Chapter Text
“I’ll be going ahead,” Ushijima told his running partner Tendou, who nodded wordlessly, earbud cords jumping in time with his footsteps. The spiky haired boy hummed to himself as he jogged. It was a regular occurrence to split up and the middle blocker didn’t even bother to comment anymore. Behind him, Goshiki let out a small groan of disappointed defeat, which Ushijima ignored dutifully. He picked up the pace and weaved through the other members of Shiratorizawa’s boy’s volleyball club until he was the pack leader, and even then he continued applying speed until he rounded the corner, left utterly alone in the dead streets of the retired residential area. Not a word was spoken. No breaths of life were taken. It was just him and the concrete, each step reverberating through the Earth as if it might alter the course of its path in time.
Being alone was when he could think best. The chatter of his teammates was distracting and when he wasn’t bound by their limitations, he felt as if he were the freest. Normally he would have kept an average pace as not to burn stamina but today, he pushed it, the burnt taste of rust in his throat accompanying the white fire in his legs. Wind whipped his hair and rushed in his ears. The pain eased his heart’s pain and he continued to run. His coaches would be angry but he didn’t care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Emptiness swirled in his skull like smoke in a glass bowl.
There weren’t many people out and about in the evening hours on a school night. Most of the population were elderly or from Shiratorizawa’s vast student body, so he could usually complete the full 2k without coming across anybody at all. All the better. He didn’t want to see anybody when he was in this sorry state of mind. His eyes flitted up to the sky, streaky clouds lining the canvas of summer sky. Pink punctured the horizon and the faint glimmers of powdered stars were sprinkled across the distant navy. Slowly, the sun was being extinguished, huffed out until nothing but darkness remained. As he was distracted his foot fell at an awkward angle on the curb and he grit his teeth as his ankle gave sharply. But he continued to run, absorbing the physical ache and ignoring it. It was a mantra in his head: all the better, all the better, I deserve this…
He slowed when he came to the intersection. His breath was harsh and his pulse was rough, splashing splotches of the void across his vision. Despite the exhaustion he could still feel, and suddenly he felt somebody looking, an intangible sense of unease and despair on his neck and back and spine. As if somebody had whispered his name he turned, looking to the side. A girl stood. She must have also been looking to cross the street, her eyes turned forwards across the small two-lane road. In that heavy gaze he saw no life. It was disconcerting. As if two mismatched stones had been placed inside her head; or maybe, he was seeing it wrong and she was alive, full of life, where her eyes were fixed to some unseen truth and showing the patches and edges of the unknown and that was why they looked so deep and endless. He decided it’d be better to ignore her and looked up at the orange-red hand. He was about to take a step onto the road before the girl spoke up, startling him.
“I wouldn’t do that. It’s illegal.”
He looked over at you closely this time, his eyes catching on your features. You were smiling faintly, your lips curved upwards like a crescent moon. The eternity in your blank stare had faded and you looked… well, you looked normal, with the setting sun sparkling off of your eyes.
“There aren’t any cars,” he noted flatly, speaking through heavy breaths. He told the truth. The only hint of a vehicle was a neglected bicycle that leant sadly against a lamppost. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple but he didn’t bother to wipe it away, looking back to the glowing red hand. Still, it would be too awkward to jaywalk after being noticed, so he waited alongside you.
“Shiratorizawa?” you asked, startling him. People didn’t usually try to talk to him twice when he disregarded them. He wondered how you knew before remembering that his jacket quite literally spelled it out and nodded once.
“Yes.”
“Me too. Third year, actually.”
“…I as well.”
Where were you going with this conversation? Ushijima found no point to it, no end, as if it were a circle of meandering pleasantries. But you were still studying him as if you had more to say. Your scrutinizing gaze felt like it was burning his already hot skin. He felt too warm. There was a blanket of uncomfortable heat following your stare that sweltered him, shooting pinpricks of exhaustion and fever and sweat throughout his body. He felt like you were undressing him with those eyes. Not in some sort of perverted fashion, but in a way that made him feel violated; like you were rummaging through his wallet and turning his pockets inside out without once moving yourself. Suddenly annoyed, he looked at you pointedly.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked bad-temperedly.
“Well, um… what’s your name?”
His irritation shattered and evolved into confusion. After making into onto the national U-19 team he did not have much difficulty being recognized, especially by other Shiratorizawa students. If that wasn’t strange enough, he hadn’t the faintest idea of who you were, and you were asking him for his name like there was meant to be a casual conversation. He probably wouldn’t even see you once after this. Still, he found no harm in talking to you and decided that he might as well humour you this once.
“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” he replied a bit hesitantly. “And yours?”
“[Surname] [Name].” A gust of cool wind blew, ruffling hairs on his head and cooling his sweaty skin. You reached up and pulled your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yes,” he responded again, feeling strange. This conversation was much too graceless. With such heavy thoughts on his mind, he didn’t have time to talk with strange girls on intersection corners. You were silent as well. Two types of silence screamed on this corner of an intersection. From you, you seemed to be deep in twisting thought, but for him he could only sum up his silence to be that of tense apprehension. He turned back to the light and saw, with immense relief, for it to be the white walking man. He was about to take off again before his eyes drifted back to you. You made no move to walk either, your gaze still turned to him.
When he met your eyes, the sun dipped behind a building as if to hide its cowardly self from any coming confrontation. Yet even without those slanting rays, your face seemed to glow, from within with some ethereal electric light. It was not like the colourless industrial lights of modern day nor the aggressive licks of flame, but rather that of a gentle orange reading lamp. Looking at you, he suddenly remembered the books he would read as a child, shut up in his room to ignore the outside world and instead exploring the worlds of magic and dragons and peace of mind…
“I’ll be going, then,” he stated abruptly, shutting out the memories of happier halcyon days. Looking at your face, he suddenly saw himself, reflected upon your unlike features as if you had become some sort of still water lake. On that surface he could see his innermost thoughts, his memories, his everything that he didn’t want to see. But soon, ripples broke the surface and you pressed your lips together. The image of himself dissipated.
“Wait…” His dread grew again with those words, pounding in his burning bloodstream. His body was dividing itself into that of curiosity—what did you have to say, dammit?—and fear—he should be leaving. In the end you made the decision for him, looking to sigh heavily. “Can I ask you something, first?”
An unsettling flash of anxiety fluttered his heart. “Yes.”
“Are you… okay?”
“Excuse me?” He had nothing better to say than that. He had no idea what you meant. Suddenly, you were really starting to irritate him. You asked him questions that he didn’t know the answer to, but still, your face made it seem like you knew. There was nothing outstanding about you. Your features were average and you could’ve been any other girl in the world. He didn’t even remember your name. But your large eyes were unnerving and he swallowed thickly as you continued.
“You look… I don’t know. You just look sad, Ushijima-san. So. Are you okay?”
His eyes widened. You knew. But how? How could you, if you hadn’t even known his face before this moment? The others hadn’t known, but yet…
You knew.
“I always look like this,” he said slowly, adding, “and I’m in good health. So yes, I’m fine.”
“Then are you always so sad?” You pursed your lips, frowning slightly. You made no move to come closer, but your gaze penetrated him so deeply that he took a step back. “I—”
“I’m going to take my leave,” he interjected. “Have a good day.” The salutation had melted into a meaningless conglomerate of words. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t even know what a good day meant anymore.
He left quickly before he could hear anything else from you. His heart pounded uncontrollably, pressing uncomfortably against his ribcage. He wasn’t tired from exertion but rather he was afraid. It had been long since Ushijima had felt fear and he didn’t like it. He felt as if the world were caging in on him, trapping him, squeezing him in its iron fist, playing with him to see how far he could go before he would burst—
He looked back sharply to see you still standing at the intersection, the hand out of your hair, allowing it to flap wildly around your face. He couldn’t see your expression at this distance, but suddenly, he remembered everything about your face. Even though there was nothing exceptional, he suddenly could not forget the slight redness on your lips, nor the exact hue of your irises. Every imperfection of yours had now been stamped across his retinas. In that moment he hated you. From him you had stolen his false sense of security, his mask, and you had kept it on the other side of the road and you would not give it back. And now he was naked and exposed and—
Turning away, he continued to run, faster and faster; whether he was running from that look or from his own problems, he didn’t know.