oh my god, they’re dating, and— “And if I hear another girl ask for your number or say your name all cutesy or want to eat lunch with you, I’m going to—”
“Miss Ayase?”
“What—”
Warm lips press gently against hers, and her eyes widen before sliding closed with a contented sigh, heart thumping a violent song in her chest. He tastes as sweet as she imagined.
The kiss ends all too soon, and she has half a mind to pull him back when he breaks away.
“I have a girlfriend now,” he says, breathless, “so I’ll be sure to let them know.”
Momo’s cheeks flush. “G-good.” She rests her forehead against his, unable to calm her racing heart.
Despite her giddiness and nerves, it feels natural like this, with Okarun’s hand in hers, his heat blending with her own. It’s warm and it’s soft and it’s comfortable, and she wonders if this is what it’s supposed to feel like; to be with someone you actually love.
He nuzzles her forehead gently. “Should we finally go to class?” he asks. “…I’m kind of missing an exam right now.”
She reels back. “You’re what?”
He scratches at his neck sheepishly, eyes flitting to the ground. “I wanted to make sure you were okay, but—”
“Oh my god, yeah no, we need to go.” Momo tugs him towards the stairs with urgency, and she doesn’t fight her smile when his fingers lace through hers.
“I’m thinking about quitting the baseball team, by the way,” he tells her in the stairwell, tone casual.
“What?” She almost trips down the steps in surprise. “But why? You’re great at it!”
He shrugs. “I don’t really enjoy it.”
“Really?” Momo doesn’t mask the delight in her voice, a smug grin already curling at the corners of her lips.
“I think I’ll just keep coming over to your house to have your grandma whip me into shape.” He casts a smile her way. “If she’ll have me.”
When Momo laughs, it feels like light pouring out from her.
“Oh, she’ll love that.”