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If there was anything more stable than a wall, or a tree trunk, or even a rock, you'd have to say it's Ushijima Wakatoshi. You're not even that close to him though. You've been friends; no, that wasn't even the right word—you've just been acquaintances for as long as you can remember. If anyone brought up the word childhood, the first thing that would come to mind is Ushijima's impassive face. It's a given however, since the two of you were neighbors (cue the "And they were roommates" but only it's neighbors this time which really makes the situation more irksome).
To say the least, you've know Ushijima for about thirteen years, and honestly, you felt that it has been thirteen years too many. Not once in those thirteen years, have you ever seen him smile. You were growing more and more convinced everyday that he was nothing more than a robot that was programmed to be obsessed with volleyball. You don't even like volleyball. Well, you do suppose there was a point in time where you didn't mind the sport. Your cousins played it, your brother played it, and your mother was on a team when she was younger, but ever since you saw Ushijima playing with a volleyball, it was like all the life was sucked out of the sport for you. Volleyball became annoying and not fun.
You hated when things weren't fun, which was a probable explanation for your strong dislike of the Shiratorizawa ace. That is probably why, when Ushijima walked up to you in the halls to ask you some dumb question about class because you really were unfortunate enough to end up in the same class and school, while carrying that cursed ball in his hands, you turned around and sprinted in the opposite direction like your life depended on it. It's honestly confrontations like these that really shake up your morals. Do you hate Ushijima? Not particularly; in fact, you don't even talk to him much because he's not an approachable person. But does that mean you like him? No, absolutely not.
You've consulted with Tendou once about this. He's a funny guy, and probably your only "friend" besides Ushijima since you think high school relationships are all a joke anyways, and he says that you have it bad for the ace. You ignored Tendou for the rest of the day, of course, because there was no way in hell that you would ever bring yourself to like someone like Ushijima—even though all his fans would have something to say otherwise (ugh, you think, everyone is such a pain these days over a stupid sport).
From then on, Tendou can never seen to leave you alone about this, and every time the two of you met up for lunch to discuss the latest edition of Shounen Jump, he would ask in his usual, annoying, Tendou way, "So, any new relationship developments yet?"
And, once again, you would give him the stink eye, and say, "Don't expect anything."
Tendou would give you a look, you know, that look, and he'd whistle some off tune as you finished the rest of your lunch in peace. Well, that was your usual routine, until one day the Ushijima took a seat right at your table, right across from you. Tendou smiles a shit-eating grin from the side, and as much as you want to nag his ear off from bringing the one person you literally did not want to see, you busied yourself with stuffing your face so you wouldn't let out any unsavory comments, not that Ushijima would get any of them anyways.
You finish your lunch and nobody at the table has spoken a word; it's filled with this awkward kind of silence, and if you had been any other ordinary person, you would've said something to break the silence, but you didn't. Is it just you, or does the atmosphere feel heavy when you're packing your things? You take a glance at the elephant in the room—him, Ushijima Wakatoshi. He's just carrying on eating as if all of this silence and tension was normal (what a dumbass, your mind supplies, and you agree).
If looks can kill, Tendou would be dead ten times over and a freshly dragged carcass through hell, but looks can't kill because if they did, you would have much less problems to deal with right now. As you're leaving, you shoot the redhead a look that practically screamed, "You won't get away with this," but in a silent and still as threatening way. However, as you're making your great escape, it's Ushijima that speaks up this time, and it feels like everyone in the entire cafeteria just decided to cease in their conversation since the only words resonating within your ears is his not accusatory accusation, if that even means any sense.
"Why are you avoiding me?"
It's a simple question, really, and you shouldn't have this much trouble finding words to say. A quick, witty remark would do the trick, or perhaps even the short yet honest truth. But in the end, you choose to do neither. Because, although you're smart—the top of the class, your parents would proudly say as they proceed to show your achievements around the room to your relatives like you're some glorified trophy—you're also a coward. And you think that you're as cowardly as they get since even though you really hate volleyball and you really hate Ushijima Wakatoshi, you can never tell that to his face. So instead, you choose to run away as fast as you can through the open doors leading into the halls. As you get lost in the crowd, you think about joining the track team due to the fact you've gotten to much practice in with the amount of sprinting you've been doing these days specifically to avoid confrontation.
Maybe coming to Shiratorizawa was a mistake after all.
You're maybe around five or six meeting Ushijima for the first time; it doesn't really matter, you just know that you're the older of the two but still in the same grade. It's a tragedy, but your parents wanted you to start school with him since the two of you clicked so well back then (note the sarcasm because you and Ushijima getting along is literally the beginnings of the apocalypse). Funny how you don't really remember the particular words exchanged because it's been just so long since the two of you had met, and it was one of the biggest mistakes of your life. Even though you don't remember much, you can remember vivid pieces and details from the fateful encounter. You know for a fact you were wearing a t-shirt that day, on the front was some cheesy childhood cartoon character you used to watch, and you were wearing these ugly khaki shorts. Heavens forbid you wear something as tragic as that ever again.
Ushijima back then hasn't changed much from now. He's still taller than you, and the expression that rested on his face was exactly the same. In short, you didn't like him from the get-go. His father, on the other hand, was a different story. His name was Takashi Utsui, and he's a lively guy; however, the one thing you couldn't appreciate was the fact he constantly tried to get you to play volleyball with his son. Every time you would decline his invitation saying you had to study or read.
The only times Ushijima even approached you back then was whenever his father and him came to visit or whenever he showed up at your doorstep asking you to set some tosses for him. There's no emotion on his face when he asked, and you figure that's probably what set you off the most. So every time he approached you, you would always turn him down in favor of doing other things. The activity didn't even have to be fun, you just refused to play volleyball with him.
There was one occasion you remembered from your childhood with him. It was autumn already and you had run out of excuses of things to do instead of playing volleyball. That's why when Ushijima habitually shows up at your doorstep asking you for some tosses, you reluctantly agreed. You bundle yourself in a coat and a scarf before making your way out. The chilly air nipped at your fingertips, and you were feeling mildly annoyed for getting dragged out of the house. Even laying in bed doing nothing was probably more fun than whatever Ushijima was trying to get you to do for him. You don't like volleyball, and you don't even know how to play; not that you actually cared enough to learn.
He lead you out to this little clearing. A neat spot, you would later admit. There was plenty of room to roam around, and it was relatively quiet. He doesn't say much to you about what you should do. He just tells you to set some tosses, like you actually know what the hell that meant. Instead, you just fling the ball in the air and hope that does the trick. You don't know what you were expecting him to do, but he leaps in the air like some sort of practiced circus monkey before bringing his hand down to slam on the ball. It drills into the ground, but there's no precision in his hit and the ball begins to roll away. He looks at you as if expecting something and you frown. Were you supposed to be impressed? You didn't even understand the point of doing that.
It registers to you only a second after that he was expecting another toss, but you only gaze at the ball rolling away from the two of you with a frown and say, "I hope you don't want me to get that."
Ushijima doesn't say anything to you, he just blinks as if he couldn't imagine what an incredibly stupid thing would ever come from your mouth, before running to go get the ball himself. There's something incredibly humorous to you watching him run around like that, and since you're petty, you purposefully toss the ball in weird directions just to watch him chase it around. It's fun for awhile, but then it gets boring. After the nth toss or so, you tell Ushijima that you're tired—which was a bold faced lie but you didn't care—and you turned around and walked home before he could say anything to you.
You would think your blatantly awful tossing would be enough to get him off your back for a little while, but Ushijima, taking your willingness to toss for him one time, shows up at your doorstep without fail everyday. He looks stout and resolute, like a total wall, and as irritation grows in your gut, you don't lash out at him because lashing out at him would be like yelling at an inanimate object and therefore you'd be the only one that looks lame in the end. Though, now that you think about it, getting mad at him is also pointless since that meant you'd be letting a rock get on your nerves. Instead, you choose to stare at him with the most neutral expression you can muster; even if your face looks totally forced.
"Do you need something Ushijima?" That's right. It's just Ushijima, not Wakatoshi, or any of the other stupid nicknames people come up with at school for him since he always looks like he literally doesn't give a shit about anything other than volleyball.
His passive face bothers you to no end, but this time you figured the one thing you hated more than his expression is his words. He's so honest that the tone of his voice just grates at you. Ushijima never sounds mad or sad or even glad. He stares down at you, holding that stupid ball in his hands, and goes, "Help me practice. It'll fix your tosses."
You promptly close the door on his face.
When the two of you start school together, your parents insist on taking those cute before-school pictures to frame in their already embarrassing growing collection of childhood photographs. You're wearing the ugly school uniform, and you had barely finished looping your tie before getting tugged outside for the pictures. Ushijima didn't even smile then, and he just stared passively at the camera lens while you stretched your face muscles just to flash your pearly whites for a few seconds. Both your parents cooed over how cute the two of you were, but you had already began to walk to school, paying both of them no mind.
Primary school was a gross experience. Classes were boring and you could barely keep yourself awake when they taught everyone how to write and read. Everything was so pointless, you've studied enough at home even before you started school just so you'd have an excuse not to play volleyball. Your teacher would occasionally walk around during lectures, and she would act all surprised over the fact you could hold a pencil properly and write your name like your hand hasn't gone through a series of spasms. Your teacher at the time liked giving stickers to the class to the student who has preformed the best during the week. Needless to say, you always brought home a pack of stickers the entire year without fail.
During your lunch breaks, you would tuck yourself away under a tree in the school yard just to doodle and read. Ushijima didn't share the same class as you, which was a relief on your part. It was something about how friends had to be separated or whatever to give new opportunities at blossoming friendship—that was all a load of crap anyways because you ended primary school with good grades and no friends, so suck on that teachers.
However, there was this one annoying kid who would occasionally talk to you during breaks. He'd turn all red in the face when speaking to you and start stuttering whenever you give him a deadpan answer; you knew he liked you, it was endearing and all, but you didn't care enough to act on it. He confessed one day, after school. The cherry blossoms fluttered about, and it was the ideal scene for a shoujo moment where the love of your life would come swooping in to sweep you off your feet. Then again, this was you, and you could honestly care less.
"I, um, r-really like y-you!" the boy stutters out, turning so red in the face he looks almost ready to pass out. You feel the slightest twinge of remorse. It was such a shame that the one energetic person who was actually interested in talking to you happened to like you. Come to think of it, you never knew his name. Therefore, you decided (read: attempted) to let him down gently. Of course, you failed miserably.
Growing up around Ushijima has really impaired your social skills to the point where you adopted the philosophy of say what you mean and mean what you say. So, being about nine years old and not the best when it came to being nice and proper social etiquette, you respond with, "No thanks. I only like people who are smarter than me."
Your rejection could've been phrased a little better, but at least you got the point across. Until someone decides to knock you down a few pegs when it comes to final exam placements, you weren't going to budge anytime soon. He runs off crying, tears dribbling down his cheeks that have yet to lose their baby fat, and you only stare at the place he had previously occupied before your eyes meet Ushijima's staring at you from the distance.
You take one look at Ushijima and the volleyball in his hands and run.
You're unfortunate enough that you happen to also go to the same junior high. However, you figure this was destiny's cruel way of messing around with you, so you should just accept your fate as it is. At least Ushijima no longer asks you to toss the ball to him, so that was an improvement. Shiratorizawa admittedly isn't your first choice in school, only because the school's sense of aesthetic is absolutely awful, but it's one of the top schools in the Miyagi Prefecture so you decided you'd suck it up and attend the school that thinks purple is a good choice in colors.
Ushijima walks you to school everyday though, so that much hasn't changed. It's not even like the two of you actually talk about anything, but everyone doesn't think twice about bothering you once they see that Ushijima is walking two steps behind. You didn't think it'd be possible, but he had actually gotten so tall that he practically towers over you. It's beneficial, you suppose; you don't bother him, and in return you get to use him as a shield. He's still playing volleyball, and you decided to join the art club, where you can further express your 'teenage woes'—this time you're quoting your therapist because he thinks that self-expression is the purest form to get your thoughts out.
The club consists of a handful of your classmates and some upperclassmen, who are unusually ecstatic to see you given you've never talked to them before. They say things like how they're happy to have you and blah, blah, blah; it's the usual welcoming words before everyone goes back to delve into their art realms. You sit down in front of an empty canvas, and you begin to paint.
When you're done with your first painting of your junior high career, the sun is setting which bathes the entire room in a orange glow, otherwise known as the golden hour for photographers. It's a nice shade, you note, that soft orange color. You wonder if you'll ever be able to capture the beauty of the light in that moment. While you're pondering what to paint next, the door of the classroom slides open with a loud clack and the startled gasps that resound in the room tells you all you need to know.
Ushijima stays quiet while you begin packing up your bag and the rest of the art supplies that you don't notice it when he walks up to you. "You should watch the match." His voice never ceases in scaring the shit out of you every time, and your shoulders jolt before slouching forward.
You, now thirteen and honestly tired of the sport, pause in your packing and say, "I hate volleyball."
If he didn't talk to you much before, Ushijima almost completely stops talking to you altogether.
It's the day of the Kitagawa Daiichi and Shiratorizawa match, and you wake up feeling a little conflicted. As usual, you put on your uniform, but you do it in a way that deliberately takes more time than usual. You hear the front door opening before you even make it outside, which signals that Ushijima had already arrived to pick you up. On your way out the room, you stare at the rock you had temporarily called 'Ushijima Jr.'—it's a decently sized rock you had found on the side of the road one day, and you drew on a straight line as the mouth before adding two dots as eyes; it oddly looks like Ditto from Pokemon. Do you feel weird about the fact you carry a rock that could almost practically resemble Ushijima in every possible way? Yes. Does this help you cope? Sort of.
From what your visits with the therapist have told you, you supposedly don't necessarily hate Ushijima, you just hated people who you couldn't fully understand. The first step he thinks you should take is starting to get along with people that remind you of Ushijima. Only problem is, your therapist doesn't know that Ushijima is quite literally a brick wall, so there wasn't another person you could think of that would resemble him in anyway. That's where the rock comes in play.
The smooth grey surface does little to alleviate your growing frustration, but you suppose it's a start. You decide to leave the rock at home for today, and you head downstairs to meet with Ushijima in the front. Even with the ugly colors of the uniform, Ushijima still manages to look dignified in ways you couldn't, and you frown at that. The entire way to school, you purposefully walk behind him because you think you'd be uncomfortable with his eyes drilling into the back of your skull. Here's where you should probably say something to break the ice, but you opt to remain silent instead since you speaking up has never really lead to any positive outcomes.
You separate and go your individual ways to class, but the entire time, you allow your mind to wander as your fingers drum down the seconds left of class. The bell rings and you're the first to grab your bag and leave the room; it's not any different from your normal routine, but you find your feet taking you in the direction of the gym. It's loud and the smell of sweat clings heavily in the air, not exactly the best combo but it's bearable. You squeeze in between the bodies of cheering students and take a seat in one of the vacant spots by the wall. It doesn't give the best view, but it's not like you're actually there for the sport. You don't even think Ushijima sees you in the crowd, and somehow that's okay too. Pulling out your sketchbook, you spend your time drawing instead of watching the game.
A couple hours pass until loud cheers ring throughout the air. It doesn't take a genius for you to figure out that Shiratorizawa had won, and you stare pitifully at all the sweaty guys clad in their blue volleyball jerseys. The most prominent player from Kitagawa Daiichi is this brunette kid with weird hair. He's crying, you notice from your vantage point, and tears and snot are practically running down his face as he glares at Ushijima, whose the taller of the two you observe.
"Next time, Iwa and I are going to defeat you Ushiwaka!" the boy declares, before ruefully trailing after the rest of his team who are already starting to leave (what a weirdo, is what you thought, since you can't think of anybody who could possibly beat someone as obsessed with volleyball as Ushijima was).
It feels kind of personal watching the remaining part where the team thanks the audience, so you attempt to make your way out the gym without getting detected. You immediately head to the art room since you know that Ushijima would probably come and get you later after he finishes practice. Do they even have practice after official games? You don't know, but you guess it's kind of your fault for not caring enough to find out. Regardless of the fact, you know the one thing that won't change is the fact that he'll come and pick you up later. You'll just wait out the time doing what you know best, art.
The sun is setting again when Ushijima comes around, and you're still sitting in front of an empty canvas pondering what to paint. The crash of the door is less surprising now that you've gotten used to it, but the few people left lingering in the room still jump in their seats. He remains by the door this time and doesn't ambush you with any questions about volleyball. He gives you your space until you finish slinging your bag over your shoulder.
Walking home is quiet, much like walking to school, and you don't hear anything else but the crunch of gravel under your shoes. Ushijima changed out of his sports attire into his school uniform, and you figure that anything looks better than things that remind you of the sport. If possible, you would like to stop thinking about it altogether, but with Ushijima as your neighbor, you don't think that'll ever be possible. Maybe you just also just accept the fact that volleyball will always be a constant in your life.
He walks you directly to your front door that evening, which is something he hardly ever does because his house is the first stop, but this time is different. Ushijima waits behind you as you unlatch the fence and push it open with a shove. You turn awkwardly around and reshuffle your weight on your two feet; you should probably say something, perhaps you should thank him for walking this far. Despite your willingness to thank him this time, you find the words dying on your tongue as you open your mouth to speak. You can't do it, you just can't.
Ushijima speaks up before you can even attempt to salvage the situation. "Thank you for coming to the game," he says gruffly, the smallest fragment of gratitude in his tone before it fizzled into nothing. He had actually noticed you? Talk about embarrassing.
"Oh, no problem."
You're still young, and at thirteen, you wonder if Ushijima was really as bad as you thought.
Now you're nineteen, one of the oldest third years, and you can't wait to graduate and leave school. After the confrontation at the lunch table, you have been avoiding the cafeteria like the plague in favor of your classroom. Tendou would hang around occasionally, but he would mostly leave to hang out with the rest of the volleyball club and their shenanigans. Not that it mattered to you, silence was a luxury these days rather than a daily occurrence; it felt nice to have some space to yourself. The classroom is mostly empty because everyone else seems to be out and about hanging out with friends or club members. Lucky for you, nobody in the art club actually talked to each other so you didn't feel the need to meet up with anyone you knew.
You chew absentmindedly on a bite of rice while scrolling through your phone for the latest news. It seems people are still going crazy over volleyball, something about the nationals and a school called Karasuno recovering its former glory. Then, the video flashes to the brunette you saw all those years ago, and the name Oikawa Tooru appears briefly across the screen before you clicked your phone off, thoroughly peeved. It seems time hasn't made him any less annoying than when you first saw him—an unpredictable factor, you hated those.
Picking up your pencil, you sketch different patterns and vague shapes on top of your class notes. Now that you think of it, it's kind of lonely without Tendou coming over to bother you about Shounen Jump. Contrary to what you normally say, you kind of miss the weird bastard. The sudden slam of the door signaled that you should probably be careful of what you wish for, since the moment you begin to start missing the guy, he shows up with a smug smile stretched across his face.
"Did you see it?" Tendou asks without context, and you roll your eyes irritably.
"See what yet?" you sigh. "You need to be more specific."
"The scores for the exams, they're posted now."
"Holy hell, what," you scramble out of your chair and make a mad dash outside with Tendou on your heels.
When you push past the other students to see the board, you rack through the list of names to find yours and then your heart just stops. The redhead who followed you is currently sporting a grin that makes your skin crawl. You placed fifth, not first, but you gave up scoring for the top after junior high, and in the spot directly above your name read Ushijima Wakatoshi. You could barely breathe.
You grab Tendou's shirt collar suddenly in an attempt ground yourself to your surroundings. This wasn't happening, this can't be happening right now. Your breathing shallowed and you were painfully aware of how lightheaded you were, but you could not formulate any of your thoughts properly. No matter how many times you would glance back up at the rankings, there was no doubting the fact that Ushijima fucking Wakatoshi had scored higher than you. But how? How was that possible? You've never seen him study, like ever.
"Please tell me this is a bad fucking dream, Tendou." you plead, shaking your friend. "Better yet, just slap me hard enough that I pass out and wake up already graduated."
"Now, now," he chides, "what's so bad about Wakkun scoring higher than you anyways? You're still smart."
His words did little to relieve the sense of under accomplishment you were feeling, but kudos to him for trying. You sigh, steadying your breathing. Tendou wouldn't understand. Both him and Ushijima had volleyball to be good and excel at. You only had your studies, and you made sure to study just enough every time that you would always beat Ushijima. Unfortunately, it seems you didn't try hard enough this time.
The rest of school goes by in a blur, and you find yourself leaving directly after school instead of going immediately to the art club. You send Ushijima a quick text (you only have his number because of your parents' insistence) telling him you left early because although you didn't like him, it didn't automatically make you a terrible person. Which goes without saying because even you admit that you have been a complete ass the past few years, but it's not anyone has actually called you out for it yet. You don't wait for a confirmation text because you have complete faith that he'll probably check his phone sometime after practice.
When you storm into your house, the first thing you do is head to your room and stack all your textbooks on your desk. You quickly get to work, taking and retaking notes, highlighting facts that may be important, and rereading all the test prep materials. Hours fly by and soon it's around seven in the evening, the time your parents get home. The front door slams open, signalling you of your arrival, and you call out your greeting from your room because you were currently engrossed with memorizing all the formulas for math that you had previously struggled with.
Your parents call you down for dinner about a half hour later, but you're too in the zone to bring yourself to eat. It's Friday anyways, if you skipped a meal, you could always make it up the next day. You hear your parents saying something about how proud they are of you and that leftovers would be in the fridge if you felt like eating later. You drowned out all other noise by turning up the music on your phone.
You don't know how long you've been going at your task, until your phone vibrates and nearly falls off the edge of your desk. Curiously, you glance at the time. 1:17. Huh. Picking up your phone, you swiped to unlock your messages. You had two messages from Tendou involving the trailer of a new anime the both of you were interested in, and the most recent one was from Ushijima. You might as well see what he wanted.
Ushijima: You're still up? [Read Sat. 1:18 AM]
You: yeah im studying [Read Sat. 1:18 AM]
Ushijima: Alright. [Read Sat. 1:18 AM]
You stifle a laugh; even through text, Ushijima was still incredibly square. For some reason, you found that hilarious, but you decided it was because it was late and you haven't eaten anything since you got back from school. You don't get another text, so you're about to set your phone aside for the rest of the evening when it buzzes again.
Ushijima: Don't stay up too late. [Read Sat. 1:22 AM]
Ushijima: Goodnight. [Read Sat. 1:22 AM]
You suppress the urge to smile but fail horribly. Glancing from your phone screen to the rock you had drawn a smiley face on—if you can really call the sad excuse of a line for a smile—you type back a quick message before flopping on your bed, completely exhausted.
You: night ushijima [Read Sat. 1:24 AM]
Even if Ushijima may appear to have the personality of a rock, his texts proved that there was more to him than you were expecting. Perhaps he cared a lot more than he let on. As you were thinking on the possibility of him actually possessing feelings about things other than volleyball, you snorted to yourself. Ushijima and enthusiasm towards things other than volleyball was such an exotic concept to you that you forced down a bout of giggles. You should really sleep soon or else you'll start to fantasize about other bizarre things like Tendou finally not being annoying for once.
You, too tired to crawl out of bed now that exhaustion had finally weighed down on your limbs, drifted off to sleep unaware of the unread text that remained in your messages.
Ushijima: Do you want to study tomorrow? [Delivered]
The ring of the doorbell is the first thing that wakes you up. It's two in the afternoon on a Saturday like any other, and you're too disoriented to even begin your descent down the stairs. You don't even want to get up and answer the door, but you mentally kick yourself awake because it's two and the fact that you had just woken up proved that you slept well beyond your usual hours. This was most certainly going to kick you in the ass later on.
As you proceeded to drag yourself out of bed and to the person waiting at the front door, you tripped twice and almost fell halfway down the stairs. The doorbell chimed again—this was the fourth time—and you swear if it was your father who left his keys behind again, you were going to nag him an earful about being forgetful.
You swung open the door with more force than necessary, and you hastily grit out, "What?"
The person who was waiting at you was not your father, thankfully; instead, it was Ushijima, and he looked rather surprised to see you.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you had just woken up." he said unabashedly.
You sighed. "It's a little late for that now. What are you doing here? Isn't there volleyball practice today?"
"You," he blinks, confused, "didn't get my text?"
If there's anyone who should be confused here, it's you. You have no idea what Ushijima is doing at your house on a Saturday, when you're pretty sure there's some kind of practice going on in the gym. You almost, just almost, want to shut the door on his face because you're tired and crawling back to bed sounded like a great idea, but then it occurred to you that you never changed out of your uniform and that you currently look like a wreck. Opening the door a little wider, you gesture for him to come inside.
"I'll make you tea in a bit, just let me get changed and clean up a bit. Make yourself at home, you've been here enough times."
He walks inside and dutifully removes his shoes as you turn around and practically flee upstairs. This moment has been officially marked down as one of your worst encounters, and you never wanted to be caught off guard like this again.
"Stupid Ushijima," you muttered, grabbing a spare shirt from your dresser, "and his stupid tendencies and his stupid volleyball. Today is awful."
When you're done getting dressed, you stare at your phone spitefully, as if all your problems would be solved if your gaze just incinerated the device. Unfortunately for you and your eyes, the phone doesn't just disintegrate to particles like you had hoped, so you found yourself heading back downstairs again. Ushijima is sitting on the couch, looking a bit out of place considering most of your furniture doesn't accommodate someone of his stature. He raises his head at your entrance, and the slight dip of his head signifies that he at least acknowledges your presence. You don't show it, but you're a bit irritated of this small notion.
Waltzing directly to the kitchen, you poke around the cabinets until you find a few packets of green tea and throw them into a pot with water. You let the tea steep as you walk back to the living room.
"So," you speak up in an attempt to break the silence, "what brings you here, Ushijima?"
"To study," he replies simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He even gestures at his bag for emphasis. You are not amused.
"Why would you need to study?" you press. "You already scored pretty high on your exams, after all."
It takes real self-control on your part to grit out the last sentence without feeling like wanting to punch something or someone. He already excelled in athletics—which was something you weren't proud of admitting—and you could never get a passing grade in physical education to save your life. Academics was all you really had, and now he had to go and steal that spotlight from you too. Arguably, it wasn't really stealing the spotlight because other students had already proved to be more capable than you, but you guess a part of you was always hoping that you would at least be better than Ushijima in one aspect, even if it wasn't a sport.
He seems to be thinking of how to answer your question, and when he finally looks up, his olive green eyes seem to pierces into your soul.
"You don't like me," Ushijima stated matter-of-factly, like he could really tell how you felt. "I wanted to know why."
You realized he never answered your question, or perhaps he did, but in his own roundabout way. And maybe you're just annoyed at this point, but you find yourself raising your voice without meaning to. "You know that's a question I also want to know the answer to. You tell me, genius."
"I don't know, that's why I'm asking."
Just like always, your anger simmers down after a few pauses, and you wonder why you were so worked up in the first place. Why did you dislike Ushijima? Was it because you could never tell what he was thinking? Was it because you didn't like volleyball, and everything about him reminded you of the sport? Was it because you couldn't bring yourself to vocalize on the same wavelength as him? You didn't know anymore. You thought you knew a lot of things, but in the end, it turns out that you truly don't know anything.
Then, it hits you.
"You're an absolute blockhead."
Ushijima turns to you and your uncreative nickname with a deadpan stare. "What?"
"It's not a bad thing," you scramble over your words, trying to cover up the unflattering title with some sensible explanation. "You're straightforward, saying what you want without giving a shit about what people think. And that's just how you operate too. You do things just because. No real reason. Maybe I'm jealous. I could never do that. That's why I don't like you."
He goes silent for a bit, thoughtful. You feel anxious waiting for him to reply, so you quickly excuse yourself to check on the tea, which had long finished brewing. You attempt to still your shaking hands as you pour the liquid into two mugs, before bringing them back to the living room and setting them down on the table. He still doesn't respond, and you feel your nervousness reach its peak as you tap your fingers on your legs. After a long period of intense silence, he meets your gaze.
And then he apologizes.
"I'm sorry."
Wait, what?
Your shock must've registered on your face because Ushijima continues, "I feel like I was ignorant to your feelings for too long, and that made you upset. For that, I'm sorry."
"Wow, um." It takes a full minute for you to regain your bearings since you certainly weren't expecting that at all. "I accept your apology...? It wasn't necessary though, I got overemotional on a small matter and I ended up being unintentionally harsh to you."
There's a lighter atmosphere in the air now, and you feel a sense of a relief overtake you. You've been spending most your youth being spiteful for no reason, and you figured it's never gotten you anywhere. Somewhere in the back of your mind takes you back to your therapist, and you remembered him saying something about trying to befriend Ushijima for real (and the whole frenemies shebang didn't count). So, you try.
"I'll improve myself," you promised, to both Ushijima and yourself. "I'll try to be a better friend, you deserve that much."
And you think the lights may be playing tricks on you because the corners of Ushijima's mouth tug up just slightly in what appears to be a smile. While you have just started to get over your animosity towards Ushijima, you quell the tingly feeling his smile sends down your spine.
The next few weeks pass by in a blur, and Ushijima and the rest of the volleyball team become a permanent fixture at your lunch table. At first, you were a bit annoyed because of Tendou's constant yammering and the general rowdiness of the team, but soon you come to not mind the loud noises or when Goshiki slammed his fist on the table to emphasize a point. Shirabu would scold him immediately after, and you found that the permanent pout on the first year's face was hilarious.
Today, Tendou was being obnoxious, riling up the poor Goshiki, while you tried and failed to hide your amusement at you slowly ate your lunch. Ushijima sat comfortably beside you, reading some sort of sports magazine. At first, you had objected to this seating arrangement, but it seems that nobody else wanted to trade spots, so you were always left pressed against the ace's side. You blamed Tendou naturally, the predatory smile that stretched across his face could not be trusted.
You're eating your lunch in peace, or at least as much peace as you can salvage now that you had to play mediator for these boys, when Tendou suddenly stops teasing Goshiki and turns his wide eyes to you. You try to look anywhere but him, since you have this nagging feeling that whatever he has to say isn't good.
"Hmm, hmm? When did you get so close to our ace?" Tendou looks like an absolute vulture as he eyes you down. "Not long ago, you ran away from him."
You glare, picking up a stray carrot and chucking it at him; it hits him square in the forehead. "Shut it, weirdo. Nothing is going on between us."
"You know," the redhead middle blocker notes, "Wakkun was really insistent on studying for the last exam that he even recited textbook passages during practice."
Ushijima shot him a warning look, and Tendou only laughed him off. Now that surely caught your attention.
"Wait, really?"
"Well, I can't tell you much, but he was really determined—" if it's even possible, Ushijima is glaring at Tendou, who only shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, "—but, I can't tell you much."
You turn to Ushijima, whose busy pretending to read his magazine again, and give him the "we're going to discuss this later" face. He concedes, looking uncharacteristically tired as if he can practically envision all those times spent reciting passages, and you laugh.
There's a kind of nostalgia that comes with this entire situation, that you can't help but look wistful. It's nearing spring again, meaning Ushijima and the team would soon be playing their last few games with him as ace. The pink buds of cherry blossoms yet to bloom remind you of a scene from your childhood you tried to forget. You're a bit worn out, as all high school kids tend to be, but you're grateful that things turned out the way they did.
The bell signals for the end of lunch, and you're just packing your things while Ushijima waits behind see you off to class. You reach the halls before you part ways, but before you can turn around and leave, Ushijima speaks first.
"Practice is going to run late. You don't have to wait for me."
"It's fine. Around eight, right?"
He nods his head in affirmation.
You smile. "Then, I'll meet you at the gym. Good luck."
"Thanks, you too."
He turns leaves first and you do soon after. You're left pondering on his words before you recall you have a test for history today; you're surprised that he remembered, even when you haven't, and the thought makes you unbelievably happy for the rest of the day.