LET ME DOWN SLOWLY ⸻ sakusa kiyoomi.

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | late-night thoughts

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LATE-NIGHT THOUGHTS  !!

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THERE WAS A MOMENT OR two of silent inner turmoil. He just stood there, watching the way the shorter strands of hair, illuminated a brighter shade of golden of the lamplight, highlighted the outline of the sixteen-year-old setter's sharp features, setting her eyes into a most peculiar shade of troubled golden-brown.

Sakusa Kiyoomi just stood there, mask pulled down to his chin, his angular and almost flawless features set into delicate yet sharp, wavy hair framing his narrow face as the cold breeze bit at his face, equally chilly air setting a subtle and soft pain shoot up his nostrils with every inhale. His hands were shoved into the warm pockets of his jacket, a shade of light blue accented with dark gray, eyes following every movement of the Ōkamikumo setter on the swing.

Why do I see you staring at me in almost every practice match I have this training camp?

Kiyoomi-kun~ what do you see in the official setter of Ōkamikumo?

He couldn't help it. Ever since that match in the Interhighs, ever since that first time he had found himself drawn in by someone's stare, ever since that time in the bicycle path, he just couldn't help but find himself listening up for whatever things Motoya talked about, listening up for the name Tsukishima, Kina, Ōkamikumo, even the word setter as his cousin talked.

Perhaps it was the skill she possessed, being the only second year to be ranked in the top three rankings of high school players, and to be the best setter out of all the elites, it helped him relate to her a little more.

(More likely, it was how his mind automatically connected her with the black-haired girl who had used tissue to hold the metal bars of the shop door to enter the shop. He hoped that Tsukishima was a hygienic person.)

If he were going to approach her, ask her what she was doing in a secluded area at 2am in the morning, just asking to catch a cold, she would ask him what he was doing here too, at 2am in the morning.

He couldn't help but walk toward her, only barely remembering to pull his mask up and secure the metal strips to the bridge of his nose. His steps weren't silent, making some noise on the stirred-up, soft asphalt-like material of the ground. Yet Tsukishima hadn't noticed his approach, too lost in her own thoughts to even hear him.

It was only when he stood over her, built body blocking the stream of light and night sky she had been mindlessly gazing at for the past who-knows-how-long, tall figure dwarfing her currently seated and hence, currently short stature. His legs were parted, Tsukishima's crossed ankles laid in between them, soles of her shoes dragging on the asphalt.

A frown crossed her face, eyebrows furrowing in guardedness followed by annoyance once she recognised who it was that was standing over her.

"Sakusa." His surname rolled off her tongue in a clipped tone. "San," she added after an afterthought, and it felt as if she were trying her best not to add any spite into the half-hearted honorific slapped onto the end of his name ungraciously. Sakusa glared.

Why did I come here again?

"Tsukishima," he said, tone equally as clipped and reserved. Imitating her, he paused a moment as the blonde's eyes narrowed at lack of honorific put behind. "San," he added, making sure that the irritation he had not been able to convey in her name was poured into the single syllable meant to be a term of politeness.