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0:00 — i thought that i was dreaming
The one time Tooru let his love for volleyball slip, the volume of it crackled in his palm.
He replays it in his head now at home, face-down on his bed. Tobio-chan, holding the ball between them, eyes blinking and mouth slightly agape. Iwa-chan glaring at Tooru furiously, grip tight on his wrist.
“Sorry,” he remembers stammering. “I– I’m so sorry.”
The almost-slap rang through the middle school gym, a deafening silence paddling through the wooden floors. Tooru hears it again now in his room, the implications of his actions pounding against his skull.
“Nghhh, aaaaah! ” Tooru screams into his pillow, punching it and squeezing the sides to his ears. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Tobio-chan held so much hope in his eyes when he asked him for help with his serves. It felt like a declaration of hope, trust. Loving something in the way only a twelve-year-old can: naive, relentless devotion.
Guilt should cloud his conscience, Tooru tells himself, and it does — but something else lingers there, too. The start of something, the start of nothing, swiped away with a flick of his palm. Is it regret? Longing? His fingers curl into the blue pillow sheet.
Despite the natural enmity, Tooru takes pride in knowing Tobio-chan looks up to him, admires how his palm contacts the ball with a force that vibrates even in the seconds after it hits the ground. Watches him set the ball with a juxtaposing delicacy, in a way that only he can, in a way that only could have been mastered with hours of practice. He knows it’s not him that Tobio-chan wants to watch, though, not his moves that he loves; he wishes foolishly that it was.
But Tobio-chan doesn’t hate him either; Tooru holds the thrill that Tobio-chan’s genius is slowly unraveling. His eyes are on his hands, his quick legs, the burns, the sweat. Tobio-chan is in love with volleyball, and right now, Tooru embodies it.
Iwa-chan is right; the team with the six strongest players is the best on the court. But Tobio-chan’s searing love makes Tooru hesitate. He’s greedy, wants to embody as much of it as he can on his own. And he doesn’t want Tobio-chan — strong, hopeful, willing — on his team. His hunger growls for the competition.
Tooru flips over onto his back, a defeated grin on his face. “Tobio-chan,” he whispers. “I hate you so, so much.”
0:52 — we’ll never be those kids again
Maybe just once Tobio-chan comes over to Tooru’s house, when Iwa-chan is bedridden at home and can’t come over like he always does after school. Maybe Tooru invites Tobio-chan by telling him he needs to work on his awful sets if he wants to catch up to him by the time he enters high school. Maybe Tooru doesn’t mean it, and he just doesn’t want to be alone in the confines of his backyard, the fences closing in on him till he’s scooped out hollow.
Tobio-chan can fill the space, just for one day. He lets him in.
Two milk cartons scatter on the living room chabudai (one regular, one chocolate, for Tooru’s sweet tooth). Tooru leans back in his seat on the floor, tangling his nails in the beige throw rug. A few feet in front of him, Tobio-chan sits on the edge of the couch, swinging his legs and staring intently at a spot in his lap.
Tooru sighs, then lets out a frustrated groan. “ Tobio-chan , we aren’t going to get any better if we’re just sitting .”
Tobio-chan’s head shoots up (he’s cute, Tooru thinks offhandedly). There’s a small blush on the tip of his nose.
“Could you help me with my serves?” he mumbles.
“Eh? I can’t hear you, Tobio-chan. You really need to stop mumbling.”
“H-help me with my serves, Oikawa-san!”
His palm crackles again; Tooru lets himself smile. “Okay. I guess I’ll help you.”
They toss and spike and spike and toss till their arms are bare and the sunset burns their cheeks. Tooru feels alive.
1:17 — when you said you love me
Volleyball is something you put your entire heart into; Tooru understands this more than anyone else. It’s the double-knotted shoelaces against the gym floor and the blistered fingertips against volleyball leather. It’s the extra minute you press into your knees each day, the extra hour of sleep lost from studying your movements on the screen. It’s analyzing gameplays from previous tournaments and practice games with Shiratorizawa, with Karasuno, with Tobio.
Tobio is stronger now, more confident in his actions and stances. He’s polished his brilliance, diffusing reassurance to his teammates with his pinpoint tosses. Tooru stares at the blue light of his monitor as the camera zooms in on Tobio, who exhales before spinning the ball in the palm of his hand. The camera blurs, and two seconds later a petrifying boom hits the gym floor, flooding Tooru’s headphones.
“Another service ace from Kageyama Tobio! Karasuno’s setter is on a roll today!”
The serve sounds different from Tooru’s; it hits like a taser, stunning the audience, but it lacks fear. It holds frustration, stubbornness, affirmation, all dissipating at the contact of Tobio’s palm.
It holds less of Tooru than it used to. He used to see the emulation, but now only wisps of his own skill remain. The serve is Tobio’s, the set is Tobio’s; the blood, sweat, and tears all smell of him and lack trace of Tooru’s unintentional guidance.
He loves this new Tobio. Wants to hate him for it. The challenge teases him, grazes his lower lip. Tooru hugs his legs and tucks his smile behind his knees.
3:09 — all the things i didn’t mean to say
When Shouyou sees him in Brazil and asks him if he’s seen Tobio’s recent games, Tooru lies. He knows Shouyou sees through him, but he feels the need to lie anyway. The stubbornness hasn’t disappeared like the rest of his high school immaturity has, still etched into his practice. (Iwa-chan chides him for this during their weekly calls, which leads to Tooru hanging up before calling back with a million sorry’s.)
It’s been a year since Tooru realized that Tobio held more significance in his life than as an opponent. There’s fondness instead of boundless pride in his chest when he watches Tobio’s games. Watching the Olympics only solidified his good-natured jealousy — that’s who I’m up against. There’s a thrill in knowing it, knowing that that’s who he’s going to defeat.
It’s been a little less than a year since he realized that there’s more to his feelings for Tobio than the competition. The revelation sheds from his shoulders and unzips him anew. He wants to hug Tobio, wrap his arms around his middle and feel his back muscles shift against his chest. Wants to pull his shoulders close and scrape at the tension encased in the blades. How coarse are the calluses on his fingertips? He wants to kiss each ridge, each peak that gathers near Tobio’s even nails, worn out with a determination maybe only Tooru understands.
Would Tobio let him kiss him? He wants to whisper it onto his skin, into his lips, tell him I hate you and I love you and Tobio, where am I in you? Do you see me on the court like how I see you? You’re there with me in every game, Tobio, in every set and dump and serve and receive. Where am I in you?
Shouyou hears Tooru’s lie and eyes him disapprovingly. Huffs. “You know, I could give you his number. If you really want to talk to him that bad.”
Tooru sputters. “Wha- No, I — What makes you think —”
The boy in front of him is already furiously writing something out on a napkin. “I was gonna send him a photo of us later anyway. He’s gonna be so surprised! Oh, can I have your number, Oikawa-san? So I can text you, too! Oh, and I can give Kageyama your number too if you want!”
from: unknown number
Oikawa-san?
to: unknown number
who is this
to: unknown number
wait
to: unknown number
is this tobio-chan?
from: unknown number
Yes
from: unknown number
Hinata gave me your number
to: tobio schweiden adlers setter who is not as good as me
damn it shouyou-kun
to: tobio schweiden adlers setter who is not as good as me
tobio-chan!!!!!!!! r u trying to start a fight with me over text
from: tobio schweiden adlers setter who is not as good as me
No
from: tobio schweiden adlers setter who is not as good as me
Hinata told me to text you because he said you wouldn’t text me first
Damn it, Shouyou-kun. He presses the call button and tosses the phone next to his head on the pillow.
After two rings, the line connects. “Oikawa-san?”
“Tobio-chan, if you wanted to text me, you could just say so.”
“Hello. I didn’t know you were in the Argentinian league, Oikawa-san.”
“And I know you’re on Schweiden Adlers. Honestly, Tobio, I thought you would keep up with your senpai a bit more. Your mentor. Your number one inspiration.”
“Tobio?”
Fuck . “Tobio-chan.” Tooru clears his throat. “Tobio.”
“Sorry, Oikawa-san. I should’ve known.”
Oikawa laughs breathlessly into the mic. His heart pounds with nervous exhilaration. “What time is it there, Tobio? It’s 1 AM for me.”
“1 PM. It’s lunchtime for us.”
“So you called me in the middle of the night while you’re just eating lunch? Where are your manners, Tobio?”
“You called me, Oikawa-san.”
“Minor details, Tobio, minor details.”
“Hm. Oikawa-san?”
“Mm?”
Static mixes with the sound of crinkling plastic foil. Tobio’s voice exits out of the speaker like clouded lint.
“Eh? Tobio , I thought we talked about the mumbling before.”
Tobio. Tobio. Tooru closes his eyes as the boy on the other end clears his throat. “Sorry. I was just wondering… Could we play volleyball together again, someday?”
It’s almost a slap to the face. Tooru feels it echoing off his cheek, ricocheting through his chest. He doesn’t know whether his heart is breaking or mending or going through the in-betweens, but it’s so loud, the request laced with sincerity and passion and what else, what else, what else?
“Of course. I’m playing you on the big stage, Tobio, and I’m going to win.”
“Okay.” He can hear the small smile in Tobio’s voice, and he hopes Tobio can’t hear his. “I’ll beat you, too, Oikawa-san.”
He holds the phone to his chest now, so he can feel Tobio’s voice speak into his heart. He hugs it tight, wishing instead that it was a body he was holding close. Wishing he could feel the valleys in Tobio's arms, the crevices along his waist.
“I hate you.”
“Okay.”
“I hate you, Tobio-chan. Tobio.”
“Oikawa-san?”
I think I love you, Tooru wants to say. What does that mean?
Where am I in you?
3:25— i've been dreaming of you