Hold Me Tight

Living near school had it's perks. You could wake up later than most, if you forgot something at home or school you could run back really quickly, and you were most likely the first person to get home after dismissal.

Living so close to school also had a number of drawbacks. An hour or two after dusk, your school's volleyball team would walk past your street hooting and hollering. It was summer, why did they still practice?! You exercised extreme self-control and didn't yell out them. They passed your house rather quickly, but consistently. You reasoned that at approximately quarter-till eight every night you would have to simply blast music through headphones if you didn't want the noise pollution.

But they were far too  disruptive, even for k-pop on the highest volume.  As far as you could tell, the energetic volleyball team didn't have inside voices. They had two volumes: extremely loud or even louder. Still, you remained tolerant and poised. There was no need to make a scene over three minutes of chaos.

It had been four months after moving into that house that your family finally left you home alone for a week. Because you had an important doctor's appointment at the end of the week, you had to stay home.  Your parents opted to go along with some friends on the block to a Hawaiian resort.

It was quarter-past eight when you got home from the library (where you had been working with your classmates). You settled down onto the couch with your laptop propped open onto a pillow playing music and began to check your summer homework. You were halfway through the math when you snapped the screen shut, cutting off the music. Your head was pounding and you were exhausted. Stumbling into the kitchen, you popped a few painkillers in and downed a tall glass of water. Throwing yourself on the sofa, you covered your pounding head with a cushion and took a deep breath. 'I can finish proofreading it tomorrow.' you thought.

A loud shattering outside alarmed you, but you didn't think very clearly after your nap was interrupted. "I could definitely beat him in a fist fight." You did your best to rub the sleep from your eyes and comprehend the situation.

"No you wouldn't." You slammed your feet into your slippers

"Who wants to make bets?!" You stomped over to the door with a huff.

"How would you even get into that situation with Ushiwaka?!" You contemplated whether to go back or to open the door.

Crash! That was the last straw. Your hand was on the handle and you yanked it from the doorjamb with vigor.

"Excuse me," You called out to the boys all dressed in their practice attire "I was just wondering...", your honeyed voice took a drastic turn into a rather sinister tone. "If you could kindly shut the hell up and let me have my peace!"

They all stopped in their tracks. One boy was lying on the ground with clusters of rich soil on his feet. He had knocked your prized chrysanthemums off the wall.

Your eyes darted to his feet and then to the wall where your flowers once stood. Your lips pressed into a strained line.

Marching furiously over to the gate in fury, you examined the crime scene. Your late grandmother had gifted the flowers to you on your first day of middle school. Ever since, you had nurtured them during blooming season.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the gate. The boys were startled by the rattling of iron and skirted away. Leaving you face-to face with the young volleyball captain.

"Listen, I'm sorry. It was an accident." He placated half heartedly as you assessed the damage.

"Sorry isn't gonna resurrect my chrysanthemums." You muttered under your breath as you crouched down to the pavement. Gingerly pinching each shard of the ceramic flower pot and scooping them into your other hand. Piece by piece, the hand-painted flowerpot was collected and clinked pathetically in your palm.

The blond delinquent dipped down to the pavement and assisted. "You'll get your fingers all cut up." He muttered, a flash of silver peeking from his mouth. Unintentionally, you paused, having never seen someone with piercings other than their ears. You'd heard rumors of the heavily decorated volleyball captain. Much to my dismay, I couldn't see any of his beautiful tattoos he supposedly had.

"It doesn't matter anymore." You sighed in defeat, rising to your full height and pushing the garden gate  open with your hip. Cradling the shards of clay in your palms gingerly, you nodded your head.

The captain understood and shifted the damaged pottery into one hand and opened your front door. He kicked off his shoes and you slid into your slippers. Leading him into the kitchen, you inserted the pieces into a tupperware container.

"Is there anything I can do to fix it?" He asked, wiping his hands on his shirt after
pouring the fragments into the container and securing the lid.

"Afraid not."

"Where'd you get it? I'll get you a new one." He spoke quickly, anxious to smooth things over and get the hell out of your life.

"You can't buy it." You drew another long breath.

"You sure because I ca-."

"Just." You interjected, squinting your eyes shut and choking back a voice crack, "get out of my house." You squeezed your fists until your nails dug into your palms.

Like a dog in shame, the volleyball captain left your house with his tail between his legs.

The next morning you woke up to beautiful sunlight streamed in. For a moment you had forgotten about the chrysanthemums and the shattered pottery. Your head was still pounding. It hurt to think. When you rolled out of bed, you fell face-first onto the floor. Letting out an agonizing cry, you realized it was going to be a long day.

You arrived back to the gate, your head still hammered, you just wanted to get inside to pop some painkiller. Arriving home with a couple groceries and a tube of superglue only for you to find a delinquent squatting by a pile of crushed potting soil and a pitiful chrysanthemum plant. You were irritated and emotionally distraught.

The young man was shoveling the dirt into a plastic baggie. "They're dead y'know." You barked in between pulses.
He looked up and squinted at you rather dumbly, then shifting a soil-coated hand over his brow like a visor. "They'll never come back, plants can't take stuff like that." You drew in a sharp breath and place your hand on the gate. Some child had obviously driven their bicycle through the mess of withered flowers and potting soil.

The volleyball captain opened his mouth to sputter out another apology but you cut him off. "There's no sense in that, come on and wash your hands." You offered wearily, but it was more of a demand.

"I'm home."
"Pardon the intrusion." You both announced to no one.

You kicked off your shoes and retrieved from guest slippers from the shoe cabinet as the young man struggled to peel off his shoes without using his earth-stained hands to unlace them. "I thought our volleyball team was known for their energy and quick reflexes." You muttered to yourself, pulling the reusable grocery bag off the polished flooring and shuffling into the kitchen.

Hastily you poured a glass of barley tea for yourself and your guest and guzzled it down with a dose of painkillers. Your brain throbbed and felt unbearably raw, you braced yourself on the counter. "Did you get lost on your way down the hall?" You hissed, in obvious agony.

"Are you.... okay?" He inquired with trepidation, though it was rather hard to consider seriously as his hands were drawn up by his shoulders like some sort of stale mud-caked jazz hand display.

"Just peachy." You groaned as you began consolidating all of the groceries. The boy began washing his hands in the kitchen sink awkwardly. You were frustrated and downright irascible, there was no room for being coy and embarrassed.

"The name's _______ ______, by the way." You looked at him, the medicine finally starting to kick in, you recovered some of your manners. You noticed he was eyeing up the pitiful Tupperware of porcelain bits. He wanted to say something, anything, to release the tension. Every fiber of his being warned him against that. He wasn't stupid, he was in the honors classes, but any fool knew to let sleeping dogs lie. Honestly, you were mighty intimidating while cranky, the poor boy was beginning to regret his decision to follow you inside.

"Terushima Yuuji, right?" He lathered up his hands with a little bit of dish soap and coaxed the dirt out with the suds. He rinsed and you handed him a tea towel to dry himself. "Thank you very much." He said to himself.

"Alrighty." You pulled out the superglue and began consolidating the shattered pottery. "You may drink your tea and leave." These painkillers worked better, and you mellowed a bit in the numbness.

"I came by today to drop this off." Terushima recalled, pulling an envelope out. "We all pooled our  money together to get you a new pot."

You continued to match the tiles like a puzzle. it wasn't too terribly shattered, but it was still broken. "No." You trimmed the nozzle off the superglue and began fastening the matched pieces together.

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I can fix it."

"Let me at least help." He was a bit miffed but persisted. "I can buy you new flowers, a new pot." He felt responsible. His team may have been disruptive and noisy, but they were good kids.

"You and your squadron of monkeys have done quite enough, don't you think?" Holding the two shards together and waiting for the glue to bond. "Besides, my grandmother made that flowerpot. She had a ceramics shop out in Kyoto." You shook your head mournfully. "You can't replace it." Your brain was still somewhat foggy, but feeling better.

Terushima began matching the fragments together and laying them out on the countertop for you. He was surprisingly good at matching the pieces up. his fingers were nimble and swift. You glued them together and in a blink of an eye the fractured flowerpot was drying.

The two of you sat back and admired the fruit of your labor. Somehow, you didn't feel disappointed. "Thanks." You pierced the silence, washing your hands off and digging into the refrigerator.

You totally disregarded the volleyball captain awkwardly shuffling his slippers.

You set up a cutting board of prewashed veggies and a knife. "Could you mince them up for me?" Again, somehow he didn't feel it right to refuse you.

You whisked two eggs in a bowl as the teenage boy complied. He didn't even know why he was being so agreeable. Guilty conscience? His kind nature? A crush? He couldn't even fathom it. All he knew was that you wanted minced green peppers and onions so he was gonna do that. You pulled out a bag of frozen peas and diced carrots and awaited the familiar hiss of sesame oil sizzling in the skillet. Before long, the meal was ready and you doled our hefty servings of fried rice on two plates.

"Thank you for the meal." The two of you chimed in unison. The bleached blond commented on how good the food was with his mouth full.

With the painkillers and the food in your stomach, you were beginning to feel a bit jovial. The two of you cleaned the dishes and went out to say goodbye.

"Don't be a stranger." You called, the captain was walking backwards with his hands in his pockets. It was almost time for practice. "Feel free to come back any time."

"Yeah." He flashed a toothy grin and waved back.

okay so this is going to be continued but this story is 1991 words so far (not counting this note here). the next update will probably have smut because i have been reading a lot of smut this past week. anyways, happy new year's eve!

what are your resolutions? mine is to write more in my kagehina book (boys, bruises, and babysitting) as well as get the good ending for 707 in mystic messenger!

please make sure to comment A LOT and give me tons of feedback because that is what motivates me to write more oneshots (or anything in general).