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𝘛𝘞𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘠-𝘍𝘐𝘍𝘛𝘏 𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘒:
— you never let things end.
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Hearts shatter and shatter another.
The weight of the world resting on their shoulders was lifted upon the end of the last examination, but it was soon replaced with the collisions of celestial bodies within their minds when they realized that the dreaded results were going to be handed out the day after.
Goshiki was a nervous wreck, allowing Yui to repeat reassurances that he'll do fine this time. Kawanishi was indifferent, but his sigh of relief after told her that he was glad to have everything finished. Shirabu was collected— as always, to the point that he might want to share his peace with the sophisticated third years.
There were plenty of amusing conversations in between, about what they'd do if they all failed, yet every thought of it seemed to disappear when they stepped on the court that afternoon.
Driven individuals were a sight to see. It could heal even a fractured heart.
"Exams may be over, but don't forget about the Nationals, alright?"
A chorus of nod snapped her out of her thoughts, proceeding along with her duties to set up the other net for the rest of the club members. When Saito called out to her from her side, she winced at the familiar burning sensation at her fingertip upon hastily sliding it down the edge of the pole. Papercut was the worst— sometimes, it even appears out of nowhere and at the most unlikable scenarios. It went ahead and reminded her to avoid detrimental friction at whatever cost.
Applying pressure, it bled. She frowned, approaching the man knowingly, "Ah, right. Misaki-san said they might be available tomorrow." Referring to Johzenji's 3rd-year manager whom she called over the phone, Yui examined Saito's acknowledgment.
"I'll confirm with Washijo-sensei."
Yui shook her head in agreement, before turning her attention towards the court. Their practice match for today involved college students from the same district. From a distance, there's no doubt everyone was playing their best today for some reason.
Since Saito was handling the records, she decided to settle with watching the game for a while. Even if she was unmoving, she felt eyes lay on the back of her head— maybe she was starting to develop a wicked sense these past few days. Her lack of sleep was a massive factor, she admitted. There'd be no surprise if she starts seeing things sooner.
Resolved on proving that she wasn't imagining gazes, she spun her heel and saw Semi nearing with his stoic expression intact. She smiled a little at him, in which he nodded, before facing the game once again as he stood beside her. It was unspoken on his behalf, but she knew of what he wishes to ask, "We talked— a little."
"How did it go?"
"He's mad." She quickly waved her hands to deny the regret he might feel. He was the one who initially forced a conversation between her and Shirabu the other day after all. "It's fine. He had every reason to be."
He kept his silence, eyes trailing on the setter on the court. Semi noticed an odd observation, but whenever Shirabu's playing, he'll never reciprocate anyone's gaze from the audience— aside from hers. It would be short, a moment caught in time, and it'd be gone the next blink but it was there.
Upon that thought, he found no other way to express himself other than resting his palm on her head— which Yui didn't move away from, but didn't exactly lean closer to. Like it wasn't even there, she'd merely smile in return.
So, he wasn't certain what took over him when his hand cascaded down her hair, over to her ear, and tucked the locks behind it. Yui, this time, turned her head slowly to glance at him. There wasn't much surprise, but rather curiosity in the way she stared. It was a glance that asked him what's wrong? instead of what are you doing? and it honestly spoke volumes of how she was in general.
He should've been flustered about what he did, yet the fact that she didn't act differently told him otherwise.
"Yui."
Immediately, the female faced forward— leaving Semi's hand in the process. She bit her tongue, finding it somehow hard to not recall how the man that called her name walked out on her in their last conversation when she was on her way to the infirmary.
Shirabu didn't look mad. For her, it seemed like he was calmer than most days, so she quickly replied, "What?"
"Get me tape."
The other team had noticed a time-out, she assumed in that second. How else would he approach her?
Normally, she'd add a remark about his choice of words— however, it was somehow more difficult to do so, when he could still be mad at her for pulling that stunt with the phone call despite his serious concern.
All she sent was a nod and she was off, completely forgetting about Semi's action and asking for his intention.
Maybe if she had looked back at that time, she'd be able to see the answer she sought— or she was better off not knowing.
Taking the athletic tape, along with a bandaid for the paper cut she got earlier, she headed back. Semi was still in his previous position. It took no more than seconds to see Shirabu by the benches, presumingly waiting for her— rather, the material she brought.
Yui unknowingly let out a sigh. Before, when she had declared her love for him that one particular night, she was determined to accept that their friendship could come to an end the day after. Yet, when she could finally see it becoming a reality with just lack of communication, there was fear that it could remain the same till the moment everyone had to go separate ways.
In the entirety of her life, she had never felt so much mixed emotions for one person.
She disliked her father, she'll do anything for her mother, she respected her seniors, she's often annoyed with Tendou and Yamagata's antics, she hated people who prove her wrong, she thought Goshiki and Semi were kind and dependable, she didn't care about Shio's opinion— Yui always has a clear impression of someone, but Shirabu was all of it.
Approaching him, she held out her hand— the same way she did the last time they talked. When he didn't react, she extended her hand further and gestured towards his own. He seemed to get the idea, yet he thoroughly refused every inch of it with the narrow of his eyes. Yui rolled her eyes, forcibly taking his hand— it was unusual that she thought of nothing but wrapping the tape as gently as she could as if it could hurt him with the slightest of movement.
That, or she couldn't fathom how unfamiliar it felt on her fingertips.
"I'll welcome any insult just for today."
He peered in question, retrieving his hand after it was all done, "Did you bump your head on something?"
She raised her finger, "Paper cuts are relatively close."
"Where?"
Thinking that he wasn't particularly invested in what she said, Yui raised the lightly bleeding finger from before. To say that she was surprised when he took the band-aid she held in her other hand and did the job for her would be an understatement. Her eyes widened by a fraction, lips parting from one another, and her finger immediately retracting from contact.
"You're accusing me of a concussion when it's clear you—"
He intervened, "You should do better apologies then."
Letting out an almost breathless huff, she stood up.
There it was again. She'd make her feel like he was kind and say the opposite things after. He deserved recognition for being able to pull her heart strings, toy with her emotions, then snap it just as quickly.
"Then do a better job with staying mad at me."
"When am I not?"
She crossed her arms in defiance, still not looking at him, "Whatever you say. Just— go. Washijo-sensei's already glaring."
"He's not here."
Her cheeks flushed, "He's not?"
"Practice match was postponed for a couple of minutes. They said it was an urgent matter."
"Oh," It wasn't anything too unusual. He's a busy man— nevertheless, it's odd for him to give them a break. Maybe it was his way of telling them to take it easy and rather be more mentally prepared? No one will ever know what goes on in his mind; except for Saito perhaps. "Seriously, sorry for the other day. I wasn't feeling too well, so I wanted to brush you off quickly."
She was sorry for leaving him waiting for the call, too— but it was safe to say that she didn't regret it. It was for the better.
"Taichi told me."
With her lower lip in between her teeth, she pressed a hand to her chest to calm her beating heart. Without a doubt, he knew what it meant. "Yeah— Yes. But, it's done. The movie, I mean."
Suddenly, all she could hear were other people's chatters as he fell into silence. He had always been harder to read than the rest, with his composed visage and nonchalant gaze. When did she get so bad at it— that she couldn't see beyond it anymore?
One day, may it be a movie or a point in her life, she'll learn not to let endings end her. Until then— she realized: she's not ready for this to stop.