Most Unfortunate - Daichi X Reader

PART EIGHTEEN: Wet Socks

Have you ever had so much time on your hands you would willingly clean something?

I want to kid myself and say I chose this. Giving me some sense of dignity as I was thrust into the halls for the cleanup duty. For the last time.

You would think I'd be bouncing off the walls with the news... far from it. Having to say goodbye to calloused hands and abrasive mop handles – I would gladly never endure again, thanks – but goodbye to the tasty treat that is Karasuno Boys Volleyball Captain?

Not if I can help it.

The mop swishes and swashes across the floor. My imagination ran wild, hearing the excruciating screams of germs from the potent disinfectant... burn baby, burn! The bucket matched the colour of the water inside, long shifted from its crisp teal to a murky stew in much need of a water change. The threads of endless cotton loops dip below the questionable water as his muscles tense with every movement, mopping to and fro, rhythmically.

Gaze flicking to the wall, I watch the time run by as ticking fills the stagnant conversation. Daichi has seemed stressed lately – more than usual – his broad shoulders always ridged. And not in the swoon-worthy knight in shining armour, or hunky chunky man ways to flex. No, he is stressed, and it became even more apparent as his hair tugging habit worsened. However, it shouldn't surprise me. Preliminaries have crept up on the whole team, and I can tell the captain is as emotionally collected as a girl told to... calm down.

And it's all my fault.

My fault he has lost valuable practice time with his team, and my fault he feels ill-prepared, with stress levels set to max. I've asked before, and each time he brushes my concerns aside. Now, who's the stress head? We still have forty minutes left of cleaning and he only has a week left before their first match. It makes me want to join his unhealthy habit; we will surely both be bald before twenty-five.

"Hey, Daichi?" My voice carries through the halls, echoing. Letting out a hum in response the mopping continues with brows furrowed, he concentrated on what looks like a sticky patch of mystery goop. Saving him from what looks like a lost cause—winning side to the spot—I tap his shoulder and take the mop out of his hands. Even with just the slight touch of his shoulder, I can feel how ridged he is, feeling a headache conjuring tension caused by the knots in his well-worked muscles. Hell, his knots probably have knots. "I don't mean to sound pro-women stereotypes and work rights suppression... but, let me handle the cleaning and give me the mop." Feeling every bone in my body screaming, don't make me do it! I want to go home, read, fall into something foreign and forget the world.

The brunette purses his lips, chocolate eyes swimming with disapproval, yet contemplation. He doesn't speak. His gaze turns back down the hall, toward the direction of the gym, calling him like a lost lover. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth as I feel out of place – in the way – like a third wheel in their romance story for aspiring greatness. And our cleaning predicament is just another of the plot's obstacles. Before he can object, I take the mop from him and nudge the bucket behind me with my foot, feeling a splash of the muck water plop into my shoe. Great, that's what I need right now.

Daichi seems to shake whatever trail of thought he was stuck in, as he reached for the mop again. "Thank you, but this is my job too. You weren't the one who barged into the VP's office." He laughs, making light of the situation. I move the mop behind me protectively, as he steps forward to retrieve them. He lets out a sigh, "Come on (Y/N), stop messing around." He says his body sidesteps around me. Following his movements, he tries again resulting in the same. It kind of looks like you are both dancing, but it an awkward and painful to watch people dancing with two left feet.

Daichi must have found an opening as he quickly thrust his hand toward the mop. He misses when I toss the cleaning tool to my other hand, causing his arm to clasp open space. His body jolted forward to the absence of the object for a moment, my hands quickly steady him before a breaking news pile-up happened in the hall.