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You are thirteen years old, and humiliated. Your mother tried to pat down your hair with Natsu's baby oil this morning, and you're embarrassed because come on, Okaa-san, was that really necessary? It's not like you're a kid anymore, you're starting Junior High already! You can feel it sitting low and damp at the back of your neck and it feels so gross, you wish it had rained or something on the way to school so you could at least blame it on the weather.
When you round the corridor corner with an obvious pout on your lips, trying to find your classroom, you see Izumi. The moment he catches your eye, he bursts into laughter, and jogs over, giggling all the while.
"What on earth did you do your hair, Shou-chan?" Izumi snickers again. "You like like, ah... Alice Pacino."
"Shut up," you whine, hands flying to your head. "It's not my fault, she got to me before I could escape." You finger an orange strand between your fingers and eye it suspiciously. "Is it really that bad?"
"Ah, no," Izumi assures you, hands up in a placating motion. "It's not that bad—"
"Woah! Shouyou!" Kouji's voice booms loud behind you. His voice broke over vacation, you realise, and the scowl comes unbidden — he beat you! How is this fair!? Damn it, Kouji, you'll outgrow him or something one day, just watch and weep!
Kouji slings his arm around your shoulder, grinning. "What, did you try to fry an egg on your head instead of the stove for breakfast?"
Both you and Izumi shoot him a weird look. Because... what? (You continue to self-consciously rub your hands through your oily hair.)
"Orange," Kouji elaborates like it's obvious, as if any of his forced puns ever are. "'Cause fire, you know?"
You snort while Izumi just rolls his eyes, taking your wrist and tugging you in the direction of a washroom sign.
"Come on, Shou-chan, let's fix this before class."
"I thought it was funny," Kouji mutters thoughtfully, trailing behind.
You're desperately trying to rinse your hair in the shallow basin of the Junior High bathroom sink — better to look shower-fresh than fried-egg-fresh, you decided in the end — when Izumi slyly whispers behind his hand, "Doesn't he look like Alice Pacino? He does, right?"
You see Kouji send Izumi a disbelieving look in the mirror. "You mean Al Pacino, right?"
"No, I mean the gangster."
You accidentally laugh mid-splash and end up inhaling water through your nose. Izumi is kind enough not to point it out but Kouji, who actually goes pink with second-hand embarrassment on your behalf, snorts out a hideous cackle all the same.
You grin back, spluttering, before returning to war with your hair.
You are fourteen years old, and frustrated.
"N... None?" you ask again, because— because who knows, maybe Sensei miscounted, maybe he's forgetting someone or— or not counting an application form because it doesn't have a signature yet. Surely there has to be someone.
"Nobody at all," Sensei reaffirms. He's smiling at you, amused pity in his eyes. "Would you like to join the football team with Kouji-kun or something this year? Volleyball isn't that big in this school, you know, Hinata-kun."
You grit your teeth. "No thanks, Sensei. I'll renew my volleyball club membership for this year as well, please."
Sensei frowns. "I thought you and Kouji-kun were friends. Was I wrong? I'm sorry."
It's your turn to blink in confusion, and you do so with a tilt of your head. "Of course we are, Sensei...?"
Why would not going to the same club stop us from being best friends?
"Kouji and Izumi toss for me!" you assure him. "They've always got my back."
It makes no sense, Sensei's soft smile of an answer, and when you regale Izumi and Kouji with tales of your woes — "No first years joined! None! Ahh, but it's okay, you guys will still toss to me, right?!" — and mention that part, Kouji goes bright red and starts stuttering. You don't get it, not like Izumi seems to, who goes a bit pink himself, bowing his head in thanks; and yeah, you don't get it but you laugh all the same because they both look so funny tripping over their words, and besides, that's simply what best friends do! They laugh together!
You are fifteen years old, and Izumi and Kouji have always got your back.
The smell of Air Salonpas permeates the air and you take a great deep breath of it, let the air fill your lungs, your chest expanding with the stretch of it. Your veins buzz with energy. It's the magic Air Salonpas effect — you've totally read about this, you're sure of it! Maybe!
"The smell of Air Salonpas!" You glance around the gym with wide-eyes, unable to decide what to stare at because there's so much going on around you. Volleyball players everywhere! Those two years of waiting were worth it because now you finally have a team and you're finally at a real actual tournament and Okaa-san didn't even try to put weird oil in your hair this morning so you're fresh and clean and ready to win. You've got a team and it's definitely a good team, it's a great team, and you're totally completely ready to win, you—
"Sho-chan," Izumi says exasperatedly from behind you, "you're too nervous."
"They'll think you're a country hick," Kouji deadpans.
"B-But!" You whip around. "I've never been in a real tournament before. Three years and I'm finally here." You could cry, you're so ready for this!
Kouji huffs in his typical way, thoughtfully muttering, "It's sure been a struggle to get here, huh..."
But you're not really listening, you're too busy looking around, at all the teams you could be facing off, all the teams you'll compete against and beat, and it's because you finally have a team behind you to help you play, to support each other like you're supposed to in volleyball. Even if they don't like volleyball (which, okay, you're not sure you totally believe because how could anyone not?), they're still here.
"Izumi... Kouji..." You turn around. "Thanks for being here for moral support."
Kouji, to no-one's surprise, blushes and scowls at you. "S-Stop it," he demands, voice shaking with embarrassment, before glancing away and pouting halfheartedly.
"Our tournaments are already finished, so..." Izumi adds on with a self-deprecating smile, rubbing the back of his head (and it sucks because he really was gutted after losing, and he still agree do come help you).
Like you said — they've always got your back. You lucky kid.
You are sixteen years old, and exhausted. Your cheeks hurt from a beaming smile.
"Those guys," Kageyama mumbles some time later, just as you're turning to walk to the locker rooms. "Your out-of-school friends?"
You furrow your brow, trying to remember. What guys?
"Those guys who shouted your name," Kageyama says impatiently, and vague as it is (nice one, Kageyama-kun) it clicks.
"Oh, Izumi and Kouji!" Pfft. 'Those guys.' What a weird way to put it. "Yeah, they're my best friends from Junior High!"
Kageyama gives you a weird look. "So why did they come?"
You don't know what to say.
"To today's match," Kageyama elaborates, brow furrowed.
"What...?" You cock your head, bewildered. "Why wouldn't they come?"
"Well..." Kageyama shuffles on his feet, looking three centimetres above your head. Jerk. "They're from Junior High. You don't go to the same school anymore, do you?"
It's that weird question again, that assumption that distance means you stopped caring, that you had no choice but to say goodbye or something, and it may have been three years since Sensei suggested you join the football team but the concept is still just as absurd.
"So what?" you eventually ask, because that's all you can think to say.
Kageyama stares at you for a moment longer before shaking his head and mumbling something rude under his breath, gesturing for you to lead the way to the changing rooms. So you walk ahead (after wrinkling your nose at him in reply), and you wonder.
Why would not going to the same school stop us from being best friends?
You can't think of a single sensible reason, and dismiss the thought when you catch sight of Izumi and Kouji waiting for you there. They're grin at you, flushed from the game, and you beam back, thinking of shallow sink basins and tournaments that didn't go as well as the one today — today when you could still rely on them, when they still had your back.
You run to finally celebrate a won tournament with your friends-not-teammates-but-best-friends. You are, all three of you, loud and happy.