Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

44 | An Unfocused Cycle

"I'm heading out." I get up.

"Come on, you have to take a look at Hiroshi's serve." Noises overlap again, murmurs I can no longer identify.

"You look tired, Ushijima." Reon says. He looks concerned.

"I'm not, just stayed up late."

"You should get some sleep, man." Yusho recommends.

"Good night." I reply shortly.

"Night!" Yu mumbles with crumbs on his face, looking intently at the match, elbows digging into the grass.

I wipe my face with my palm sluggishly.

It's the third day of the tournament. We're in Matsushima. The day I was at the hospital was the day we got settled in and began to warm up, the first. It's a week total. One drill day in the middle, which is tomorrow. Every day is a treacherous cycle. Waking up, laps, breakfast, setting drills, serving, receiving, spiking, a plethora of other drills, one-on-one, warm up matches, then we enter the arenas and commence. Match after match, then a few drills. It's a local tournament that's a lot like a camp. It's hosted at a school, so each team heads back to their rooms and head to sleep. Lunch and dinner are lost somewhere in there. We finish around 6pm or 7pm, it varies. Showers are open until 9pm. Doors should be closed before 11pm.

I've been heading up for a quick shower. We finished at 7 today, I go to the rooms and grab my towel quickly. I snag a change of clothes. I sprint up the stairs.

I enter only to find Asahi Azumane, Karasuno's ace. He's in a grey New York sweatshirt and navy shorts, things I pointlessly take note of. I find him combing through his hair, green towel draped over the counter.

He says hello softly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." It's getting old.

"You look pale. Have you eaten anything?" A pair of squinting eyes.

"Yes, I've eaten. How are the matches going for you?"

"Good. Johzenji were reckless." He smiles.

"As always." I chuckle softly.

"Look, I don't know what's happening, but you need to take it easy."

"What are you talking about?" I know exactly what he's talking about.

"I've watched your matches. You beat yourself up, like me."

He sets the comb down and ties his hair back.

"Just, don't go too harsh on yourself." He sighs and smiles.

I watch the ground crumble beneath me. He figured me out. He sees my reaction too.

"You're human, we all are. We're bound to hit left or right or not at all. I used to do that to myself, thinking of only my mistakes. It made me leave the team and it sucked, I was empty."

He pauses.

"I'm going to cut it short. I don't think sob stories will do you any good." He grabs his things.

"Take it easy, man. Sleep and eat well, fuel your body. Be merciful to yourself, you should be nothing short of kind to yourself." He cringes a little.

"Um. Anyway, you can always stop by to talk. My team, we get it."

I thank him and he leaves. I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up.

Throwing my sweat-soaked clothes onto a corner of the square teal-tiled floor, my eyes catch sight of my body. Lean and sturdy, perfect muscles. Veins in some places, bulging,  toned olive skin everywhere. And it's thrilling, to look and find no wrong. No flaws, nothing short of perfection. Symmetrically, mathematically, amazingly flawless. Proportions and measurements are on point and a thin zap of adrenaline is reverberating in my bones and a content is growing larger and larger until I see it. My face.