Kaito Ishioka had a problem. He had a massive problem. More than one, actually. One, he's a romantic. Two, he's horrible at studying. Three, his tendency to work until he achieves his goal is ruining his life. It's an obsession. An unhealthy one tha...
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"HOW LONG ARE YOU going to keep practising?" Kaito heard his older brother inquire. He was out in their garden, a volleyball bouncing on his forearms. His knees were bent, and his legs were shoulder-width apart. Kaito was enacting the position he had engraved into his brain, having practised with it for many, many weeks. The movement was slow and deliberate, allowing for precise control. He didn't move his eyes from the ball, dipping his shoulders and crouching lowly to bump the ball back into the air. A slight breeze blew his fringe back, revealing the dark circles under his eyes.
Dusk had long since passed, and the sky was painted a deep mauve. Stars twinkled down onto the earth while the moon shone bright and warm. The only light sources were the lights from inside the house, peering through the open sliding doors and the flickering lamp on the corner of the street, shrouded by their large childhood tree's leafy branches.
"It's been hours now."
"Just a few more minutes," he responded haphazardly, repeating the process multiple times. Kaito could feel the familiar ache in his muscles, and while it would have rendered his family worried, he enjoyed it. No pain, no game. That was a motto Kaito firmly believed in. What was the point of being alive if you didn't push yourself to your limit? If you didn't force yourself to cross what you thought was the line and draw a new one?
Rokuro scoffed, "That's what you said twenty minutes ago."
Kaito made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. His tongue poked out of his lips, and he stared intensely at his task at hand. Drop your right shoulder to move it to the right. He did so. Drop your left shoulder to move it to the left. The ball shifted in the air, and Kaito moved with it. The closer your hands are to the ground, the lower it'll go.
"Hurry up," Rokuro snapped. He had watched his younger brother play all day— well, not necessarily watched. More like heard him play. He had been lounging on the couch, flicking through the various channels on their TV, and Rokuro had left the window open to supervise Kaito. He needed to make sure the idiot didn't do anything stupid, not when he had an audacious tendency to injure himself during his me-time. "Dinner's almost ready."
At the announcement of dinner, Kaito perked up. He caught the ball in his hands and glanced up from where he'd been crouching.
"What's for dinner?"
"Come inside and find out." Rokuro spun on his heel and entered their house— their home. Because yes, this fanfic includes a healthy, loving family. What's home if not a place of shelter and comfortability? And privacy, for goodness sake.
Kaito huffed. He drew his attention back to the volleyball in his hands. The yellow and blue stripes glared up at him, as if they dared him to put them away. This ball had been his sole companion during the long, heated summer blessing Miyagi. He had lost count of how many times he'd gone to their backyard just to touch it. Just to run his hand over the surface, feeling the smoothness of it against his skin. It wasn't soft, nor was it hard.
