Work Text:
Yahaba dreaded changerooms.
These days he made himself not think about that too much. Under the pretence of needing to get home for dinner right away after each practice, Yahaba simply grabbed his bag and was on his way.
Inside his bedroom, he could take off his shirt eyes closed, without people questioning why his eyes were closed. He could discreetly feel his skin and the shape of his bones to check his progress.
He dared not look at others' bodies to compare his appearance. That would drain all his efforts away. As long as he didn't look or feel like the ugliest monster, he was okay for now.
He was fine.
He was Yahaba, trapped in a monster suit. He just needed to be patient until he could climb out.
-
Nobody could know what Yahaba’s body felt like.
They might find out how quickly his body was changing. They will ask questions.
They will inspect him like an insect. Parts of himself that only he knew about.
He peeked down at his veins on his wrist. They stuck out just a little more.
His heart bashed against that vein when Watari turned around and looked at his hand.
He slipped his sleeve back down.
Hanamaki had a new watch on his left hand. Matsukawa inspected it and complimented how it looked.
Yahaba’s heart did a few more large thumps.
Then, Oikawa called them all to attention and he was talking about their next practice match. Until Oikawa said the name of the school they were playing against, Yahaba’s ears were open in anguish.
It wasn’t Shiratorizawa.
Oikawa wasn’t on edge.
Yahaba would be able to leave for home early, just as he always tried to do.
-
All people were transparent.
Yahaba watched them. He noticed Kyoutani glare at the third years. He saw Oikawa pull different faces in silence.
The third years never seemed to return his gaze, but when Kunimi noticed him stare, his eyes narrowed before he looked away.
‘You good?’ asked Kyoutani, and Yahaba’s heart caught in a net and strangled in its own anxious movements.
Yahaba felt like he was made of the thinnest glass of all, and his team were looking through him. Even as Kyoutani didn’t stare, he felt a prickly sensation all over his body.
Yahaba’s hands shook as he packed his phone into his bag.
-
Yahaba is staring around himself, the sweat on his face trickling more profusely when he feels his teammates coming together to talk on the benches where he was.
The exit is right behind him.
His legs are pleading to give way.
‘You’re not okay, Shige-chan.’
He’s frozen in this nightmare and can only watch Oikawa approach him.
The space is closing between them, and Yahaba’s flight instincts are non-existent as he stares. Oikawa is going to touch him. It's going to hurt so much. The questions bombard Yahaba before Oikawa even opens his mouth.
Yahaba’s chest heaves and he wants to scream for Oikawa to go away. There are people arguing and he needs to roll himself into a ball and hope it all goes away.
Oikawa’s arms are outstretched and his mouth is moving and it's so loud, but not louder than the ringing in his ears desperately telling him to get away.
-
He won't attend lunch with his team.
And he doesn't do it the next time either.
And when they ask, he tells them his parents want him home early.
He says this all with a smile.
-
Sometimes, Yahaba didn’t feel like he needed to fake a smile.
Sometimes, his face was the slightest bit serene.
To Yahaba, volleyball was the one time he felt okay.
He would think of the whoosh of the balls around him.
He would think of the way his monster suit was melting away. Every movement of his muscles was keeping him living.
Volleyball was his, at least for now.
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