#washijo is an asshole - all im saying

[seijorhi]

Shiratorizawa was on my mind today and this stupid little drabble wouldn’t leave me be but idk it’s an odd one

tw non con

It’s easy for him to turn a blind eye.

He’s not a man without morals. He might be coarse and rude, demanding of the players under his control, but he understands the difference between right and wrong. If his players win (and they’d damn well better) it would be because they were the stronger team - not because of any underhanded, cheap tactics.

He is single minded, as he expects his team to be, but that doesn’t mean he's blind. He didn’t pay much attention in the early days. You were eager and excitable, but ultimately a distraction - Saito dealt with you, helped guide you along and shape you into something he could actually use to benefit the team. Of course, back then he couldn’t have even imagined that things would turn out as they have. 

He knew your name, stiffly acknowledged you when you showed up at practice every day along side the team. He knew that you had a decent knowledge of volleyball, kept notes on the team and their form, always commenting on their improvements. You were diligent and hardworking - he wouldn’t have allowed you to remain otherwise. He supposes that even back then, you were an asset. The boys worked harder when you were around, and there was a certain... cohesiveness to the team that had been lacking in prior years. 

But his first and only concern was the team’s success. 

He is observant, but only when they’re on the court. It’s Saito who brings it up one afternoon, his tone just a little too casual for Washijo to believe it was a spur of the moment thought. 

“The third years sure are close with Y/N, wouldn’t you say?”

It was natural, he thought, for the players to gravitate towards their manager. Especially the third years - you’ve been with them since the beginning. But for some reason, Saito’s comment keeps running through his head, and perhaps it’s then that he starts to see you - really see you. He knows his team better than they think. He knows that Semi is furious about being passed over in favour of Shirabu (knows it and uses it to push the boy) but the look in the older setter’s eyes when Shirabu’s hand brushes yours as you pass him his bottle is almost feral. After practice, he notices the boy grab you and pull you aside. He notices the way you pale as he whispers something in your ear too low for the coach to catch.

There’s a bruise on your neck the next day at training, too high to be covered by your jacket. A hickey, he realises when he catches the pinch server grinning proudly at it.

Tendou has always ignored personal boundaries, but he drapes himself over you at any chance he has - time outs, breaks, the gangly redhead even follows you around during pack up, stepping up behind you to ‘help’ take down the net. The way you flush and stutter, trying to duck out and away from him does not dissuade the middle blocker in the slightest.

But it’s Ushijima that he notices most of all. Shiratorizawa is strong - he’s made damn sure of that, but a lot of that strength comes from his ace. Ushijima rarely drifts from your side - although, perhaps it’s the other way around. He’s seen the way fan girls flock to the Captain, following him like a shadow until he’s forced to bar them from the gym, and he might be tempted to believe the same of you, except for the way you avoid Ushijima’s eyes when he stares at you (often) and you shy away the very moment you think he’s distracted. Unlike Tendou, Wakatoshi is not a man who often initiates physical touch, or seem to enjoy it, but you seem to be the exception to that too. 

It’s little things. Lingering glances, hushed words, a hand that slips just below what’s appropriate, what could be passed off as friendly. He could easily explain it away as boys being boys - there was nothing forbidding them from having a relationship of any kind with you - so long as it didn’t affect their game.

If it did, he’d kick you out in a heartbeat. 

He could pass it off, except that you’ve changed too. You don’t speak as often, you’re not as bright and bubbly on the side of the court. You still takes notes, pass out towels and bottles, but you don’t cheer for the team anymore. You’re still pulled into celebratory hugs and tugged between them like a toy to be fought over, but you don’t grin and laugh about it like you did back in your first and second year. 

You look scared.

But still, it’s all hypothetical. He could guess at what was going on with you and his team behind his back, but why waste the effort? It wasn’t a distraction to the team, it wasn’t impacting how they played, so why bother? It’s easier to deny something is an issue if you don’t have any tangible proof that it is.

Of course, proof finds its way to him whether he likes it or not. It’s merely by chance that he forgets his clipboard at the gym that afternoon. Walking back past the shower block he hears it - the low grunts and laughter between the slick slapping of skin. Hissed pleasure and backhanded praise tossed out with crude insults. He recognises the voices of his players well enough, but it’s the sobbing that makes his heart clench. The pleading whimpers that he wishes hadn’t come from you.

It’s harder to pretend after that that you’re a willing participant in all of this, that somehow you want to be where you are, shared (fought over) amongst them. Yet it’s harder still to deny the impact it’s had on the team. They’re working harder, playing smarter, they squabble amongst themselves, but it only pushes them to be better on the court - there’s a fire that been lit under their asses and the results he’s seeing are incredible.

So when you come to him, teary eyed and beg for him to sign the paperwork to transfer out of the Volleyball club, he looks up at you - tired and afraid, marked up with bruises and bite marks you don’t even bother hiding anymore - he’s faced with a choice. 

And it’s not that he doesn’t like you. He might be gruff and dismissive, but you’re not a bad kid. You’ve done good things for the team, even before... all of this. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you hurt and used.

But his team will alway, always come first.

It’s easy for him to turn a blind eye, tear up your paperwork and tell you that you gave your word when you signed on to be a manager for the full year and you will see it though, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t consumed by guilt every time he meets your eye.

If you were anybody else, if the situation was even slightly different, he likes to tell himself that he’d step in and put a stop to it. But... you’re good for the team.

It’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make.