"Someone showed me a YouTube video of that inter-high prefectural match or whatever… "
Shoyou pauses, looking up at him and blinking slowly. No emotion shows on his face this time, but his hunched shoulders are tense. "So… right now are we still playing? In your head, are we still playing fucking volleyball?!"
He tries to raise his voice, but is choking halfway. "Fuck, I thought you had your shit together, but it seems you're still stuck into some dumb volleyball match from fucking high-school!"
Ushijima blinks, suddenly out of air. "No! Why would you-"
"Is that why you lied to me, kept this shit from me all this time? Because that day you swore you'd crush me? That's what he said."
They really play like crap, all of them. His old coach would cringe at the sight of the basic, beginner mistakes everyone keeps making, but then again, no one puts any mind into it, it's not even a practice match. The college doesn't have a volleyball team and Wakatoshi and his new friends are so saddled up with work anyway that they can only spare short moments like this to relax a bit, as a break from the long hours of studying and toiling on various projects. Business school is far more taxing than he'd imagined and, as he grips the ball ready to serve and tosses it up in the air, going through the familiar, long practiced motions reminds him how much he actually doesn't like it.
He plays to get out of his head and into his body, to get out period, but it's a toxic form of escapism. His damned thoughts always creep back in, usually right when he finally starts to enjoy himself a little bit, managing to go past the fact that the hall is so small and the rows of seats mostly empty, and that they're so few people he can play with these days, that it's so painfully quiet. But Wakatoshi gets over it eventually, energized, caught in the game, as crappy as it is, and then it happens.
He remembers he didn't want this.
Just because he was able to pull through with decent grades for the past two years and a half doesn't mean he belongs here. Or in the office where he'll go for internship next year.
Damn it!
The ball flies back and he inhales, licking his lips in anticipation, dark olive-brown eyes following it eagerly. This makes him feel alive. Feel like he can breathe again, free, unhinged. This-
But then his mind gets in the way and messes it up – his hands are not raised quick enough for a proper receive and instead of sending it back over the net the ball goes up and backwards, high above his head, towards the audience seats. Wakatoshi turns on his heels with an angry huff, just in time to see it go to over where two boys sit hunched together over some papers and hit one of them straight in the face.
"OI! WHAT THE HELL?!" the other yells, throwing Ushijima an angry glare as the brunet leaves the court and rushes up the stairs, towards them.
The boy who's been hit is now slumped into the seat, hands clamped tightly over his nose and one eye, the other one closed, breathing heavily. Ball in hand, Wakatoshi leans down to collect the sketchbook which has fallen from the other student's lap, several pages scattered from it. There are many rough pencil drawings in it - of the hall, of various players in motion, (himself included – there's something about the shape of his upper body that's unmistakable) - some details barely sketched, others worked over with more precision. Funny, he'd never thought art students would come here to actually observe and draw him and his friends while they're playing and there's an odd excitement in that idea, he feels just a bit flattered.
"I'm very sorry! Are you okay?"
The boy nods weakly but slumps further, not managing any words yet.
"Shoyou, let me see," the other says, a tissue in hand, finally prying his hands away and Wakatoshi freezes, eyes suddenly wide. Even hidden under that black hood, he'd recognize that face anywhere – it's him.
The Karasuno shrimp.
What the-
"I'm fine, j-just… I got scared," the ginger mutters, refusing the tissue. His nose isn't bleeding, the ball got him more in the eye and forehead, but it's probably bound to leave an ugly bruise.
"It's you!" What the hell was his name again?! Ah, yes, Hinata. Hinata Shoyou. "Hinata! What are you doing here?!" Ushijima hears himself say and it doesn't really make any sense, why is he talking to the shrimp like they're… like they're what? Not even acquaintances. He clears his throat awkwardly."I mean, how come you're not playing?"
God, that's even worse, it's not like he wants the shrimp to play with him or anything! He doesn't even have an idea what the shrimp is doing here in the first place, maybe he's not even a student at this college! And he already apologized, why can't he just walk away and forget about it?
But the younger looks up at him questioningly, blinking. Puzzled. He studies Wakatoshi's face curiously, yet without any spark of acknowledgement. He doesn't seem to recognize him at all and for a brief moment the brunet wonders if he hasn't made a goof, mistaking the boy for someone else. But it can't be, the other called him 'Shoyou', it would be too much of a coincidence.
"You are Hinata Shoyou, aren't you?" he asks, unnecessarily, especially when the other pulls back his hood and runs a small hand through the trademark bright orange hair, ruffling it further.
"Yeah, I am. But, um… I had an accident about two years ago and I don't… uh… don't remember anything from before." He shrugs, letting out a small, apologetic laugh. "I'm sorry, it's just kinda weird to explain this and it's-… it's really bad when I run into someone I'm supposed to know and I don't. I didn't mean to be rude."
Ushijima simply stares with a vague scowl, completely taken aback by the unexpected, disarming confession he's unable to fully process just yet. His lips are slightly parted – he should say something, probably, but nothing comes to mind.
"You played volleyball?" the other boy asks, breaking the awkward silence.
"That's what they said, back when I was at Karasuno," the ginger shrugs again. "But now, after I got a ball in my face, heh… I really wouldn't try, even if I could."
If he could?
"But… did you go to Karasuno too?" he asks Wakatoshi as the two smaller boys stand to leave, collecting their things. He notices that Hinata is still as petite as ever, he hasn't grown any taller. Also, that he now walks with a slight limp, which is only visible if you pay close attention.
"What? Ah, no… No, only we met during a practice match once…"
And that's it. Right then and there, without thinking, without even knowing why, Ushijima serves his first lie.
To be continued