failed attempts to fly

james dean daydream

The lemony scent of the tree-shaped air freshener fills my nose as I try to calm my nervous leg bouncing. In the center of the drink holder, one of those blender bottles, probably with a mixture of protein and energy supplements. A gym bag was neatly laid in the back seat alongside the same drumsticks I delivered to him that time. On the rearview mirror, a musical-themed charm dangled, swaying with the moving car.

And him.

I try not to make it apparent that I'm staring. But Iwaizumi's profile is all I can focus on.

His jaw, like a straight shot, chiseled to perfection. A tiny groove on his earlobe, as if he had his ears pierced in the past.

Left hand on the steering wheel, the right hand lazily on the middle compartment, almost daring me to reach out and grab it—if only I'd be more courageous.

But instead, my hands clasp together, trying desperately to hide my nervous twitching.

Iwaizumi's taste in music is undoubtedly immaculate. Sharing the same taste in music, it's usually the topic of discussion.

"Wait, your secretly a Swiftie?!" I gasp, hearing his confession.

"Not secretly, openly." He confidently says. "Look what you made me do is a total headbanger, all of her songs, actually."

Surely a bluff, I thought. Iwaizumi was only trying to make me feel less nervous. However, in the same playlist labeled "car ride vibes." The same one that played Black Sabbath had songs from the 1989 album sprinkled in the playlist.

"Don't be afraid to sing along, Rin. It's alright!" He exclaimed while using the hand that wasn't on the steering wheel to air drum to Taylor Swift. His spikey hair danced with the rhythm of his head rocking back and forth as if he was listening to a heavy metal track.

The catchy song, mixed with the giggles erupting from my stomach, fills the car, and the hand that was air drumming finds mine, latching our fingers together.

*******************************

Food stands, bright lights, loud music, and large crowds always gather along the riverbank. It's a popular weekend destination, according to literally everyone.

Close to the edge of university grounds and the city limits, It's a shortcut I usually take when I'm wide awake at dawn running errands.

The foggy purplish hue of the lake, empty trails, and dewy grass is changed for empty beer cans, strobe lights, and cigarette smoke. Just a few hours difference, but it's completely different than in the morning.

Asking about my food preferences was one of the first things Iwaizumi did during our late-night talks, "Anywhere you want to go, I'll take you."

I was too embarrassed to say my favorite food was something microwavable. I've lived here my whole life, yet I don't have a favorite restaurant. "I want to go to your favorite place to eat." That is what I told him instead. I'm not picky, and besides, him taking me to his favorite restaurant is something I wanted to do. I want to know his likes, dislikes, hopes, and dreams, all of it.

Our shoulders softly nudge each other as we walk side by side. We are so close that I can smell Iwaizumi's cologne. Yet all I can do is focus on my hand twitching at my side.

There are so many fucking people.

I try to focus on my steps, looking at the ground, hoping not to bump into strangers, but it's physically impossible. Serving through crowds, loud noises, making my ears ring. The ringing is louder than the obnoxious music playing on the speakers. I try my hardest, with all my strength, not to curl up in a small ball in the middle of all this walking traffic.