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The whole court seems to glow with the setting sun casting orange hues that bounce off the floor and walls, much like the volleyballs that get peppered back and forth here. Practice has just ended, Kiyoko sits, adjusting her glasses and soaking in the last moment of calm as several of the boys approach her. To their credit they do line up single-file.
“Kiyoko-san! What are my stats today?” Hinata is always first, his overwhelming cheeriness and beaming smile have a way of making Kiyoko smile as well. With her clipboard in hand she rattles off how many serves and blocks he performed well and how many flubbed, giving him the corresponding percentage. His several follow-up questions are met with patience and thorough answers. She’s not sure if it’s what you would call a ‘guilty pleasure’ but she enjoys watching his expression rise and fall when she speaks. When he’s out of questions Hinata bounds away towards the locker rooms, incredibly quickly though that is typical of him.
“Kiyoko-san… have you seen my water bottle? I can’t find it anywhere” Tanaka is next, she hands it to him (he left it beside her when he was talking to her before practice) and his fingers brush hers as he takes it. She’s 95% certain it was on purpose but only 95. He smiles brightly at her and winks before walking away. 100% on purpose she thinks as she watches him leave.
The next boy steps forward, Kiyoko can tell from her peripherals it’s Sugawara but it’s Yachi beside her that calls her attention first.
“Kiyoko,” she says in her usual gentle tone, “I have to talk to Sugawara, we’ve got to follow up on something. Will you be alright?” Her large brown eyes stare directly at Kiyoko’s, waiting for approval before she even moves. Her diligence is admirable, Kiyoko nods in response, watching the way her short hair bounces as she stands up, the way her bracelets jingle as she grabs her clipboard. The sweet smell of her perfume leaves with her and it’s quiet once more.
“...”
Kiyoko looks back to her line to see there is only one left, from her seated position her eyes have to travel very far to meet his.
“Tsukishima-san?” he’s not a regular in her line, in fact she’s not sure he’s ever sought her out like this. She’s only spoken to Tsukishima in group settings, or in passing. Yet here he is, fidgeting with his hands, towering over her.
“Good afternoon Kiyoko-san… could you help with my tape?” He holds his hand out to her, palm up, a roll of finger tape sits there. His tone is neutral, same with his expression but Kiyoko senses the vulnerability, for the very first time he’s trusting her to help him. As the team’s manager she won’t let him down.
“Of course, what happened?” She keeps her voice soft, and is about to gesture to him to sit beside her but he does so all on his own. She takes the roll of tape and with careful touches, examines his hand.
“I was a bit off in my blocks today, a few I almost missed and they hit my pinky,” he wiggles his pinky finger as if Kiyoko would not know which finger he’s talking about if he didn’t, “It just hurts a bit.”
She prods at the skin, feeling for anything amiss but all seems to be well. She unrolls the tape and pinches his pinky to his ring finger, wrapping them together from base to tip, going heavily over the joints so the pinky is held in a straight position. His hand is warm under her touch, long thin fingers brush against her hand as she turns his wrist this way and that.
“It might bruise but other than that it’s fine. Before future games taping these two fingers together will prevent the ball from hitting only your pinky,” she recalls her prior research into injury prevention, glad the time sacrificed to keep her team in top shape continues to pay off, “I’d also recommend frequently trimming your finger nails. The ball’s force focused on one finger is a lot, the ball’s force focused on just one nail can rip it off.”
She tears the tape and sticks down the free end as she finishes, placing the roll back in his palm. She glances up at his face to find him already looking at her. His amber eyes are intense and focused. She feels almost small, under such a serious gaze. Like a spotlight, singling her out. Her cheeks flush almost involuntarily, embarrassed. Then she looks away.
Tsukishima takes his hand back, splaying and unsplaying his fingers, checking perhaps the tightness of the tape? Kiyoko watches this, hesitant to meet his gaze again. The tendons on the back of his hand contract with his movements, she follows a rather prominent vein from his hand to his forearm. Then the flex of his bicep catches her attention as he flips his wrist over and bends his arm, bringing his hand up to his face. She feels it’s safe to look at him now as he seems absorbed in his inspection, his pink lips pulled into a frown. Kiyoko has observed him frequently enough to know his face naturally rests in this position, it’s not necessarily an indication that he’s displeased. Her theory is proven when he finally speaks.
“Thank you, it feels much better” with that he looks at her again, sharp eyes boring into her, like he’s trying to see something that’s not there. Kiyoko vaguely wonders if she’s got something on her face. Her first reaction under the scrutiny of his gaze again is to bring her hand to her face, her thumb wipes at nothing below her bottom lip, covering the beauty mark there.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, looking away from her and out at the court. The LED lights are the most prominent light source now, the sun having set further, white lights too harsh to catch the flush on his skin. Kiyoko studies him for a moment longer, the sweat that runs down his face, the way his short blonde hair curls just slightly at the end. She forces herself to look out at the court as her teammates gather all the balls in the corners of the gym, disassemble the net and fold it up. Usually she would help with such tasks, but sitting beside Tsukishima she finds her mind unburdened. This quiet moment, she wishes time would slow, just for a little while.
But time stops for no one, and tomorrow when Tsukishima asks her for help again, she thinks she’ll be fine with just that. Helping him with small things, every once in a while.