Perfectionist ✺ Sakusa Kiyoomi

7

"Not that I'm a massive shampoo enthusiast or anything, but I'd truly never heard of the brand before we met. Now it's the only brand that works for me." Kiyoomi found that once the words began pouring out of his mouth, he couldn't stop them.

"Even in volleyball you've corrected my views... No, that's not right." Kiyoomi struggled to find his next words, as he struggled most of the time, putting his extravagant thoughts into as efficient wording as possible. Chiharu could tell he was struggling, because he made the same face that Kiryu did when attempting to dictate his thoughts correctly, and it was funny as hell. Not to mention adorable, when the goofy expression was on Kiyoomi's face.

How had Chiharu impacted Kiyoomi's volleyball experience? Well, that question could almost have been rhetorical. In what way had he not? Kiyoomi had assumed that if he lost at Nationals, he would be pushed into an almost paranoid state. Questioning the legitimacy of himself, his team, and his opponents; wondering what the other team could have possibly studied to win against him the way they did. Yet, none of those thoughts arose when his final match ended. Kiyoomi guessed that Chiharu must have been right: he didn't have to regard his opponents as enemies, but as friends. As people he could learn from. "Even in volleyball," he starts again, "you've entirely changed me."

"I'm glad we're here, Haru." The nickname left his mouth easily. "I'm grateful for this moment, amidst everything else," Kiyoomi confessed softly.

Chiharu responded with a hum, they swayed gently back and forth, almost like they were seasoned lovers who had known each other for ever.

"I must admit, losing still stings, but being with you makes me feel less bummed about it." Kiyoomi reflected.

To which, Chiharu gave an almost inaudible chuckle, as opposed to his other laughs, the loud, boisterous ones on the volleyball court that rippled across the gym.

"It's funny that I'm the one doing the talking now." Kiyoomi smiled against Chiharu's head. "I'm not great at words. Or feelings. Or anything that's not volleyball-related, for that matter." He said.

Chiharu laughed in agreement. "Me neither," he confessed, "Today has made me feel like maybe I'm not so good at volleyball either..."

"I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel bad about myself too. But all we can do is will those bad thoughts away, right?"

Winter bore down mercilessly, but January's beauty softened the starkness. Streetlights casted a tranquil glow upon the falling snow, lending an ethereal quality to their little moment on the bench.

The tranquility lulled Kiyoomi toward a sense of calm after saying everything he had pent up inside his head since the beginning of Nationals week to the one person he wanted to hear it. He could almost fall asleep. However, sudden tremors from Chiharu snapped him from the serenity. Assuming it to be the cold, Kiyoomi began to ask about sharing his scarf until Chiharu withdrew from the embrace, turning his torso away and obscuring his hands over his his tear-streaked face. The soft sounds of his crying was muffled, and Kiyoomi wouldn't even have caught it had he not been inches away. The only obvious tell was the heavy shakes of Chiharu's shoulders. Short as he was, Chiharu was undeniably built, with broad shoulders and defined muscles. Now, he looked smaller and weaker than ever, curled in on himself with his head and hands on his knees.

Initially caught off guard by Chiharu's abrupt emotional shift—from laughter to tears—Kiyoomi attempted levity with an ill-timed quip, hoping to ease the tension. The attempt felt jarringly out of place, yet it elicited fleeting chuckles from Chiharu before he regained composure. Truthfully, Kiyoomi's immediate reaction was "what the hell", but before he could react:

"Kiyoomi," Chiharu began, "I think I blew it."

There was a long silence as Kiyoomi waited for the other to clarify what exactly he blew and how he did it. Until eventually, Kiyoomi just blurted, "That's what she said."