𝙁𝙍𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿 | chigiri hyoma

𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼

Chigiri stood on the pitch during a much-needed break from the rigorous practice. His eyes looked past the threaded wires of the field's fencing, out onto the park scenery that surrounded the football field. He watched your shoes crunch against the freshly watered grass. He watched you crouch down time and time again, each time you pulled your camera up toward your face to focus-in on the subject you wanted to capture.

You never fully faced toward his direction, staying completely attentive to the city's park required flora. The only angles he could get of you being the quick turns you'd do to your side when a ladybug flew off its landing, and of course, the woven threads of your sweater that faced him. He didn't see how someone could find the plants here at all interesting. He'd had to have seen it at least a few hundred times by now, considering the nightly practice on school days.

Even though the sun was beginning to tuck itself back behind the horizon, to a point where he assumed the lighting would be too difficult to photograph, you continued to change your position, stilling your hands almost as if they were a part of a statue to capture a photo. 

He'd never seen you here before, or anywhere at all. Judging by your outfit and general posture, he could assume you were probably around his age, too. It was odd. The city wasn't all that large—a loose, but present, community managed to vaguely familiarize most of the residents. And, in his opinion, Chigiri was able to recall a face when he saw one—not that he had managed to get a full view of yours.

You sat back on your heels from your upright position on your knees, leaning your head over the camera in your hands. He assumed you were probably judging the pictures you'd just taken, determining if you'd be done for the day. Your upper body began to slowly turn to your right, and he almost got a glimpse of your side profile before someone slammed themselves into his back.

"Chigiri!" the voice giggled, and he turned around, slighted disheveled, to meet Bachira in front of him, wearing nothing else but the brightest glimmer of excitement in his eyes. He's always on some weird shit, isn't he? "You're staring a bit, aren't you?"

Chigiri pulled his eyebrows together. Narrowing his eyes, his expression greatly contrasted that of his friend's, tightly pursed lips polarizing a hopeful smile. "I wasn't."

"Oh, but you were! Now, why would that be?"

He shook his head at Bachira's pressing questions, he was not staring. "I was observing. I've never seen them before, people are naturally inclined to be curious," he reasoned with an uninterested shrug.

Bachira smiled mischievously, patting his friend on the shoulder like they were old golf buddies exchanging half-drunken advice at a rundown bar. "M'kay. But I don't think [Name] would appreciate your 'observing' very much."

"You know them?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, princess?" he snickered while Chigiri just sent him a glare. "Yeah, yeah, I do. We both lived in Chiba before I moved. They just got here, though." Bachira turned to look at your back, still occupied with your camera.

Chigiri followed his eyes, "So you brought them to your football practice? That's kind of lame."

"It's not lame! Football is fun to watch—but no, they just wanted to come to the park to try and get some stuff for their portfolio," Bachira muttered, slightly defeated by the insult to his plan of introduction for you. Surely giving you a tour of all the football stadiums and street games would familiarize you with Saitama enough. 

Chigiri was about to question further about the said 'portfolio', but before the words could leave his ajar lips, he was cut off by the shrill whistle from his coach followed by a sweet, "Get your asses back in gear! You have another ten minutes before you sorry-sacks are off the hook!" Heartwarming. 

He turned around to walk back to his position with a sigh, sending you one last glance from over his shoulder. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you grumbled under your breath as you almost threw your camera into the tree for the hundredth time that day. 

You had three months to complete a photography portfolio and have a fully-fleshed-out resume. 

It was a bit of an ambitious dream to get into Japan's top-rated summer photography program, but it's go big or go home, right? Or there was the possibility of going nowhere at all, considering the fact—no matter what you tried—the final photos you were trying to get just weren't it. They weren't what you needed to ensure yourself a spot and they sure hell weren't sufficient enough to impress the judges. 

Taking out your camera just to banging it against your forehead in frustration was all in a day's work. 

Earlier, you were about to harass your mom to pose for some action shots, before your phone buzzed in your pocket to alert you about a text from the one and only person you knew in Saitama at the moment. Apparently, the park where he practiced was supposed to 'strike you with inspiration.' 

Spoiler alert! It hasn't. 

Every shot looked the same, like something you could search on google and find 5,000 carbon copies of. Not to mention the humidity that was still clinging onto your skin into the evening hours. As annoying as it was to hear the weatherman say it's 'air you can wear' every morning, he was sadly correct. 

You swiped the thin layer of sweat building on your forehead, having to suppress a scream of surprise when you felt someone rapidly tap your shoulder. Turning around quickly, you found Bachira standing over you with his bag in hand. 

You swatted his finger off your shoulder, sending him a sidelong glare as you stood up to sling your camera around your neck. "Meguru, you have to stop sneaking up on people when you need to get their attention. It's not that hard to be like 'hey!' or something," you grumbled.

He smiled, grabbing your shoulders to direct you toward the path back to your neighborhood, "Nah, it's fun to watch you get scared."

"Oh, I'm sure it's lovely," because a heart attack induced by you seems like the ideal way to pass on. "How was practice?"

"Now, that is what was lovely. Seems like one of us did end up getting inspired there," he gleamed from beside you. 

"Really?" you asked skeptically, knowing whatever he was planning could range from a dumpster fire to the cure for cancer. "What would that be?"

"That's for me to know and not you. Anyway, hurry up. I wanna watch Clueless again before my mom forces me to go to bed."

___________________________

I AM SO EXCITED