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There isn't anything left for volleyball in his heart—yesyesyes something is still there—
The only thing it brings is panging pain and a twisting sensation that feels like it's going to steal his breath away and wring him dry.
He can't help some terrible part of himself that looks away everytime a set is made.
His eyes are traitorous to him—always looking at and away from things they shouldn't be at the wrong times—and he wants to curse at something for this instinctual reaction.
But he can't, because in the end, it was all his fault.
It was his fault that his sets were too arrogant, his fault that he was the weak link in the team when he should've been the strongest, his fault—
Wind wooshes past him.
A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he flinches.
Kageyama snaps his head to the side, to see coach looking concerned at him as practice seems to have stopped, and even the idiot Hinata and bastard Tsukishima look a bit worried.
Shit.
"Are you alright, Kageyama?"
Damn, he must have been really out of it if coach sounded that concerned.
Awkwardly shifting to the side—the warmth from the hand on his shoulder leaves and he can't help but want it back because how do you crave for something you've never had until it's given to you—he mutters something intelligible, even to himself, and turns around to see a volleyball rolling to a stop behind him.
Oh.
The pieces come together, and he sees Kiyoko walking toward them from the other side of the court, and he swiftly dodges her piercing eyes as he runs back to the wall and leans down to grab the volleyball.
His hands are shaking—is it because of the volleyball in his hands or is it him?—and he stands there for a quiet minute as he clenches at the volleyball and tries to calm himself.
There's no use in getting worked up.
No use.
Keep yourself together.
Blinking thrice, he turns around and places the volleyball back into the cart.
Practice seems to have reluctantly resumed around him, and the squeezing in his chest—he didn't even notice—subsides.
Something in him burns as he forces himself to try and keep his eyes locked on the volleyball as it reaches the setter.
His eyes drift away, and he grits his teeth at his own incompetence.
Practice continues like that, and he ends up confronting Kiyoko as he asks to take all the bottles for refilling.
He can do it on his own, he reiterates as her glasses seem to look not only through him, but at him as well.
Standing there with her looking at him seems like an eternity, and when she lets it go, he doesn't think he's ever speedwalked that fast to escape a person in his life.
He grabs the basket of bottles as fast as he can, avoiding flying volleyballs as he puts on his shoes and leaves.
The thundering sound of volleyballs colliding into the ground and squeaking sneakers accompany him out the door.
(He forces himself not to look back.)