hinata hops onto his broom,
legs sticking out on either side
yachi grips her own,
nails digging into her own palm when it curls around the broom.

yacchan! come on up!
the weather’s great!

“i don’t think i can hinata!”
the wind whips her hair when hinata zooms by
he stops in front of her.

yachi, do you trust me?
she squeezes the broom harder
heart against her ribcage
stomach already ahead of her in the sky

he holds out his hand, nudges her to drop her broom.
she sets it down, places her hand in the curve of his.