She had woken up late and didn’t get to eat breakfast with her mom like usual, running through the city just in time to miss the train. She had been the only manager at morning practice – Kiyoko had a doctor’s appointment that morning, and she had to get ready for when she went off to college in a few months. She had to run around until her legs fell off to keep up. She was almost crying when she got to class only to discover that she had left all her textbooks at home and had to endure the wrath of her teachers and the fish breath of her neighbors as she looked over his shoulder. Even lunch was tainted, the bento scattered all around the box from her run across town, and her team’s first years too busy with solo lunch practice to stop by and brighten her mood.
She was almost ready to cry when the school day ended at last. She gathered her things with only a nod at her class friends, plodding down to her shoe locker and hoping afternoon practice with Kiyoko present would be a little easier.
She blindly reached in for her shoes and crunched her hand on a hard surface only a few centimeters in. She cried out, shaking her hand out, and wrinkled her nose as she sneered in at the obstruction. Someone had shoved a box in.
She bit her lip and fumbled to pull it out it barely fit, so she had to snag her finger under the lid, almost breaking a nail in the process. It got out, though, the shoebox lid popping out and spilling half its contents at her feet. She sucked in a breath – she wouldn’t cry – then actually registered what had rained down on her socks. Pens – fancy pens, in an array of colors and types and sizes – rolled across the linoleum collecting at her bag and against the cupboard. She knelt down, setting the half-full box beside her, and started to pick them up, looking over each one. Her eyebrows shot up – these were nice, brands she knew from her mom’s drafting table and drooling envy on art store trips. She dropped them back in the box – it was lined with two sketchbooks with different kinds of paper, a pad of watercolors with a pack of brushes, another pack of pencils across the lead weight spectrum, a brand-new kneaded eraser. Hitoka’s hands trembled as she dropped the last few escapees in – this was easily two thousand yen worth of art supplies, dropped in her lap with no introduction or buildup or anything. Who-
She closed the lid to see if there was a signature she had missed. There, in red Sharpie and tiny characters, was a note in Kiyoko’s handwriting.
Being a manager, you'll get to experience a lot of different feelings, good and bad. I thought you could discharge all of that into something you'll be happy to look back at and be proud of.
She bit her cheek, eyes watering, but took a deep breath and held it in. She hugged the box to her chest, contents rattling, and climbed to her feet to run to the gym (doubling back for her shoes still crammed in the back of her locker).
Only half of the team was there when she ran in, setting up the nets and stretching. Kiyoko was filling up water bottles from the cooler perched on the edge of the stage. Hitoka hurtled over, blind to the turning heads of her team, and thumped into Kiyoko’s chest, burying her face in her jacket. The edges of the shoebox dug into both their stomachs and chests, Hitoka’s crossed arms squished between them. Kiyoko let out a whoosh of breath, then a laugh.
“You found it?” Hitoka nodded, throat tight. Kiyoko patted her back with one of the water bottles in her hand. “I wasn’t about to leave you without a little help,” she mumbled, “and I did forget your birthday.”
Hitoka hiccupped, then laughed, stepping back to swipe at her face. “It’s too much,” she squeezed out, “but I love them already, thank you.”
“I just asked the store clerk to fill it up with everything you could need.” Kiyoko finished filling the water bottles as she talked. “I’m glad he was right.”
Hitoka jerked with a laugh – threw her head back with it. Kiyoko’s soft chuckle ran counterpoint, and Hitoka could feel the building tension from her rotten day bleed out on the polished wood floor. “He was!” she said with a grin. Kiyoko smiled back, which just made Hitoka grin wider. “I’ll make you something really nice for your dorm room with them, first thing!”
Kiyoko smiled. “I’d like that.” Hitoka glowed. Kiyoko flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “You ready to help me set up practice, Hitoka-chan?”
“Yes! Lemme just-” She darted back to the corner they dropped their bags in, still smiling into her shoebox, ignoring the shouted questions from Hinata across the gym, a dull buzz to the butterfly sunshine in her chest.
FILL: Team sawamura daichi/sugawara koushi RATING: G
no tags word count: 854
Hitoka has had a hard day.
She had woken up late and didn’t get to eat breakfast with her mom like usual, running through the city just in time to miss the train. She had been the only manager at morning practice – Kiyoko had a doctor’s appointment that morning, and she had to get ready for when she went off to college in a few months. She had to run around until her legs fell off to keep up. She was almost crying when she got to class only to discover that she had left all her textbooks at home and had to endure the wrath of her teachers and the fish breath of her neighbors as she looked over his shoulder. Even lunch was tainted, the bento scattered all around the box from her run across town, and her team’s first years too busy with solo lunch practice to stop by and brighten her mood.
She was almost ready to cry when the school day ended at last. She gathered her things with only a nod at her class friends, plodding down to her shoe locker and hoping afternoon practice with Kiyoko present would be a little easier.
She blindly reached in for her shoes and crunched her hand on a hard surface only a few centimeters in. She cried out, shaking her hand out, and wrinkled her nose as she sneered in at the obstruction. Someone had shoved a box in.
She bit her lip and fumbled to pull it out it barely fit, so she had to snag her finger under the lid, almost breaking a nail in the process. It got out, though, the shoebox lid popping out and spilling half its contents at her feet. She sucked in a breath – she wouldn’t cry – then actually registered what had rained down on her socks. Pens – fancy pens, in an array of colors and types and sizes – rolled across the linoleum collecting at her bag and against the cupboard. She knelt down, setting the half-full box beside her, and started to pick them up, looking over each one. Her eyebrows shot up – these were nice, brands she knew from her mom’s drafting table and drooling envy on art store trips. She dropped them back in the box – it was lined with two sketchbooks with different kinds of paper, a pad of watercolors with a pack of brushes, another pack of pencils across the lead weight spectrum, a brand-new kneaded eraser. Hitoka’s hands trembled as she dropped the last few escapees in – this was easily two thousand yen worth of art supplies, dropped in her lap with no introduction or buildup or anything. Who-
She closed the lid to see if there was a signature she had missed. There, in red Sharpie and tiny characters, was a note in Kiyoko’s handwriting.
Being a manager, you'll get to experience a lot of different feelings, good and bad. I thought you could discharge all of that into something you'll be happy to look back at and be proud of.
She bit her cheek, eyes watering, but took a deep breath and held it in. She hugged the box to her chest, contents rattling, and climbed to her feet to run to the gym (doubling back for her shoes still crammed in the back of her locker).
Only half of the team was there when she ran in, setting up the nets and stretching. Kiyoko was filling up water bottles from the cooler perched on the edge of the stage. Hitoka hurtled over, blind to the turning heads of her team, and thumped into Kiyoko’s chest, burying her face in her jacket. The edges of the shoebox dug into both their stomachs and chests, Hitoka’s crossed arms squished between them. Kiyoko let out a whoosh of breath, then a laugh.
“You found it?” Hitoka nodded, throat tight. Kiyoko patted her back with one of the water bottles in her hand. “I wasn’t about to leave you without a little help,” she mumbled, “and I did forget your birthday.”
Hitoka hiccupped, then laughed, stepping back to swipe at her face. “It’s too much,” she squeezed out, “but I love them already, thank you.”
“I just asked the store clerk to fill it up with everything you could need.” Kiyoko finished filling the water bottles as she talked. “I’m glad he was right.”
Hitoka jerked with a laugh – threw her head back with it. Kiyoko’s soft chuckle ran counterpoint, and Hitoka could feel the building tension from her rotten day bleed out on the polished wood floor. “He was!” she said with a grin. Kiyoko smiled back, which just made Hitoka grin wider. “I’ll make you something really nice for your dorm room with them, first thing!”
Kiyoko smiled. “I’d like that.” Hitoka glowed. Kiyoko flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “You ready to help me set up practice, Hitoka-chan?”
“Yes! Lemme just-” She darted back to the corner they dropped their bags in, still smiling into her shoebox, ignoring the shouted questions from Hinata across the gym, a dull buzz to the butterfly sunshine in her chest.
it was too cute I had to do it