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“I think I’m going to fall over; that’s how tired I am.” Shirabu, on Eita’s left, pulls his bag closer to his side.
On Eita’s other side, Goshiki lets out yet another long sigh, dragging his feet on the ground. “Why did we have to run so many laps today?”
“It’s because your serves suck,” Shirabu says without any hesitation; Eita smacks him upside the head, not too hard. “I’m right .” Shirabu rubs the back of his head with one hand, scowling.
“Your serves will get better with time,” Eita tells Goshiki. “Just keep practicing; it’s a learning curve.”
Goshiki purses his lips and looks like he wants to argue, but opts for staying quiet.
Practice had been particularly intense today, lasting later into the evening than usual and leaving Eita feeling sore all over. Coach Washijou hadn’t held back with penalties for bad serves and receives either, which didn’t help.
“I’ve only been in high school for three months,” Goshiki says, “but I think I’m already dead.”
“This is my third year of this,” Eita says.
“How have you managed to survive?” Shirabu kicks a clod of dirt down the sidewalk and it collides with a tree, crumbling against the bark.
“I haven’t,” says Eita. “I’ve been dead inside for years.”
Shirabu says, “Too real,” as Goshiki groans and sways to the side to bump shoulders with Eita. They’re all tired, and sore, and dinner had been some sort of teriyaki which none of them were really in the mood for, so now they’re wandering around off campus in search of a ramen shop.
Above them, the sky is amber and rose, the sun still not having fully set. It’s cool outside for May, and Shirabu, who runs cold, is wearing his jacket. Eita, on the other hand, is in a plain t-shirt and black jeans, his hair still wet from showering, while Goshiki hadn’t even bothered to change out of his gym clothes. Together, they’re a strange combination, but it works.
After another minute or two of walking, Goshiki heaves a sigh and says, “I’m ready to give up; we’ve been walking for hours and there’s nothing .”
“It’s been twenty minutes,” says Eita.
Shirabu kicks at a rock, which goes flying and almost hits the window of a store. (Eita considers saying something about all this kicking, but decides against it.) “There has to be something ,” Shirabu says. This time, when he goes to kick another rock, Eita kicks it out of the way before Shirabu’s shoe can make contact with it. “Check Google, or something.”
“My phone’s dead, remember?” Eita says, pulls his phone from his pocket and clicks the home button a few times to show that it’s really dead. “And Tsutomu left his back at the gym.”
“I didn’t think I would need it,” Goshiki mumbles. He’s fallen quite a ways behind his upperclassmen and is dragging himself along, the toes of his sneakers scuffing against the ground.
Shirabu stops walking, Eita following suit, and pulls out his own phone and squints down at it before huffing a frustrated sigh. “Of course I have no service still. It’s not like we’re surrounded by people who need to be able to use their phones or anything, of course not.”
“Salty,” Eita says; he laughs when Shirabu purposely stomps on his toes.
“Shut up,” Shirabu says, and then Goshiki, who was staring at the pavement as he walked, bumps into both of them and almost falls over.
Eita puts his hand on Goshiki’s shoulder to steady him. “Are you good?”
“I’m so hungry ,” Goshiki complains. “We should have stayed at school. And we’re lost!”
“We’re not lost,” Eita says at the same time that Shirabu says, “Did you really want to eat whatever they’re serving for dinner?”
Completely ignoring Shirabu, Goshiki says, “We are . Do you know where we are?”
“No,” Eita says, and he takes his hand off Goshiki’s shoulder so that he can put both his hands on his hips. “But I do know how to get back, because I’ve been keeping track of what turns we made.”
Goshiki still looks upset, (and Shirabu’s scowling from being ignored) but then he looks up and his eyes widen and he says, quietly, “We’re all stupid .”
Shirabu’s scowl deepens. “Look,” he starts, “I know Eita’s in class 1-”
“That doesn’t mean I’m stupid! ” Eita protests.
Shirabu squints at him. “Okay,” he says, in the tone he uses for when he’s lying and wants the person he’s lying to to know.
“No,” Goshiki interrupts, “I mean, look!”
Eita and Shirabu turn and, sure enough, right across the street is a ramen shop.
“I retract my argument,” Shirabu says. “You’re right; we’re all stupid.”
Arguably, they should have known where this place was; or, at least, Eita should have, seeing as he’s been here many times before. It’s quiet right now, and doesn’t generally get a lot of business until later in the evening, so it’s perfect for three high school boys who just want to relax and eat some good food.
Eita and Shirabu both get their vegetarian while Goshiki chooses something with pork. They’re mostly quiet while they wait, still coming down from that afternoon’s practice. The only noise other than their breathing and the tap of Shirabu’s fingers as he texts (because of course now that they’ve found somewhere to eat he gets service) comes from the birds and the crickets outside and the owner of the shop as he preps their food.
It’s peaceful; Eita almost falls asleep.
The food is amazing. Goshiki inhales his like he hasn’t eaten in days, dropping his chopsticks several times. Shirabu laughs at him, and Eita pretends to be responsible and scold both of them, but the owner doesn’t seem to mind, just smiles easily at their antics, so Eita drops the act pretty quickly.
Halfway through his bowl, Shirabu asks, “What do you think of the competition this year?”
Eita shrugs. “Same old, same old,” he says. “I’m mostly worried about Seijoh.”
“Yeah,” Shirabu says, lifts a mouthful of noodles and mushrooms to his mouth. “That’s to be expected.”
“Kenjirou, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Eita says.
Shirabu snorts. “Okay, mom .”
“Seijoh?” Goshiki asks; he’s already done eating, no surprise there. “Like, ‘Aoba Johsai’, Seijoh? Are they good?”
“Nothing we haven’t beaten before,” Shirabu says.
“Their third year setter’s amazing,” Eita says. “Nearly took my arms off with his serves last year.”
“I’m sure his serves aren’t nearly as good as yours!” Goshiki says.
Shirabu laughs. “Eita’s got nothing on Oikawa.
Eita spins around in his seat to face Shirabu head on. “I’ll eat you,” he says.
“Finish your ramen first,” Shirabu says back, and then steals a couple of bean sprouts from Eita’s bowl; in response, Eita takes some of his mushrooms.
“We’ll beat Seijoh,” Eita says, and turns back to his bowl. “This’ll be the year we win nationals, one way or another.”
“You’re oddly determined,” Shirabu notes quietly.
“It’s my last chance,” Eita says, and then takes a bite of noodles.
On his right, Shirabu’s eating his own food; on his left, Goshiki is practically vibrating with energy.
“With Ushijima-senpai on our side,” Goshiki declares, “we can’t possibly lose. We’ll win the Interhigh, and the Spring Tournament.”
Eita puts down his chopsticks and grins.