𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ┆iwaizumi hajime

03. honesty

03. honesty ———⚘️🎐°. *
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MISORA HAD NEVER RAN SO FAST in her entire life. She wasn't sure what or who she was running from, all she knew was that she needed to leave. The adrenaline from her fight with Mila burned through her body and she felt the blood rushing in her ears.

It didn't matter where she was running to; Misora knew Tokyo like the back of her hand, and soon, she found herself in a small park near the University campus.

The cold air bit into her bare arms and Misora panted as she stared at the road behind her.

She squeezed her eyes in exhaustion and agitation as she realized Iwaizumi had followed her.

Misora knew she needed to apologize soon but the drug's after-effects were still causing her head to throb and she felt like crying for her mother.

Iwaizumi needed to wait.

On the other hand... He deserved a proper explanation and apology. She disliked him, sure, but Misora never meant for it to go this far. It was supposed to be a fun academic rivalry.

The tall boy reached her and bent down to look at her.

Misora turned her head. She couldn't bear to look at Iwaizumi. Not now. When there was so much anger and disgust in his eyes. How could she possibly make him believe that Mila had lied.

But when Iwaizumi started talking, he sounded more concerned for her than hurt or angry.

"Ishiguro," he said and Misora thought that he had never said her name with such a softness.

Misora lifted her head and was met with a pair of brown eyes, confusion swimming in them.

"Iwaizumi," she breathed out and as much as she tried to stay calm and explain the situation, apologize to him, the tears came flooding in.

Heavy sobs racked her body and somewhere in the back of her mind, Misora cursed herself for being a pathetic crybaby.
She was still a mess.

"I'm so sorry," she cried out and shook her head, breaking eye contact with Iwaizumi. 

"I know we don't like each other but I never wished for you to hang yourself," she started explaining, voice quivering. Iwaizumi stayed silent. 

"I don't know why Mila said that and you can believe whatever you want but I would never ever wish death upon someone. I swear." Misora sniffled and swallowed thickly. She could only hope that he understood. 

"I am sorry if it ever seemed like I want that," she added. "I just— "

"You hate me," Iwaizumi spoke up, crossing his arms. He looked Misora up and down. 

"You hate me and I'm not the biggest fan of you either," he continued, "But I believe you." 

"What?" 

The boy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, angry with himself. He was supposed to comfort her, what was he talking about hate and not being the biggest fan? 

"Look, Ishiguro," he tried again, "I should apologize too." 

"For what?" 

"Being an arrogant asshole."

"It's not like I don't indulge in the competition," Misora mumbled and Iwaizumi laughed. It was quiet, save for the occasional car driving by. 

"I don't hate you, Iwaizumi," Misora spoke up. "It's just easier to say that than explain that I always feel overshadowed by your skill and am in constant fear of falling behind. I don't know why but sometimes I envy you and how easy things come to you."