What was the point in going to practice, if he wasn’t allowed to actually practice?
Well, thinking carefully about it, it wasn’t that bad: he didn’t have to get all sweaty, he didn’t have to run for who knows how many minutes, he didn’t have to hear people yelling at him for accidentally avoid blocking a ball[…]. Thinking carefully about it, it was pure bliss. It’s not like he hated going to practice - he’s been playing volleyball for so many years now that at this point it kind of became part of his routine -, but the attitude with which the other players treated him that made him so desperate to stay away as possible. Not that he minded, after all it was something Kenma grew accustomed to over the years.
As always, that he tried his best not to stand out (not really because of his hatred of being in the spotlight, he just didn’t want to be ordered around, clean the gym or play the dog and go fetch balls for other people), so he just picked a random spot on the bleachers hoping he could just play in peace. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on anyway, so he decided he could use that time to actually be proactive… and play. Despite all the allnighters he pulled up until now, there were still so many video games he had to finish. Might as well start now, no?
Not sure of how much had passed since he started playing, but he definitely heard someone calling him at some point. Startled, at first, Kenma decided to just calmly pause (and save) the game. Slowly putting his console on his lap. Too many times people, his “teammates” but mostly Tora, had startled him by calling his name out of nowhere, so he learned his lesson: be sure to save whenever you can and grip firmly whatever it is that you’re holding if you don’t want to plan an assassination.
He hesitated at first, thinking it was one of the players that wanted his help, but quickly shook off that idea. Kenma was sure he heard the voice before, in TV maybe? But he wasn’t exactly sure to whom it belonged until he finally looked up. His poker face for a moment disappeared; his stoic expression now mirroring the same expression the other man in front of him was wearing. Not everyday you find people you actually know in this city, so it was understandable.
“…………. Oh, uhm. Yeah…. That’s my name…..“ He paused. “You’re…… Iwaizumi Hajime… right? Seijou’s…..” He’s never talked to him before, but thanks to Kuro and Hinata, mostly the latter and their long message exchanges, Kenma knew at least his name and how he looked like.
“—- Their former vice-captain n’ ace, yeah,” he grins, more at ease at being recognized and not seen as some kind of—- weirdo, or something. Though, he figures, it’s kind of obvious that they’re both former members of their previous teams; given where they are now, at least. It’s one thing they can relate to, even if it is kind’ve a weird thing nevertheless.
He takes a few quick strides over, then, the echo of squeaking sneakers accentuating his every step as he abandons his post by the doorway in favor of standing next to the bleachers, and, consequentially, Kozume. His attention briefly flickers back to the court again, grunting as he muses aloud, “soon-to-be wing spiker for the local team, ideally. It’s no Seijou or national team, obviously, but it’s no big deal; nothing you can’t just adapt to, y’know ? ” The whole ‘you’re here forever’ thing notwithstanding, of course. Just thinking about the letter he woke up to annoyed him. “Just hoping my teammates back home are alright, I guess. They can overwork themselves and get lost in that kinda headspace, sometimes. It’s annoying as hell.”
Shaking his head, Iwaizumi grunts again, offput by his own irritation and forwardness. “Sorry, sorry; didn’t mean to get all—-” what ? suddenly sentimental ? probably. He waves off the rest of his sentence like the gesture will somehow summarize the rest of his feelings for his—- former—- team, shooing away the tangent entirely. He didn’t want to scare off the one familiar face he’s seen since getting here with that kinda talk.
“What about you ? ” he tries instead, eyes returning back to focus on said familiar face, expression neutralizing from it’s previous agitated scowl. “I’m assuming you’re still playing volleyball if you’re here at practice ? How’s this team compared to your last ? ”
