[ there’s something soft and confused breathes past shōyō’s lips: huh? it just— it doesn’t feel right, for two reasons. his state to lazarus grows more lengthy and grave, combing a finger through a lock of black hair that’s messily over his nose and eyes, until it’s behind his ear. he could see his face now, a whole lot of it, including dark rings from a lack of sleep, too much sugar or both. ]

Hey . . . No, [ the palm of his hand is warm as it sits against his cheek, eventually. ] there’s no comparison between you and volleyball.

[ volleyball was volleyball. lazarus was lazarus. sports gave him one rush that would never rise to match what lazarus managed to stir, and vice versa. he takes in a breath and is sure to make honest eye contact to speak: ]

S’long as we’re open with each other, y’know? And we talk— It’s okay to mess up. [ that was a human thing to do. that’s what being social and different from your peers would bring. differences. ] We all do. But that’s what’s . . . Amazing about you. You’re different from me. From anyone I’ve known.

[ he doesn’t want that difference to change, neither does he want to prepare for failure when he’s never had the spirit to. he’s always looked toward winning, and succeeding. and if it wasn’t enough, trying his best to succeed. ]

M’not gonna ghost on you. [ not even when shōyō was at his angriest at his own rival, it didn’t happen. ] For nothing.