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“All right, Hajime,” Iwaizumi mumbles to himself. “You can do this.” Taking a deep breath, he smooths down the front of his tracksuit and pushes open the doors to the faculty wing of Kitagawa Daiichi Middle School.
He bypasses several doors (including his own) until he spies his destination, the office assigned to the girls’ volleyball team coaching staff. The door is ajar, so someone is definitely in there. The stupid monkey part of his brain, however, hopes that someone is her. It’s juvenile as hell, but Iwaizumi Hajime finds himself in a possession of a crush on the new girls’ team coach, Shimizu Kiyoko.
The premise bringing him there is flimsy at best, and there’s no way she won’t see through it. She’s worked at the school for over a month in preparation for the upcoming season. If she needs anything, it’s extremely unlikely she hasn’t sought it out already.
But he has to talk to her sometime if he wants her to even know he exists.
Iwaizumi gives a brisk knock, and a soft voice calls, “Come in.”
He pokes his head inside and swallows hard when he sees that it is indeed Shimizu in the office before he slips all the way through the door. “Uh, hi.”
Shimizu looks up from the stat books sprawled out on the desk, her eyes meeting his over the rims of her glasses. “Iwaizumi-sensei!” She darts to her feet and gives him a neat bow. “I’m sorry I haven’t come by to meet you yet. It’s been quite a month.”
Her cheeks are pink, and Iwaizumi forgets how to speak for a minute. “I, uh, wanted to, you know . . . say hi. And . . . stuff.”
Blush deepening, Shimizu ducks into a shrug. “Hi.”
He’s awkward and uncomfortable, she’s awkward and uncomfortable, and Iwaizumi would like nothing better than to sink through the floorboards and into the molten core of the earth. Jerking his thumb in the vague direction of the hallway, he blurts, “My office is down there. One thirteen. If you, uh, need anything.”
She nods and gives him a tight smile. “I’ll remember that. Thank you. I’m sure I’ll need it.”
“Yeah. Anytime.” With a little wave, he backs toward the door, eyes bulging when he runs into the garbage can. Years of lightning reflexes kick in, and he manages to grab it by the rim before the dozen or so spent Good Beans coffee cups hurtle across the floor. When it’s upright, he gives her a thumbs up and enough reasons to never give him the time of day for the next eleven lifetimes.
However, just before the door closes behind him, Iwaizumi hears her clear her throat. “Iwaizumi-sensei, before you go —”
This time, the trash can doesn’t stand a chance. “Oh my god, when did I forget how to walk?” He sighs when he hears her stifle a giggle at him scrambling to clean up. “This is ridiculous.”
Shimizu is still smiling, so that’s something. “A little,” she says. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she gestures toward her scorebooks. “I could use your opinion on something. Do you have a minute?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Finally in his element, as flirting with women who are way out of his league is not part of his resumé, he turns on the volleyball gear in his brain and pulls up a chair next to hers. “What are we looking at?”
Their shoulders nudge together as Shimizu delves into massive amounts of data collected from piles and piles of notes. It’s nearly dark out before they finish their conference, reminded of the late hour by Iwaizumi’s stomach issuing a loud protest over the lack of dinner.
When she looks at the clock over the door, Shimizu gasps. “I didn’t mean to keep you so late. You’re probably starving.”
“Nah,” Iwaizumi starts before his angry belly clamors once again. “Okay, yeah. But I’m happy to help. Whatever you need, Shimizu-san.”
Her face is bright red and her eyes averted when she says in barely more than a whisper, “Maybe let me treat you to dinner?”
Tired, hungry, and not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth when it comes to redeeming his utter lack of smoothness, Iwaizumi gives her a crooked smile. “I’d like that.”
Two hours later and well past Iwaizumi’s usual time to turn in, they amble from a nearby ramen place, completely full and in no hurry to be anywhere. The late March evening is a little on the cool side, but warm enough that their sweats are more than enough to ward away the chill.
Iwaizumi is halfway through the story of his first day as a teacher, when he had locked himself out of his classroom three times due to nerves before an angry maintenance man removed the doorknob.
Shimizu’s peal of laughter makes Iwaizumi’s full stomach somersault. “So yeah, if there’s a way to screw up Day One, I probably did it. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks for making me feel better,” she says, tugging a lock of hair to hide her pinkening cheeks. “It’s nice to make a friend in a new place.”
“Yeah.” Somehow, he hasn’t completely turned her off of his presence forever, and it feeds the loud little moron living inside his head that sounds suspiciously like Oikawa. “Do you, uh, need to go back to school?” She shakes her head. “Can I walk you home?”
She loops her arm with his and smiles wide. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Iwaizumi’s heart beats a little too fast the whole way to Shimizu’s apartment building, but the silence between them is a comfortable one. Outside her gate, they turn and address each other in unison. “You first.” Iwaizumi can’t drag his gaze away from her as she worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “Wow, I am really bad at being normal. I’m making you nervous.”
Shimizu covers her face with her hands. “I’m nervous because I’m awkward. Your company is more than fine, Iwaizumi-sensei.”
He’s smiling like a complete tool, and he doesn’t even care. “So is yours, Shimizu-san. If you decide I’m not too much of a spaz, next time is my treat.”
Her hands slide down to rest at the collar of her jacket. “I look forward to it.” She pushes onto her tiptoes and pecks a quick kiss on his cheek. “Goodnight, Iwaizumi-sensei.”
Iwaizumi stands stock still long after she disappears into the building, hand glued to his face where her lips had touched.
He has zero chill and is even less smooth, but for some damn reason, Shimizu actually enjoys his company.
“Oh hell yeah.” Iwaizumi pumps his fist and whoops as he heads for his own apartment.
The school year begins, and excuses to drop by Shimizu’s office are fewer and farther between. However, every Saturday night, they hit up a nearby restaurant, talk shop, and take their time walking home. 'Iwaizumi-sensei' turns into 'Iwaizumi-kun', and in a delightful twist, she starts calling him 'Hajime-kun' like they've been friends forever. Likewise she goes from 'Shimizu-san' to 'Kiyoko-san'.
Iwaizumi is relatively certain he’s blabbed more embarrassing stories about himself than he has to anyone aside from possibly Oikawa, and she still chuckles at his anecdotes. And each outing ends with a kiss on the cheek and a soft smile that makes Iwaizumi’s belly churn merrily every time.
The summer tournament comes up quickly, but their combined support of each other leaves an air of confidence in Iwaizumi’s stride as his boys get off the bus at the Sendai City Gymnasium.
His team files into a section reserved for them to take in the first couple of rounds. A few rows up and the next section over, Iwaizumi spots Shimizu with her squad. He shoots her a crooked smile and a little wave, and she returns in kind.
When he faces forward again, one of his third years smirks at him. “She’s pretty, Coach.”
Iwaizumi flicks the kid in the back of the head. “Shut up, kid, or you’re doing burpees until you melt.” A wave of snickers arises amongst his teammates, and Iwaizumi enjoys it a little too much.
On the jumbotron at the top of the gymnasium, he sees his team’s court schedule at last, and it’s time to get ready. Iwaizumi doesn’t miss the fact that Shimizu’s team is on the far end of the gym, playing at the same time as them. He won’t get to cheer her on directly, so after their teams filter up the aisles, Iwaizumi lingers at the end of the line and notices that Shimizu does the same.
Wordlessly, they follow their players to the changing room hallway. One of them is headed right, and the other left, but they stop in the middle. Iwaizumi’s breath hitches when Shimizu threads her fingers with his. “Good luck.”
“Good luck,” he parrots. There are so many things he wants to impart. He wishes he could convey how much he enjoys their mellow Saturday night collaborations, that he isn't the sum of all the stupid things he says because she is so beautiful and smart and strong, and the way he feels when she looks at him like —
Like she’s doing right at that moment.
Hands still linked, Shimizu beckons him toward the nearby ramp, vacant save for a ball cart and a bucket of towels.
Holy shit, I really want to kiss her, he thinks over and over. He doesn’t dare, of course, but the thought remains nonetheless.
“You think too much,” Shimizu murmurs before she pulls his head down for a kiss. Not just on the cheek, but where he can still taste her strawberry lip balm long after she ducks her head to hide her blush.
Oh, yeah, he definitely thinks too much.
Stealing one more kiss, Iwaizumi presses his forehead against hers and hums in contentment. “Good luck, Kiyoko-san. You’re an awesome coach, and your girls are gonna do great.”
“See you at Nationals, Hajime-kun.”
They’re both all smiles as they head back to the changing room hallway and on their separate ways. Hell yeah, they’re going to do great, because right then, Iwaizumi feels like he can do anything.