𝐂𝐡 𝟔 —— 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐞𝐧
A towel draped exhaustedly over Chiharu's sweaty shoulders. The temperature was a neutral warmth, yet he was shivering in his damp jersey. His back hunched deeply, and his head dangled from his neck.
The lights down the hallway casted the walls with a discomforting white. The team walked alongside each other as they headed for their locker room. There, they were to grab their bags and belongings before ascending the bus that would take them back to the inn for a much-deserved shower and meal.
The air was dark and dry, almost hurting Chiharu's nose to breathe it in. At the tips of his fingers was a numb buzzing. His body was present and moving, his mind elsewhere.
"Haru-san, are you alright?" Touma, the first year, asked in concern. And rightfully so, as they'd all seen Chiharu's mishap at the end there.
Chiharu didn't respond. Part of him didn't know what to say. That he was fine? That he'd lost the game for them for technically no reason? Yeah, he wasn't in the mood to make his grief clear. If he had opened his mouth, he feared that what'd come out would be broken and incomprehensible. The brightly lit hallway was too much for his head.
Touma kept pushing on. "What happened during that last point? Are you sure you're okay?" He reached out to pat Chiharu's back in sympathy, as if to say "I'm here, and I've got you".
The Libero said nothing. He ran a hand through his damp hair and stared ahead emptily. Despite the shining light from above, his bright rosy hair seemed to desaturate and melt into its surroundings. As if it was in despair as well.
Before now, Chiharu had thought this entire time that he'd break down and bawl like a child if he ever lost before going to Finals. He believed that he would shatter on the spot, as soon as a game ended against his favor. That he would crumble onto the court, shoulders shaking, hands clenching tight to his jersey as if someone were forcefully stripping his title and spot on the team. That was how Chiharu watched many of his upperclassmen cry before he became the upperclassman himself.
And Chiharu was numb.
His eyes were blank, trained on nothing in particular. The pat on his back from Touma didn't even feel real.
Chiharu didn't understand why he felt this way. Why he wouldn't— couldn't— cry. His eyes were dry.
He ran another exasperated hand through his hair, fast enough to rip out a few strands.
Sadness didn't swallow his body in a deep ocean. Anger instead pierced every inch of his skin.
The more he thought about how they lost the match, the more angry he grew.
And then the only thing that felt real in that moment was his anger.
"It's fine, Haru-san. You'll still go on to do amazing things, I know it." Touma added.
This time, Chiharu found a bitter taste in his mouth. But it was pleasant. It was real. "Please, just piss off." He spat. Upon which, there was no sense of relief like he'd expected. The tightness in his chest simply grew. Someone might as well have been stabbing him repeatedly in the stomach.
Without looking back, he could feel the first-year physically withdraw from his presence. If Chiharu were any less upset, he would feel a bit bad about this, but he was wildly angry. His brain was fogged and overtaken by a fiery, white rage. Which, a sane mind could argue, was not an excuse for any of his actions, but Chiharu was far from reason.
Kiryu, who had watched all of the above events go down, sighed and sent an encouraging nod in the first-year's direction. "Don't mind him. He's..." The captain struggled to find his words. "He's a sore loser," Kiryu settled with, as the team arrived in the locker room.
"A sore loser, yeah. Of course I am! Why aren't you?" Chiharu complained, waving his hands almost deliriously. The rest of the team was silent as they clicked open their lockers solemnly.
"I wasn't the one who messed us up; I messed up one time at the end! Until then, I'd always done what I was supposed to!" Chiharu was arguing with himself at this point. He was eager to defend himself despite no one having blamed anything on him. They were, in fact, quite concerned, but the Libero wouldn't realize this until later. "It's not my fault we lost, it's on all of you not pulling your weight on the team!" But Chiharu... Chiharu was screaming. Inside and out. His chest hurt and he couldn't seem to inhale enough air to fix that.
As if in perfect sync, ten pairs of eyes shot up to meet Chiharu's. He looked around to see the faces of his team mates: faces of anguish, shock, and those that returned his anger. To his immediate left, Kiryu was rendered motionless, gaping in disbelief at his childhood friend. All of his teammates stood without a peep for a long moment. Each of them were familiar with their Haru-san's constructive criticism, but never had they heard him say anything as accusing as this.
"Hey, all of us put in our best effort!" Nozomu declared loudly, effectively breaking the silence with a slam of his locker to emphasize his words. "I can't say I play better than you do, but I did my best at my job on the court. I stopped as many spikes as I could!"
"You're not the only one who had desire to win. We wanted it just as much as you did." Unnan added.
Before Chiharu could respond, Usuri cut in, "Haru-san, Unnan's right. Afterall, you're not better than Wakatsu-san, and he's not blaming anyone for the loss."
Chiharu scoffed. In his foggy mind, he distantly recalled his own words to Kiryu, "You're not self-important enough, so I have to be that for both of us."
"But he should be. He should be blaming all of you." He said blatantly, "All of you relied on me to save your asses, and you all counted on him to score. Especially you, Usuri, you don't get to praise him now, as if you didn't groan earlier at how he didn't score off of one of your shitty sets on the court." He pointed an accusing finger at the setter, hands shaking in fury.
He continued, mouth moving seemingly on its own. "You all nag at me to stop 'overworking' myself, but I do it because none of you would ever care to put in as much effort as I have throughout the years. Instead, you wait around for Wakatsu and I to do something amazing and save your asses. So, please shut the hell up—"
A punch to the face cut his sentence short. It was something so strange, neither Chiharu nor the rest of the team even comprehend it for the first few moments. Yet, Chiharu pieced it together as the sharp, throbbing ache reached his cheek and he stumbled back clumsily.
Wakatsu Kiryu, the mild-mannered captain, had socked him in the eye.
Staggering to stay on his feet, he held the left side of his face that was quickly swelling red and tough. He looked up at Kiryu's towering figure, their difference in height intimidating him now more than it ever did before.
"I've heard enough." The captain stated evenly. Kiryu then proceeded to say three things, as if he were reading from a list: "Don't talk about the team like that. Don't speak for me as if you know what I feel. And don't blame your own idiocy on the team."
That covered just about all of it.
But Kiryu, in the most strange and out-of-character way, continued speaking past what was called-for. "I know you're hurting. But we all are. You need to understand that. Just because some players aren't as skilled as you doesn't mean they don't feel crushed by loss the same way you do."
Chiharu didn't know how to react. However, the team reacted for him, some of them gasping in utter disbelief while others (the third-years) huffed fond yet humorless laughs with proud nods of the head.
Hilariously enough, with the never-ending ache underneath his eye, Chiharu was able to think more clearly than ever. Why was he being such a dick to the people that cared about him the most? The answer to that didn't matter, what mattered was that he shouldn't have said what he did. Kiryu was right to have cut him off. Who knew of what other hurtful things Chiharu would have spat out otherwise?
He held his face for several more seconds. The room was overtaken by silence once again.
This time, Chiharu broke the silence, stuttering out an apology. "Fuck, I'm so sorry— I really— I don't know what I was— That was some dumb shit I said..." It was quite well-versed for a guy whose brain had just been knocked and sloshed around in his head.
He ended the awkward stammer with a deep, sincere bow; head tucked and arms glued to his sides.
Chiharu remained in the low bow until he felt arms pull him up from the shoulders. "Haru-san, I get it," Nozomu said knowingly, "Some of the things you said are admittedly true. The rest of us could have worked on allowing you to trust us as much as we trust you. But the other things were pretty shitty, I agree."
"Hey, I know you didn't mean most of it." Usuri joined, giving Chiharu a pat on the back before heading out of the locker room. This time, the firm pat felt real. Solid. Like a rock that had his back. A friend and teammate he could lean on. Chiharu cursed himself for ever letting himself interpret that kind gesture in other ways.
"It's just that, next time you could settle with not saying anything at all." Unnan shrugged from behind the Setter.
Chiharu returned a wacky smile, face still aching. He gave Nozomu's arm a gentle squeeze as Nozomu withdrew his hands from Chiharu's shoulders. "Sorry," Chiharu repeated somberly.
After the team cleared out of the room, Chiharu pressed his back against the lockers behind him. Feeling the lingering sweat on his back cool against the metal doors, he leaned his head into the doors and slid to the ground. His eyes were closed, exhausted, and he was close to dozing off until he felt a presence beside him.
Chiharu cracked his eyes open painfully, just in time to see Kiryu sit down beside him.
The Libero couldn't contain his bubbling jokes. "You know you're not actually getting a thousand yen for punching a teammate." He laughed through his words.
"Yeah, I figured." Kiryu wore a gentle smile. Without another word, his hand traveled up to Chiharu's hair, gently running his hand through it and patting him on the head.
"I have to agree that that was some 'dumb shit'." Kiryu said after a while.
"No better way to put it," Chiharu sighed out another apology, "For what it's worth, thanks for snapping me out of it. I really am sorry that I yelled at you."
"And for overworking yourself."
"And for overworking myself," repeated Chiharu, "Sorry."
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry too. For all of it."
"I know."
The floor was swarming with dust, but Chiharu couldn't will himself to climb back up for a long time.
⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝
[messages: Kiyoomi Sakusa and Chiharu Konishi]
[00:21]
So we both lost, huh
[00:40]
I just took a long
ass shower.
You had me worried
for a sec
Thought you'd
drowned
Fortunately, I
did not.
Yay to that
Hey, you wanna
meet up?
Now?
It's tomorrow
already.
Lmao 'It's tomorrow' 💀
Seriously, anyone
thinking straight
would strongly
advise against this.
Yes, but you see...
Please don't make
a gay joke.
Don't say "You see,
it's because we're gay".
Everyone who makes
that joke thinks they're
the first person to have
done it. I assure you,
you're not.
HAHA!
Alright fine
It's not because
we're gay. It's because
we both lost today
and I just want to
talk to you
Okay.
Ok! Meet me at the
practice arena. The
one next to your Inn
with the benches in
the front.
See you in ten.
See you
⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝
Before his departure, Kiyoomi bundled himself in a sweater, scarf, and gloves. To be completely safe from the ruthless January wind, swung his sports jacket over what he was wearing.
Why was Kiyoomi, of all people, sneaking out of his silent Inn at two in the morning? Part of him cursed himself for bending to Chiharu's demands so easily. Tomorrow, his team was probably going to nag at him to come watch Karasuno vs. Kamomedai. He doubted he would've had enough sleep by that time to grasp what was going on in the match.
Kiyoomi was impaled by a gust of harsh wind as soon as he cracked open the front door of the Inn. Struggling, he pinned the frail door back in its frame.
Swinging his backpack over his shoulders, he crossed his arms and walked diligently to the Practice Gym.
Immediately, he spotted Chiharu sitting on one of the benches outside, knees curled to his chest.
The image of the Libero sitting calmly under the dim lighting of the porch outside the gym was so strikingly beautiful that Kiyoomi almost didn't want to disrupt it. Nevertheless, Chiharu spotted him and immediately waved his hands wildly above his head.
"Kiyoomi!" He cheered with several exclamation points.
The Kiyoomi in question couldn't help but soften his frown. He sat on the wooden bench beside Chiharu, noticing the hilarious difference between his own abundance of warm clothing and the other's lack of it. Then, he took note of the way Chiharu slightly shivered at the next round of wind.
"I underestimated how cold it would be." Chiharu noticed it too, tugging the collar of his sports jacket over his cheeks.
"Why don't we just go inside the gym?" Kiyoomi asked.
"Managers of the area lock all its doors after a certain hour."
"How do you know for sure?" Kiyoomi stood up, walked all the way over, and stubbornly wiggled the door's metal handle, ultimately finding no luck with getting in.
Chiharu crossed his arms smugly, "Third-year life experiences. I've tried before."
Kiyoomi couldn't help but laugh a little. He unzipped his own sports jacket and placed it over Chiharu's shoulders. The taller still had adequate clothing upon giving his jacket away. Afterall, Kiyoomi was not one to underestimate the enemy that was natural weather. He felt content at that thought and tucked his hands into his sweater's pockets.
The Libero wrapped himself snugly in the other's clothing. Since Kiyoomi was several sizes larger, the jacket fit over Chiharu's previous, thinner one just fine. "You might actually be my favorite person." Chiharu grinned, looking unfairly good in Itachiyama's colors.
Few seconds went by of both boys just basking in the presence of each other without a word.
Eventually, Chiharu spoke up. "You remember when we rescheduled that conversation the other day?" He asked.
'How could I not?' Kiyoomi's expression said. But they had planned to discuss it all after they'd both made it to Finals, and if it wasn't clear already: neither of them had made it. Kiyoomi's heart ached at that thought, but he tilted his head curiously and waited for Chiharu to continue.
"If you don't mind, dearest perfectionist, I would like to follow-up that conversation right now." Chiharu said.
⌜ • ° + ° • ⌝
Author's Note ——
This final part was the first scene I'd envisioned upon writing out a basic concept for this fic. Glad to have finally written it after so long. Also for a scene that I've anticipated for so long, this chapter is painfully under-edited. Thanks for putting up with that.
As a side-note I feel I should mention that I don't condone what little violence was present in this chapter. There are always better ways to sort things out. However, for personal entertainment, I wanted write as close of a fight scene as possible in a fic about high school volleyball.