The Setter's Help

"You Deserve It."

The air that enters your lungs comes out in puffs, a clot in your throat that prevents the swift in take of the oxygen you need for your vision to move somewhere that wasn't the dirty floors under you. The fear and the intimidation that ran through your jamming pulse radiated out of you, the stuttering of your nerves creating a fog in your abdomen- moths instead of butterflies. Your body felt fuzzy, even as you looked at the trembling hand that floats in the air, it felt numb. A raggedy breath leaves your lips as you gather feeling back into all the nerve endings that rest in the pads of your fingers. Your eyebrows furrow in concentration as you screw your eyes shut, feeling the cool air sweep up against your skin.

It might have been a new, refreshing light that flows through the strands of your hair, or maybe- just maybe, it was the doors opening to let the other team enter.

Holy shit it's happening.

This is it. The one thing you've been practicing for for weeks.

The big game.

You take a quick look around the gym- the room not fully set up, people getting ready to sit down in the stands, the players from the other team setting their bags down and stretching while their coach gives them a quick pep talk- your teammates doing the same. You saw the boys' team sitting down, as well. Half were munching on snacks, the others indulging in conversation with each other, Nishinoya and Tanaka multitasking and doing both, while the rest just sat and got their phones ready or just watched the other team, including someone in particular.

It's been a couple days since you've taken a good look at him. His arms were crossed as he observed the other team with annoyance, gathering the information he needed on all players. It's not like he was going to tell you- well, not anymore. He took a chance, when he flicked his pupils to match yours. Even though he didn't expect you to look back, he did it anyway. And when he caught the color of your iris looking right back at him, he shook with nervousness. You turn away quickly the moment he sets his eyes on you- a hitch in your throat creating a sort of choke that crept up. His stare lingered longer than it should have, watching you pick a ball up from the court with your clammy hands and slap it on the ground before partnering up and warming up your arms.

For whatever reason, he kept his vision nailed on your wrists, watching them carefully. He was surprised at the improvement you showed since he started working with you. Your arm looked strong, powerful. That was good. Your eyes were taped to the ball, as it should be. Your wrists were flicking at the right time and the ball floated in the air gracefully, like he taught you. So why, he asked in his head, why were you so nervous? You've had games before, this is just another one. Why was this game so important?

His attention was brought back to the team that practiced on the other side of the mnet, watching for weaknesses and advantages.

This was going to be tough. They had control over their energy- they were confident. Sure they were going to win this. You, on the other hand, had doubt painted over your face in red. God, he felt like an idiot. What was he trying to prove? He made you feel like nothing when he should have been helping you conquer the world. Dumbass.

"Hey, do you see their setter?" Hinata asks out of the blue, pointing to the other team.

"Number three?"

"Yeah, I think she's a third year. Do you think Y/n can compete with that?"

"What do you mean," he asks defensively, "why wouldn't she?"

"Well, she's probably had more experience and has played against many other people just like this team, Y/n hasn't," the ginger explains, using tiny hand gestures.