//countryhuman stories\\

DenEst (another volley au) 1

this one was for practicing PRESENT TENSE

"Pretty cold tonight, huh Esti?"

The girl raises her head up to look at Den, who's hitting a sore, weathered volleyball against the pavement and tucks a strand of hair behind her small, rigid ear. A breath that leaves her lips creates a momentary fog over her face. Patiently, she nods in agreement, humming.

Currently, she's wearing a long-sleeved, olive-coloured shirt and some jeans. The black bag slung across one of her shoulders slips down a little further every few minutes as they make their way down the street, passing the rice terraces on their way. The cool wind nibbles at her cheeks and her fingers, eating through the thin fabric of her shirt and making her shiver as it brushes against her stomach.

A faltering street lamp, blinking only once every few minutes, illuminates her from a top-down view. The honey-rich yellow slips down her slippery hair and pools on her shoulders and the folds of her sleeves; it catches in her short eyelashes like dust in a cobweb and she can't help but pull her head up when a flicker of white lands unto these cobwebs.

"It's snowing," she comments like the wind is sucking the air from her lungs. In reality, she's tired from the practice they had barely an hour ago.

It's sort of a miracle that she had gotten onto the volleyball team in the first place. Den's adamance on having her play beside him was the ticket the coach hesitantly took, Den's stubbornness and charm were-- while annoying-- useful at times. She learned this long ago when they were still young and naive: it was like Den was able to get away with everything. His childishness clung to him like spilled ink and the sparkling stars in his eyes, filled with gleaming ambition, were contagious through his words. Chatty no matter the circumstance and adaptable.

If he wanted to, he could be the most sly, malicious and manipulative sociopath the world would blink eyes upon. He has the charm, he has the looks (not that Esti would tell him such a thing up front) and false innocence dotting upon his cheeks in the form of black and white freckles. Nobody would suspect a thing. Not even Esti.

She's terrified of him, in a way. Not the way he is now, but what he could be.

Her lips seal tight as she shivers again, dropping her head down and continuing her path home. "We should hurry before it gets too cold. I don't think your friend would appreciate it if we were late either."

It's the first time that Esti is going to meet Pip. He's a rather meek boy, shy but bright.

That's what she's heard of him, at least.

"Ah, I'm always late, so I don't think he'll be expecting much from me." Den directs a bright smile her way, but his attention is mainly focused on the volleyball which he's still pounding rhythmically against the pavement every few steps. "Honestly, us being late should be the least of his worries. You cold?"

He casts out the last phrase like it's an afterthought, but he's already looped it through his mind a dozen times, wondering if Esti would be offended if he offered his jacket.

A breath slips from her lips as she speaks to him.

"Kind of. I didn't expect the weather to turn so quickly." Her head hangs low as she walks side-by-side with him. "Winter is coming."

"Yeah," Den says lamely, and he's already shrugging his jacket off before he even closes his mouth, slinging it over Esti's shoulders haphazardly. He doesn't need it anyways, he's wearing a sweatshirt underneath. He goes back to playing with the ball, passing it from one hand to the other, occasionally bumping it on his wrist. "I hope a lot of snow falls tonight so I can make a snowman tomorrow."

With the new, sudden weight on her shoulders, Esti picks her head up and looks at the boy beside him, a frivolously confused look on her face. Quietly, she looks away again, looping her hands through the sleeves of the jacket and continuing her walk beside him. She clears her throat after a few minutes of walking, flicks of snow in her hair and on her eyelashes. She nods before speaking.

"Thanks," she moves her hands into the pockets of the jacket, licking her soft lips, "I'll... toss to you plenty tomorrow. If the coach allows me. I think Sweden would be better though." She knows he didn't like Sweden's tosses as much as he likes hers.

While Esti wasn't the team setter, she has always been Den's personal one. Ever since he approached her in middle school and bugged her to play with him, that's what she was. She wasn't at all bad at setting but she understood rather quickly that the team's setter currently-- Sweden-- was far more skilled than her. She wasn't hurt, in fact, rather grateful that she was able to get a position on the team anyway: she was just a little disappointed, in all honesty, that she couldn't stand beside Den on the court. She was the Libero, afterall; she'd always be behind Den.

Like a shadow. That doesn't worry her, though. She didn't join volleyball for fame. She joined it for Den, but she'd never outwardly tell him that.

Den scoffs loudly, maybe too loudly since it's only the two of them-- but he's always been an overly theatrical sort of person. "Sweden sucks. He always sets them to me wrong because he knows I hate it." He scowls at the ball in his hands. Somewhere in the back of his head, he recognised that his brother was a good setter, but Den felt like he deserved to be picky when it came to who was setting to him. "You're much better, you're always like-- fwoosh!"

To emphasize his point, Den sets the ball high into the air with more vigor than needed. It falls somewhere behind them, and he has to go back and get it before jogging back to Esti. "Swede's sets are boring, he never tries anything new."

Esti looks back at Den when he jogs back to fetch the ball, slowing her pace down for him. "He's a good setter though. He has better technique than I do." She mumbles, shaking her head a little before lifting her hand up to pull out a fleck of white snow from her eyelash. "He's got better aim than I do, too."

Den huffs as though he doesn't believe Esti. "Fuck technique, he steals my socks. He doesn't even wanna set for me outside of practice, but--" He looks at Esti with bright eyes as he begins to mindlessly spin the ball between his hands. "You're just perfect, you always set the ball right at the perfect height and everything-- Sweden just tries to pop it up at the same height every time." He frowns after saying that, as though he was truly bothered by it, but his expression clears quickly. "Also, you don't steal my socks, so you're nicer, too."

"I don't even live with you, Den." She huffs out an amused breath, looking away to hide the smile she couldn't swallow down. Her cheeks were warming up as they walked. "You're just more used to my setting," she reasons, focusing her eyes back on the pavement as they continue their walk. "...Pip's a good setter too though, is he not?"

Den's mind is too focused on a different topic to pay attention, furrowing his brows and more talking to himself. "Does that mean if we lived together, you'd steal my socks too?" He fake-gasps at the realization and turns to Esti, poking her in the side with a finger. "Admit it, you sock thief. You totally would. I bet all setters are sock thieves-- even Pip takes my socks! I knew it!"

"I suppose I would get along with your brothers fairly well, then." She tilts her head a little, kicking a rock and watching it roll off to the side. She flinches when she feels the finger poke her side, quickly scurrying to make some distance between the two of them. She hates being tickled. "Does Sweden even like me? Nor likes me, I think."

"Hm?" Den tucks his ball under an arm and pushes his hands into his pockets, glancing at Esti again. "Oh, I don't know. He's a secretive guy, but if he hasn't outright told you he hates you, I think you're okay." He had noticed Sweden subtly avoid Esti before, but that was mostly when she and Den were practicing together, or even just talking together. It was probably because Esti was perceptive, and if she pointed Sweden out to Den, then Den would chase him until he slapped his ass. #brotherthings

Esti hums, settling on staying quiet for the rest of the walk as Den rambles on about things that happened that day-- and how persistent he was on all setters being sock thieves.