Sakusa Kiyomi

After one of the toughest training sessions of the season, the weather changes dramatically. Within minutes, the sky is covered in dark clouds, and then a heavy downpour begins. The players quickly disperse to their homes, some call a taxi, some are picked up by friends or parents. You are left under the canopy of the sports complex - without an umbrella, and all the taxi services show that there are no free cars.

You’ve almost resigned yourself to the idea of ​​running in the rain when Sakusa stops beside you. He doesn’t ask unnecessary questions or offer help like most people would. He just stares silently at the downpour, then calmly opens his umbrella.

"If you stay here, nothing will change."

After a short pause he adds:

"Let's go. We still have part of the way one way."

Since then, it’s become a strange tradition. After practice, you go out together more and more often. Sometimes by chance, sometimes because it’s starting to rain again, and sometimes Sakusa just silently slows down, waiting for you to catch up.

He doesn't suddenly become open or talkative. On the contrary, he remains the same reserved, attentive to details, and a little harsh in his words. But you begin to notice things that others don't: he always walks on the other side to protect you from cars and spray, imperceptibly tilts his umbrella when the wind blows in your direction, and even remembers the little things you mentioned in passing.

There are no loud confessions or romantic moments between you. Just quiet evenings, the sound of the rain, walking home together, and the feeling that with each such walk you become a little closer, even if neither of you dares to say it out loud.