Brutal

1) Golden Years

Burning muscle being stretched with each rigorous use of a violent sport. Lungs heaving for air with each second of movement. Senses were blurry with every passing moment. Eyes seeing black and white spots instead of looking for a blue and yellow ball flying across the gym with the slap of a hand. Their brains moved as one but failed to act fast as they were trained. Bodies drained of all energy, depleted of the very source they needed to win. A whistle rang in their muffled ears as the ball bounced out of bounds, 36 to 26, and they were led off the gym floors.

A small huff of air was puffed out of #5's chest, followed with a small 'oh well'. While not visibly distressed, their brains were racked, searching for excuses to explain their behavior. Why hadn't they gone for the ball?

No words exchanged, only a look of disappointment clear in the faces of spectators. A pain rose in the chests of the ones closest to the ball. There it was. The ego crushing weight of the loss of their team, all on hunched shoulders, cooking up and simmering tears in the backs of their tired lids that drooped at the flexion of their foot as it hit the ground and back up.

"Put your jackets on, don't let your bodies get cold." The low octave of the captain's defeated voice sounded throughout the locker room. His face was neutral once again, unlike the look of devastation and humiliation that adorned his face as the ball dropped with a loud smack against the polished floor that was flooded with sweat.

Semi was the first to let out a hiss of frustration once they left the locker room in complete silence, watching as ball boys filled the court with flat mops to clean up the sweat they had left out there. He felt that something cracked when their referee blew his whistle but with the way things were looking for them, he wouldn't be able to talk to them for a while until time took its toll.

Goshiki, for once, was non-reactive. Too much stimulation that ended so abruptly with no time to wind down made him too tired to produce a thought as both teams shook hands across either side of the nets. He hadn't processed the warm hand that clasped his in thanks for the tough match, claiming that they'd see each other again in the near future for another game.

Shirabu let time pass with grace, taking the time to nicely pack his things and organize them in each pocket. By the time he finished, only Ohira was the only one who had stuck around to wait for him. Once he had trailed behind Ohira, the air turned bitter. There was no rush to go home, no one waited for them to celebrate. The only thing they were postponing with their snail-like pace was the scolding coach Washijo was going to give them once they arrive at their home gym.

Tendou unwrapped his taped fingers, letting the damp and loose adhesive fall between his and Ushijima's legs as he fell back in the bus seat with another distinctive huff of air. Ushijima had taken the liberty of spreading himself out, unapologetic as he usually was, and waved his finger around between them.

"No words of encouragement, Tendou?" He asked, sour the words were on his tongue.
"Not today, Ushiwaka. We were ass today." Tendou mumbled, but significantly lowered his voice at the last part, looking around to see if anybody had noticed. Ushijima's noise of approval sounded before he drifted himself to a small nap, to calm his burning body before Coach Washijo's words inevitably threw him in a frenzy.