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“Shimizu-senpai! Shimizu-senpai, come on, the bus is leaving!”
Kiyoko looks up to find Hinata standing in the doorway of the gym, looking the same mixture of excited and terrified that he did before every match. She sends him a soft smile before going back to the box she’s filling with water bottles and snacks.
“I’ll be there in a second, Hinata-kun,” she promises, picking the box up and getting to her feet. By the time she turns to leave, Hinata is gone, darting off toward the waiting bus.
Kiyoko leaves the gym, making sure everything is locked up in its place before walking to the bus as well. As she stows her box in one of the external compartments, she hears Hinata’s voice again, this time paired with Kageyama’s--like it often is.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the bathroom?”
“I told you, I already went, Bakageyama!”
“I was just making sure, dumbass. Get in the bus.”
A few months ago, Kiyoko would have been preparing herself for the two first years to get into a real argument. Of course, that was before their marks had resolved--the name Tobio morphing into a crown on Hinata’s collarbone and Shouyou spreading across Kageyama’s shoulders into impressive black wings.
The realization that the two first years were, in fact, soulmates had taken its time to spread throughout the team. But, soon, enough, even the densest members of the Karasuno VBC had recognized the pair’s insults becoming more fond, their touches becoming more gentle, their steps becoming more in sync as they grew closer together. And, of course, their new tattoos had been a dead giveaway.
Kiyoko goes into the bus behind the couple, taking the open seat next to Yachi for herself. Soon, the bus begins to move, and Kiyoko tunes out the conversations going on around her with practiced ease, almost unconsciously pushing up the sleeve of her jacket to look at the name written on the inside of her forearm.
Countless hours in her childhood were spent looking at the messy kanji emblazoned onto the soft skin of her forearm reading: Wakatoshi. Back then, she often wondered who he was, what his personality was, what he looked like. Now, she wonders what her mark will look like once it resolves, once she and her soulmate call each other by their names.
She wonders if it will be expansive and intricate like Hinata’s crown or Kageyama’s wings, or if it will be small and simple like the matching hearts Daichi wore on the back of his hand and Michimiya sported just below her ear. If the name will disappear and be replaced like Suga and Asahi’s which turned into simple swirling lines atop their feet, or if the name will stay and be added to, like the three neat bands around Tsukishima’s wrists still holding the names of his soulmates that appeared after their Tokyo training camp.
She no longer wonders what he looks like--though whether that is a blessing or a curse, Kiyoko isn’t sure. There are many people who would surely argue that it’s a blessing, would tell her all about how lucky she is to have met her soulmate at such a young age--but that’s the thing: they’ve never actually met.
It was in her first year of high school that she heard his name for the first time, from a few upperclassmen talking about the newest first years they’d have to deal with. She was listening in and memorizing the names, wanting to do her research and live up to her title as manager--Fukurodani in Tokyo got Bokuto Koutarou, Oikawa Tooru chose Aoba Johsai in their prefecture, and the powerhouse school Shiratorizawa received Ushijima Wakatoshi.
For the rest of the afternoon, she didn’t allow herself to get her hopes up, well aware that Wakatoshi wasn’t that uncommon of a name, that it very well could be some other Wakatoshi, not hers. That night when she got home, she went on her family’s computer to look up this Ushijima Wakatoshi. Clicking on the first article that popped up, Kiyoko was greeted by intense eyes looking back at her from the screen, and a feeling she couldn’t quite name. The boy was...gorgeous, to say the least: broad shoulders, steely gaze, capable hands. As she read through the article and looked through a few pictures, this feeling continued, a feeling that told her he was hers. This was her soulmate.
As the year continued, Kiyoko learned more and more about him--from her occasional research and gossip from the players--but they never actually met. Their marks never resolved.
“Kiyoko-senpai, what are you looking at?” Yachi asks, pulling Kiyoko out of her thoughts.
“Oh, nothing, Hitoka-chan,” she answers easily, tugging her sleeve back down and glancing out the window as Yachi is dragged into a conversation with Hinata and Kageyama from across the bus.
Not long after, they are pulling up to the gym, and Kiyoko can’t help but remember her first time doing this, in a bus just like this one filled with boys just as loud and passionate about volleyball. Then, the whole experience had been terrifying and electrifying and overwhelming all at once, but the most astonishing part of it was finally seeing him, Ushijima Wakatoshi, in the flesh.
It was before the games started, and their team was grouped together in the hallway, everyone dealing with nerves in their own way--for Kiyoko, that was watching the other teams walking by. She was doing her best to look prepared, to seem like she knew what she was doing, when a familiar figured walked by.
Kiyoko felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Even among the second and third years, Ushijima was intimidating, tall, going around like he owned the entire building. Kiyoko was shocked, completely floored by his presence. No picture could have prepared her for this, no hushed conversation overheard from the boys as they waited in line for drills. Though she was in shock, some part of Kiyoko knew that she should talk to him, should tell him “Hey, I’m Shimizu Kiyoko. Also you’re my soulmate, great thanks! I’ll be going now!” but how could she when he was who he was and she was just...herself.
So she didn’t talk to him that time, nor did she talk to him the times after that. Twice a year she came up with a new excuse for herself, a new reason not to approach him. In fact, it was now at the point where she figures she never will, like high school will go on forever and she’ll be caught in an endless cycle of seeing him, thinking she should talk to him, and never doing anything about it. She hadn’t really even considered that this would be her last chance until a few days ago.
The gym was nearly empty when she came to make sure everything was locked up--the third years the only ones left as it was the rare night that they took responsibility for cleaning up after practice. They were still taking down the net, so she set down her bag and began to help Sugawara with some of the knots, looking toward him when he spoke.
“Kiyoko, are you finally going to talk to him this year? If you don’t now, you’ll have to hope that you meet him in college somehow.”
Kiyoko froze in her movements, staring at the knot in front of her as if it were an impossible-looking calculus problem. She hadn’t thought--she hadn’t realized that this would be her last year to do it. Noticing her, Sugawara laughed softly, looking at her with a warm smile. “Did you really not think about that?” he asked and she shrugged a little, going back to the knot.
“Not really, I guess,” she admitted, untying the interlaced ropes and moving to take down the net. “I’ve had a chance at every tournament, I guess. It’s strange that it would end now.”
“Strange that what would end now?” came a voice from behind her.
“Her chances to talk to Ushijima-san,” answered Sugawara, looking toward Daichi.
“Oh,” Daichi said, laughing a little and tossing the few remaining balls into a nearby basket. “You are going to talk to him this time, right?”
“Talk to Ushijima-san?” Asahi asked, joining the conversation. And, well, at least they were all in on it now.
Kiyoko was reminded of the first time they talked about this in their second year. It had been after practice one day when the task of cleaning up the gym had been left to the second years, and as they were folding up the net and piling volleyballs into baskets, the topic of soulmates had come up. All of their marks had resolved, of course, and they had gone around in a small circle where they sat on the court, showing each other what they looked like. After Kiyoko had revealed her mark to the three of them, they went through the questioning of if she knew who he was, and the other three had been surprised to hear that she knew who he was and yet didn’t know him, hadn’t met him, that her mark hadn’t resolved.
“Well. We haven’t actually met yet,” she had explained, ducking her head sheepishly and pushing her glasses up in a nervous gesture.
“But you know who he is?” Daichi had asked, to which she had nodded.
“He goes to Shiratorizawa. He plays volleyball.”
“Oh, wait. Do you mean Ushijima?”
Kiyoko had nodded and was met with a chorus of replies from all three of them, none of them which she was really able to understand until Suga had clapped his hands and exclaimed,
“We have to go see him play!”
Kiyoko had just stared at him with wide eyes, amazed that he had even suggested it because that really didn’t sound like something she should do, and just as she had been about to say that, Daichi and Asahi had jumped in quickly to agree, deciding to figure out their schedule and choose a match to go to.
Lying in her bed at home, Kiyoko cannot, for the life of her, fall asleep. It’s well into the wee hours of the morning, and she needs to be at the school sooner than she’d like to think about--but here she is, staring at the ceiling with her eyes wide open. She has to talk to him tomorrow, she just has to. It’s her last chance, and she doesn’t know what she’d do if she graduated high school without talking to him. She would never forgive herself.
So, she has to talk to him tomorrow. It’s fine, she can deal with that. She can do that. Right? Right…
The stakes are so much higher this year--for her life, but also for the team. This is the farthest they have come in years, and she thinks they have a real chance of making it, even if that isn’t clear to everyone. So not only does she have to deal with the stress of meeting/revealing/introducing herself to her soulmate, she also must shoulder her share of the burden of beating Shiratorizawa. It’s infuriating. But, of course, this is the lot she chose for herself, and even if she wanted to, she wouldn't be able to find it in herself to complain.
As she lies in bed, she can’t stop the strands of thoughts flashing through her mind, the terrifying, suffocating feeling of her heart going crazy in her chest without her consent. She feels so small and so large at the same time, knowing that whatever happens tomorrow will either make or break her in so many different ways. That feeling, this knowing that she has so little control over the situation, is what bothers her the most. Needless to say, the sleep she gets that night is alright at best.
That morning comes, and Kiyoko can’t breathe. She’s sitting in her normal seat on the bus, listening to the usual sounds of the boys around her. But, that’s the thing, they aren’t the normal sounds. Sure, to the untrained ear, it’s the same as with every other game, but this is different. The chatter is quieter, more stilted, hesitant. They are all that strange mixture of terrified and excited, ready for this next step but afraid that they might fall, afraid that they may miss their chance to prove that Karasuno is no longer the school of flightless crows that it once was.
It’s exhilarating.
This is why they do this, after all. This is why these boys play, why she and Hitoka spend time observing practices and matches of their team and others. And if volleyball was a class, this would be their final exam. This is what everything has been building up to, and she knows that her excitement is reflected in those around her--even if it is under a mask of anxiety.
As she walks into the gym--trailing after her team--her heart starts doing that shaky, jumpy, bendy thing in her chest, almost making it feel like it was floating in zero gravity. The only time she’s felt anything close to this was before their first match, when she and Daichi and Suga and Asahi had been first years, when none of them even knew Hinata or Kageyama, when they didn't have the skill and unity that they all had now.
Though she can't seem to get her heart under control, she can't help but smile as they walked onto the court. She knows that her boys can do this.
“We really don’t need to be here,” Kiyoko insisted, following after the other three reluctantly. Surprisingly, even Asahi had agreed to go along with this idea--and was walking in front of her with Daichi and Suga, leading the way into the gym at the unfamiliar school.
“Yes, we really do need to be here,” Suga answered in that voice that he used with the first years when he’s being a good senpai and assuring them that they can do something. “Because you really need to see him play in person and maybe even talk to him afterwards, alright?”
Kiyoko just frowned, pouting to herself as all her friends were facing the other way.
They were all dressed inconspicuously in shades of grey and white and drew no attention to themselves as they made their way into Shiratorizawa’s gym, finding their way into the stands. Apparently, Shiratorizawa’s matches always had a great turnout, even if they were just practice matches. The four of them were able to take some seats toward the top of the stands, hidden away far enough that no one pays them any attention. But, even before she’s sitting, Kiyoko’s eyes were drawn to the court.
Shiratorizawa was facing some local team that was barely able to breathe under the suffocating press of the far-superior team, and though it wasn’t the most interesting game to watch, it was obvious why so many people were there to observe. In fact, it was the same reason Kiyoko's fellow second years had dragged her along.
Ushijima Wakatoshi.
There he was--the biggest presence in the room with his intense gaze and unpredictable left hand--standing on the court, taking his turn behind the serving line.
Kiyoko was pulled down into her spot--though she wouldn’t thank Suga for this until they were leaving the gym later--as the ball flew into the air, released from Ushijima’s fingertips before he ran, jumped, hit the ball with more force than she could imagine. The only player she had ever seen whose serve is similar would be Oikawa Tooru from Aoba Johsai, but even he would, no doubt, stare in surprise for at least a moment when faced with a serve of that magnitude.
The match went on, and there was silence between the four of them, none of them daring to speak or cheer, all of them watching with wide eyes as if hoping to physically absorb the volleyball skill in front of them. Even if that seemed completely illogical, Kiyoko knew that it wasn’t. She knew the benefit of seeing other players play with your own eyes--or even just hearing about their characteristics and idiosyncrasies from someone who had seen them play, namely her.
That was another reason they had come to this match--because Kiyoko knew that she really should have seen Shiratorizawa play before, it was just that she’d never felt quite right about it, never felt prepared to see her soulmate play that sport that she loved so much. Though their team wasn’t at a level that they would likely be playing Shiratorizawa anytime soon, that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t get there eventually, and when that day came, Kiyoko needed to be prepared for all of them.
The game is over. And they’ve won. Kiyoko can’t believe it, really, except that she can. Every part of her being had believed that they could do this, and now she feels the pride and gleefulness that came with the win in every cell of her body.
It’s a fantastic feeling.
The awards ceremony ended just moments ago, and her team is standing on the court, smiling for pictures, brandishing their medals, and crying on each other. The Shiratorizawa players have already picked up their bags and are moving out of the gym, their heads down as they trudge away. Kiyoko’s eyes are trained on their backs, focusing on a certain head of dark brown hair at the front of the group. They haven’t gone far yet, she can still intercept him before he makes it outside--and she has to, she can’t let him leave yet! Not without talking to him. But, just as her feet start to move, just as she’s taking a step in that direction, Yachi yells,
“Kiyoko-senpai!”
Kiyoko turns briefly and sees the entire team waiting for her, standing in formation for a picture. As she goes over to them, she glances back at Shiratorizawa’s team walking away and sees that they have stopped, that the majority of them are looking up at Ushijima in surprise, that the man in question is staring straight at her. Her heart jumps to her throat, and she looks away quickly, rushing to her team instead and smiling for various pictures.
By the time they’re done a few minutes later--and have participated in a few group hugs--she’s afraid to turn around, to look over toward the door Shiratorizawa was leaving through, and she doesn’t know if she’s more afraid of seeing him there, waiting for her, or finding no one. As she struggles with the options, the choice of looking or not looking is made for her by her fellow third years coming up with grins on their faces.
“Wha—?” she starts to say before someone is grabbing her by the shoulders and turning her around, giving her no other choice but to meet the dark olive eyes looking back at her from a couple yards away. Her breath catches in the back of her throat, and she probably would have stayed there, frozen, for much longer than is strictly admissible if not for the three behind her who promptly take it upon themselves to nudge her in that direction, pushing her toward Ushijima. Toward her soulmate.
Her feet carry her over to him, and it’s almost like she’s floating, having some sort of out-of-body experience as she watches herself close the small distance until they’re standing in front of each other. There’s silence for a moment, and then she falls back to the ground as she utters the only word that comes to mind.
“Hi,” she says, immediately feeling stupid at her lack of vocabulary.
“Kiyoko,” he replies, and that voice is something else entirely. That voice makes her heart soar and her lungs expand, makes her feel like it's okay that she took so long to talk to him because they're talking now.
“Wakatoshi,” she answers, and she had expected to feel different. She knows that if she looks down at the mark on her arm now, it won’t be the same as it was before; it will have resolved somehow, in some way. She had always imagined that something would change, that she would feel more complete or more equipped to handle life. Of course, later she would realize that completing yourself isn’t what soulmates are about. It was about two separate, complete people coming together in a way that enhances the good qualities in both of them, that does make it easier to to handle life and the world once you let yourself be accentuated and emphasized by the other person.
“Congratulations,” he says, and Kiyoko gets the idea that it’s not something he says very often--not just because he doesn’t often have to, but also because it’s not something he would ever feel compelled to say.
“Thank you,” she answers, almost earnestly, nodding her head a little. “My condolences to you,” she adds after a second thought, wondering if this would affect his future. There’s no doubt in her mind that universities have been scouting him since his first day of high school, and though she feels incredibly proud and honored and blessed that Karasuno won, she hopes that Shiratorizawa’s loss won’t ruin whatever plans for the future he had.
Wakatoshi just nods in response, but there’s a look on his face that seems almost grateful. Everyone had expected Shiratorizawa to win, after all; it’s likely that none of them had even prepared for the idea of losing. Kiyoko doesn’t know Wakatoshi well enough--doesn’t know him at all, really--to know if he’s the kind of person that will go home and cry at the loss, or if he moves through everything in life with the same quiet, fiery stoicism that he approaches volleyball with.
There’s quiet between them for another moment, and this time he is the one to break it, glancing toward the door his team has left through and turning toward it, saying, “They’re probably waiting for me. I should go.”
Kiyoko finds herself beginning to nod before she realizes what that means, that he’s leaving and they haven’t even said anything substantial to each other. Their marks are resolved, but she doesn’t even know where his is--she doesn’t know anything other than his name and where he goes to school, and that’s not nearly going to be enough for her to do this. And so, with these thoughts racing through her mind, her hand makes the unconscious decision to reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him from going away.
Turning his head back toward her, Wakatoshi has on an expression that she’s never seen before, one of surprise, and she can’t help but love it, can’t help but want to see every other expression he can make, every way his face can twist and change to express everything he feels.
“Where are you going to university?” she asks suddenly, as if that explains her sudden behavior and doesn’t just raise more questions.
Wakatoshi studies at her for a second before answering. “Tokyo,” he says, pausing for a beat before he asks, “What about you?”
“Me too,” she answers. Truthfully, she hadn’t made her decision until that moment, but if he was going to Tokyo, of course she would follow him rather than stay in Miyagi.
The look she receives is one of careful thought, as if Wakatoshi is trying to decide if what he plans on doing next is right. She meets his eyes evenly, not even realizing that she’s still holding his wrist until he gently shakes it away. Letting her hand be shaken off, she wonders if she’s done something wrong, if she had crossed some sort of line with her hand firmly clutching onto his wrist. Her fears are calmed when he only digs around his bag for a few seconds and pulls out a phone--his phone, presumably--and holds it out to her.
She takes the proffered object wordlessly, fulfilling his silent request and inputting her phone number. After the phone is safely put away in his bag once again, the pair looks at each other, neither of them sure what the next step is. But, their eyes are soon both drawn to the pair of doors Shiratorizawa had left through earlier where the boy with the red hair--Tendou Satori, if Kiyoko remembers correctly, and she always does--is standing, obviously calling for Wakatoshi to come with him.
“They’ll be waiting for me,” Wakatoshi says quietly, looking back at her.
Kiyoko nods a little, and this time there isn’t any panic about him going. Her team will be waiting for her, anyway, no doubt ready to go out and celebrate, and she’s ready too. God knows how hard they’ve all worked for this moment. Besides, now he has her phone number. That’s certainly enough.
Kiyoko wakes slowly to soft blankets and quiet breathing, warm skin brushing against her arm and a cool pillow pressed against her cheek. Feeling warm and languid from sleep, she turns her face away from the sun peeking through the blinds and toward the body next to her, sighing softly as she moves closer to him. Wakatoshi is still asleep, taking advantage of the lack of things to do on a Saturday morning and recharging after a week of classes and grueling practice every evening.
Lifting her head briefly to look at the clock, Kiyoko knows that she should get out of bed soon, that she and Suga had talked about meeting for breakfast in a couple hours. But, instead, she scoots a bit closer to Wakatoshi and rests her head on his shoulder, draping her arm over his chest carefully so as not to wake him up. She’ll just stay for a few a more minutes, after all, what’s the harm in that?
As she curls up to his side, Kiyoko is distracted by the mark on her arm, a soft smile spreading across her face as she turns her arm toward herself to inspect the black lines etched onto her skin.
Before she met Wakatoshi, the only mark on the soft skin of her forearm was his name scrawled in his now-familiar messy, smudged handwriting. But now, the word is softened, almost, by the vines wrapping around and between the lines of the characters and branching off into the surrounding space. The vines are thin and long, with branches and leaves and flowers shooting off in different directions, different edges curling in on themselves and swirling in flowing patterns that are sometimes hard to follow. The design stretches behind the name, serving almost as a bed for the characters to lay on, and continues on around her arm, forming a band around her arm of neat, twisting lines.
Her eyes move to the same pattern where it stretches out across Wakatoshi’s chest, tendrils spreading from her name printed in her own neat writing in the middle of the calculated mess. It still amazes her to see her name etched into someone’s skin, plastered on Wakatoshi’s chest above his heart amid the cluster of circling lines.
It never fails to bring a smile to her face, and smile she does as she traces her finger over one of the lines on his chest, watching his body rise and fall with each even breath. In the spot she has found--face tucked against his collarbone and body now half-draped over him--the lines of sun sneaking through the blinds don’t reach her face. And though the weather is beginning to cool with the seasons, the morning chill that winter brings hasn’t quite reached their small apartment, especially with their comforter bunched around their waists and their bodies pressed together.
It’s nearly time to get up if she wants to meet Suga on time, but he can wait a few extra minutes, she thinks. She can probably even convince him to change their breakfast plans to lunch, or even dinner when Wakatoshi is gone at practice. He’ll understand, she thinks, once she explains to him that she just simply couldn’t get out of bed on the rare morning that her boyfriend slept in, that she just had to let herself be lulled back to sleep by his breathing and the muffled sounds of the outside world.
When she wakes a couple of hours later, Kiyoko is enclosed by a pair of strong arms, and she smiles, curling toward him and letting out a soft sigh.
“Good morning,” he says, and his voice is little more than a low rumble emanating from his chest, but Kiyoko thinks it's her favorite sound in the world.
Humming in response, she presses a couple of kisses to his collarbone before rolling on top of him and lifting her head to look down at him, his features slightly out of focus without the help of her glasses.
The room is quiet save for their breathing, the sounds of the world turning outside their window, and the muffled music coming from their upstairs neighbor’s radio until the harsh buzzing of a phone on a nightstand fills the space. Kiyoko looks and sees Suga’s contact picture--taken the night of Asahi’s birthday party after he had had one too many drinks when he had draped himself over his soulmate--looking back at her, signaling that he was calling her. Not reacting, Kiyoko let's the call go to voicemail and sees that the call hadn't been the first, but for some reason she can't seem to care all too much.
“Who is it?” Wakatoshi asks, and her eyes are drawn back to him, his usually stolid face softened by sleep and the hazy light leaking through the blinds.
“Suga,” she answers, bringing her head down again and tucking it into the side of his neck. “We were supposed to go to breakfast.”
As his arms wrap closer around her, Wakatoshi laughs softly and Kiyoko smiles, picturing the expression on his face in her mind--squinted eyes and raised cheeks, lips turned up into an amused smile.
“Oh well,” he murmurs, his fingers playing gently with her long hair.
“Mhm,” she agrees, closing her eyes again. “Oh well.”