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Sendai Arena is ablaze with volleyball fever. The energy swells inside the stadium, cresting at every spike, block, and dig. The audience roars with encouragement for their favorite players.
Tsukishima was able to meet up with Yachi and Tadashi before the start of the match. He’s glad they were able to find their way inside amidst the huge crowd. Yachi does not startle easily anymore, at least not as she used to during the first training camp. They settle into their seats quickly without much fanfare. They catch up for a bit to confirm each other’s schedules for the send-off. As is their tradition, they meet up for a game or two of volleyball at old Ukai’s place before heading somewhere.
“Yachi, when are you leaving for Tokyo?”, Yamaguchi is downing his drink in one go.
“I’m leaving on the 20th. My mom will accompany me for a week. She’s also traveling to Tokyo for work then.”
“It’s a good coincidence. I may not be able to come with you to the station, but I’m sure Yamaguchi would”, Tsukishima mutters, knowingly. His friend gives him a panicked glare.
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t want you to ditch work, but if you happen to be free, let me know.”
“Ah yes, I will”. Yamaguchi sighs in relief, then fishes his buzzing phone out. Tsukishima noticed the slight confusion that marred his friend’s face. “Let me just take this call outside”.
From the outset, the line up is spectacular for any volleyball fan. But for them, the match bears greater significance. It is revisiting bookmarked pages of rivalries and smoothing the creases to write fresh chapters. It is witnessing new histories unravel alongside how they live their everyday lives.
Their Karasuno Volleyball Club may have taken separate paths now, but their bind is tight and strong.
His line of sight wanders across the venue until it lands on familiar faces. He sees his seniors, Daichi, Suga, and Asahi. He sees Kiyoko with Tanaka. He thinks about the Ennoshita, Narita, and Kinoshita. He wonders what Noya is up to, where he is, and how much of the world he’s seen.
He looks at players warming-up below, glances at Kageyama, his frame solid and regal on the court. Finally, he sees the familiar orange hair, tanned and built, carrying the Rio sun back to his home.
For the briefest moment, he imagines himself on the court, adorning the color of the sunset sky, glistening under bright lights, catching his breath after a good block.
Volleyball is a pretty simple sport, but with many considerations. There is height, strategy, spiking power, jump, drive to win. The game ends once the ball touches the floor. But the honest reward from the act of connecting deeply — with the ball, with the principle, with the team — is a sort of fulfillment that goes beyond the mere concept of victory.
The uniform might have changed, but Tsukishima is glad to have stuck with the sport.
He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden chuckle beside him. Yamaguchi settles beside him once again as he pockets his phone amusedly. “What’s the matter? Is that work?” Tsukishima inquires.
“Ah no, just, something else. Don’t mind. Look! The game is about to start”. Tsukishima senses the bluff but decides not to ask further at the crisp shrill of the whistle.
There is beauty in watching the games from the sidelines. The excitement of each score carries a rational undertone. The angles appear clearly and each hit of the ball can be liberally unpacked. Tsukishima immerses himself in watching the high-level plays, dissecting them neatly, piece by piece, and filing them properly in his brain for later use.
It must be thrumming energy that fills the venue, but Tsukishima finds himself looking forward to their next team practice. He hopes Koganegawa is watching the game. He’ll talk to him about possible attack patterns. And they will spend hours to adjust some strategies to match their team’s strengths.
Their team has no Kageyama or Hinata, but it has a Koganegawa, and it has him.
Romero embodies the dignity of a high-caliber player. Atsumu unleashes his magnificently refined serves. Bokuto and his infamous cut-shot blazes past the blockers. Quite a good portion of MSBY bleachers chants “Bokuto Beam!!!”, to which he responds with his classic “Hey Hey Hey!” Somewhere out there, Akaashi is probably muttering “Bokuto Beam” to himself.
Ushijima’s spikes barrel through three blockers. His power has matured over the years, and unconsciously his thumb flits over his palm to trace the light scar. He briefly remembers how the pain seared through his hand, and the panic of not being able to return to the game that almost settled in his mind if not for Kiyoko and Akiteru’s presence.
As with everything else, all matches come to an end. Before the players know it, the ball lands on the floor and the whistle marks the conclusion. Players bow before each other and return home to reflect and learn. Tsukishima gathers himself to congratulate his friends.
Tsukishima agrees to meet Akaashi and Bokuto after the match and play host. They’ve decided to have dinner together before Akaashi catches the last train back to Tokyo. Staying in the city for another day seems impossible, what with his workload as editor. Bokuto declines the tour as well, but with more emojis than necessary. His team is following a tight schedule with the opening of the V.League season. He offers to pay for dinner instead.
He meets Akaashi at the nearby bus stop. They go to the restaurant ahead to reserve the more secluded seats. Bokuto is running late because of an urgent team meeting. While waiting for the owl-haired man, they peruse through the menu for entrees and drinks. Akaashi shoots a quick text, possibly to tell Bokuto instructions on where to find them.
“Akaashi-san, what time does your train depart?”
“It leaves at 9:45 PM. We don’t have to rush dinner for me, though. I’ve checked the time table and set the alarm. I can always take the cab too”, Akaashi says smilingly. In one of their phone calls, Tsukishima once mentioned to Kuroo how the raven-haired has become more open in expressing his emotions. He remembers Kuroo attributed it to Bokuto’s charms, then proceeded to compare it to himself. “Tsukki! You were smitten during the training the camp, admit it. Most of the time we were together, you were blushing.” “No Kuroo-san, I remember blushing furiously because of the extra practices and the summer heat.”
For the second time that day, Tsukishima is pulled out of his reminiscence. Akaashi is pointing at his phone. “Seems like Kuroo-san wants to call”. He presses the green button and brings it closer to his ear. He hears the other end of the line catching their breath.
“Kuroo-san what’s the matter?” Tsukishima is on alert. Never has Kuroo called him in such a state. Well, except that one time. He hopes Kuroo isn’t doing something funny; it would be extremely embarrassing to explain why his face suddenly turned red-beet in a yakiniku restaurant. Akaashi curiously looks at him.
The voice on the other end settles, “Tsukki…”
“Yes, Kuroo-san?”.
“I know I see you over video calls, but I must say, you really look ethereal in person.” Tsukishima may have earned himself whiplash with a dizzying turn to search the restaurant. There, at the doorway, Bokuto grins, excited and flashing brightly at the sight of his boyfriend. Beside him, Kuroo stands, phone in his ear and smiling.
Time must have stopped unnoticeably for Tsukishima. His mind does not register Kuroo sauntering towards them, only the little earthquakes in his chest reminding him of the present.
“Is there an extra seat here? I rushed from the lab but still missed the game”, Kuroo says cheekily.
“You dumbass. Come here”. And Tsukishima stands up, arms in welcome, and hugs Kuroo tight.