Chapter Text
2 years ago.
Tweet.
The whistle blew as the ball came crashing down to the floor. Oikawa Tooru, the ‘best setter in the prefecture’ watched with horror. The libero of Aoba Jousai slid to the ground, just skimming the hard leather of the volleyball. He lost. On the other side of the net, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Shiratorizawa’s ace and one of the best players in Japan, eyes wide and grinned with satisfaction, not with maleficence with sweat beading down his face. He had scored the final point. He scoffed, and met Oikawa directly in the eye.
“You should’ve come to Shiratorizawa”.
He turned back to face his team members and walked off, leaving Oikawa Tooru, speechless and exhausted.Tendou Satori leaped at him with his usual enthusiasm, giddy after their easy victory. The whole stadium erupted in applause, celebrating the victors.
—--
Tooru pov:
Fuck. I can hold myself together, right?
I hated Ushiwaka with a passion. God knows I did. ‘The ace of Shiratorizawa’. So smug. So proud. He thought he was so much better than this. It was petty, but there was nothing I wanted more than to beat him.
I hate to lose. Nothing worse than working your hardest and still letting everybody down. I had let too many people down already. My breath quickened and I clenched my fists together, trying not to burst into tears.
Shit Tooru.
Now’s not the time to start losing it. I had to find something to ground me. Bump. Bump. Bump. The sound of my beating heart only fueled my rising panic, I needed to distract myself. The cheers of the crowds became more deafening, and the glare from the gymnasium lights was blinding. Everything was too much here. I needed something familiar.
Iwa-chan.
I glanced around at my team - looking for Iwaizumi. Everyone was stood strong, holding back tears, their faces all the portrait of defeat. Damm. Why was it fair that they won? Most of the players here didn’t get to come back here next year. I was lucky. Only a first year, already a starter. They all played brilliantly and now they don’t get another shot, aren’t able to stand here, taking a shot at victory.
It was all my fault.
If they had used the 3rd year setter, there would have been more trust, and their spikes would have been better.
If I hadn’t made those lousy plays, would it have been different?
Would it all have changed if he hadn’t messed up that first serve?
“Oikawa-san!” The voice of Aoba-Jousai’s captain boomed across the hall “You played brilliantly! Well done!”
Of course he said that. He had too. He was just trying to spare my feelings. I didn’t play as well as I could have. I lost. I lost.
“Thank you so much Senpai” I responded, attempting a grin, with my characteristic gorgeous wink. To most, I would appear unfazed by the loss, I was just a cheerful first year with more time to spare. That was what I wanted them to see at least. I couldn’t let them see how deep the wound of this loss was.
Iwa-chan glanced over, sat on the bench, downing a bottle of water. He had an expression I couldn’t read on his face, but he was watching me.
I met his eyes and he looked away.
Normally in this scenario I would make some flirtatious quip, but today I was too drained to joke like that.
That must have proved to him I was less ok then I seemed. He got up and strode toward me, stopping inches away from me. My breath caught at the proximity and I felt a flush rise up my collarbone.
“Don’t lie to us.” He murmured so only I could hear. He locked his eyes with mine, and I blushed. He had seen through me.
“Don’t ever pretend to be ok around me when you’re not”
My eyes widened in shock. What was I meant to say to that?
After a few seconds of awkward silence, I flashed him a cheesy grin.
“Iwa-chann” I whined fondly in an attempt to break the tension “Are you being nice to me?
“Shut up Shittykawa” He responded, embarrassed.
—--
Ushijima Pov:
I had won. I hadn’t doubted this school for a second since coming here. The players, they were amazing. They had so much talent; it had been honed with years of guidance under Coach Washijiro. I clutched my left hand, red with bruises from the numerous spikes of the match. We had dominated, but Oikawa was an amazing player. His talent had been wasted at a school like Aoba Jousai. I didn’t understand why he had gone there. Shiratorizawa was a superior school in every way, from its players to its facilities. It was only natural we had dominated. I glanced over the net, to see Oikawa arguing with a team-mate, kicking each other childishly. It was illogical, the way they were fighting made it seem like they hated each other but Oikawa kept glancing at the other player with a soft smile, as if he adored him,
Now that I thought about it, I recognised the other player, he had gone to the same middle school as Oikawa. Kitigawa First. He was a wing spiker - and a decent one. Oikawa certainly brought out all his potential. They worked well together, and I had never seen them apart.
Was this why Oikawa had chosen Aoba Jousai? Was it more than that ‘worthless pride’ of his? Had he really chosen his relationship with an individual over his potential in volleyball?
Either way it was a waste.
“Scoring us all the points as usual then, Wakatoshi-kun, leave some for me next time”
Tendou’s cheerful voice snapped me out of my thoughts, pulling me back to reality, no matter how random he may be, he always seemed to have that effect. He was always there, a positive creature who loved volleyball as much as I did. No matter the rumors spread about him, I was always proud to call him my teammate.
The whistle blew for us to line up and congratulate the other team.
I made my way to the net and extended my left hand. On the other side of the net was Oikawa’s friend, who grabbed my hand with a firm grip and shook it briskly, before turning away and reuniting with Oikawa.
The awards ceremony arrived and the rest of Shiratorizawa and I made our way to the front of the gymnasium. They presented us with shiny little medals, and a trophy which our captain held aloft, cheering with undeniable pride. These objects had symbolic value only, but even then to me, it had little worth. The true prize was always going to be the volleyball.
We had won so we got to play more. For me it was as simple as that.
We got to play more volleyball. We got to go to nationals and see the new talented players, who were so skilled they challenged even the best of the best’s abilities. We got to stay on the court and feel the firm leather of the ball one last time.
I scanned the crowd, hoping to see a familiar face in case my mother had decided she wasn’t too busy with work to come to this match. She was always working, but had always treated me well and taught me proper etiquette. She had never come to one of my matches. She had no interest in volleyball, or much in me for that matter - there was too much of me that needed ‘fixing’ for her liking. I had thought she might come this time though. Finals. That was an achievement wasn’t it?
I shouldn’t have been surprised not to see her, and I definitely shouldn’t have been disappointed by it. There were all sorts of people here, families, friends all cheering for their loved ones. I felt a twitch of envy about that. In the front row sat a girl, seemingly disinterested in the sport. She was possibly the only one in the stadium not cheering or paying any interest at all. She seemed to be sketching something. She must have been dragged here against her will, although why she wouldn’t be interested in volleyball escaped me. On top of that, for some reason I couldn’t place, she looked familiar - maybe she was related to someone I knew?
—-
Seika Pov
Ushijima Wakatoshi. Only a first year in high school, already the ace of Shiratorizawa. Monster when spiking. The worst enemy of my older brother Tooru.
I could see why Tooru wanted so desperately to beat him - his spikes were ruthless and utilised the opponents lack of exposure to the left hand perfectly. He had left my brother absolutely defenseless. Tooru had bragged for hours on the phone about how easy this match was going to be, and then had been completely shut down. That was gonna hurt. Tooru was an amazing player, with numerous skills and an amazing understanding of his teammates, but Ushijima’s raw power had been too much.
I didn’t know whether to be in awe of Ushijima or to resent him.
Looking down at my sketchbook, graphite in hand, I sketched scenes from the match - Tooru and Iwaizumi scoring, Tooru serving then sketches of the other team - of that crazy red haired dude blocking, and of Ushijima scoring time and time again.
His form really was flawless.
Lost in my sketchbook, I zoned out the cheers of the crowd celebrating Shiratorizawa. I wasn’t in the mood to cheer for the team who beat my brother anyway. It wasn’t until the gymnasium was almost empty that I came back into reality, to see the crowds had dispersed and ball boys were now putting loose volleyballs back in the baskets. All the players had disappeared.
Shit.
I had to find Tooru.
I rushed out of the gym and down the corridor, clutching my sketchbook in the palm of my hand. I scanned the crowds of people in volleyball jerseys, but couldn’t find anyone in his team.
Dammit where was he?
I ran through the building, searching every nook and cranny for him, yet it seemed impossible. Everywhere I went he wasn’t.
I had lost him. Again.
As I walked I began twisting the frayed white and blue band around my wrist, and I began thinking of all the places he could be, hoping he wasn’t worried or too upset. What if I’d ruined his day by being late? Or if I upset him for not meeting him immediately? What if he already left because he was too upset from the loss of the match?
My thoughts rambled on, reminding me of all the reasons I messed up.
Thud.
I collided with something in front of me and fell crashing to the floor, my sketchbook flying out my hands, leaving it wide open on some of my sketches. Great. As per usual I hadn’t been paying enough attention. I grimaced with pain and looked up to see what it was I had smacked into this time. Undoubtedly a pillar or something. My face drained of colour as I stared in horror at him. Ushijima Wakatoshi.
—
Iwaizumi Pov
As per usual Oikawa Tooru was being a drama king.
He was moaning on and on and on about his baby little sister and how she must have been kidnapped by thugs all because she hadn’t shown up yet. We had seen her watching the match but it had been 30 minutes since the match finished and so…
Obviously Tooru’s only solution was to throw a cute little tantrum and call her every 2 minutes.
He wasn’t listening to reason as usual. I had tried pointing out how Seika never had her phone on, and how she probably just got distracted but he would listen.
He really was worried.
All his rage and sadness at losing had been redirected toward his care for his sister. For him she took priority. She always would. He was a good sibling.
I had to do something but punching him or hitting him with a volleyball wouldn’t work right now..
I stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, and grabbed his face between both of my palms, pulling it closer.
“Oikawa listen to me! Do you really think that this is going to help her? Say she has been kidnapped or taken by aliens - is this really going to solve that? Just sit down with me for a few minutes and calm down. We can think of a solution then.”
This left me slightly out of breath.We stood there like that for 5 seconds before simultaneously pulling apart and looking away. I felt myself beginning to blush. After what felt like and eternity of awkward silence, Tooru sat down on a bench, leaving a space for me. I joined him but despite sitting only inches away from each other neither of us could bring ourselves to meet the others eyes. How stupid. I sat there with him, breathing slowly and consistently - until his pulse had steadied and his breathing matched mine - less frantic and stressed then before. I glanced over at him. He was definitely calmer - his posture was more relaxed and he had stopped vibrating his leg as if he could not sit still but his eyes were still nervously scanning the halls for signs of his sister.
‘He needs to learn to calm down’ I thought, sighing internally.
—
Ushijima Pov
Collapsed on the floor in front of me was the girl from the stands. She looked even more familiar up close, with long chestnut hair and hazelnut eyes that I was sure reminded me of someone.
She seemed flustered and anxious - which was strange - she had fallen over already so what was there to be anxious about. Slowly I knelt down and extended my hand. I thought it would be a good idea to say something to check she was ok.
“You should keep your eyes on what is in front of you. If you had hit the floor as hard as you had hit me you would have been injured”
She just looked at me, eyes wide, head tilted. She appeared confused. Had she been concussed by the fall? She shook her head, then opened and closed her mouth a few times but didn’t say anything.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No, no everything’s fine, I was just a bit careless is all. Sorry for bothering you”
She smiled and bowed her head in apology. Her voice was melodic and cheerful but I did not see why she was so happy - she had fallen down. She had not seemed to have noticed my outstretched hand - which was a clear gesture that I wanted to help her up - as common courtesy dictated.
“Let me help you up. It is the least I can do - I was the cause of your trip after all.”
The girl looked at my outstretched palm - red and calloused from spiking, and met my eyes. For a minute she just stared at me, as if calculating her next move. Then she responded.
“Noo, don’t worry about it, I can get up just fine on my own” She chirped, a grin on her face, waving her hands across her body. Her face was flushed. Had I done something wrong which meant she didn’t want my help? Had I said the wrong thing?
Still knelt on the floor, trying to work out the correct thing to do next, I noticed a small leather-bound sketchbook, left open. I recognised it as the one she had been using earlier. I could at least pick that up for her.
I extended my arm and reached for the sketchbook, then got up off the floor. Intending to close the sketchbook before handing it to her I glimpsed at it, and my mind stopped working. Staring right back at me, in an excruciating amount of detail and incredible accuracy was… me. It was a sketch of me from the match, annotated with notes about my form, by someone who clearly knew what they were talking about.
I was lost for words.
“Is.. Is this me?”
—
Seika Pov
I was mortified. More than mortified. Words cannot accurately describe how mortified I was. In my panic, I ran straight into Ushijima Wakatoshi and then he saw one of my sketches of him from the match.
Fuck.
He’s definitely going to think I’m some kind of crazy stalker.
Sheepishly, I observed his reaction to see just how horrified he was. Oddly he didn’t seem all that repulsed. His olive eyes were skimming the page with a glimmer of what looked like curiosity or maybe even admiration. His hand was tracing the page, presumably following the graphite outlines of my sketch. How was he so calm about this?
I still hadn’t responded to his question. Shit, how was I supposed to respond to that? I was about to attempt to stutter some words in the hope it formed a coherent sentence but he beat me to it.
“You seem to know your volleyball. Your sketches of my spike demonstrate a clear understanding of the necessary form even with the left hand. Do you play?” He was blunt but curious - that much was clear.
I had played volleyball in my old middle school - we were one of the best teams in the prefecture by far and I had loved the thrill of it all. But then I transferred to a new more elite middle school when my parents split up - my mum finally got her way and was able to transform me into her model of success. The match today had reminded me of all the things I loved - the firm feeling of the ball as she spiked it past her opponents, the thrill of shutting down her opponent with a block, the sharp sound of a whistle as she scored, the cheers of the audience and the team that always had my back. I missed this.
“Ye-” I began but I got cut off mid sentence, as the red haired guy on his team swirled into view, snatching my sketchbook right out of Ushijima’s hands and flicked through the pages with glee.
I was horrified. Ushijima’s teammate or not, he had no right to do that!
With every page he turned, his expression became more and more delighted.
“OOOOO! Wakatoshi-kuun, someone's got a FAN! It’s your sketchbook right??” He asked, looking in my direction.
“What was it about Wakatoshi here that made you such a fan? His eyes. His ears. His..” He looked around mockingly, pretending to check the coast was clear.
“His …handsome physique” He said, wiggling his eyebrows.
WHAT WAS WRONG WITH THIS MAN?
I went pink and blurted out a reply
“NO! I’M NOT A FAN” I shouted. Great. Way to make them believe you. I took a deep breath then tried again.
“No. Since you are already invading my privacy so greatly, take another look through that sketchbook of mine. There are drawing of all the players from that match - even you.”
He continued flicking through the sketchbook until he found the page with him on it. He raised his eyebrows as he digested the information.
“Ooo. Effective but illogical - am I? My blocks seem to built off reading my opponent’s personality rather than the ball? Spot on kiddo! Please stop with the crazy red haired dude in the annotations though. Would it pain you so much to learn my name?” He gave me a wink.
How was I meant to have known his name?
“Are you not going to ask me? I’m heartbroken. And here I thought you were my fan too” He pretended to sob. “Names Tendou Satori. Don’t forget it”
Smiling, he handed me the book. I glanced over at Ushijima Wakatoshi incredulously but he seemed unbothered entirely. Was this normal?
“Fine. I’m not your fan though. I don’t even support your team. I’m here for my brother, not for you.”
The red haired guy -Tendou- widened his eyes and looked me up and down, as if realising something and grinned widely. Had he gotten the point finally?
Ushijima seemed curious. He was looking at me and murmuring something to himself. How weird was it for me to support the other team? I’m sure there were plenty of other people who didn’t support Shiratorizawa.
“Her brother. Tendou, do you think that…” he began but he got cut off by a familiar voice, loud and cheerful, but laced with exhaustion and irritation. Tooru.
—
Tooru Pov
Thank God.
She was ok.
“Seika-chan! There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” I ran up to my baby sister, flooded with relief that she was ok. A few metres behind me Iwaizumi exhaled and relaxed his shoulders.He turned back down the hallway to head home, having completed his objective for the day but I knew he was just as relieved as I was to find her alive and ok.
Well as ok as you can be when talking to Ushijima Wakatoshi. What was she doing with him?
I broadened my shoulders, and placed my hand on her shoulder, and like the stunning knight in shining armour I was, swooped in to save her.
Turning my attention to the thugs, I shot them a death glare and my tone harshened, and all semblance to my normal friendly persona disappeared.
“What are you scumbags doing anywhere near my sister?” I growled. I was not letting them bother her even a slightest.
Seika looked up at me in shock, clearly not expecting me to talk like that, but she didn’t say anything.
Unsurprisingly Tendou spoke first.
“Well Oikawa Jr here was just fangirling all over us. She clearly sees the potential in Shiratorizawa that you missed.”
Fuck him. From the scornful look Seika gave him, I could tell that that was a lie. Trying to gaslight me about my baby little sister. Think again.
I felt my temper rise and bubble through me as I prepared to send a flurry of insults at his face.
“Forgive Tendou. While he is right about you missing the potential of Shiratorizawa he is wrong about your sister. She merely tripped into me and I asked her if she played volleyball because I saw some sketches of the match she had done. If she doesn’t she obviously should because her understanding of the sport is clearly exceptional. In no way did she ‘fangirl’ over us.”
Ushijima’s face was stern and sincere, but then when wasn’t it. It felt so wrong to hear him say ‘fangirl’ - that was not something I ever wanted to experience again but what felt weirder was hearing him defend my sister like that. I glanced down at Seika to clarify his response, and she gave me a small nod.
Dammit. Why did he have to be nice? I hated him and he was the last person I wanted to see in the world right now, but he was always honest.
“FINE!” I said, “That doesn’t give you any right to speak for my sister or say what she should or should not do.” Seika squeezed my arm in gratitude. “Come on Seika. Lets go before these assholes turn you into one of them.”
Without hesitating or looking back, I pulled Seika with me, striding down the hallway away from my enemies, with a dramatic flourish. I was not going to let them get to me anymore. What mattered was that Seika was ok. She came before my foolish grudges and my unreasonable grief from the loss of the match.
Always.