Growing up as a social person, Sora Suzuki was surrounded by love and affection- even from the most random people. Tender strokes, gentle kisses. Love came to him in the form of five unique beings, and damn, he's in deep. But when shit happens, and...
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JUNE TWENTIETH TWO THOUSAND AND ELEVEN
3:01 in the afternoon
CERULEAN EYES GAZED onto the court below, standing on the balcony running along the volleyball gymnasium. The stench of sweat and rubber were masked by the smell of the air freshener, washing out the anticipation and anxiousness with something as fresh as flowers. Sora Suzuki, now aged seventeen, watched his younger soulmates play against a team in green. "They're really tiny," he muttered, leaning an elbow on the metal railing, his chin propped on his palm. "It'll be an easy win, no doubt."
The match progressed with their opposition holding the same high hopeful energy; their captain, an orange-haired kid, was obviously bright and energetic. He was like a ball of sunshine, or rather, a human exclamation point. It was intriguing, to say the least. He also had a spring in his jump, able to soar through the air for a momentary second, ready to spike a ball that was set incorrectly.
Sora noticed the pique in Tobio's interest.
"Oh?" He arched a brow, leaning further on the railing.
Sora felt the aforementioned feeling thrum through their bond, and he couldn't help but be amused. He was glad to see Tobio find interest elsewhere. However, what upset him was the irritation flowing in from two other directions of the bonds wrapped around his soul — two were void of anything, blocked off, returning chocolate brown and dark green to a solemn grey.
Sora winced as he caught sight of Tobio, Akira and Yuutarou arguing on the court. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were all evidently annoyed with each other.
He sighed. "Some things still don't change."
At the end of the second set, Sora cringed when the ginger-haired kid reached to receive the ball yet failed, crashing into the wall. He wondered whether he was okay; his team and opponents did, too. He was fine. At least, that's what he told his teammates. Yet, when the kid stood, brown eyes flitting back to the court, Sora stilled. There it was. The same carnal desire he recognised in Tobio's eyes, a drive to get better, better, better.
I have to be the best.
Sora shuddered. Even after so many years, it was bizarre to see.
( he deliberately ignored the image of a male with brown hair and brown—now grey—eyes that flashed before his mind )
The match ended, and Sora grabbed his bag from the floor, yanking it over his shoulder as he exited the gymnasium. Eyes seemed to follow him, yet he held no regard for the attention. His sea-coloured orbs entranced many, tides of warmth moving up and down the shore, masking pain, anger, and danger. An aura of superiority followed him, an inkling compared to others, but it was there, flourishing like a seedling in fertile soil, ready to sprout after conserving the right amount of energy—or after the right trigger.
