Chapter Text
Sakusa Kiyoomi honestly didn’t know what was wrong with the world today.
It was the All-Star Game—the day when the brightest talents of the Monster Generation gathered from across the globe. And, apparently, it was also the day the Volleyball Association decided to roll out their latest personality test, classifying every player into one of four elements: Earth, Fire, Water, or Wind.
Just… listen to that sentence.
Come on. He’d gone to university, earned a proper science degree, and yet here he was, watching what felt like some relic of Ancient Greek philosophy crawl out of its grave. And worse—people were actually taking it seriously.
Case in point: A-Team’s setter, Oikawa Tōru, currently fuming about his supposed “compatibility rating” with Kageyama Tobio.
Oh, right—Oikawa’s element was Water, same as Kiyoomi’s. Kageyama’s was Earth. The Association’s report had gone so far as to highlight their “high compatibility”—just a step below the so-called perfect match. According to the paper, they were “meant to understand and support one another.”
Was this supposed to be a matchmaking service?
Kiyoomi couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. They were professional athletes. Adults. They were here because of hard work, and they stayed here because of hard work. That was how he’d survived this long with MSBY—well, that and the begrudging admission that his teammates had shown him a surprising degree of patience and respect. Compatibility tests? Without effort, it would be kill-or-be-killed.
So what was the point of all this?
Oikawa was still ranting when someone finally stepped in—his athletic trainer, Iwaizumi Hajime. Kiyoomi watched, half in awe, as those muscles tensed and a swift hand smacked down on Oikawa’s head.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Iwaizumi growled. “You should’ve been working with Kageyama properly a long time ago. And as for this ‘element test’—fine, I didn’t know about it either—but even if you and Ushiwaka came out as ‘fire and water,’ I would never let you use that as an excuse. Grow up already. Whether it’s Tobio or Ushiwaka—you’d better get along.”
Oh.
Oh. Oh.
Something lurched inside Kiyoomi’s chest. Panic and dread rose so fast it left him breathless.
That simple phrase. Fire and water don’t mix.
Suddenly he understood why he’d been sitting through A-Team’s petty drama, watching it like some second-rate soap opera, instead of focusing on what truly mattered—seeking Wakatoshi-kun’s presence on the court.
The reason was written out in the report. The Association had paired him with Wakatoshi too. But not as a match. Not even close. A glaring red X marked their result. Though they cooperate well in professional settings, their personalities are shockingly incompatible.
What the hell???
He really shouldn’t be thinking about this before the match.
Kiyoomi forced himself to move. His heart was pounding far too fast, but he still picked up his towel and water bottle, shut the locker room door behind him, and turned—
—and froze.
Across the corridor, someone was waiting.
Short olive bangs, dampened to a darker, denser shade. Strong brows pulled together in a serious line. Eyes locked directly on him with unwavering focus. Already striking as a god descended, yet made unbearable by that intense attention fixed solely on him.
“Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi blurted, the words slipping out before he could think.
“Hello, Kiyoomi.” Ushijima’s reply was curt, his handsome brows still furrowed.
“…Wakatoshi-kun, are you waiting for me?” Kiyoomi’s usual composure had utterly deserted him. His body alternated between stiff stillness and robotic motion. The one thing he knew for certain was that he didn’t want to be careless—not with Wakatoshi-kun. Not now.
Wakatoshi sighed softly. And for one reckless moment, Kiyoomi wanted to step forward, to press his mouth against those lips and kiss away every weighty thought.
“Did you see the report the Association released about the elements?” Ushijima asked.
Of course he had.
But what could he say? That he’d read it and wanted to reject every word? That acknowledging it felt like a trap?
In that instant, every possible answer seemed dangerous.
What would Wakatoshi think? He was a man of science, someone who cared for his body with clinical precision, someone who often showed interest in biology. Kiyoomi refused to consider “Earth, Fire, Water, Wind” as science—but what if Wakatoshi did?
“…Yes. I saw it.” The silence between them stretched like an eternity, but when the words finally left Kiyoomi’s lips, he felt the faintest relief. His limbs began to loosen.
It had been two years since Wakatoshi left for Poland. Two years since they’d last faced each other on an official court. Sure, there were texts—Wakatoshi didn’t initiate often, but he always replied, and always earnestly. But words on a screen could never compare to communication through volleyball.
Volleyball was his second pair of eyes. The human eye couldn’t see bacteria, but volleyball could see the truth of a person. Wakatoshi’s volleyball, the volleyball he loved so fiercely—Kiyoomi loved it just as deeply. On the court, whether clad in Adler white or Poland’s royal purple, Wakatoshi was always the same: pure, strong, beautiful. Blazing like the sun, searing and radiant. Yet also cold as the moon, cleansing and unyielding.
Let volleyball speak. Let them speak—through volleyball.
Kiyoomi lifted his head, meeting those olive eyes he had longed for. And somehow, in that gaze, he felt calmer, steadier—because Wakatoshi had been waiting for him all along.
“Wakatoshi-kun.”
“Yes?”
“This time, I’m going to win.”
“…Good. Do your best.”