all the players had left the court, leaving miharu alone.

someone had left a volleyball on the floor.

do i just leave it there? she looked at it, perfectly still. i don't want to touch that thing. but i can't just let it stay there. i'll just put it back, and then leave.

she grasped the yellow and blue sphere. there was a sudden jolt in her arm, a familiar, kind warmth, the kind of feeling you get when you meet an old friend. 

one spike. it can't hurt.

she tossed the ball in the air and met it, bringing it down with a satisfying slap on the ground. the adrenaline from that one action rushed through her blood. it was addictive, that momentary feeling of flying, then the slap of the ball on the floor. it wasn't a strenuous move, but it left miharu breathless. 

art had always been miharu's safe space, a place to let down her walls and be completely vulnerable. she poured her tears and her struggles in of nameless figures and shapes. she created worlds that appeared in her mind's eye in plaster and clay. she captured gossamer fine moments in pixels. when it came to art, she knew what she was doing.

volleyball was miharu's wild terrain. it was unknown, unconquered, a never ending rollercoaster. thrilling and always with more to work on. he had been her guide, leading her through the terrifying land, holding her hand so it wouldn't seem so cold. but now he wasn't part of her life anymore. no longer relevant in her symphony. a side character who disappeared.

"hey you're actually pretty good!"

the unexpected voice threw miharu's thoughts and her heart forgot how to beat.

and of course, it was oikawa.

she glared at him and left the gym, leaving him alone and bewildered.

that was a compliment!