the alarm goes off at 5:30 but i'm already awake. been staring at the ceiling for like half an hour now, watching shadows move across the cracks in the plaster. there's this feeling under my skin, restless and electric, and it's not the bad kind. not the kind that's kept me locked in my room for a month straight.

before everything went to shit, i used to run every morning. five kilometers before breakfast, easy. now my track pants hang a little loose on me when i pull them on. mom and dad have been trying to fatten me up. leaving trays outside my door like i'm some kind of feral cat. katsu curry. homemade okonomiyaki. doria.

used to. everything's ‘used to’ now.

i lace up my running shoes. they're dusty as hell. slip out of the house quiet as i can because the last thing i need is mom hovering or dad giving me that look, the one that says he's proud but also terrified i'm going to break.

outside it's cold and clean. the neighborhood at dawn. all those expensive houses and perfect lawns, cars that cost more than most people make in a year. the kind of neighborhood where everyone smiles at each other and pretends their lives are spotless. where scandals get discussed in whispers behind closed doors.

my family learned that lesson the hard way.

i start slow. my legs protest immediately and my lungs burn like i've never run a day in my life. pathetic. i used to do this in my sleep. but after a few minutes something loosens in my chest and my stride lengthens and my breathing evens out and for the first time in forever my brain shuts the fuck up.

no thoughts of sato-senpai and his hands and his mouth and the way he'd tell me he wasn't gay, and how he-

nope. not thinking about that.

just the sound of my feet hitting pavement and the burn and my body remembering what it used to be good at.

i run for an hour. when i get back home my legs are trembling and i'm dripping sweat but i feel more like myself than i have in months.

mom and dad are in the kitchen when i walk in. they freeze when they see me, like they're afraid any sudden movement will spook me back into my room.

"kairi?" mom's voice is so careful. i hate it when she talks like that. "you went for a run?"

"yeah." i pull off my hoodie and wipe my face with it. "felt like it."

they do that thing where they look at each other, that married couple telepathy thing. dad clears his throat. "how…how was it?"

"good."

mom turns back to the stove but i catch her smile. "breakfast will be ready in five minutes. why don’t you go shower?"

under the hot water i let myself think about what today actually means. new school. fujisawa south boys' high. some regular private school where nobody knows my name or what i did or why i spent three months in a group home for ‘troubled teenagers’.

(they meant ‘criminals lite’ but i guess that was too harsh.)

nobody knows i almost killed someone.

when i come back downstairs in my new uniform, there's enough food on the table to feed a small army. grilled salmon, miso soup with beef broth, pickled vegetables, rice, rolled omelette. mom's already loading up my plate before i even sit down.

"the bus stop is about five minutes by car," dad says. "then fifteen minutes to school. we can drive you today."

"i can figure it out." it comes out sharper than i mean it to. they both flinch. i soften my voice. "i mean, i should learn the route anyway."

"of course," mom says quickly. "but there's no harm in us showing you the first time."

i want to argue. i'm not twelve. but the truth is i'm fucking terrified. it's been four months since i've been around other people my age who didn’t burn stuff down or stole shit or slashed some guy’s tires. four months since i've had to pretend everything's peachy keen or whatever the hell that saying went.

what if someone recognizes me? what if word followed me here? what if-

"kairi." mom's voice cuts through the spiral. “it's going to be okay."

i look up. they're both watching me with these identical expressions. love and worry and guilt. dad gave up his teaching and coaching positions at kindai for this. mom closed her physio practice, the one she spent ten years building, all those clients who needed her.

they gave up everything. sold dad's stake in the dojo and our house in minoh. moved us out here to fujisawa where they don't know anyone, all so i could have a fresh start.

the least i can do is let them drive me to the bus stop.

"okay," i say quietly. "i'd appreciate the ride."

the relief on their faces makes me want to hurl chunks.

an hour later i'm in the backseat watching the neighborhood fade past the window. my school bag sits next to me, packed with supplies mom organized like she's sending me off to war.

at the bus stop they both get out with me. mom fusses with my hair while dad hands me a wrapped lunchbox.

"try to talk to your classmates," mom says. "join a conversation."

"but don't feel pressured," dad adds. "take your time. let things develop naturally."

"i know." we've had this conversation like fifty times. be open but not too open. be friendly but not desperate. be yourself but maybe not too much yourself.

exhausting.

the bus pulls up with a hiss. i hug them both. mom holds on too long, dad pats my back. in dad language that means i love you and i'm sorry and please be okay all at once.

"call us when you get home," mom says.

"i will."

"this is a new beginning, kairi.” dad's voice is low. “what happened before doesn't define who you are now."

i nod because i don't trust my voice. step onto the bus and watch them get smaller through the window as we pull away. press my forehead against the glass and watch the city rush past coastline and residential streets and the pacific ocean glinting in the distance. it's actually nice that this place sits directly on the coast. as long as i don't remember the reason why we're here. 

a new beginning.

i've heard that so many times it doesn't mean anything anymore.

i try to practice conversations in my head. it’s something i’ve been doing for weeks, because if i don’t constantly remind myself that i’m not in osaka anymore i feel like my dialect would jump out. the intonation goes up at the ‘wrong’ place, or i’d say the ‘wrong’ word for something. i've been ironing it out since we got here, the way you iron out anything you don't want people to see.

my phone buzzes as the bus makes a turn.

i know who it is before i look.

homare: it's monday my dude!! you've got this! don't do anything i wouldn't do (low bar, you're welcome)

then, ten seconds later:

homare: also archie figured out the new container. took him 4 days. i'm going to cry he’s such a big boy now

homare: and are people in kanto really as boring as they say? asking for a friend. the friend is me. i need to know

homare texts me three times a week. sometimes more. it's never just one thing. she doesn't send single texts, she sends volleys, whatever's in her head in the order it arrives. karate stuff, tank updates, photos of archie doing something impossible with his arms, links to marine biology videos she thinks i should watch, complaints about school, voice memos. sometimes just: hey. still here. just checking in.

i never respond.

i tell myself it's because i don't know what to say. that's part of it. the other part is harder to look at directly. the memory of her at my old school, the week after everything, when people stopped sitting next to her because she wouldn't stop sitting next to me. homare, who believed she didn't owe shit to anyone, sitting down across from me in the cafeteria with her lunch tray as usual.

i close the messages without responding.

i'll write back, i think. later, when i have something worth saying.

the bus keeps moving. i watch the rest of the city come up to meet me.