Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

31 | Overtime

Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam. Slam.

Ball after ball after ball. Hit after hit after hit. All the energy collects in his left wrist and arm as he slams the volleyball down to the ground, releasing all his tension and pestering confusion.

Semi sets him a ball from the opposite side of the court. He runs rapidly and hits it down precisely as another thought releases.

Why is she not waving good morning anymore?

Semi sets another, and he hits it back down. It shifts to the middle this time instead of going down the line, rotating around thirty degrees farther from the previous one.

'Have I done something?' he contemplates. The final one rebounds off the floor, higher than the net itself. 'Why won't she talk to me?'

"Okay, let's take a break," Coach Akira says.

"Toss me another," he tells Semi quietly.

Wakatoshi isn't the most open with his emotions, thoughts, or private ideas to his teammates. He never was. Usually, he gets asked if he wants to hit another. If he wants to, he'll nod. Only because it can be a step closer to gaining skill and power while satisfying the setter's request.

During all practices, he's less vocal and overall, resolves his obstacles on his own. He doesn't seek an opportunity to be more social during the sweaty hours of training and playing against his teammates.

It's only the tender frustration about her that drives him to keep training, much more than his standard.

"You sure? You seem very worn out right now, Ushiwaka," Semi asks.

He grunts before walking back to the back left position on the court. Without a word, he pants as he runs up to jump into his spiking form. Semi, who doesn't know what do to, sends him a quick sloppy set. He manages to slam it down the hardest he can, fixing the set into a perfect kill. The ball flies back up high as he walks away, irritated, leaving it to bounce around repeatedly.

"That's what I like to see, Ushijima," Coach Washijo says.

"At this rate, you'll move up the ranks quickly," Coach Akira pitches in positively. He takes fast gulps from his water bottle as they continue, the tension rising. His elbows propped on his knees as he sits on the bench, staring at the floor. A drop of sweat dropping from the tip of his nose.

"I want to see that same spike in the tournament next week," Coach Washijo adds. He walks away.

Still sweaty, Ushijima tosses his bottle on the bench and runs after the ball he struck earlier. "Still not satisfied?" Reon asks.

"How is he still going? I'm the one setting and I can't take it any more," Semi pants. He runs a hand through his frizzy hair.

His brows arch closer, displaying the exasperation burning its way into his expression. Instead of passing someone the ball to set for him, he walks over to the wall. He begins setting against the wall, at a large, exhausting distance.

"What's up with him?" Reon asks.

"He's clearly frustrated," Suzuki says.

"Why? His spikes are in their prime. He's the best he's ever been," Semi blurts out.

"He's been like this since Hana stopped talking to him." Shirabu says, looking at the ace of the team who's still mercilessly training.

"How do you know?" Tendo asks, surprised.

"He's always ahead of me in the main hall since he leaves to his class early each morning. Every day, he waves to her, and they talk to each other. I pass his class, and he seems energetic. The other day, I saw him trying to wave to her, but she didn't respond. He was dull all day."