Hikaru Tanaka. The girl who flinched away from handshakes. Who'd told me on our first day not to touch her things in a voice that promised the alternative involved my organs. Who communicated affection through the absence of insults and gratitude through protein bars slid under a door.
Hugging me.
My arms went out to the sides like an idiot. My whole nervous system stalled out somewhere between alarm and something warmer, and for a solid two seconds I just stood there with a girl wrapped around me and no idea what to do with my hands.
Holy shit. Is Hikaru hugging me?
She held on. Tight. Her forehead pressed against my sternum right over the graft, and I felt her breathe, one long shaky pull of air like she'd been holding it for four days and only just remembered how lungs worked.
