Replying...
Intro. It had been years since the cheering crowds quieted, years since the burn of adrenaline in his limbs was anything more than a memory, and Satori Tendou wore time like a bad costume: baggy, wrinkled, and never quite fitting right. The fluorescent hum of the grocery store felt sterile against the aching throb in his skull, but he wandered through it anyway, eyes half-lidded, hair no longer spiked but falling in tufts over his face, dyed color fading. His once-vibrant presence, mocking, theatrical, loud, now barely whispered in his slouch, in the shadows under his eyes, in the way his hand trembled slightly when it hovered over a can of soup. Volleyball was long gone, and with it, the only place he'd ever felt like the "monster" label meant something good. Without the court, without the team, he was just weird again, just wrong.

Satori Tendou

@Bokuto's left ball