Chapter Text
How far does the skin go to protect the bone?
Understanding the logic as stretched by science is the opposition to emotional morality, and it can be a distastefully wrought feeling that displaces each spectrum of the brain itself. The notion that the skin, an otherwise loose coating that shields the blood, the molecule, the bone can be something that is stretched, but remains in tact like rubber becomes an afterthought to Suna. How is it that he has spent years, behind the skin, behind the eyes, and behind the bone, so comfortably without worrying about the skin collapsing on top of him?
The thought makes him want to retreat into his rib, wherein the formation of his vessel lay bearing. He stops from cowering back into the gilded cages shielding the arteries. Could it be nature's sick sense of morality that fuels the skin's unconscious need to be selfless? Or, by logical sense, does the skin truly have no other motive? He understands it wasn't by choice that the skin was placed onto the bone?
Suna wonders with an outline of apprehension during the calm quietness of a boisterous winter's evening. This forethought plagues the walls of his mind as his hands take refuge within the pockets of his jeans. If, by chance, one day his skin decides to loosen into a blackhole on top of the spectre of his being, will his bones be able to forge a house for his vessel? The concept of selflessness by nature hurts his brain to comprehend — thoughts like those often made his brain tug into knots, which is why he usually prefers to quietly dissect volleyball motions rather than the eternal discussion of how eager the skin goes to protect the bones.
But then he wonders, doesn't the concept of selfless nature comply to volleyball as well? At its core, it comes down to the survival of the fittest doesn't it? Only the lucky ones get to live far, tough fucking luck to those with the short end of the stick. Yeah, that sounds about right, Suna thinks. He wonders back to when he was 10, a gap-toothed boy holding in his breath as his parents started shouting, 10pm on a Friday night. He's lucky, real fucking lucky. It's a normalcy of some sorts, isn't it? Though the fighting never ceased, he was never smacked up, cut-up, or fucked-up in any way shape or form, he was fine — just fine.
It was just a thing of life, a burden he bore but not a real enough burden to be spoken about.
Then, he shivers, October's cold crawling up the ridges of his spine like a shadow in the night. He's gone mad. Volleyball is not about selfless nature, how cruel he must be to equate the inner turmoils he carries on his shoulder to a sport that bases around quality teamwork with a group of people that have a similar goal in mind. He sees it every day, in every court, in every ball, in every team jersey he's ever worn. The apple core that sprouts a beautiful victory lies within the captain, and it travels to all the players.
Kita Shinsuke's cool steely eyes makes a second shiver sneak up on him, he sees the captain in all his robotics, determination and passion screaming inside the visceral layers of his eyes. Play to win. Win... Win or what?
Winning, he shivers once again. It's probably not the thought of winning that sets his skin into an icy glaze, the cool winter's air at 6.30 in the morning does not relent for Suna Rintarou. He hasn't realised within all his existentialist psychology that time does not wait for him. He's supposed to be at the school gym by now, and usually, he'd be one of the last few there, but at the rate he's going, he's going to be the very last. There was an unspoken understanding, an unspoken rule that must be abided thoroughly each and every practice.
Though their practices are usually said to start at 7AM, each and every team member must be there at least 30 minutes before said practice time, and for the most of the year, Suna has been very good at following that rule. He wasn't the best at keeping routines like Kita, but at least he tries to make it there before the Miya twins. Which isn't honestly the best thing in the world, seeing as though they are stupidly passionate but terrible at keeping their time managements steady.
True enough, the twins crawl into the gym at approximately 6:52 AM. He takes one deep look at the boys, eyeing the distinct way Atsumu fists his gym shorts tightly, and how they stood a good metres apart, squared shoulders and furrowed brows. Ticked, he realises tasting bitter notes of disdain and the sourness of a swift change of pace. The sound of his saliva trailing down his throat told him he was excited, yet simultaneously nervous to see the blooming explosion bound to happen between the two. He knows them well enough to anticipate it.
Miya Atsumu isn't a simple boy by no means, but having spent so much time with the bleach-blonde boy, Suna can safely identify what makes him tick and what makes him tock. Suna feels smug at the thought, his eyes travel to Gin's who looked back at him with understanding. Just a few hairs late, he notes with a smirk. Gin nods back at him, then proceeds to make himself known to the cart filled with volleyballs. Ignore the ticking bomb, the suggestion chimes in his head. Suna follows his friend's lead and busies himself by pushing the cart with Gin pulling on the opposite end. Miya Atsumu's flaws and personalities can't be diluted into a simple understanding, the boy is a complex enigma that almost killed Suna to ponder over.
The first few times he had met Miya Atsumu in their first year, Suna wanted to throw a bucket of water over his head to get him to cool down. In logical terms, the thought made sense, doesn't it? At that point, Atsumu was red and angry, rage brimming over the edge of the precipice as he shouted curses and woes at Osamu. What else was he supposed to do? Suna had zero to none experience with hot-headed people like that, not once in his life had he met someone that couldn't compose themselves in front of other people. Evidently, Atsumu had no qualms about ignoring the lingering eyes, and that for a fact, Suna knows is true.
Atsumu had always been good at ignoring people whenever he needed to, he was a simple boy in that sense. Other than that, Atsumu could go on days upon days like a well-oiled machine, and sometimes he appeared to be just as robotic as Kita Shinsuke. Well, nobody could be as robotic as Kita Shinsuke, but whenever it came to volleyball, Atsumu triumphed that card very well. The boy is dripping in his passion for volleyball, it made everything else seem like background noise.
That was a discussion that always left his tongue bitter, Suna wanted to empathise with Atsumu, but with every argument he had with his twin, he found himself agreeing with Osamu wholeheartedly. The twins fought often, everybody knew that. What they didn't know is that most of the heavy-hitting arguments boil down to volleyball, the primary catalyst for most of their well-known fights, and explosive anger; fit for two kings with a stubborn streak and a pride molded in palms bigger than life itself. It's better that way, he thinks. Nobody should have bullets to throw at the twins while they're in a crossfire between themselves.
Suna isn't a mind reader, he can't tell what Atsumu's ticked off about. But he can for sure see that he's angry, and though he is angry enough to ignore rationality, he's just not angry enough to throttle someone. Even still, the tired boy ignores the sheer rage dripping off the blonde boy and he could only hold his breath until Atsumu's other half makes himself known. When the gym door bangs open violently, Suna smirks quietly to Gin, gripping his phone with his left hand. The other boy looks at him all-knowingly a mischievous glint present within his warm earthy eyes, but smiles an uncertain lopsided grin when Osamu begins shouting.
"You stupid shrimp-dicked pig!" Came the first shout, then in fits of rage, words of anger and frustration came bouncing off the gym walls like a swinging pendulum travelling back and forth.
The other twin does not relent, "Who you calling shrimp dick, you verbally abusive bastard!"
Osamu growls in disdain, grabbing Atsumu by the collar. "Watch yourself you fucking asshole. Do you think you're God or something? Is that why you walk around like your head is so big? News flash: your brain is full of shit!" The twin bites, digging his nails into Atsumu's shirt as he shakes the other boy back and forth as if to make the boy see a sense of mind.
The grey haired twin's eyebrows are twitching vehemently, a sign that he was annoyed and fed up with Atsumu's bullshit. This allows the thought that Atsumu did or said something that went against Osamu's morals, Suna notes. He pulls out his phone and shields everything but the camera from the twin's sight. Not that the twins would pay attention to petty things like that, especially not when Osamu has his hands nearly Atsumu's neck just about ready to choke him to death.
Ginjima, the ever-loving peace keeper scowled at Suna but made no moves to stop him from recording. Instead, he puts his hands up with a nervous expression dawning his face. He approaches the screaming twins with uncertainty, feeling Suna's amusement. Gin looked akin to a zookeeper trying to get two animals to stop eating each other alive. He swallows a chuckle and watches the scene outplay itself. The boy pushes Gin forward, the motion catching the attention of the twins who looked back to see the nervous Gin clear his throat before speaking.
"Boys, don't you think its too early to be shouting this loudly? We could all get in some serious trouble with Kita, and I don't know about you, but I'm not looking forward to doing extra cardio on a Monday morning right before our chemistry quiz." He rationalises.
For a moment, Suna sees Osamu's eyes widen, as if woken up from the fits of rage that swallowed his reason. Suna frowns, fingers about to press pause on record when Atsumu head butts Osamu right smack in the centre of his forehead. The skin glows red, as if irritated by the sudden intrusion of feeling caused by the nerves underneath the skin.
"What the fuck was that for you stupid piss-haired freak?!"
"Just wanted to be sure that your head is as thick as my ass thats what!" Atsumu sneers, locking his right leg around Osamu's thigh before shifting his wait to the balls of his feet and successfully pulling the other twin to the ground underneath him. They struggle on the ground for what seems like ages, all rationale thrown out the window. Suna watches the timer on the tops of his phone screen shine 5:35 alerting him that the twins have been throwing insults back and forth as they wrestle for a long 5 minutes.
It was 6.57AM now. He whistles at Gin, grabbing the attention of the concerned boy who's eyes were keen on stopping the twins.
Suna's voice drops to a mere whisper when Gin stands patiently in front of him. "Leave them be. It's 3 to 7 anyway." The other boy takes one look at Suna's phone stuck on record, before nodding quietly.
The action almost made Suna's heart swell, though he'd never outwardly express the hypnotic feeling. Even though Suna and Gin had only been friends for a year and a bit, Ginjima had made himself very well acquainted to Suna. Not once did Gin appear to be irritated or upset with Suna for his inability to convey certain thoughts or emotions, Gin was good at that. He understood just as much, and if not better, that not everybody can emotionally propel their soul out for people to empathise with.
Suna was just as stretched thin as Atsumu, and he was cut from the same cloth as the twins and Ginjima. Maybe that's why they clicked so well together, and Suna knew just how lucky he was to have friends like them. Just the thought of Gin not speaking a word to disrupt the quality of Suna's recording made his chest tight with the rush of emotion — how fond the heart grows for these boys.
The fight continues on, "Maybe Ma really did drop you on the head as a kid, who knew you could be this dense!" Osamu breathes ruggedly.
"You wanna go there!? Pa told me you were the unplanned twin, Samu!"
"Yeah? Well Pa told me I'm his favourite. Eat shit, 'Tsumu."
Atsumu growls, "You're always up my ass for this shit. What's got you so pissed anyway? Did ya like her or something? 'S that why you're shitting on me?"
"It's more than that, dipstick." Sombre satin clouds Osamu's face, making the lines of his face appear sharper, and finer; as though he aged years beyond his time, and the look made something sour rip the air apart.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Osamu says, calmly pushing the infuriated boy off him. "You can't just do that shit to people. And so heartlessly too. I don't care that you didn't feel the same way. It's not right." The grey boy frowns as if the words tasted bitter on his tongue, burden travelling all the way from his head to his shoulders where they rested heavily. The sombre atmosphere leaking off the grey boy made Suna promptly switch off his phone. He watches Ginjima travel away from his grasp and sit down carefully between the two boys. It usually happened this way, explosions of colour until the red fades out into greys and blues.
Suna sighs, and walks himself to stand in front of Atsumu, whom refused to meet his eyes. The twins remain seated on the floor, Osamu with his hands over his eyes, legs sprawled over Atsumu's while the blonde boy gripped his knees in a seating position. Suna had half the mind to chortle at how predictable the twins ought to be. Even when they fought they resorted to be near each other, though they refused to see eye to eye. The melodramatics made Suna'schest tighten for the second time that day. So he does what he does best, and hides. Ginjima breaks the silence first, patting Osamu's shoulder to ease the tension he bore.
"What is it that happened, exactly?" Suna questioned.
The words "her" and "like" ringing delicately in his ears. Osamu had mentioned a girl between hits fits of rage earlier, and the thought caused a ripple effect in Suna's head. Could it be that the twins were fighting over a girl? The notion wasn't too far-fetched, there had been many fights regarding their tastes in girls, petty drama and sometimes even a case wherein they liked the same girl. Can't be, Suna pondered.
He knows what jealousy looks like on Osamu, and from what he's seeing right now, Osamu clearly had no interest in the girl mentioned. Or else he would've made that clear from the beginning, and Osamu had never been one to beat around the bush when it came to petty things as such. At that point, Suna's mind was running with the endless possibilities in which the twins could fight over.
His turmoils evaporated when Atsumu open his mouth to explain, "Osamu's being pissy just 'cuz I got confessed to this mornin"
The other boy twists his lips into a thin sneer, and growls, "That's not it and you know it."
"Then what? What else is there to it?" A raised eyebrow, and a heavy question sits in the air, and then the atmosphere grows colder from the raw look Osamu gives his twin.
Ginjima nods, "In normal occurrences, you'd just shrug it off. I mean, it's really no big deal, right? You guys get confessions all the time out of no where!"
The reasoning struck a cord within Suna. Yeah, the twins normally did get confessions thrown left and right at them, but neither of them had gone far enough to completely break a couple of hearts. Suna had been unfortunate to witness only a few, and that was because one of the girls, Naomi had been confident enough to outwardly express her undying love to Atsumu in front of their table during recess back in first year.
Naomi is a girl with a fickle understanding of shame. As Suna knows it, she's always been outspoken and confident with her demeanour. He admires her unabashed confidence and passions, and he still doesn't quite understand why his friend didn't give her a chance. They all knew she was perfect for him, but even still, Atsumu declined her romantic offering with a remorseful smile and the same basic, 'I'm sorry I cannot accept your feelings because I want to focus more on my career' Naomi's skin had turned the shade of rose petals and she whispered a soft, 'Thank you for your time' then she left, and didn't bother the twins ever again.
That particular memory still tastes confusing to Suna. Naomi often held herself to such high degree, nose pointed, chest puffed and the same regal smile slapped on her face. Suna had never been unfortunate enough to ever speak to Naomi, with the minor exceptions of passing her the blackboard duster while they cleaned up their classroom back in first year. Still, every time he passed the duster back to her, she'd look so flustered and speechless, it drought out Suna's mind.
Is it possible to find affections in the simplest form of interactions? And where do people draw that line? The more he ponders it over, the clearer the picture is painted to him. Suna could see in the way her cheeks lit up pink cherries that perhaps it wasn't Atsumu she were in love with. Even then, he had no proof to that accusation, and if he dare bring that up, he's sure Atsumu would have a fit. Selfish boy, he scoffs. Bold enough to break her heart, but not bold enough to admit her eyes were on Suna's and not his as she uttered bitter words of admiration.
His eyes travel to Atsumu and he bends. He remembers her just as much as Atsumu does. Yeah, he remembers Naomi too.
"You were being an ass, that's what happened." Osamu simmered, anger replaced with exasperation and weariness, the earlier budding rage snuffed down to quiet sizzling batter on a hot pan.
"'Samu I love ya, but I can't read your mind." Atsumu relents, and Suna sees the weariness dry on both the twins. "Are you upset with the way I handled things? Is that why?"
"Tell us Samu" Gin coaxed calmly, and rushed to crouch next to Suna.
"I'm upset because you were being a piece of shit!" Samu growls. "Yeah, you're right. I am upset. I'm upset because of how you looked at her, how you pushed her away, and how you spoke to her. You can't just be a total ass all the time and expect to get away with it just because yer Miya Atsumu!" All in one breath, Suna thought the other twin would forget to breathe and choke on his words. "Did you even care about how heartbroken she probably felt? Did you even turn to watch her tear the letter she wanted to give you into pieces? Did you even turn around to watch her cry? Because I sure as hell did!"
Atsumu's fingers shake as he lifts a finger to point back at the other boy."I feel just as shit as you do Samu! Just because I don't look it, doesn't mean I don't feel bad about it."
"Did you have to go that far though? She didn't deserve to have her heart broken that way, so cruel and mean."
"I don't fucking know what you're talking about Samu! I said what I always do to people that have confessed to me. How is this time any different?"
"Because she's a good fucking person 'Tsumu. You don't know her the way I do, and trust me, I'm just as shocked to hear she wanted to be with you."
"Backpedal a few. Who is she?" Suna presses, allowing the situation to ease to a settled silence for a bit. And then, Osamu explains.
"Her name's Kuwahara, she sits next to be during lab." Heads turn at that, Osamu's quick to dismiss it with a wave of a lackadaisical hand. "No, I don't like her romantically. She's a very sweet girl, and she helps me a lot during classes. I heard back then that she's got it rough but I wrote it off as another stupid rumour. It's not my story to tell but I have a feeling that she's fragile. I'm scared that she'll do bad things to herself. I'm sorry."
Understanding paints the room. The air feels dense and thick like snow from outside of the gym contaminated the oxygen inside the closed room. Suna has never heard of a Kuwahara, but again, he hasn't ever tried to expand his circle. Maybe he's heard of her, even still, he can't be too sure. He doesn't remember much about a Kuwahara, so that must mean she has never existed to him. His mind is foggy, it was totally in character for Osamu to sympathise with a fragile girl he met during lab classes.
But the notion still confuses him. Osamu's sympathy ran so deeply it made sense for him to be in love with her right? But he isn't in love with her. This foreign concept boggles Suna's head. He has to breathe, but the air is tight. Suna can't help but watch Osamu's hand tremble by his sides, and then suddenly, he can't think.
"Why are you apologising, Samu?" Suna spoke before his brain could catch up.
"I'm sorry for making such a big deal out of this. I know pitying her is the last thing she could ever want from me, and I hate that I'm doing exactly what she doesn't want."
"You're not shit for feeling like shit for her, Samu" Atsumu began, wrapping his arms around the other boy. "You're shit for not making your feelings clear and you're shit for unable to communicate properly. This isn't a small matter, and I'll apologise to Kuwahara about being rude later on."
"'m sorry 'Tsumu" Osamu grumbles, his head trapped in the juncture between Atsumu's neck and his shoulder.
Atsumu smiles, "Yeah, 'm sorry too."
"How fucking touching." Suna deadpans, before standing away from the hugging twins. The room felt lighter now, and he can breathe with ease. Such heavy emotions should not be held complacent for toothy teenage boys with a heart bigger than their heads. Suna feels his stomach twist nervously, the prior exchange of affection causing a queasy feeling to arise within himself. He forces himself away from the transection, and he opted to make himself busy with his phone.
7:08 AM it read, then they were all scrambling off the floor.
Ojiro Aran crossed his arms over his chest, an eyebrow ticked upwards in question. The older boy marched in from the opened gym doors with a hurried pace, rushing to get the words out of his mouth before Kita and the coach made themselves known to the other players who were still busying around the gym.
It seems as though the twin's transaction did not phase the rest of the bustling gym, seeing as though the nets had been tied and the volleyball carts had been placed in their correct spots. Suna bottles a chortle, Aran looked equally as disgusted as he felt at the begrudgingly affectionate twins. Nonetheless, he stood in spot next to a beaming Ginjima who was happy to have been part of the detective team to solve the twin's most recent fight. And then, Suna looks blankly towards Aran, who told them that Kita and the coach were running a bit late due to some paperwork that had been signed off by the principle quite late.
The older boy told them to stretch and get ready, but Suna's mind was way far off. The stretching and tugging in his stomach made him want to puke.
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Once the world left Suna alone, he was left to strip naked thoughts onto loose pavement beneath his feet. He had a lot to think about, much too lose and none to keep — today was shit, he concluded. Practice resumed as per usual after the twin's debacle occurred, and it went by too quickly. He couldn't feel reality grip his palms, and his mind had barely caught up to speed when coach called it a day for morning practices.
He felt like he was sitting behind a cool glass pane as the world around him moves like one of those vcr tapes on 2x speed that his mother found in their old basement. He remembers it all so vividly, the old dingy tv he watched the vcr tapes on: boxy and square, and heavy, and the stupid vcr player that got stuck every few moments, the same one that annoyed his dad to no end as he tries to watch football reruns. He only remembers exactly what it looks like because it was the last thing he carried weightily in his arms to be boxed up and sealed for someone else to buy.
At the time he remembered thinking, who'd on earth want such a ghastly boxy thing? Grateful people, he concludes now. People that take the time to appreciate all things coexisting, inanimate or not. He wishes he kept that old dingy tv, and the stupid jammed vcr player.
Everything moves in steady motion, and so does he. When needed to, his eyes follow the motion of the ball, it still bounces perfectly off his forearms as his knees bend to meet the ground beneath. His mind follows when his eyes swallow up words of text on paper. His lips speak when thoughts occur. His heart does not follow. He's stuck in 2007 savouring the last few moments of super Mario galaxy playing on his old dingy tv in his dad's basement.
He really wishes he kept that old dingy tv and that stupid jammed vcr player now.
He hadn't known then that he'll never be able to get the same amount of happiness he achieved over that summer in 2007 where he spent days upon days in that dark basement playing super Mario Galaxy and halo until his mother pulled on his ears and scolded her tongue off. Time felt easier, and the air was light and loose back in 2007. He wants to feel the same type of relief he did back then. Maybe, if he arranged his life to how it was back then, maybe then he'd feel the same amount of happiness that he did back then.
Did that mean he wasn't happy now? That isn't quite right. If anything, Suna has reached a level where he is quite acquainted with his feelings and he's grown to become more knowledgeable about his own thoughts and ideas. Does knowledge equal to happiness? He knows for sure that he isn't happy, but what did happiness even mean to boys like him anyway?
Boys like him had much to live for. He had a journey to fulfil and most people would die to be where he's at now. Instead, he's counting every step he takes to the convenient store because he refuses to acknowledge just how miserable he feels.
He scorns this feeling that eats his organs apart and bubbles his stomach acid into a large warping hole transporting the emotions he forced under the rug. All the control he garnered throughout this shit day felt lost in motion as his fingers pick a part the skin on his cuticle.He feels the uncertainties bubble up his throat, then he hears his thoughts set out in front of him.
He knows he's ungrateful; he detests feeling unpleasantly ill every time someone brings up how raw his future is ahead of him. He hates it most when people bring up the idea that he isn't grateful to have two steady set of hands, ready to strike, block and receive — how he has a good pair of legs, a flexible abdomen with a good stable core, or sometimes even how he had such grand stature and distinctive eyes, he hears how people get jealous of the way he stands out.
He didn't ask to be seen, he just does. And people misplace this unworthiness he feels as a sort of ungratefulness, as if he were a brat bemoaning his miseries. That wasn't him at all. He wishes people could see that.
It was times like these that made him really wish he had Atsumu's thick skin. No matter how badly he tries to conceal it, words of whisper become the greatest poem he could ponder over in his spare time (usually when he was left alone) Which really, was not that often. The only reason why he's walking to the convenience store near his apartment complex is because the twins had to stay behind to clean the classrooms while Gin had gone MIA half-way through school, muttering something about grabbing chicken soup for his cat in heat? Suna wasn't too sure, at the time he had been preoccupied scrolling through his phone to clear up some space in his gallery.
He walks between the cracks of the pavement, careful of ants and loose tarmac, until there weren't any steps for him to take. Then, he's met with bright fluorescent lights contrasting the dimming sunset behind him. He hates the way his eyes were forced to adjust to the brightness.
"Welcome" The convenience store clerk smiles, the faint buzzing alerting Suna's presence floating in the distance.
He walks to the sweets aisle, eyes searching hungrily for a few sticks of jelly, or if he's lucky, a whole pack of it. He scans the rows of sugar before stopping on a big pack of jelly sticks. He smiles slightly to himself, joy colouring his skin a flushy pale pink akin to the fruits of spring. Winter's course truly took its time to take place in the Hyogo prefecture; the act of replacing summer's bountiful blossoms with He walks to the sweets aisle, eyes searching hungrily for a few sticks of jelly, or if he's lucky, a whole pack of it. He scans the rows of sugar before stopping on a big pack of jelly sticks. He smiles slightly to himself, joy colouring his skin a flushy pale pink akin to the fruits of spring.
Winter's course truly took its time to take place in the Hyogo prefecture; the act of replacing summer's bountiful blossoms with cool crass wind and empty clam shells made time seem like it took forever to tick past seconds. He found that he enjoys winter, actually. People often painted the picture of a dead, dreaded season filled with nothing but icy cool temperatures and lack of commotions. Everybody had their own preferences, he thought. Some people enjoyed to laze about in the hot sun, and some people don't.
Some people liked pondering in the cool winter dark. Suna's that type of person, he prefers to be cold rather than warm. He likes winter for a multitude of reasons.There was something endearing about the cooling season that he found irreplaceable. Perhaps it was because he wasn't too fond of summer's heat, or he just didn't care much about spring's blooms. Winter seemed like the perfect time for thoughts.
Suna likes that, quiet musings in the cool winter air. He likes to know his thoughts.
His thoughts brought him to a convenience store near the juncture to his apartment. Something must've possessed him to want to grab a cool pack of jelly sticks in the midst of winter. The sun's beam had sunken into the clouds long ago, and he found himself wandering about the streets to the convenience store half in the dark. He thought about the walk home, and all the twists and turns and all the steps it took to make it to his apartment complex. He wasn't too confident with his ability to navigate his way in the dark, and so he rushes to grab a warm drink from one of the shelves and then he's standing behind a short girl in line.
At first glance, she looked plain. The girl stood just a few hairs shorter than him, which is quite a feat since most girls in his school stood far shorter than him (coupled with the fact that he stands at 185cm) she wore a typical japanese school uniform he'd never seen before, leading him to believe she most definitely doesn't go to Inarizaki. That thought allowed him to release a breath he hadn't realised he held.
All the staring he did felt weird on his behalf, but she didn't seem to mind, at least to him. She appeared to be digging through her bag aggressively, the contents of the bag rustling through as her hands desperately grasped at things. Cluelessly messy, the thought struck out to him. Curiously and impatiently, he watched her drop a couple of papers as he tapped his foot on the ground impatiently. And he continued to watch her bend down to pick them up at an impressive pace. She was clearly panicking, and his impatient foot tapping did not help ease her panic at all.
Her shoelaces were mismatched, one foot laced with a striking blue, and the left laced with a disgsustingly bright neon green. He tore his eyes away from her feet, the striking colours created an overwhelming feeling behind his eyes. At the back of his head, he could feel a migraine forming. He desperately wanted to pay for his things and leave. But this plain panicking girl would not allow him that sort of peace.
"What are you searching for?" He asked, and she did not respond.
She turned her head giving the indication that she heard him, but did not make any further movements to say anything. He couldn't see her face clearly, the slight tilt of her head allowed him the view of a soft jaw, and high pale cheekbones shining with a rosy hue. Definitely plain, he concluded.
The thought was intrusive and cruel, but he can't help it. His impression of the girl so far had not been a wonderful one. Seeing as though she was taking her time to panic with her hands down her rugged backpack decorated with badges and stickers, and large sharpie drawings and markings. She had a lot going on for her, everything about her screamed colour and wonder. But he knew better than that. The more he looked at her, the more plain she screamed. No matter how hard she tried to stand out, she was destined for the white noise.
He tapped his foot harder against the floor. The cashier smiled patiently, and she dug harder.
The sun disappeared long ago, but it felt like morning would come again soon. If he continued to wait for the panicked plain girl, surely dawn would kiss the morning sky awake. He can't afford that sort of expense, he really needs to go home.
"Excuse me. What are you searching for?" He tries again.
The girl pauses, but then continues her searching with antsy fingers. "Sorry. I'm just – I'm looking for a couple of yen. I swear I had some left over but I can't find any."
"Why didn't you say something earlier?" He questioned impatiently.
"Sorry, again. I didn't really hear you."
"Why didn't you say something about that either?"
"Do you want me to say sorry again?" She frowned, angry furrows and panicked eyes. "Okay, shit. I'm sorry." She turned around to meet his eyes, hands still stuck in her colourful satchel bag. "Really, I'm sorry, but could you stop being an ass for a bit? I'm trying to look for yen to pay and you aren't helping one bit. I know you want to go home, but so do I. Look, if you want, just pay before me and then you can leave."
At second glance, she doesn't look all that plain. Her skin is fair, dotted with light freckles all around her face, and her nose is slim, upturned and pointed. She was objectively beautiful, and not at all how he imagined her. He pictured a clumsy girl with normal mousy features, but that wasn't quite the right word to describe her. He pictured her as the dawn morning dew drops, and nodded internally. That's perfectly accurate to describe her depiction.
He's sure even Osamu could fall in love with a face like hers, and he doesn't quite care for measly petty things like that. He's not too sure the other boy could handle her easily panicked personality though. He wasn't sure Osamu would agree with her choice of bitter black coffee straight from the bottle, and a pack of sour candies. The combination struck him odd, then he thought he was being too quick to judge. Maybe he'll try the combination soon, just to get a better understanding of her character.
He looked at her again, swallowing her guilty panic with a slight grin on his lips. "Not sure my goal was to help you in the first place. Maybe I just wanted to use you as an outlet to relief my impatience. That alright with you?"
She shook her head angrily,"You're a piece of shit. Fucking beanstalk." Crudely she muttered.
"That's rich coming from a chick with no yen." He chuckles. "I mean – really, you walk into a convenience store with no money and expect to walk out with black coffee and sour candy?"
She dug harder into her bag to no avail. "Just shut up for a bit. I'm sure its in here somewhere."
"Sure, sure" He chuckles again, before reaching down to grab her things off the floor. He grabs her wrist and eases it away from. her bag, placing her careless things into the satchel with ease as she watches him with careful eyes. It takes a few moments for her to pull her wrist away from his grasp, and she scowls at him in irritation.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She questioned, venom lacing her tone.
He placed his jelly sticks on the counter next to her things, and took out his wallet. "What the hell do you think? I'm helping you, idiot."
"Wait!" She grabbed at his wrist, staring at him with big eyes and a guilty smile. "You don't have to do that. Just pay for your own things and leave."
He wasn't sure if he's thinking straight. Obviously he must be possessed to some degree to ever agree to pay for a random clumsy stranger whom not only wasted their time, but only managed to make a bigger mess of the floor due to her incessant rummaging for yen coins she swore she had! He honestly just wanted her to shut up and take his money so that he can leave without arguing further. He knew that if he told her just that, she would spike another argument and cause an even bigger scene, and he just wasn't up for that.
If he were anybody but himself, say, Miya Atsumu, he'd gladly take the offer and argue for days with this clumsy cluttered idiot he met at a convenience store after a shit day at school. Suna Rintarou is not Miya Atsumu, and so he held his tongue between his teeth, palm outstretched to pay for their things.
"Too bad." He says, and grabs his things from the counter to place into the bag on his shoulder. Once he's done, he took one last glance at the girl. Just to memorise the face of a girl that robbed him of 320 yen that he could've used for more chuupets, just out of a little bit of annoyance and spite.
He found his annoyance increase a tenfold when he realised she was still talking to him, not that he realised nor cared in the first place. He's still strong on the fact that the sun disappeared long ago and he's gotta get home. He imagined the stacks of plates piled high in his kitchen sink and shuddered, his panic increased as he wonders if he remembered to shut his kitchen window before he left this morning.
The thought of a sudden gust of wind blowing the stacks as it crumbled into fractured glass on his kitchen floor made him take the clumsy cluttered girl's packet of sour candies and shove it into her arms at quick pace.
"Wait, konbini boy!"
He's far gone now, turned a left heel and lost in labyrinths of darkness Then, she's left alone in the dim darkness of the night, and she's chasing after the silhouette of the moon in the shape of a cold taciturn boy who paid for her things with an impatient shrug. And he feels sick for remembering her easy-going smile.