You didn't know why.
But for some reason, balls love you.
Yes, balls. Even if you had distanced yourself from a few meters away, or had completely ignored ball games at the gymnasium, balls would always come flying your way— a joke created by fate that held no discrimination. Whether it be a basketball, a tennis ball or a volleyball, as long as they were in the vicinity, one of their stray balls could have the ability to suddenly appear before you, like a puppy returning to its owner. A very painful puppy.
And the process has made your small body extremely resistant to it.
"Claire, there's a volleyball game at the gymnasium. Do you wanna come watch?"
"No." You say with a weird dignified look, looking like a warrior that had been hardened by countless battles.
"I didn't bring my helmet."
"What."
"Come on. I heard they were having an exhibition match."
"I don't like seeing tall people." You groaned, as they were the bane of your existence, an insult straight to your face. But she only brushed you off. This were your usual lines and your friends had grown accustomed enough to ignore it.
You temporarily contemplated, wondering why you befriended someone you couldn't say no to. You wanted out of danger zones. But you were already inside the gymnasium and the place was crowded.
And look what your rotten luck got you, they were having their warm up. You look at them, nodding as you examine their well-built physique and because it was the first time in a while that you saw new and foreign players.
But it was easy to tell who stood out. A huge man suddenly slams the ball with a spike and you turned to look at the obvious direction the shot was heading for, satisfied that it wasn't headed towards your direction.
You spoke too soon.
And you realized you did when you saw that it was heading for your friend.
Just your rotten luck. You suddenly prowled towards it, as agile as a cat and managed to dig the ball up.
You have enough muscles in your small body to parry it. And it spun in a rotation you were all too familiar with. The ball settles after being received and falls down the floor with a loud thud. Your sudden entrance making the other players halt. But it didn't changed the fact. It was a perfect receive. But that wasn't what mattered.
You sigh and suddenly catch the gaze of the huge man who had just spiked the ball. He looked surprised... And mad.
"That was amazing, Claire!" Your friend beamed and you yelped when you noticed the athlete walking closer.
He looked like a freakin titan from that anime you always watched. Except he wasn't smiling. It even looked like his face wasn't used to a smile either.
He suddenly inspected you. But you were all too familiar with that gaze and you felt uncomfortable.
He was looking at you as if he knows looming, unprecedented skills when he sees one.
You had a line of sight that wasn't really just honed because you were scared of being hit by a stray ball. And he looked like he doesn't just hit strong, you remember the rotation as well as the nasty speed he gave the ball. But you were no stranger to those types.
It was a type of ball you could see and receive, simply because you've seen the same kind since childhood.
And the callouses on your arms and hands proved it.
"Your name?" He suddenly asks.
You look at his face, feeling uncomfortable. "Aren't you a little rude?" You retorted.
"Claire." Your friend scolds you and you whine. "Fine."
"Claire... Romero." You look away.
"Ah!" One of his teammates suddenly said in realization upon hearing your surname. That's right.
You came from a family of world-class athletes. A family whose height towered at a minimum of 6 feet tall and you looked out of place looking like you have sucked up all your family's bad luck.
After all, you were only 5 foot tall.
"My name is Ushijima Wakatoshi." He suddenly says and you offer him a handshake.
"Well, aren't you friendly. Nice to meet you." You snorted and he just looked at your hand. "Don't just look at it, my neck freaking hurts." You complain and you catch him grin slightly. He shakes your hand, a knowing look appearing on his face from the way your hand feels against his. It was an athlete's hand, riddled in callouses and hardened skin from constant bruising. But it was proof. Proof of your roots and to think that it belonged to someone this small.
"Don't you have a match?" You ask and he nodded then bowed and left. "Claire, I found seats." Your friend said and you hummed before following after, your gaze momentarily settled on his back.
"Indoor volleyball, huh."
—
"So that's how you meet him?" Your friend asked as the two of you looked at Ushijima from afar.
You nod as you relay the entire story of how you meet him to your friend.
"So when did you fuck?"
"Jesus Christ, Norrie. We're just friends."
"I mean. He's hot, big, beefy and you haven't fucked him?" She asked like you like it was the most obvious thing to do in the world and you looked at her with dead fish eyes.
"Yes."
"You're making poor life decision again."
"Claire." You hear the familiar voice interrupting your conversation with your friend and a tick mark immediately appeared on your forehead, the reaction already haywired in you brain.
"Speaking of the devil."
"What." You ask him. Ushijima looks at you then says the one word you've always heard from him.
"Training." He says and you groan. But you aren't complaining. You can't complain.
"I really do make poor life decisions." You say as you follow him.
You've made a promise with him after all.
But that's a story for another time.