Prompt Post #1 [OPEN]

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Prompt subjects:

PAIRING TAGS, BRIEF SUMMARY/KINKS, WARNINGS (IF ANY)

eg. Yachi/any, rimming

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FILL: "TITLE" (PAIRING TAGS, BRIEF SUMMARY/KINKS) (WARNINGS IF ANY)

eg. FILL: "afternoon practice" (Kiyoko/Yachi, rimming)
 

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Comments

Re: no tags, slight selfcesty thoughts

[(Anonymous)]

anon 7 cont.



When you join Japan's national volleyball team, you realize that the first time must happen soon. The bright red of your practice jersey is one of the few things you can call up about your childhood first impression of your older self. It’s strange, because twenty two doesn’t feel like an adult, but you remember him looking so impossibly old, before.

You start carrying a volleyball around with you nearly constantly, just in case.

Suga notices. "But if you had a volleyball with you then, won't you automatically just have it with you, this time?” He says, pulling at your arm from where you’re sitting on the other side of the couch. He guides your worried head into his lap to run his thin, pretty fingers through your hair. “You don't have to worry about carrying it everywhere, because when it happens, it'll naturally be a time when you'd have been holding it, anyway."

You twist to look up at him. He’s probably right. He’s spent more time thinking about how all this works than you have, and he’s only known about it for about a year. "What if it happens in the middle of a practice?"

"You'd have enough time to fake sickness when you felt it, I think. And there's no use worrying too hard about it. It'll happen when it happens. You've been fine, so far."

You nod and turn back, closing your eyes against the tingle of his fingernails on your scalp.




When it happens, you're not, thankfully, surrounded by your teammates. You are practicing, but it’s just with Suga. He doesn’t play much anymore, but every once in a while he’ll toss a ball around with you.

You’re playing one on one, which is sort of pointless, since there’s no one for either of you to set to, but you’re running hard and he is laughing, and not losing by too much. You’re happy.

The sharp, sick pull in your guts is familiar, and Suga celebrates a point against you only briefly before realizing what’s happening. Then he ducks under the net and jogs, breathless, to where you’re standing on the edge of the court.

“Is it happening?” he asks, looking up at you worriedly, his hands on his hips and chest heaving.

You nod. He bends down to scoop up the volleyball and hands it you. He straightens your practice jacket and steps up on his tiptoes to kiss you. “Good luck,” he says, eyes bright, and then the world spins around you and he’s gone.




You open your eyes and you’re back at your childhood apartment. A boy is riding his bicycle, shoulders hunched and pedaling too fast and reckless to notice the rock he’s about to hit.

When he falls, you start walking over. His face is so tiny, so serious and pinched up on itself with pain trying to mask itself as anger, and it pulls at you hard. You squat down next to him, and, trying to keep your voice soft and nonthreatening, you speak.

Re: no tags, slight selfcesty thoughts

[(Anonymous)]

whispers yessssss into the night