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Kentarou always thought that proving oneself was the only way to become respected. And prove time and time again, he did. He worked incessantly on his spiking, just so he could be the best of the best, just so no one dared whisper behind his back. His efforts eventually amounted to nothing. He didn’t care.
He did.
He cared about a lot of things: his dog, his family, his appearance to some degree, and if his personality came across as masculine enough. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was scared. Scared of what would happen if he was found out. Scared of what would happen if he just slipped up once.
Trying to prove oneself is a full time job, only disrupted by the soft hand of sleep, and Kentarou wasn’t about to slip up. Not now, not ever. If a meteor of a volleyball crashed into him, he’d brush it off like a man. If the earth quaked below him, he’d stand strong. If a tsunami rose above the sea line, he wouldn’t let his tears fall. No, he wouldn’t let those irritating salt water specks go anywhere near his eyes.
So he shrouded himself in a cloak of anger that was as bright as boiled blood, and hid behind a mask of nightmarish creation. He didn’t want to get close to anyone. So he didn’t.
Or, well, until he met Yahaba . The setter wanted to get to know him at first, but once he saw just how buried Kentarou was beneath all the layers of costume, he only seemed to want to get to know him more .
He called Yahaba an idiot and various other uncreative words. Yahaba didn’t know why. Why should he? He was only trying to be friendly, but with friends comes closeness, and Kentarou wasn’t willing to share anything with him. So he didn’t. For the longest time he didn’t, and then he left.
He joined community volleyball for a while. It was nice, he guessed, but nothing like the sport he played back at Seijoh. He found a mentor, someone who was surprisingly not that bad. Maybe.
Kiyoshi had figured him out the third day he came to practice.
“Kyoutani, come over here for a moment.” Kentarou walked sluggishly over, trying not to wince at his hurting rib cage. “Kid, I know this is personal, but please don’t play in a binder. It’s not safe.”
He wanted to leave and never look back. What would it take to get out of this town for good?
“I’ll do what I want—“
“No, the team and I are responsible for your safety. If you’re hurt, which you are, don’t look at me like that, we’d also be paying a price. Do you have a sports bra or something?”
“I—“ He threw most of them away. “I’ll get one.” He doesn’t want to.
Kiyoshi sighed into his hand. “Nah, I’ll get one for you. I know it’s hard.”
Kentarou growled at this. “What do you know?”
“A lot, actually. I have a brother who’s trans. Can’t say I’ve experienced it personally, so I’ll try not to step on any toes.”
He blinked twice. “Huh.”
“Also, you’ll be benched tonight, Kyoutani. Go home, go rest, don’t sleep in your binder. And please, don’t feel like you have to overcompensate for anything.”
Kiyoshi walked back towards the court, and Kentarou walked out into the brisk night air. While the breeze was refreshing, it froze his mind, repeating the same mantra over and over again. “He knows, he knows, he knows.”
He couldn’t shake it off. Not even when he returned to the Seijoh team, leaving the community one behind. He left a trail of footprints, and needed to cover them up before a larger dog found him and tore him to shreds.
So he distanced himself again, even more so this time. Oikawa wasn’t happy. Yahaba wasn’t happy. Iwaizumi wasn’t happy, and that may have hurt the most. He respected Iwaizumi, and it seemed he did the same to some extent, but less so at that point. He’d already broken trust with these people, his teammates, and it would take a lot of time to repair their bonds to a respectable state. Not where they become friends, but where they’re not mad at him.
It’s hard, though, to be friendly towards others when he’s not even friendly to himself. A war was constantly rampaging through his mind, whether he should be himself, or whether he should leave on the costume that wears him down day after day. (The costume always wins. It had since he started high school.)
He tried for a while once he got back. To be friendly, that is, but it didn’t work. Yahaba was always pissing him off for one reason or another, and he kept reminding him about the upcoming match they’d be playing in. Against Karasuno. Against the birds that are as free as anyone can be. Against all odds, they keep flying higher, higher, finding themselves in the darkest of nights and the shimmering rays of the sun. They’re not stopping, not for anyone.
Kentarou had stopped trying to improve himself outside of volleyball a while ago. Everyone said he was a lost cause. Or maybe one person said it, and he just kept thinking about it, so whenever he has a negative interaction with someone, he always feels like he’s failed. He buried himself in that hole, and hadn’t tried to climb out since.
But the Karasuno match still came, like a storm brewing on the horizon. It quickly moved inland with heavy raindrops following it… No rainbow, sun, or sky in sight. Sure, it was a close match, but they didn’t win. The third years didn’t win. The second years would have another chance to prove themselves, but the third years losing their final match to a bunch of new players? Impossible.
It didn’t help that Kentarou’s sides were hurting like hell. Yahaba had pushed him into the wall and yelled his ear off, before he had enough of it. He got back on the court, no matter how smug Yahaba looked afterwards. Maybe trust was comprised of compromises, earned, not forced. Or maybe he was delusional from the lack of air going to his lungs.
Iwaizumi had noticed this when Kentarou was heading towards the bathrooms to change. “Kyoutani?”
He wheezed.
“Kyoutani, come here.”
He ran into a stall like a coward.
“Kyoutani.” He heard Iwaizumi sighing. “Please come out. We’re all upset, you know that, right?”
“That’s not—” Kentarou heaved. He pulled off his shirt and threw it on the floor.
Iwaizumi knocked on the stall door. “Come on, Kyoutani.”
And that was the breaking point. He snapped, like a dog spitting foam. “Shut up ! leave me alone!” And that was the tipping point. He felt warm water burn his skin as it trickled down his face, leaving a trail of turmoil down it’s path.
“Kyoutani—”
“Go away!”
“I’m getting Oikawa.”
“No, Iwaizumi, please don’t.” His costume was being torn to shreds by a dog much bigger than him. A dog the size of a wolf, bearing his teeth, jaw ready to close around his neck at any moment.
“Give me one good reason why.” Iwaizumi’s feet faced back towards the stall and said, “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t get Oikawa.”
But what he heard was: “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t get Oikawa to kick you off the team.”
“I’ll be better, I swear.”
“Not at this rate,” Iwaizumi mumbled, but Kentarou still heard it.
He walked away, presumably to get their captain. If Oikawa was coming, Kentarou had to get out, fast. He slipped his shirt back on, ignoring the compression of his rib cage, ignoring the feeling of fear in his heart. He hated being on this side of fear. He blotted his eyes with his shirt sleeve and bolted down the hallway as fast as he could while still giving room to breathe.
He felt like a rabbit, almost. Small, helpless, weak . Sure, he’s tall. Sure, he’s able to fend for himself. Sure, his spikes are strong, but his fortitude? No, that crumbles as quickly as an avalanche. And what’s a rabbit to do in front of an avalanche?
“Kyouken!” He must’ve ran right into their trap.
“Hey, Kyoutani, you okay?” He tried to look for a way out, but Watari had closed off the entrance to the room he ran into. “Where were you?”
“Ayy, Kyoutani, you okay man?”
“Give him some space,” a voice said, most likely Yahaba, but it was muffled by his hands over his ears, so he wasn’t sure. He felt shuffling next to him, the brief vibrations going through the bench he was on.
It was quiet. Too quiet. Kentarou opened his eyes to find no one else in the room but Yahaba. Did he make them leave?
“What’s going on? I know we’re… all sad, but… that was a pretty large reaction?” Yahaba stumbled, trying to be nice. He was trying, at least. And what was Kentarou doing?
He supposed he should do the same. “It’s none of your business,” he said, still struggling for breath. Well, there goes that idea.
“What do you need?”
Kentarou tried again. “My gym bag and a few minutes alone.” Not quite there, but better than what he said before.
“...got it. Please don’t run away again.” Kentarou could hear the words for a second time unsaid.
He felt like a rabbit, with Yahaba being a human trying not to scare him away. His wolf persona had been ripped from him in a violent act of defiance, and cold fear had settled into his bones, nestling in them, making themselves at home.
“Okay,” he mustered. “Okay.”
Thankfully, Yahaba came back quickly with his bag, and set it down at his feet. “I’ll be outside.”
Once Yahaba was gone, Kentarou rushed to the door and locked it. He slipped on a sports bra and a clean hoodie quickly, after taking his shirt and binder off. He let out a relieved sigh once he got his sweaty clothing back into his bag, the air flowing freely through his lungs. It was finally over.
“Kyoutani, you good in there?”
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he’d never stop running. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be running his whole life, never being able to catch a break. He unlocked the door. “Yahaba. If I was an animal, what would I be?”
“What?”
“I’m serious. Answer the question.”
“Well.” Yahaba played with his fingers a bit. “I suppose you’d be a human.”
“No, an animal, other than a human.”
“I’m being serious. If you want a fake answer, go to Oikawa. He’d say you’re a dog or something.”
“Huh?”
Yahaba sighed. “You’re… complex.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult?”
“No. A compliment, actually. You’re complex, just as anyone else is, I guess. You have your rough edges, and your soft ones.” Yahaba poked his cheek. He’d always hated his cheeks. “And maybe you have more rough edges right now, but you can always polish them. In the future, you can look back and say, huh, that used to be me… There’s always room for self improvement, even I know that.” Kentarou glared a bit at him. “I’m working on it.”
“Is it worth it?” Kentarou asked.
“Uh, yeah? Everyone needs to improve. If you want to think about it like volleyball, you can.” Yahaba thought for a moment. “It’s like picking out the things you need to work on. But really specific, not just serves or spikes. You work on those things for a while, and when you’re happy, you can move on to something else.”
“So you don’t think I’m a rabbit?”
“Where’d you get that idea from?” Yahaba laughed, and he was back to his annoying self again.
“It’s a long story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
“Well, it’s about a dog-eat-dog world, I guess.”
“We live in a dog-eat-dog world, Kyoutani Kentarou. Stop complaining.”
“I suppose we do.”
Kentarou smiled to himself with his face in his hoodie, and shuffled towards Yahaba. Maybe not to spill all his secrets, but to get some things off his chest. And maybe he’d feel a bit better in the process.