welcome,

Hiragi and Tsubaki are there, too, and you’ve managed to cajole them into a rowdy game of cards at the picnic table, illuminated only by the ring of flashlights you brought with you—and one lantern Hajime had stowed away on the rooftop for emergencies. 

Loud laughter cuts through the night air, hushed only when Hiragi nearly bursts a blood vessel hissing to remind you that you aren’t supposed to be there and an increase in volume means you’re more apt to get caught. Not that you care, really, because time with your friends is worth whatever abysmal scolding your parents would bother to give you. 

“I’m serious,” You hum, arm wrapping around Hajime’s. He’s sitting beside you on the picnic table bench, your cheek pressed against his shoulder and his hand resting lazily on your leg under the table, while you switch topics after losing yet another round of cards. “You all have made this town worth something.”

The late hour and lack of sleep is drawing a sappiness out of you that normal doesn’t show itself so boldly. Hajime chuckles at you, soft and adoring, before pressing his lips to the crown of your head for a quick kiss. Tsubaki squeals at the sight.

“You’re bein’ dramatic,” Hiragi signs, thumbing through his cards like he has a hand that might actually win. You’ve long since gotten out, but the other three are holding on—though Hajime is just barely. “I think it might be time for you to go to bed.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Tsubaki smiles, painted lips stretching wide. He has all but given up searching through the cards in his hands, turning his attention on you while you lavish the three of them in praise. “You’re too cute.” 

“I agree,” Hajime chimes in, analyzing his cards carefully. Usually, he’s more carefree and less strategic, but you think he’s starting to get competitive after losing to Hiragi twice times in a row. “I think you’re too cute, too.” 

“I love you, Haji.” You grin, pressing three quick kisses to his shoulder. You turn towards the other two, and your smile doesn’t falter in the slightest. Hiragi, despite this attitude, is wearing his own soft look as he watches you and Hajime. Tsubaki, of course, has never once wavered in his belief that you and Hajime are the cutest couple ever! “And I love you guys, too.”

“Aw!” Tsubaki tosses his cards down onto the table, a wordless forfeit. “I love you!”

Happiness flushes your cheeks, and you can't imagine a life in which you aren’t best friends with the three boys sitting around the table beside you. 

“Yeah,” Hiragi hums, focusing on his cards when he realizes how serious Umemiya is now taking the game. “We all love you.”

“Some love you more than others,” Hajime teases, and you can see his mirth shining in his bright blue eyes as he darts a quick look towards you. Red tints the high points of his cheeks, and you realize that it’s certainly not as bitter cold outside as it had been in previous weeks. Spring is just around the corner, which means your new life beyond high school is quickly approaching, too. 

“I’m going to miss you all.” You sigh, and just as your tiredness had given way to sappy declarations of love, a somber pout slips onto your lips just as easily. With every day, you’re reminded of just why it’s so difficult for you to reconcile with the idea that you’ll be leaving not only Hajime, but your best friends, behind. 

“We’ll be here when you get back.” Hajime doesn’t miss a beat, and he further tries to settle your nerves by squeezing your leg underneath the table. There’s something placating in his voice, like he knows just how deep the doubts run in your mind, and you realize he probably does, because sometimes it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself. “I promise you. We won’t even have any fun without you.”

You’re still pouting, but save for dropping out of college, what else could you do? Leaving Makochi had always been the plan, but really, do you even still want to go?

A few more turns in the card game pass in silence, save for Hiragi’s grumbling when he realizes that Hajime is starting to get the upperhand. Tsubaki is on his phone, a few texts from his vice captains lighting up the screen as his nails tap rhythmically against the glass. You shiver, and the movement is small enough to go unnoticed.

Of course, your boyfriend notices everything when it comes to you. 

“Here, take my jacket.” He’s already shrugging out of his Furin jacket before you even say anything. He’s wearing a long sleeve underneath it, and you don’t think he’ll get cold easily, which is the only reason you don’t immediately shoot down the idea. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, just to be polite, but you’re already pulling on the heavy uniform jacket by the time the question leaves your mouth. It smells like him and warms you to the core instantly, and if he didn’t need it to represent himself as the head of Bofurin you probably would have long since stolen it. 

“Positive.” He laughs quickly, tugging the lapels of the coat tighter around you, straightening them up while jostling you teasingly. And suddenly, you don’t even remember that you were sad a few moments prior. “Besides, I can’t call myself the protector of the town if I let my girl freeze, can I?”

His grin stretches wide and toothy, blue eyes shining in the minimal light.

And it’s at this moment you know you’ll be in love with him forever.

CURRENT DAY

Green is the color reserved for Furin High. 

Other schools in the area tailor their uniforms in shades of blue or black, or even grey. There’s an all-girls school not too far away that neatly has burgundy woven into their skirts. 

But there’s only one school around that wears their blazers in emerald threads. 

It’s not hard to recognize a Furin student. Most have unconventional hairstyles, or wear shirts aunties would categorize as delinquent fashion. You, on the other hand, know all too well that a Furin student never goes far without their green uniform. 

A handful of Furin boys trickle into Pothos towards the tail end of your shift. All of them are dressed in their blazers, with two gold bands around the left bicep. Your eyes track their movement inside, trying to remember all the good times you had with your Furin boys and not the image of Umemiya walking away from you, broad shoulders draped in green. 

You don’t think you do a good job being subtle, because Kotoha is elbowing you back to life, reminding you that you’re supposed to be drying mugs and not getting lost in bittersweet and achingly painful memories.

“Have you talked with anyone since you’ve been back?” She asks, always perceptive as hell. You don’t ask who she means, because she caught you watching the Furin boys with what’s probably the most pathetic look on your face. 

She’s talking about Hiragi. About Tsubaki, and the underclassmen you befriended by default, too. But you really hope she’s not talking about Umemiya, though you don’t think you could get that lucky. 

“No,” You shake your head, lips pressed into thin lines. Your hands are busy with the mugs, but you’re on the final few, and then you won’t have a task to dive into to avoid the questions you know she’ll have for you. Kotoha was never one to let observations go unnoticed and leave others to suffer without some self-reflection. “I guess I just… don’t have the words. It’s been so long.” 

“You’re scared.” She fires back, voice flat. You look at her from the corner of your eye, and are wholly unsurprised to find she’s leaning casually against the counter, a teasing grin curving the corners of her lips the same way it did when she was fifteen and just as much a shit-stirrer. And somehow, you don’t mind it—don’t mind her.

“Everything is different, and I can’t handle it.” The confession has your shoulders feeling lighter. You haven’t talked to your parents since Motoki’s fourth birthday a handful of months back, and you were never close with them to begin with. As soon as you left for college, they packed up and took off on a series of foreign travels. You’re used to your support system being… unconventional, to say the least. “Have you talked to him about… this?”

There’s no need to clarify who he is.

And this being your employment at her cafe. You realize you’re asking her more than just that, though. You selfishly want to know how much Kotoha has told her brother without having to confront him yourself.

“No, but I won’t lie to him if he asks.” Kotoha tells you, and her tone is gentler than you think you deserve. You’re well aware that you’re being a coward, but when you left Makochi six years ago, you were hurting badly. You just hope that she can see how you’re making an effort—for Motoki. 

“Fair.” You nod, setting the final mug down. Wiping your hands on your apron, you mimic Kotoha’s position against the counter. Adjusting to working for her had been easy; you just wished the guilt gnawing away at you would subside. After Umemiya broke up with you, every text anyone sent you went unanswered, including hers. 

“When’s the last time you talked to anybody?” Her question is one of simple curiosity, and she’s doing you such a big favor by employing you with shifts that work with Motoki’s schedule that you feel like you owe her an honest answer. Lying won’t do any good, either. 

“Since before the break up.” You admit. The words taste bitter on your tongue, build a vice that constricts your breathing, but you say them anyway. “I just… shut everyone out. I don’t think anyone would want to hear from me now.” 

“I think you’re delusional.” Kotoha doesn’t sugar coat her words, and you’ve always respected her for it. She catches you off guard with her bluntness, and for a moment you stay quiet. “You were close with everybody because of who you are. Not because you were dating Umemiya.”

Her words are supposed to make you see sense, but all they really do is twist the knife of guilt that much deeper. You were an awful friend, and you know living back in Makochi will make you face the consequences. 

“You’re right,” You nod, because she is. Still, you stand up straight and get ready to leave, fleeing from the conversation the very same way you’d skirted away to college without ever really addressing the break up. “I better go see what that table wants.”

You don’t give Kotoha time to say anything. You simply step around her and out from behind the counter. Your feet carry you towards the booth full of Furin boys, all laughing and shoving at each other’s shoulders, clearly enjoying an inside joke or two. They quiet when they see you approach, though, and by the time you’re at the side of the booth you’ve pulled your notepad from your apron pocket.

“What can I get you boys?”

You smile at them, like the sight of their uniforms doesn’t remind you of nights you thought you’d have forever.

By day three of Motoki being in Makochi’s kindergarten, you’ve gotten adjusted to the routine. 

Kotoha is the main reason for it, to be honest. She lets you schedule your shifts about his drop off and pick up times, or even lets you pop out to pick him up so he can hang out at Pothos Cafe while you finish working. 

Today, luckily, you don’t have anywhere to go. Which is good, because you’re still drowning in boxes that need to be unpacked even a week later. There’s furniture that needs to be built and clothes folded and organized, but you just haven’t found the time. Entertaining Motoki is a full time job, and after he goes to bed you all but crash facedown into your mattress. 

Pickup at Motoki’s school has you all too aware of just how young you are compared to other parents. You try not to think too hard about it, but the other moms all waiting patiently for their children, coffees in hand and cliques already formed, have you itching for your son to come out. 

Finally, you see Motoki’s teacher, Ms. Asuno, lead her class out the front door. Older elementary kids race around, and suddenly it’s a crowd of students and parents reuniting after a long day of crafts and math. You wave to his teacher, and she smiles before sending Motoki out of line and in your direction. 

Like every time you pick him up, Motoki comes sprinting towards you. And like every time, you squat down so you can catch him in your arms, squeezing tight and lifting him into the air. You know you won’t always be able to pick him up so easily, but you’ll love him like you could forever. 

“Mama,” Motoki’s excited voice rambles in your ear, and it soothes your nerves that he might be struggling at his new school. But he’s always been resilient; you couldn’t have asked for a better son. “Look what I made. Ms. Asuno said the colors were pretty!” 

Motoki scrambles out of your arms and you’re forced to put him down or risk dropping him with all his squirming. He has his backpack halfway unzipped to show his latest drawing when you hear your name called from someone you will spend the rest of your life trying to forget. 

You still, and you’re so grateful Motoki’s distracted by finding his specific coloring that he doesn’t notice your reaction. 

But standing in front of you is Hajime Umemiya. 

Honestly, you’re a little surprised it’s taken this long to run into him. You’ve been in Makochi for a week, been working for Kotoha for three days, and you’ve managed to avoid him. He’s smiling, softly. There’s a shine to his eyes that’s unendingly familiar, but because you know him so well you see the hesitance there. See the way he’s not entirely lit up by his happiness like he usually is. 

Or maybe this is how he is, now. It has been six years since the break up, when you told him you never wanted to see him again and cried for weeks 

“Hi,” Your voice sounds meek, but you don’t know how to make it any stronger. No matter how many times you imagined what it would be like to talk to Umemiya again, or what you would say, none of it prepares you for running into him. 

He looks good. White hair styled with gel the same way he had it in high school, a simple t-shirt stretched across his broad chest—finally upgrading from the free shirts business give away as promotional items. He looks bigger now. Sturdier. And that’s not something you thought possible from a man like Umemiya; one who held the whole town on his shoulders at fifteen and made this place safe. 

“Hi to you,” He replies, an ease to him that you wish you could steal for yourself. It’s not fair that you feel like your fingertips are going numb, and he’s smiling like you ended on good terms. 

It’s then that you realize where you are. In the elementary school pickup crowd, one that’s slowly starting to thicken the longer you stick around as more classes are released. Motoki has noticed you, too, the eighth drawing of a dinosaur this week clutched in his little hands while he watches the conversation. His eyes are wide and he’s trying to decide what to think of Umemiya, you know, and you try to shape your lips into an unsuccessful smile so as not to tank his opinion of him.

Because as much as you’re bitter about the way things ended, Umemiya is too good. 

“What are you doing here?” You have to ask. You don’t think that he’s a parent, too, because the gossip would’ve been spread to you of all people the moment you stepped foot back in town. Motoki shuffles closer to you, and though he’s using both hands to hold his drawing, he leans his body against your leg and watches Umemiya closely. 

“Picking up Izumi for the orphanage.” He explains casually, and you realize that you should’ve been able to guess that if your nervous system was currently fighting against the freeze or flee response to seeing him again.  “She’s in second grade here.”

“Oh. Um, this is Motoki.” You hate how awkward you sound, but there’s no way around the introduction. A year ago, you had never imagined that you’d be in this position, introducing the boy you devote your life to and the man you thought you’d spend forever with. “My son.” 

Umemiya’s smile widens, warms, and he kneels down so that he’s eye level with Motoki. You think you feel something crack in your chest at the sight. 

“Hey, little man. My name is Hajime Umemiya.” He holds out his hand to shake, but Motoki just presses closer to you. He’s not ignoring Umemiya, you know, but he’s always been quiet. Umemiya takes it in stride, though, retracting his hand while still kneeling down. “I’m an old friend of your mom.”

You wince, but neither of them are paying attention to you. 

“He’s Kotoha’s brother, baby.” You interject, fixing the way his bangs lay on his forehead as a way to both soothe him and busy your hands. Motoki, for all his shyness, has started to adore Kotoha over the past few days. 

Predictably, your son stands a little taller at the mention of his new best friend. 

“Hi.” Motoki’s voice is quiet, barely audible over the sound of dozens of children leaving school, but he talks and you hear him. Then, in a move that surprises you, he holds up his paper and shows Umemiya what’s decorated on it. “I drew a dinosaur.”

“Whoa! Are you a professional artist?” Umemiya’s excitement is as instantaneous as it is genuine. He’s always been amazing with kids, and you knew that much from watching him grow up with the children at the orphanage. “Can I hire you to draw me a dinosaur?”

Motoki doesn’t respond, but you see the way he’s smiling and his cheeks are flushed with pride. He presses his face into your leg to hide and Umemiya chuckles as he stands. You watch Umemiya closely, something about his reaction not sitting right with you. Something about the way he didn’t even falter when you introduced Motoki as your son. 

“You don’t seem surprised.” You accuse. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“To be honest, Auntie Sano told me the other day.” Umemiya confesses, and you let loose a sigh. 

“Of course she did,” Nothing travels faster than a bit of juicy gossip, and you should’ve known from the moment that you ran into Sano and Hayakawa that the whole town would know in a matter of days. “What else did you hear?”

“Not much. Just that you’ve moved back to town.” He shrugs, and you still know him well enough to hear the forced casualness in his words. He moves on before you could question it, bouncing from confession to question without giving you a moment to process. “It’s true? You’re staying.”

“Yeah.” There’s no point in lying, and you have nowhere else to go but Makochi for the foreseeable future. Conversation lulls, and Umemiya glances over his shoulder towards the school as another class comes outside. 

“Oh, there’s Izumi now.” He turns back to face you, blinding you with a smile you never thought you’d see again. And the hope in his eyes is brutal to be on the receiving end of. “I’ll see you around, alright?”

“Alright.” There’s so much more you want to say, like that you’re working for Kotoha or that you really can’t see him around if you want your heart to stay glued together, but you grimace and nod instead of saying what you want. 

You don’t miss a beat, taking Motoki’s bag from him and swinging it over your own shoulder. Taking his hand in yours, you start on the path towards your apartment. There may be boxes littered everywhere and you’re operating with only two sets of plates, forks, and knives, but at least it’s your space. And you feel proud of it regardless. 

“Mama?” Motoki calls out, swinging your conjoined hands while his free one clutches his drawing tight to his little body. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“I liked your friend.” There’s no hesitation to his voice, which has you faltering. Never has your son been one to warm up to strangers so quickly. Not that you’ve really had a support system for him to interact with, honestly. 

“Umemiya?” It’s pointless to ask, but the name falls past your lips like it never stopped. 

“Mhm! U’miya” He butchers the name, and you find yourself smiling nonetheless. Soon enough, he’ll lose his baby voice, and you’ll be wishing for times like this again. “He liked my drawing.” 

“Yeah,” You agree, voice light if not a touch too forced. “He’s really nice.” 

You want to be surprised that Motoki warmed up to Umemiya so quickly, but you can’t. 

After all, how quickly did you fall in love with Hajime?

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