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Miniscule specs of gasps trailed across, hinting none but the sheer quantity of apprehension scattering from the likes of Atsumu Miya. No, he whimpered in agitation, dreading to feel the growl of liberty. This could not be happening for all one knows. No remedy possessed out there that could, again, possibly jerk off his indulgence in self-denial for an effortless case of rejection.
Steadily, he had realized very early on, earlier than the likes of many. Fragile yet resolved flicks, even the people surrounding him on a regular checkbook began to get a clue with the gradual passing stages. But Miya, without any verbal concern, took the resolution to keep that within himself. While in any way, this was not a high-minded scenario nor was it a temporary situation.
Regardless of what may fall short, Atsumu Miya chose not to speak up for his own selfish accord.
Bokuto, being a month or so away before transferring to a foreign league, had already confirmed the prompt suspicious malice whirling in the mind of Meian, that Miya was not behaving like himself or at least did not feel like so. Bokuto being himself as Bokuto, heedlessly thwacked the back of his teammate, immediately causing the said individual to fall unconscious on the clear, rough surface.
"Eh-?" Bokuto paused,
"Tsum-tsum?"
That was the last thing Miya had possibly heard before falling to his supposed demise. The cause of such was initially unknown. Even the thorough check posed nothing but "normal" on the piece of paper, eventually ruling on a simple fatigue.
Ever since Hinata, whom he dearly cherished and was most certainly proud of, had left Japan to secure a place in a team located in Brazil, he began to feel… rather lonely. Worry not, the team lacked neither weirdos nor strong players. For Atsumu, the last straw had taken off the drill when even Sakusa, with whom he would rather be nothing but feisty, had gotten an invitation to another team.
Normally, this would facade no worry but one — Sakusa had stated interest over considering that team's invitation.
Yes, correctly that was the last straw to Miya's questionable sanity. He, who rejected all possible probabilities for the pure sake of his selfish desires, was being left behind against all odds. Mind you, not by just any individual either.
"…"
It was in the midst of a heat; the sun was radiating twice as much as yesterday. Prominently, rays of light glared through those shallow empty spaces, causing annoyance to express out from Miya.
"Miya?"
A voice whispered.
Never did it take long enough for the guy, currently bed-rested, to realize. Either throw a racket up to his mind or you are nothing. Miya did not flinch out of desperation; out of not wanting to seem frightened up front.
Pathetic, Miya mentally bickered.
Miya's movements happened to cause loud frictions, even when he was merely tilting his head to the side. He called, "Omi-kun."
Sure enough, Sakusa as a whole stood there, his dull gaze bestowing nothing but a reminiscent of desolation. This caused a feeling of shame to stick a chord in the void of the man, Miya Atsumu.
Sakusa huffed, "Unbelievable, really."
The multiple stacks of saline were barely out of both their ranged sights. Even the scent of presumably salt got to the point of utter annoyance in Miya.
"You haven't changed, have you? Omi-kun?" Atsumu spoke in a subtle manner, gently showcasing a glimpse of his simper.
"Seems like you have." Sakusa reprimanded, "When did you start tripping over on the court like that?"
Miya burrowed his face, "No."
Given the situation or no matter the stance they are in, both Miya and Sakusa will never fail to get frustrated with each other's shenanigans. This was the case for Miya, who would constantly get questionable thoughts regarding Sakusa in general.
"I was kidding." Sakusa rest assured, "Anyways, what did the report say?"
Miya suddenly perked up, his tired body quickly not failing to pick up the red beeping signal.
"They said I'm fine. See?" Miya removed the cloth hiding his left arm that was seemingly injected with a small tube, "I'm perfectly fine now!"
Miya puffed up, continuing by royally adding only to leer at Sakusa, "Or are you worried about me, Omi-kun?"
Sakusa shrugged away, extending to fix the nearby seat to his liking near to the white line, which being Miya himself.
"You're hyperventilating."
This was eventually inevitable, Miya knew that better than anyone else. But that did not serve any purpose of easing up the pain that was throbbing like an intruding knock on a wooden horse.
Miya's breathing hitched on spot, "Guess so."
Hands wide open, desperately needing to cling onto something — something Miya would do had Sakusa not ogled on him like a damn owl. "But,"
Sakusa continued,
"What if I was?"
Miya matched Sakusa's gaze, "Huh?"
"Worried."
Miya continued to breathe in a deranged manner, lacklusterly succumbing himself to the feeling of monochrome turning vibrant. Is this it? He thought, remembering vividly of the times flashing through his frontal blurs. It hurts.
It really did, all the while clenching his hands. At one point he felt as though everything came crashing to him; like, physically unable to reach the soft, yet violent glow. Though everything he had known was set to be freed, he was not. Not when he struck himself deep enough to end on a constant defeat, one that could never be breezed away.
Miya huffed,
"I guess I am lucky then." He smiled.