Chapter Text
Once his feet had crossed over the sill to his dorm, and once he’d heard the decisive click of the door assuring him that he would be completely unbothered by possible intrusions of privacy, Tsutomu allowed himself to lightly jump into the air as he cheered.
First practice over! Tsutomu had survived! And had made one heck of an impression, too! (A good one.)
Okay, maybe the other first years didn’t take to him too well. But the glances of interest shot his way from the upperclassmen made up for all of that. Because, honestly, who would Tsutomu (as someone who’d surely make the starting line-up) be spending more time with? The guys who were there to warm the benches while promising themselves a “spot on the team next year,” or the totally awesome comparable-to-Tsutomu other starting players?
Why waste one’s time on the lesser ones when Tsutomu was levels above them? He had no interest in their opinions of him! Tsutomu had come here for volleyball, and he sure as heck wouldn’t let himself get dragged into the dumps by a bunch of newbies.
Besides, the upperclassmen had definitely taken a liking to him! … At worst, some had solely ignored him – one or two that Tsutomu was sure were just a bit shy!
And he’d astounded all of them thanks to his amazing volleyball skills, too!
That was the typical way of Goshiki Tsutomu, though. He had guessed correctly how the first practice would have played out, and he now knew how the rest of the school year would go, too, (because, to plan out all of that, even someone of Tsutomu’s clairvoyance first needed one good look at all the variables.)
And how was it going to go, then?
Spectacularly for Tsutomu! He’d make the starting line-up, befriend all of the important players, hone the marginal imperfections he sometimes showed, win all tournaments, and get acknowledged for his insane talent, splendid work, and unbelievable potential!
After all, he’d been used to overhearing all that praise never meant to actually reach his ears back in middle school, and, well… he missed it here, okay?
Tsutomu had soon set a new goal for himself – to get in as much training as possible.
As much as it hurt to do so, he’d needed to admit to himself that there were stronger and better players on the team (and he’d actually said it to himself, in front of a mirror nonetheless, to face the cruel truth.)
But as much as it might be correct now, Tsutomu wasn’t just going to stand around and let that go on! The plan he’d come up with seemed simple in theory – ask an upperclassman to stay after practice and soak up all the great knowledge and experience – but it’d proven itself more than difficult in practice.
On a mental list of teammates he’d made, Tsutomu had already asked almost all the third years! And nothing!
That would, of course, change today.
There were some (one) rather strong contenders on the list today; on top of it stood Tendou Satori – a very sociable, kind, albeit a kind of weird middle blocker! One that had taken a great liking to Tsutomu!
And there was also Shirabu Kenjirou, second-year setter. One of the shy ones, as far as Tsutomu knew… but maybe he’d get him to go, too.
So, once coach Washijou had called the first break of evening practice, Tsutomu trudged his way over to his main target.
“Tendou-san!” he addressed the third year with a slight bow of his head, maybe a little too loud, judging by the turn of heads bringing in unrequested but never unwanted attention.
“Tsutomu-kun! What’s up?” Tendou grinned at him warmly.
“Um,” he came to a screech a step away from the redhead. “I’d like to ask whether you’d be up to stay here with me after practice and… well, practice!”
That proclamation made the majority of eyes glance back to what they’d been occupied with before – everyone was already used to Tsutomu’s latest desperate attempts – which left Tsutomu under the stares of Tendou and a, strangely enough, still watching Shirabu.
Tendou hummed loudly as he mulled the request over. “What would I teach ya, though?”
“You’d teach me- ah, well…” Tsutomu trailed off pathetically fast, realizing a hole in his plan that he’d up to now only glanced over pointedly… what could he better with Tendou? Not spiking – Tendou avoided setting like the plague. Not blocking – because they’d need a setter for that, too. And… yeah…
“I, um, I’m not really sure, Tendou-san, now that you say it. I-I mean-! Nothing against you, but we wouldn’t really be able to, uh, you know- spike or block because-”
A hand to his shoulder stopped the rambling. “I know, that’s why I asked the question. I’d love to help you, Tsutomu-kun, but not much can be done with only the two of us. Maybe sometime else.”
“I understand,” Tsutomu sighed, trying his best to force down the feeling of dejection and disappointment.
And this had been his best bet, too! Ugh… He’d have to ask Shirabu, then.
Shirabu Kenjirou. A very reserved person. A very asocial person. Tsumu had been directly spoken to by him maybe twice- thrice? And had heard him conversing with the other teammates a good deal more (but considering how curt even those conversations had been…)
So, a very shy person. But he seemed amendable! A little bargaining, pleading, and Shirabu would sure agree to help out! Easy as that.
He searched for his target – the matter seeming simple enough to be handled in the little time that was left of their break. Once he found the boy, their eyes immediately met. Ah, right, Shirabu had been staring before, too… but now the boy’s gaze shifted away quickly, avoidant.
Tsutomu took a deep breath and stepped closer.
“Um, Shirabu-san,” he addressed his upperclassman in a mumble, much of the confidence disappearing and leaving Tsutomu on his own against someone he had rarely spoken to. And with such an important thing at stake right now!
The setter’s eyes drifted to Tsutomu’s face, sharp in their gaze. “What?”
“Would you, maybe, um…” geez, get it together, Tsutomu! He clenched his fists and inhaled. Conjuring up all the confidence he could find in himself, he finallly mumbled: “I was wondering whether you’d be up to stay after practice to get in a few more runs with me?” with a smile to ensure his success.
The reply came immediately: “No.”
“Wuh?!” Tsutomu twitched. “Y-you- you didn’t even think about it!”
An eyebrow rose. “Why would I need to think about it? You were pretty loud asking Tendou. Why should it surprise me that the reason you came to me is the same question you’ve been asking everyone else, too?”
Okay… where the heck was the shyness?! Shirabu acted sure of himself, albeit crude! Tsutomu had thought him to be afraid of interacting with newcomers! Whatever, Shirabu could surprise him all he’d want with acting brave out of nowhere – Tsutomu wasn’t going to be shaken off so easily!
“Okay…” he hummed in acknowledgement. “Then… um, why not?”
“Because I don’t want to,” the setter replied, eyebrows knotting together… was he getting annoyed?!
“Why don’t you want to?”
Shirabu’s lips pursed. “I don’t have to answer that.”
…Why did this guy need to be so difficult? “But you can,” Tsutomu’s smile tightened, “it can’t hurt you to do so, right?”
The setter groaned. “Fine, I’ll tell you,” he adjusted the tape on his fingers. “You’re annoying and too loud. Satisfied?”
Tsutomu flinched at the words, his ego taking a direct blow. He frowned. “Yeah, sure…”
But it seemed that Tsutomu’s behaviour had rattled something in Shirabu. The boy’s eyes squinted to give them an even sharper look as he scowled, arms protectively crossing over his chest. “Don’t pout at me. You asked for it.”
“Hey-! I’m not pou-” he probably was, his lips just had the tendency to do so when Tsutomu tried for a frown. “Whatever!” he huffed.
Turning around, he breathed a small “thanks for nothing” and walked off.
Now… that probably hadn’t been the most exemplary behaviour of an underclassman, but Tsutomu just couldn’t have helped himself! Calling him annoying and stuff… it rattled a long dormant part of Tsutomu, one that he’d worked very hard to put to rest.
He hadn’t let such a comment get to him in a while, honestly. He’d sometimes hear a whisper in the classroom, but being forced to face the critique head on… ugh.
Shirabu had proven himself to be a mystery. He’d torn apart all the assumptions Tsutomu had made about him with a mere short conversation. A shy person wouldn’t carry himself the way Shirabu had. A shy person would never be so crude!
The break ended. Tsutomu took one last gulp of his drink, one last look towards Shirabu, and decided that ignoring this whole interaction would be for the better.
While Tsutomu could positively confirm that his friendships with the upperclassman were improving (even with Ushijima!) there was one person whom Tsutomu found himself at stalemate with throughout the first three weeks.
And the cause? Lack of trying. On both parts.
As much as Tsutomu knew he should make friends with the almost guaranteed starting setter of the year, his pride and Shirabu’s complete ignorance of his existence held him back.
Which was how he found himself managing to feel the slightest tinge of annoyance in the fury of anxiety as the Shiratorizawa volleyball club sat in a semicircle centred around their coaches. Because of course he’d end up sitting on the edge of it with only Shirabu at his side!
And when they were just about to hear the most important thing of the whole first month, too!
“The starting line-up,” coach Washijou’s voice rang clear. He sat cross armed on a chair, looking down onto the students eagerly awaiting. “This will be the line-up for the whole year. Only reason to change it would be an injury. Nothing else.”
Tsutomu held his breath, fingers digging into the skin around his ankles.
Relax… he’d get a spot. Surely…
Washijou motioned for Saitō, who startled slightly. “Alright,” the assistant coach started. “I’ll read out the positions and names of our starting players, now…
“Libero – Yamagata Hayato.”
A cheer.
“Middle blocker – Kawanishi Taichi and Tendou Satori.”
Two ‘yay’s, one drastically more enthusiastic than the other, as Tendou hugged the other around the shoulder.
“Setter – Shirabu Kenjirou.”
The relieved sag of shoulders didn’t escape Tsutomu.
“Opposite – Ushijima Wakatoshi.”
Well, that was to be expected.
“Outside-”
Tsutomu straightened, nails sharp on his ankles.
“Oohira Reon and Goshiki Tsutomu.”
A grin erupted on Tsutomu’s face, ankles now left with crescent imprints on them that burned slightly but didn’t matter at all. Tsutomu had made the team!
He turned around, the years of experience in teamwork-based games honing his instincts to celebrate every win with the people working with him, and stopped once he realized there was only Shirabu at his side – thatwas why he’d been annoyed about it before.
The setter already had his eyes locked onto Tsutomu. But they held something different than that sharpness from their only real conversation, it seemed more… cautious, wary.
“…You’re ecstatic,” were the first words to come out of Shirabu and they left Tsutomu even more confused.
“I… am…?” he smiled warily.
“You don’t know?”
“What-?” Oh. Tsutomu shook his head and regained his metaphorical footing. “Of course I know I’m ecstatic! Why wouldn’t I be?”
The eyes flicked away for a moment and then right back to scrutinize Tsutomu. “I’d guess you’d be more… satisfied. Less surprised.”
“Huh? What?” Tsutomu frowned.
Shirabu sighed. “I would have thought you’d take it as obvious to have made the line-up.”
“Why would I? How would I ever know if I’d make it with such great players around? Not to mention I’m a first-year, too…”
“You’re arrogant enough for it,” Shirabu declared. But it didn’t feel like that much of a jab; evident curiosity flowed along the words. “And it was obvious you’d make the line-up. So, it’s a bit baffling that someone as egoistic as you would be stressed about something like this.”
Oh, right…
Now when did this happen? How had Tsutomu managed to let his insecurities through without even noticing it? It just felt so natural to have them eating away at his thoughts… And now Shirabu had seen a sliver of it. Shirabu of all people.
Tsutomu shrugged with a smile and instead opted to listen in on the coaches’ explanation of the particular line-up.
There was still a pair of eyes staring at him, though. Tsutomu could feel it. He could bet whose eyes it were.
But he had no time for that right now. What he needed was to halt the insecurities and repress them again, shove them deep inside, somewhere where their taunts wouldn’t reach Tsutomu’s ears no more.
Focus… focus.
The staring kept on going, increasingly more and more distracting. Did Shirabu feel as if their conversation had been left unfinished?
Well, he’d first need to deal with that…
“Hey, Shirabu-san,” he smiled and leaned in to whisper. “Look, we’re next to each other on the court.”
The eyes, once again, flicked away for a moment before coming right back. “Yeah, we are…” the setter muttered and turned away, taking his staring with him. It almost looked like his cheeks had reddened slightly, too…
The nails dug at Tsutomu’s ankles once more.
Making the starting line-up had proven to have its ups – most importantly helping Tsutomu trample his insecurities quietly to replace them with pride and confidence after his little slip-up with Shirabu – but also its downs.
Because now, people had it out for him.
At least coach Washijou’s insistent comments made sense and were equally distributed amongst the players, so they didn’t hurt that much.
But, gods, what crimes had Tsutomu committed to deserve Shirabu’s scrutinization?
It’d started suddenly, out of nowhere – the day after learning who’d made the line-up, it seemed like a switch had gone off in Shirabu.
Where there’d been reservedness before, there existed no shame now. Where there’d been ignorance, there laid Shirabu’s eyes on him seemingly noticing all of his movements. Where there’d been quiet, there were consistent, annoying, acrid off-handed comments.
And those cut deep under Tsutomu’s skin.
Why the heck did Shirabu need to make them? To make so many of them? He for sure wasn’t the coach and it didn’t seem like advice meant to help with fatal mistakes; it functioned purely to bite at Tsutomu:
“Stretch properly next time, Goshiki. If your body becomes as incapable as your head, you’ll be of no use.”
“Goshiki, if your head hurts, just go ahead and tell coach you need to drink some water. Don’t make it a life-or-death situation and act like you’re prohibited from drinking.”
“Maybe your ego wouldn’t be so fragile if you stopped comparing yourself to someone way out of your league and realized it’s totally useless, Goshiki.”
“A half-asleep corpse, that’s what you are, Goshiki. Get more rest tonight.”
“I thought that with you boasting about your scholarship and miracle-making, that at least you would know how to take proper care of yourself by now. Geez, Goshiki, here, and you better bring your own food tomorrow. Or are you stupid enough to starve yourself during training?”
“Not everything’s about you, Goshiki, do you ever think that maybe someone else caused that mistake?”
Goshiki this, Goshiki that, Goshiki you’re a total loser and I’m going to remind you of that every time you make a small mistake!
Ugh, just thinking about it sent shivers down Tsutomu’s spine.
It was so… annoying! And offensive! Tsutomu had, one night, even anxiously checked his whole body and the entire gym whilst supposed to be cleaning up, because Shirabu definitely hadn’t gained eyes on the back of his head to be constantly able to point out mistakes, so he must have planted some kind of device somewhere!
(Tsutomu had yet to find it.)
He couldn’t even begin to understand the behaviour. A new day meant a new thing for Shirabu to complain about – because Tsutomu actually did follow through with the nagging, just to get the setter off his back.
The day after Shirabu had told him that Tsutomu desperately needed to buy an “actually functional” tape, he’d personally inspected the new garment, declared Tsutomu a fool who knew nothing about tapes, and tossed a roll of it at him, arguing that sacrificing one of his own would be more functional and that he owned two anyhow.
(Which had left Tsutomu very confused once he’d remembered Shirabu telling off Tendou for using his the day prior because “that’d been his only one.”)
Tsutomu would fix the problem and pray for Shirabu to finally shut up about his incompetence, but the setter would walk in the next day, eye him, and reprimand him for something else.
Worst of all? This could classify as special treatment. Tsutomu had yet to overhear Shirabu correct someone else on mistakes so marginal as the ones he’d been scolded for.
Talking about overhearing – Shirabu was the furthest thing from shy about being heard. Especially when it came to loudly shaming Tsutomu in that daily ritual of his, whether they’d be in the middle of a game or resting. It didn’t seem as if Shirabu wanted to purposefully humiliate Tsutomu, but he definitely didn’t care if he would neither.
So, it was safe to say that Shirabu had started getting on his nerves. The drastic difference from ignoring to being pinned down and scrutinized just served as the cherry on top.
And those comments got to Tsutomu. Got to his ego. And he’d begun antagonizing Shirabu for it soon enough.
Could the behaviour classify as torture? Humiliating, painful, cruel… the “tongue as sharp as the angle of those bangs” torture method. Yeah.
“Goshiki!” Shirabu’s sour voice called out.
Tsutomu stopped in his tracks and turned back to the scowling setter. “…Yes, Shirabu-san?”
The volleyball club was currently in the middle of spiking drills – the starting setter on one side, while Semi set for the other, and the spikers had divided equally. Tsutomu spent the time in between spikes thinking instead of watching the other first-years on his side of the net hit the ball. What was there to learn from them-? No, don’t be cocky…
If only he’d been on Semi’s side.
He had volunteered (very enthusiastically) to go there at the start of practice, but since life apparently hated him, he’d gotten grabbed by Shirabu once he’d tried to cross under the net a little too close to the setter and ended up forced to stay there.
“You need to sync with the starting setter first, me. Did you forget we’re actually going to be playing together?” Shirabu had said to him, still grasping Tsutomu’s T-shirt. (The fact that that every other starting spiker had stood on Semi’s side today really hadn’t made Shirabu’s argument any more rational…)
“B-but I need to acclimatize to every setter, Shirabu-san, to every set-” That argument had gone promptly unanswered.
“Goshiki.”
“Ah!” Tsutomu jumped slightly, back to reality, and begrudgingly walked back to the setter. “What is it, Shirabu-san?”
Shirabu’s nose scrunched up as he glared up at the other. “You know what tempo we’re supposed to be practicing, right? That means you run before I even touch the ball. Are you so distracted to be incompetent of that, or do you not trust my tosses enough?”
Geez, there came another thing Tsutomu hated about the setter – Shirabu was super scary when he wanted to be…
“No- I mean, yes-! I trust your tosses-” he tripped over his own words pathetically.
“Then jump as you’re expected to,” Shirabu’s eyebrows knotted together. “I’m not that bad of a setter, the ball’s going to come to you.”
Tsutomu bowed his head, partially in confirmation and partially to hide his reddening cheeks… Shirabu really didn’t care about others overhearing, did he? “Yeah, sure,” he mumbled and ran back into the line.
His face must have flushed even further once he noticed the rest of the spikers eyeing him.
No need to mind them, they were worse than him anyhow…
…Tsutomu supposed that Shirabu’s behaviour had a good deal of reasons behind it. It must have started right at the beginning of the school year and gotten worse thanks to Tsutomu earning that spot on the team.
One of the reasons had definitely been Tsutomu’s behaviour on the literal second day of training.
He hadn’t exactly come to Shiratorizawa to be humble, after all. And he had been sure of his skills and talent for good reason. Okay, he realistically had no chance of competing with Ushijima when it came to power, but that didn’t make him completely useless!
Tsutomu always stood proud – proud of himself and proud of his skills.
However, even he had to admit that some of the choices he had made at the start of the school year had been… questionable, now that he looked back at it.
Like challenging Ushijima right at the start of that second practice and proclaiming himself the future ace of Shiratorizawa (which Tsutomu still believed, but he could now see how someone could have a problem with it.)
And, of course, Shirabu minded Tsutomu’s behaviour in general.
“You’re annoying and too loud. Satisfied?”
Tsutomu could agree on the loud part, would admit that he acted a little too proud sometimes and begrudgingly accept that, maybe, he might seem a teeny tiny bit annoying.
But Shirabu also held himself with pride (and behaved totally annoyingly, if someone asked Tsutomu.) The vast difference between them was that Shirabu stayed quiet. Well, except for the insistent comments on Tsutomu-
Whatever. Shirabu, for some reason, disliked him and for that, Tsutomu hated him in return.
The next time Tsutomu appeared at the front of the line, he made sure to run up sooner and follow through with the tempo, despite the slight paranoia that came with not seeing the actual set.
And it smacked the floor on the other side of the net with a bam! – nice sound, Tsutomu felt like he’d hit it good, and all that… – his instincts managed to foolishly make him smile as he turned around to face the setter, ready for something, anything that wasn’t another complaint.
Shirabu, faced with his smile, still had the guts to look him dead in the eyes and mumble: “Hm, better… I guess.”
That had been a great display of the final reason for why the two would never get along, Tsutomu realized as he turned away with a bitter “thanks” and trudged back to the end of the line.
A ridiculously simple reason, too!
Shirabu was an asshole.
During the weeks following up to the great tournament that the InterHigh was, Shirabu didn’t falter one bit, which led to an exasperated Tsutomu, which led to the afore-mentioned exasperated Tsutomu to be brooding on one of the benches during the last break of practice one day.
The tournament was creeping around the corner! Tsutomu had enough of his own nerves to worry about… he had no need to hear those snarky, crude, mean comments-
The bench squeaked as someone settled next to him.
Tsutomu looked up from the spot in the ground he’d been actively trying to set on fire with glare whilst imagining it to be Shirabu.
“Tendou-san,” he breathed out, the slightest hint of relief escaping him along the air.
“Tsutomu-kun!” a warm grin met his eyes. “Is my favourite underclassman sulking? What’s up with you? What happened?”
He merely stared at him before adjusting his gaze back to the fire-spot. “…Shirabu-san,” he mumbled.
“Heh?”
“Shirabu-san!” Tsutomu allowed himself to groan after a quick scan of their surroundings. “Shirabu-san happened…”
A loud laugh escaped Tendou at that. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, please!”
“What’s there to tell?” hands covered Tsutomu’s eyes as he let out something akin to an overwhelmed cry. “He’s just so- …ugh!”
“Ugh, huh?” Tendou repeated cheerfully. An arm plastered itself around his shoulders with a set of pats. “Don’t worry, Tsutomu-kun, I totally support you in that.”
“You… support me?” What was there to support?
…Oh gods.
“I do not like Shirabu-san like that, Tendou-san!” Tsutomu downright shrieked in horror, cheeks flushing as he shot up to sit straight.
“Wait- are you sure?” Tendou’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes!”
“Oh… sorry, it just sounded so thanks to your choice of words. What is it, then?”
“He’s just-!” he tried to explain, but Tendou’s accusation kept the words stuck in his throat, glued onto there by surprise and horror. “He’s… so mean.”
“Yep, he is.”
Tsutomu blinked, as if it’d help the confusion disappear. “But- you thought I liked him?”
“I thought you didn’t mind,” Tendou shrugged.
“What-? You don’t mind?”
A thoughtful hum. “I mean, I deserve it. I tease him all the time – oh, there’s this one thing I’ve been makin’ fun of him for recently and if you knew- you’d get it. And the best thing? There more to tease him about regardin’ the topic every day!”
“What is it?” Tsutomu’s curiosity couldn’t be helped.
Tendou shook his head and made a motion similar to zipping his lips. “Sorry, can’t tell! If he found out, you’d see how mean he can actually be. Both you and I would bear the consequences. And I’m not a rat.”
Trying to instead focus on Tendou’s chivalrous secret-keeping, Tsutomu bit back a retort about how maybe the other shouldn’t start a topic he never planned on finishing. He sighed, leaned forward with elbows propped on his knees, and stared down at the almost-on-fire-Shirabu spot.
“Okay, Tendou-san… maybe you do deserve it, but what have I ever done to him?”
“You?” Tendou’s grin grew into a wicked thing. “Oh, you’ve done a lot, Tsutomu-kun. Though, none of it’s your fault.”
“…How does that work?”
“Wait, whatever- how is he being ‘mean’ to you exactly?”
Tsutomu frowned. The spot still wasn’t on fire. “How isn’t he? He’s always glaring at me, for starters-”
“That’s his resting face, though. He always glares.”
“He’s constantly scoffing whenever I say something!”
The spot began warming.
“And not to mention how he needs to nitpick and criticize everything about my volleyball skills and- ugh, you’ve heard him, no?”
Tsutomu even felt the warmth now.
“Also, he’s always on my case, making fun of me for literally anything…”
A soft chuckle. “Tsutomu-kun, why do you think he does all of that?”
“…Because he’s mean and has some kind of agenda towards me.”
Another one. “Oh, Tsutomu-kun,” Tendou sighed. “I almost feel bad for him – you’ve misunderstood him, and bad.”
“What?”
“Look, you’ve got try looking at him under a different lightning,” he motioned towards the Shirabu ankle-deep in a conversation with Kawanishi, “or from a different angle. Think about it.”
And Tsutomu tried.
The warmth crept all over him, but with a quick glance towards his spot he found no fire anywhere.
“I don’t see it.”
“Look- I meant figuratively now,” Tendou groaned. “Our Kenjirou’s a little special – he cannot, for the love of him, say anything how he truly means it. Plus, he’s been blessed with that tone of his.”
Tsutomu nodded, following along so far.
“Maybe, because to me it seems so, he’s not nitpicking,” a reassuring smile, “but trying to give you advice.”
…How had Tsutomu managed to get lost during two sentences? “What?” he blinked slowly. “No way… he’s always so-… mean.” Great work, Tsutomu, arguing something already said.
“Just think about it, Tsutomu-kun. Try to change your point of view, hm?”
And so, Tsutomu tried. Very hard at that. It seemed like an advantage not to feel like your setter’s out to get you, didn’t it? But nothing came of it! Tsutomu couldn’t find a single option where Shirabu would say the stuff he does to give advice.
Tendou must have solely been trying to comfort Tsutomu.
Is this where it would end? Really? Losing after everyone had worked their butts off during a whole month of summer break and not even placing with a medal around their necks?
Tsutomu should have practiced more. That toss he’d received during the second set he shouldn’t have spiked. He should have gone for a line-shot in the third instead of his cross, they hadn’t been good that game. He should have known that setter dump would come. He should have been in position to pick up any blocked ball of Ushijima’s…
He’d noticed the tears only once his shoes started to look a bit too blurry as they bowed on the court. His hand reached out to swipe them away. This really wasn’t the place to cry at.
His eyes darted around to check whether anyone hadn seen his little slip-up and landed on a certain someone.
Hands reached up to rub at his eyes again – because it must have been an illusion of blurry vision – … what the heck? He rubbed his eyes again but-
Shirabu was smiling.
Nothing big, just the upturn of his lips. It seemed so… honest, though. No vile intention that usually hid behind that crude smirk during games.
Shirabu was looking down at his feet, smiling, and it might as well have been the most jarring thing Tsutomu had borne witness to in his life. And it might as well have been one of the most beautiful expressions he had ever seen on someone.
He just seemed so… like how the dry support of an umbrella shifts the heavy rain from a drenching bother to a water spectacle, how flicking the light on bravely wipes away any fear of the darkness, how one kind word from a friend can turn assumed failure into something akin to an achievement.
Then, suddenly, the setter whipped his head around in a manner similar to what Tsutomu had done after his teary slip-up. Tsutomu tore his eyes away quickly. Maybe the smile had been a mistake of its own.
The little beauty got shoved back almost as quickly as Tsutomu realized where this line of thought would lead him and crashed back hard into the logical ground…
So… since when does Shirabu know how to smile?! And why was he smiling in a moment as disastrous as their loss?!
His mind scrambled for a single instance where he’d witness a smile from the setter. It almost seemed like Shirabu and a frown went together as humans and oxygen – one couldn’t live without the other. And now, suddenly existed a human who breathed smiles for air!
Of course, Shirabu, of all people, would smile at the team’s loss! Because- because… because what?
Soon enough, Tsutomu was climbing up into the school bus in search of an empty seat by a window – all of the solo ones were already occupied, great – and sat down in a, what he presumed would be, quiet part.
As his body slumped into the rigid cushion, all worries of drowning in his insecurities dissipated along the insecurities themselves as a different feeling took over:
Tsutomu was exhausted.
Okay… it made sense, considering the four matches they’d played in the last three days… and this last one had been draining both physically and- and emotionally…
A yawn escaped his throat… Whatever… he’d just go to… to sleep… and… and-
“Goshiki.”
And nightmares would plague him in his slumber.
Tsutomu shot up. “Shirabu-san,” he rubbed his eyes, hiding annoyance behind sleepy grogginess.
“May I?” Shirabu pointed to the empty seat next to him.
And Tsutomu was just about to decline, but then he looked up at the setter and imagined that sweet little upturn of his lips again, and how they’d sit together and Shirabu would smile and-
“Yeah,” he scrambled to squeeze against the window, “sure.”
What the hell was he thinking anyhow? Why had he described Shirabu like that? Because of a smile? Sure, it couldn’t count as an ordinary occurrence and it had definitely fitted the setter’s face nicely, but… what was Tsutomu going on about?!
“Thanks,” Shirabu sat down – no smile on his face – with a light sigh.
They sat in silence for a while.
Maybe Tsutomu would be left alone, he really didn’t need to be dealing with that asshole – what if he were to start picking apart Tsutomu’s play?
Gosh, Tsutomu could feel moisture bundling up around his eyelids at the mere thought of his mistakes. No way he’d survive through someone else, especially Shirabu, scrutinizing him for them.
The setter coughed lightly, and Tsutomu pathetically tried to prepare his heart for whatever would come.
“The other seats were all taken. That’s why I… sat here,” Shirabu mumbled.
Tsutomu swallowed a groan. A pity that volleyball concerned mainly the physical aspects of people, not the verbal ones. Shirabu would surely be a world-renowned player, then – after all, who in the whole world could compete against his discouraging words?
At least, while this made Tsutomu feel annoyed and angry and all kinds of negative emotions, it did dry his eyes. A small mercy.
“Thanks…” he muttered bitterly and turned to the window. Maybe there, in the reflection, he’d find the smiling version of Shirabu – one where the setter wouldn’t be out to get him for no apparent reason.
He stayed turned towards the window stubbornly, bent on ignoring the setter. If he never gave an opening, Shirabu would have a hard time criticizing.
“You played good today.”
A hushed sentence. A few words. But gods, did it stir all kinds of emotions in Tsutomu.
How could words of praise – something he’d desperately sought after this whole school year – sound even worse than insults? Shirabu always managed to somehow twist Tsutomu’s world around.
He glanced at the reflection again. The thought of that smile made him foolishly hope for an ounce of honesty in those words, for it to be more than just a cruel taunt from the setter, and he felt vulnerable, open. And most ridiculously, safe enough to bask in his self-pity. “Not good enough,” he mumbled.
“You’re acting like you ever play good enough,” the reflection retorted quietly, like it was willing to keep Tsutomu’s pathetic display a secret.
Even his reflection behaved cruelly. Tsutomu bit back an offended noise, forcing his body to stay put. A frown pushed the corners of his lips down as he glared at the window.
“I know you need to be cruel with your honesty,” he sighed, “but, please, Shirabu-san, read the room.”
The reflection rolled its eyes. “You never play good enough by your own standards, Goshiki. That’s what I meant.”
Upon probably sensing how Tsutomu tensed up, the setter in the window continued: “Fine… let’s think of a situation where we’d have won this match. We’d have won two to one and in the last set you had, let’s say, one kill. Is that good enough?”
The frown deepened. “One kill?” he asked the reflection in disbelief, “That would’ve been a terrible performance.”
“See?” a scoff sounded from behind him. “You could have had perfect passes, block kills and whatnot, but you’d still be dissatisfied with a part of your performance. You didn’t even take into consideration how many attempts at a hit you were trusted with.”
“Is this supposed to be comforting?” Tsutomu accused, because this is starting to sound like a lecture, he bit back.
“I’m just saying you’re sulking because of something stupid.”
The reflection flashed a quick smile at him. Tsutomu turned around, offended, frown still glued to his face. “You’re the one to talk,” he whispered, “all smiles and sunshine looking at the court after we’d lost.”
Of course, the real deal wouldn’t have been smiling. But he definitely knew what Tsutomu was talking about, with how his eyes widened and cheeks reddened.
“You’ve- what? Whatever, that’s- that’s none of your business, I can smile whenever I want.”
“Don’t sound like you smiling isn’t rarer than a blue moon, Shirabu-san.” Maybe a bit of anger had seeped through his tone, but who could blame him? He had, in front of himself, just about the first opportunity to fight back. “Sure, smile whenever, but it sure is weird when you do it only after a major loss for the team.”
Shirabu huffed. “Why does it always have to be only about the final score with you? Didn’t you enjoy the match at all? Aren’t you happy you’ve made it this far in a national tournament?”
“Well, yeah, but-”
“It’s okay to strive for betterment of yourself – I cost us a point with a failed setter dump of all things –, but am I going to ruin one of the best games I’ve played by reminding myself of how I screwed up? Recalling mistakes can wait for practice.”
“So… you smiled because-?”
“Because I’ve enjoyed the match. A lot.”
And Tsutomu… honestly had no idea what to say. It- what Shirabu had explained made sense and held truth to itself.
He nodded slowly, removing his eyes from the setter’s face – no smile –, and looked out through the window again. “…You’re right, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for that,” quiet words, “just- take it into consideration next time we lose.”
Something in his neck cracked with how fast he turned back towards the setter. “We won’t lose ever again, Shirabu-san,” he corrected, quiet stubbornness evident in each word.
A scoff. “You’re spouting nonsense,” Shirabu adjusted himself in the seat, ending up closer, “sleep on that, and we’ll see how confident you are once you’re awake again.”
Tsutomu made a disgruntled sound and turned away, closing his eyes – but not because of Shirabu’s command, he simply felt too exhausted to continue conversing –, and made himself comfortable.
It shouldn’t take long for him to fall asleep. The initial adrenaline rush of having Shirabu sit with him was finally wearing off… and the verbal spout (could it be called that?) certainly hadn’t been the most relaxing or energising option neither. And the memory of Shirabu smiling had this… calming effect…
Wait… what? Why was Tsutomu so fixated on a mere smile? Not that the setter’s smile could ever be described as mere-
And Shirabu also hadn’t seemed out to get him today… and he’d said some kind things… but, honestly, he would look so much better with that smile… with that sweet upturn of his lips… beautiful lips…
Gods, Tsutomu had to stop thinking about it…
He yawned slowly, the tiredness creeping onto him now that there were no threats left.
Suddenly, something warm brushed against the strands of his hair, like a finger caressing gently. Tsutomu hummed appreciatingly as the sensation came back to do it again with more pressure.
Whatever it was then expended in area – funny, it really did feel like a palm and fingers – and continued in its gentle administration, soothingly stroking at his locks.
Tsutomu’s half-asleep brain only nudged his head to lean further into the source of warm pleasure. The hand-like thing halted its movement to cradle him softly, a faint puff of air tickled at the crane of his neck, as if someone gave out a stifled laugh. And once an exhausted Tsutomu started to stir from the lack of traction over his hair, the caressing returned, sweet and nice and willing.
The repetitive movement sung a lullaby to him, loving and hushed, for his senses only. It weighted over his eyelids, making them impossibly heavy and most certainly closed forever from here on.
And as his mind battled on the border of waking and slumber, a thought flooded what remained conscious of him – a thought of it truly being a hand that caressed him, accompanied by the most marginal upturn of lips yet the most breathtaking one, and a set of usually sharp eyes locked in on its work with the slightest softness to them, parts hidden behind angled strands of a colour a fully-awake Tsutomu could nitpick at for too long to be considered casual.
The image of that sweet, sweet smile pulled at Tsutomu’s own corners, and he succumbed to it – to exhaustion cradled by immense pleasure and comfort.
Upon returning to the hotel their school had oh-so-thoughtfully reserved for the whole of the tournament – which meant the club would be staying for two more days –, and upon coming to his senses, Tsutomu had been as close to bawling his eyes out as he’d felt inclined towards buzzing his hair off.
Fortunately, Tsutomu had acted very bravely and, in the end, only had almost drained the whole supply of hot water by scrubbing his hair violently for what’d felt like too little but had lasted about thirty minutes in reality.
The more unfortunate matter had proved to be falling asleep.
Tsutomu had already mustered up two hypotheses as to why that could be. Either the cause was that he’d slept like a baby in the bus and recharged enough energy to last him a whole day, or maybe it was because he’d slept like a coddled baby in the bus.
Shirabu had stroked his hair! Repeatedly! And Tsutomu had leaned into it! And he’d fallen asleep imaging it to be Shirabu who’d been stroking his hair, when, in reality, it’d been Shirabu!
Now, Tsutomu would have, any other day, gladly jumped at the opportunity to toss this aside as a dream – a nightmare –, but a rather awkward end of the bus ride had completely blocked even the mere possibility of this option.
The first thing he’d registered upon waking had been warmth pressed up against his cheek, comforting embarrassingly enough… his eyes had finally opened to take in just what exactly it’d been plastered across his face, and that amounted to how Tsutomu, to his horror, had realized that the source of the pleasant heat had been asleep next to him.
And, of course, how else could have Tsutomu reacted than to startle, resulting in the hand to start sliding off his face, which had prompted him to catch it and put it back up in an effort not to awaken the other without realizing that that exact movement would guarantee those sleepy eyes to open.
A groggy and confused Shirabu and a horrified-to-death Tsutomu had stared at each other for a few moments then. And with only as much as the slightest darkening of cheeks, the older had removed his hand without a word…
It had happened, as unpleasant as accepting that fact was.
It had happened and Shirabu had seen him weak, unravelled by mere exhaustion mixed with a sprinkle of touch. And he’d scrutinize him even further from now on!
Only later into the night did an earlier part of their conversation on the bus resurface in Tsutomu’s mind – they had… actually talked, conversed. And it’d started with a compliment from Shirabu!
“You played good today.”
It’d barely registered in Tsutomu’s brain at that moment, considering how deep in self-deprecation and exhaustion he’d been, but now… well, Tsutomu had always had a thing for praise, no surprises there.
But where most of the shock laid was Shirabu’s behaviour – the compliment itself, the willingness to lead and continue the conversation, the vulnerability of what he’d said to him…
Had he meant any of it? Had he been trying to comfort Tsutomu? What’d made him?
Shirabu was an asshole. He’d nitpicked at every twitch of Tsutomu’s fingers, at every blink, at every breath he’d apparently taken wrong. He hated Tsutomu! How would he- why would he? None of it made any sense! Why would he have comforted Tsutomu? Why would he have caressed his hair?!
With a violent turn, Tsutomu smashed his head into the pillow and groaned into it.
It all felt like a fever dream – making no sense in the context of the real world nor in the non-existent context of the dream itself.
His mind replayed the interaction over and over, pathetically searching for any hint that’d help Tsutomu grasp the memory and behaviour in a sensible manner… and then, suddenly, the image of Shirabu was smiling at him.
Oh, right. That smile.
There was just… something about it. And now, it almost seemed to be offering the explanation with a warm, outstretched hand.
Maybe Tsutomu had merely misjudged the setter. Maybe there’d been some amount of truth to Tendou’s words…
“Our Kenjirou-kun’s a little special – he cannot, for the love of him, say anything how he truly means it. Plus, he’s been blessed with that tone of his.”
“Just think about it, Tsutomu-kun. Try to change your point of view, hm?”
If Shirabu really, truly, existed to be an asshole bent on making his loathing towards Tsutomu known to the whole world, the entirety of the bus ride have be absurd! It’d become more possible that the thing Tsutomu had interacted with hadn’t been Shirabu but a clone!
Perhaps Tsutomu really should change his point of view, the angle he looked at Shirabu from…
It was as if Tsutomu had been sitting on the floor with a puzzle in front of him, staring at it in suspicion – it seemed finished, but there were many pieces laying around next to his thigh – and then, with a slight curious peek, Tsutomu found out that the puzzle was a three-dimensional one. And one definitely not done.
So… what now? Break up the puzzle and restart?