Like a simile.

Write this down, the migraine said, and so I did.

Adolescence hit Kaidoh like a thing that doesn't hit you at all, but instead sneaks up on you like a flower closed tightly in the night and the next morning blooms into you can't stop staring at Inui-senpai's ass in his track pants.

Adolescence hit Kaidoh like a stick strikes a gong and everyone can hear you walk into doors and fail your math quiz and double-fault when Inui-senpai is beside the court watching you serve.

Adolescence hit Kaidoh right between the eyes, like an incurable disease that makes your palms sweaty and your stomach churn and you can't get the words out of your throat when Inui-senpai asks you how many kilometres you ran last night.

"You're three weeks behind schedule," Inui-senpai said and made a note in his book. He kissed Kaidoh like the first slow bite into a sun-warmed peach and the juice runs down your chin and makes your fingers all sticky and terrifies you with its sweetness.

Adolescence hit Kaidoh and it was the first time that Kaidoh couldn't hit back.

And the first time he didn't want to.