The Setter's Help

Saturday Practice

You thought walking home from practice would be a lot easier than this: your feet dragging along the sidewalk and your back slump, your head dangling towards the ground and your arms dead, unmoving, trying to carry the weight of your bags while you sluggishly make your way to your house. You could fall to the ground any second and just take a giant nap right then and there. But, you couldn't.

He could see the struggle, and it's not that he wanted to help, of course, but he needed you in good shape for practice tomorrow. He didn't have to, and he surely didn't want to, but his body acted before his mind did. Jogging towards your slow figure, he bends and quickly grabs the straps of your volleyball bag, lifting them out of your grasp before you could whip your head around to see him, carrying it effortlessly beside you.

"Kageyama?" You stop in your tracks, looking up to his unbothered face as he halts himself for you. "What are you doing? Do you live around here or something?"

"Yeah. I guess." You can barely hear his mumble when he picks his feet up once again, leaving you behind him.

"Hey, wait! Do you even know where you're going?" He stops, sighing before turning towards you, waiting for your legs to match up with his before continuing.

The walk is silent, awkward. You don't know what to say and he doesn't care to speak up. He's oblivious to the tense atmosphere, like the air is clear as he follows you to your home. Did he live next to you? That would be convenient, you thought.

He stared at your front door as you struggled to grasp your keys, his eyes catching every detail in the paint, the the shine of the doorknob before his pupils wandered, the threads of your skirt catching his attention. It shouldn't be a normal feeling, watching the flowy fabric run along with the wind. He shouldn't feel content watching looking at the way it hugs your legs and your hips so nicely. He shouldn't like that.

So he tells himself he doesn't.

He walks over beside you once he hears the click of the door being unlocked, your hand turning the knob and opening the door while he drops the bag on the floor. He faces away, about to leave when you pick up the bag yourself, moaning in exhaustion trying to get through the doorway. He wanted to go- he didn't need you to distract him any longer, but you looked like you were going to collapse any second. Screwing his eyes closed in contemplation, he places his hand on your shoulder, stopping any motions that you were making, freezing in place. He grumbles an incoherent sound, one that your fogged mind couldn't care to decipher. And just before you start to lean on the wall just to rest for a minute, your limbs going soft and your bags falling from your hands, he grabs them both, your school and your volleyball bag not weighing on you any longer. You sigh in relief, forgetting another person was with you before heading down the hall to your room.

He didn't want to follow you to your room, but he couldn't just stand there waiting for you to come back. He knew you were most likely about to let your body fall on your bed, allowing yourself to finally get some sleep. With that in mind, he cautiously takes a couple steps forward, leading himself to the room he saw you disappear in before releasing your volleyball bag on the floor, keeping your school bag in his other hand as he walks toward the bed you lay on, placing it on top of your pillow carefully. He knows not to just throw your school stuff around.

There. He's done. He can go back to his house finally. Why he even helped you out in the first place, he didn't know. Why he noticed the way your skirt was a little too high on your thighs, he didn't know either, but the urge to pull it down just so no one can peek crawled into his brain. It rattled him, the consideration of this- he didn't want to make you uncomfortable, but the shortage of length your skirt was feeding off bothered him- he didn't want anyone to see anything you didn't let them. So, carefully moving towards you, he looks up at the ceiling awkwardly, using his forefinger and his thumb to softly grab your skirt and pull it down, letting it fall on a lower part of your thigh. He did it, right? He felt weird about checking again, so he didn't, instead letting his eyes fall on your face. He never noticed how interesting your lips were. They seemed flawless, perfect, even when drool drizzled from the side of your mouth. They looked healthy, too. You must take care of them. Your cheeks as well, looked perfectly shaped and soft, he almost wanted to graze them with the tips of his fingers. Your eyes, even though they were closed, looked peaceful. Your eyelashes were unique, he thought. Although he's seen a million other people with the same length, all of a sudden yours looked different from the rest.