They never really appreciated the technique of Ouran's volleyball team, despite wanting to join the sport.

The care-free "ace" spiker – number one – did nothing to deserve the title, throwing himself around the court with too much energy to be precision, which was irritating; sure, he had talent, but no discipline. The reckless number two, who played either setter and libero, who tossed too fast for anyone but the "ace" when a setter, and always bruised and scuffed himself when a libero; he usually finished a game bloody, beaten, and thoroughly worn out as he removed his contacts to put his glasses back on. Three was far too small to be on a volleyball team, no matter how high and powerful his jumps were, and the rather tall four could only follow the little guy around, it seemed, and lacked any enthusiasm. Five and Six were just uninterested usually, but five made a decent setter when separated from his brother, and six could spike almost as well as the "ace"; it was just a shame they couldn't put that potential into their defence.

In short, they should be a terrible team; but, by some miracle, they seemed to make it work. They couldn't get to nationals, couldn't compete with teams who really teams, but they won a few matches.

It was admirable, they supposed; in the smallest way possible. It was just a shame that they were more three duos than a team of six.

Still, it didn't dampen the brunette student's will to join. They wanted to play volleyball, no matter the state of the team; she'd made that sacrifice when they chose to enrol in Ouran, rather than a school with a stronger team – choosing future ambition over some club.

They'd gotten permission to join the male volleyball team from the head teacher and the team's main facility manager – Mr Suoh, number one's father apparently – and they'd ask as soon as this game was over.

If number two – their main organiser, according to Mr Suoh – was still alive, that was…

The boy in question threw himself to the ground with a resounding 'smack', just in time to keep the ball in the air. He struggled to his feet, blood trailing sluggishly down his shins from deep scrapes. His black hair fell into his eyes and stuck to his sweat-soaked brow as he received the ball again, without needing to dive.

His forearms were bandaged, as was his chest, and the team's two time-outs were already used; he'd just have to struggle through, no matter how many blood stains soaked his vibrant shirt.

Reckless.

They could see number one send the libero looks of concern and worry in every spare moment, as well as a sad look in number four's eyes; numbers five and six seemed not to care, glances from the corner of their eyes or not, and number three was too busy actually playing to realise anything was wrong.

Mr Suoh just worried his lip as the reckless defender kept throwing himself to the ground, and number one failed to hit number five's easy toss. The game, it seemed, would end in disaster.

Probably why the libero became even more reckless.

The opposing team didn't even seem to be trying. All they had to really worry about was the scuffed-up libero, after all; not even number four could intimidate them.

In the end, they lost both sets. The first twenty points to twenty five, the second a mere eleven to twenty five.

If Ouran still had any supporters, they went away unsurprised.

"Good game," Haruhi could hear the boys mutter to the victors, faces the picture of disappointment.

They felt bad for them. They really did.

And now, they'd be in the same boat.

"Everyone, this is Haruhi Fujioka; if you'll have them, they'll be our number seven," Mr Suoh introduced, a large hand clapping their back.

"Hi," They waved, "Haruhi Fujioka, I like going by they/them pronouns; nice to meet ya."

"Same to you!" Number one cheered, bounding over to them, "I'm Tamaki Suoh, Ouran's ace! And our number two is Ky –"

"Kyouya Ootori," Number two interrupted, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as number four stuck… pastel coloured plasters onto his bleeding scrapes, after cleaning them out, "Haruhi Fujioka; class 1A with Hikaru and Kaoru, better than average grades, non-binary – specifically agender – and has two years volleyball experience from middle school. A decent spiker, if I recall."

Haruhi just stood there, stare blank and mouth open. They didn't realise they'd be researched and analysed before they even joined the club!

"That's Kyouya-senpai's specialty; research," The twin's chuckled, "He knows everything."

"Well, except self-preservation," Number six snorted.

"These are the twin annoyances; number five is Kaoru Hitachiin and number six is Hikaru Hitachiin," Tamaki introduced, "At least their still wearing their vests, it's easier to tell them apart that way."

"I'm Mitsukuni Haninozuka, but you can call me Hani!" The small guy enthused, "And number four is Takashi Morinozuka – people call him Mori."

"Welcome aboard, Fujioka," Mr Suoh smiled, "You're one of the team now."

Kyouya stretched as he watched his team mates put equipment away, Mori still fussing over him like a mother hen.

"You should be more careful," The older boy sighed, "What if you injure yourself and are unable to play?"

"I'll be fine, senpai," He waved away, "I'm not that breakable; who cares if I get a little bruised in the game? I just need to keep the ball in the air, that's my job as libero."

The tall boy just shook his head, sweeping packaging and used wipes into the bin and closing the first aid kit. Kyouya's legs were covered in purple and green plasters; the twins commenting that they matched the new and aging bruises blooming in the gaps between. "Just take care of yourself."

Kyouya just threw his bag over his shoulder, calling a quick goodbye to the rest of the team as he slipped out the door – cleverly avoiding another night of tidying.

"Ootori-san?"

Only to jump out of his skin at an unexpected voice, it seemed.

"Fujioka," He greeted mildly, any hint of initial panic hidden, "What can I do for you?"

"Answer my questions," They huffed, "How'd you know so much about me?"

"I told you," He sighed, "Research."

"Why would you research me?" They challenged, "I didn't express an interest to join your club at the start of the year, so what would be the point?"

The boy's gaze grew cold and sharp, far more analytical than usual – if that was possible. He seemed to be trying to decipher something, it seemed, before he adjusted his glasses and chuckled.

It didn't really do much to dispel the tension, but Haruhi felt their shoulders relax slightly.

"True, I wouldn't expect you to remember; I was just a little squirt back then, after all," He smirked, "I've played you before; in my last middle school tournament. I was libero then, too."

"Oh, yeah," Haruhi realised, remembering the half-pint little boy with too-big glasses and a too-cocky attitude as he dove and crashed to the floor without ceremony – just to keep the ball in the air. A last ditch replacement when Ouran middle school's usual libero was injured. "So… You've always been a reckless libero."

Kyouya's lower eyelid twitched slightly, but he let it be.

"You were a lot shorter back then, too –"

"Well, I hit a growth spurt," The boy cut in, before turning to leave, "See you in practice, Fujioka; I hope you're not out of practice."

Maybe they hit a nerve with that one…

Great start Haruhi…