The 53rd annual women's volleyball cup quarter final proceeded with usual fanfare; the gymnasium packed from end to end with jeering crowds of onlookers who'd payed entirely too much to be there to be behaving that way, and the air was hot and stale.
The Blue Teacups' coach milled about at the side of the court, occasionally ducking to avoid the garlands sailing down from the ceiling beams when the jumping crowd tore them down; whether accidentally or on purpose was hard to say. All in all, giving up playing to become a coach had been a good decision. Big games were the worst.
Silicia winced as her team missed another ball - they were losing, and mentally she was already writing her motivational locker room speech for after the loss was cemented.

She'd been on edge all day, and even the rush and thrum of the game weren't enough to sway her focus off the Mustachioed Machines' star player. It had been months since she'd seen Mira, possibly years since they'd talked; since she'd thrown away their shared dreams and left Silicia behind, taking a position in the shiftiest team in all of professional volleyball.

As Silicia watched, Mira hit the ball over the net with perfect form. It arced high, and in the split second it was in the air, she looked over and their eyes met. Time slowed down for that one moment, before the world resumed as normal and a water bottle hit her in the back of the head as Mira turned away. She wasn't sure what her face looked like right about then, but what she'd been thinking of saying to her couldn't have fit into a single glance anyway.

Silicia sat down and gingerly felt the back of her head for a new bump.

The crowd screamed, the whistle sounded, and the Blue Teacups had lost. "That was some good sporting on the sports ball!" called the Mustachioed Machines' team coach enthusiastically and she rolled her eyes. Then Silicia's team gathered around her, obscuring her view, and she got back to her actual job.

---

Unlike the outside world where the summer heat made the improperly laid asphalt of the parking lot bubble and the gymnasium whose air conditioning units struggled in vain against the throngs of people, the bowels of the building which connected the locker rooms and administrative offices were almost cold. The prickling of it drying on the skin of her uncovered arms made her realize that she'd been sweating rather a lot and she loosely tied her hair up, exposing the nape of her neck to the cool air. The hallways at the back where nearly completely empty of people, a contrast that was almost eerie.
Her team had taken it well, all things considered, so it seemed the off season trainings wouldn't be terribly demoralizing this year.

She had no real destination, dazedly walking around almost just for the sake of it, though when she instinctively ducked into a supply closet upon hearing the cheerfully chatting winning team pass by on their way out of their dressing room, she realized that her feet knew where they were headed.
Silicia turned the corner to find the locker room door slightly ajar, and went to peer in. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to Mira where she sat on a bench in a corner of the empty room, staring blankly ahead with a towel over her shoulders and one clutched in her hands. Before she could reconsider, Silicia was already pushing at the door to enter, eyes glued to her. The air inside was noticably warmer than the hallway.
Mira's cheeks were still flushed, her top stuck to her with sweat and her hair ruffled. She'd let it down from the tight bun it'd been in during the game, and it fell around her face in a way that was hard to look away from.
At the sound of her entering, Mira looked up, slightly parted lips pressing into a line and eyes fixing on her with an unreadable expression. It took her a good five seconds of them staring at each other to remember how to produce a sound with her mouth.

"Congrats on the win out there, you earned it."

Her voice was somehow simultaneously too loud in the silence and not nearly enough to fill the space. Mira's brows drew together in irritation.

"I thought we were 'cheating disgraces to the sport with no morals to speak of', or have you had to stoop to our level, since?"

Silicia almost reeled back, because those were her words, yes, and she'd meant them, but it was hard at the moment to muster the necessary passion to stick to her principles with Mira right there.
So she shut the door decisively and took a step into the room, and then another when she still didn't have a retort ready. In the end she settled for the lowest hanging fruit.

"Don't worry, I checked everything myself, short of paying off the ref you had to have played on even territory today," she said, because she had: it was almost more insulting to have not found the yard greased or the balls weighted, because it meant they were confident they'd win, and they'd been right about it.

Mira's nose twitched up in the smallest sneer and she was even more beautiful than Silicia remembered.

"Did you now. Then how am I to know you didn't play with fixed balls?"

She took another step towards her, and Mira rose to put them at eye level, now full on glaring at each other.

"Unlike you lot, I have standards. You should know that," Silicia hissed, and for a moment it seemed like Mira might slap her. She didn't. Instead she took a step forward herself, now so close their chests nearly touched with every inhale, and raised her chin challengingly.

"Standards low enough by your own admission to have gone for me."

"Made you go even lower," was out of her mouth before she could reign it in, and Mira's lips curled into a sinister grin.

Her hands found themselves around the straps of Silicia's top, unexpectedly cold knuckles brushing her skin and she shivered a bit.

"I think you'll find that if you consult the official chart, you are actually the one under me."

Without replying, Silicia pushed her back by her shoulders until her back hit the wall and kissed her. Mira responded without hesitation; it was easy to fall back into it no matter how long it'd been, and soon there were hands in her hair, fumbling with the hair tie keeping her bun together. She sort of wished she'd washed it yesterday so it would be dry and brittle instead of oily and smooth, but Mira hardly seemed to mind.
She took another half step, flattening Mira against the wall, easier to keep her upright with the bench in the way. Eagerly, her hands pushed the towel away to flatten against the sides of Mira's neck, and she hummed into her mouth, pleased. Silicia's hair slipped free and fell around her shoulders.

It felt exactly the same and nothing like it had years ago, when they'd been on the same team and on good terms. She still missed it, and hated that she did. The inevitable fragile end of this moment was a problem for later.

There was a sound in the hallway, and they jumped apart. At the sight of Mira slumped against the wall, breathing heavy with her eyes wide, her heart felt like it was trying to escape the confines of its ossified prison in her chest. Silicia turned and ran.