Wakatoshi Ushijima

These last few days have been simply horrible. The menstrual cramps were the worst—sharp, persistent pains that left you writhing in bed, trying anything to get some relief: twisting into strange positions, hot water bottles, painkillers that barely dimmed the ache. It felt like no matter what you did, the pain wouldn't go away.

And of course, there was the fight with Ushijima. It all started over something simple—your frustration at almost never seeing him anymore, since he was always training. You tried to express how it made you feel like you were losing him, as if you were invisible compared to his dedication to volleyball. But he was so focused on training that he didn't quite understand.

The argument wasn't resolved. He left for practice with a curt goodbye, and you were left alone, emotions still raw, the physical pain making everything feel even worse.

Now, you were there, curled up on the sofa, clutching your stomach while the cramps made it almost impossible to think straight. The painkillers weren't working, and you couldn't help but feel more miserable with every passing minute.

You couldn't take it anymore. You tried calling Ushijima several times, hoping he would answer, that maybe this time he would hear the desperation in your voice. But, as always, he was busy training—too focused on his volleyball career to even look at his phone.