LET ME DOWN SLOWLY ⸻ sakusa kiyoomi.

𝐬𝐢𝐱 | a compliment?

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A COMPLIMENT ??

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OUR BREATHS COME OUT AS steamy puffs in the cold winter air, footsteps a little muffled on the grassy grounds of the institute. Komori was explaining the basis of the foreign exchange programme Itachiyama held at certain points of the year, and this year a few high art students from a prestigious French art school had come to study here for two months. I nodded along to his explanation, half-listening.

It wasn't like what Mori was talking about was a boring subject, but it was just that my mind kept on wandering over to the times over the camp where Sakusa would come with Mori, watching the girls' teams play practice matches — only that, the weird thing was that Sakusa seemed to be standing directly below the courts Ōkamikumo was playing in, hands not touching the railing unless he sprayed it down and wiped the surface.

At first, I found what the black-haired ace was doing was because he wanted to annoy me, and downturn my performance on the court by focusing his extremely intense gaze on me whenever I played, practice match or self-internal-team practice. I would blatantly ignore the teen's actions, fully turning my back to the ace.

During the times where I was forced to receive, set or spike the ball facing Sakusa, I would make it a habit to focus my eyes on the ground, never raising my eyes above three meters or risk the chance of reminiscing the bicycle path event.

Sometimes I would accidentally make eye contact with him, or glance at him, but I made sure that these moments lasted less than a second, slowly finding the strength to pull away from his magnetic black stare.

"Okay, so behind the foreign students' hostel rooms is the art building. That's where the French exchange students spend most of their time at, y'know? Since they're art students. Other than the literal meaning of that art, the building also has several auditoriums, dance and recording studios for the performing arts," Mori's cold and slightly sweaty hand closed around the bare skin of my wrist and hand, and I let the shorter brunette lead me over to the entrance of the art building.

The thought of art brought up a fond memory back when we both were in the same school. "Hey, remember that time in school when the boys' and girls' volleyball team had to come together to make a club promotion banner and posters? One of the boys, I think it was the libero? Went to splatter paint on my captain's skirt — "

"And started a full-on paint war that ended with a whole-ass paint bucket thrown at Ichinose-sensei?" Komori finished, a wide smile tugging up his lips, and I, too, burst out into laughter at that.

"I forgot who threw the paint bucket, but she was aiming it at one of the members in the boys' team who just so happenedto be standing near the door," I said, voice a little strained — before I could even complete that sentence, the bout of laughter I tried to hold in escaped my mouth, stopping me from finishing my words.

Ichinose-sensei was covered, head-to-toe in bright green paint that was supposed to be used to colour in the green stripes of the Molten volleyball that was supposed to be drawn on the banner. He was a skinny man with wide-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, encasing his eyes. When he had removed his glasses, two pale circles were around his eyes where his glasses used to be.

Like some sort of bright-green panda.

It was such a childish thought, my Grade Six self not even thinking about the paint-splattered windows and a multi coloured banner trampled by the two teams or even the punishment that would be dished out by the teacher. I was basking in the highness, the chaos of the moment, and while I laughed my ass off at my stupid twelve-year-old self, some part of me wanted to cry at the moment of fond nostalgia.