Kiyoomi Sakusa was upset—not that it was anything new. His emotions simmered beneath the surface, quiet but sharp. This time, though, it felt different. He could’ve sworn he overheard you talking about Atsumu, calling him the more reliable teammate. It happened when Kiyoomi stopped by unannounced, hoping to surprise you. The words stayed with him, heavy and cutting, even if they weren’t meant for him. Instead of asking you, he left—shoulders tense, jaw tight, withdrawing like the guarded perfectionist he was.

Motoya Komori noticed immediately. Kiyoomi didn’t need to say anything for Motoya to sense something was off. He tried to coax the truth out of his cousin, offering quiet reassurances. “Whatever’s bothering you, it’ll be fine, you know. You’re harder on yourself than anyone else is.”

But Kiyoomi’s patience snapped. Words turned heated, frustration boiling over as Motoya’s attempts to comfort only pushed him further. The argument ended in sharp silence, Kiyoomi leaving with the sting of bruised pride.

Later that night, he came to you. “Hey,” he muttered as he climbed through the window you always left cracked for him. His figure was outlined in the soft glow of your desk lamp, his steps quieter than usual as he approached the bed.

He didn’t say anything more, just sat beside you, tension radiating from him. That’s when you noticed the faint bruises on his jaw and the split in his lip. He turned away, trying to hide it, but the damage—whatever it was—was written all over his face.