Chapter Text
There was a time in Daichi’s past that held memories that can only be described as pure joy . All that remains of that past are little pieces- crumbs of something beautiful- and little reminders of distant times with the feeling of a dream’s embrace. These include the few pictures his father had kept, a worn wristband made of string, and the softest emotions that rise when he holds these cherished items. Sometimes, maybe once every year at this point, he’ll have a dream of bright plastic playgrounds, high-pitched laughter, and the feel of soft, short hair.
He shakes his head, forcing himself to ignore the worn edges of memory and the exhaustion. One foot at a time, you got this, Daichi, his mother used to tell him, helping inexperienced legs slowly submerge into the swimming pool. He buries his face in his hands, a heavy exhale of unsteady breath warming his palms. Of all the days his mind suddenly wants to regurgitate the past, today isn’t the day. Today, he needs to be focused . He needs to be strong, rooted to the ground like the characters of his name.
Today, he becomes the captain of a real, functioning team. No more tryouts. No more rambunctious first years shouting at each other. The only struggle he’ll probably have is ignoring the glaring gap that Asahi and Nishinoya left, but that’s what a captain’s for, he supposes: having the responsibility to put together the pieces of his team, just on the court. And then he can come home. To his family. To his parents.
It’s his fathers’ seventh anniversary. It’s been years since his mother died, and his dad and papa only started dating a respectable time after her passing. He’s more than happy that his father found someone- he got an older brother out of it; after all, it just always causes an unfortunate mixture of joy and sadness every time anniversary day rolls around. It reminds him of what he lost. He was only seven when his mom died. The twins were only two, not old enough to remember her; their biological father and his husband were the only parents they’d ever known.
That was when he moved to a different neighborhood, away from his best friend of all the years he could remember: ToTo-kun.
He doesn’t remember his first name or his last name. He has exactly two photos of him- one of them also has ToTo’s neighbor, Iwa, in it. He also has other pictures hanging in his room, a colorful collage of his family and his volleyball history that now helps lessen the stirring sadness in his gut as he finally rolls out of bed.
Looking at the photo of him and ToTo-kun always makes him chuckle a little. Daichi carefully takes the photo off the wall, the black metal frame discolored in a few places from his finger oils. He admits he was a feminine-looking kid with his round face and soft features. A common question he got from his friends when he used to have people over was: “Who’s the little girl in the kimono? Did you have a girlfriend, Sawamura?”. He used to be embarrassed when saying that it was him. Still, now he’s confident enough to admit that he was a pretty cute kid, a quality he learned to identify when helping raise the twins with his dad, acting like a helicopter mom with how much Daichi would watch over them and snap photos of every little moment. He wants to ensure the twins have access to memories from when they can’t remember.
“I should get a new frame,” Daichi murmurs, eyeing the oil-induced tarnishes on the metal before hanging it up again. He’s shaken the cloak of sadness, and with a renewed vigor, he changes into his practice shorts and t-shirt, pulling his jacket on top. Sometimes, he wonders if he should try to get more funding for them to afford tracksuits- he has his brother’s outgrown tracksuit in his closet, and it’s one of his comfort outfits for the weekends.
He jumps down the steps two at a time, one hand on the rails, replacing nervous jitters with panic jitters as he tries not to slip on polished wood. The scent of something magnificent reaches him from the kitchen, and just from that, he knows exactly who’s cooking- and “one of his fathers” isn’t the answer.
“Good morning! Smells delicious.”
And Ushijima Wakatoshi looks up, deadpan, resting face smoothening into a look of gentle appreciation.
Daichi’s household has not one, not two, but three different family names. It’s a cozy six-person family. His dad, the twins, his other dad, and his other dad’s son, Wakatoshi. That became official five years ago when Daichi’s father, Sawamura Aoi, married his boyfriend of three years, Utsui Takashi. Thus, Daichi gained a brother he’s guiltily closer to than his genetic siblings.
He remembers the ups and downs they’ve had in the past, especially when Daichi refused to return to Shiratorizawa after his first year of middle school there. He remembers the envy he used to harbor when it became evident that his brother was becoming much better than him, leaving Daichi behind in the dust. But he’s catching up that he’s sure of. And even though their personalities hide it from plain sight, they’re pretty competitive, especially with each other.
“What are you making?” Daichi asks, entering the kitchen after dropping his bag off by the dining room table. His lunch bento is already set out and packed, the cloth warmed by the internal heat of the food. Wakatoshi is mixing something in a pot with a pair of chopsticks. A soup, maybe?
“Miso, tsukemono, coffee, rice, tofu, nori, pork, and a few onigiris since there was extra rice.” So he was right about the soup. The urge to take some food straight out of the pot overtakes him, but he holds back. He slinks closer to Wakatoshi and takes one of the onigiris. As usual, it’s perfect.
“Why pork and not fish?” Daichi takes a bite of the onigiri, closing his eyes in delight as he chews.
Wakatoshi makes a barely audible exasperated sound that’s barely more than a huff. “Father used all of it for the smoked salmon last night.”. He sets his chopsticks down and shuts off the stove before moving closer to Daichi, soft footsteps pattering in a way that immediately has Daichi on high alert. “Is the onigiri to your liking?” Daichi cracks open his eyelids. His gaze focuses almost instantaneously on Wakatoshi’s finger, hovering a centimeter away from Daichi’s cheek, bulging from the onigiri mushed inside. He knows Wakatoshi is going to do that- history always repeats itself.
“Don’t you dare,” Daichi tries to say through the food in his mouth.
Poke
Wakatoshi dodges Daichi’s foot before it can make contact with his hip, and before they know it, they’re racing across the house, just like they do every time they’re both home.
“GET BACK HERE!” Daichi screeches, rice falling out of his mouth. His legs pump faster, and he skids around a corner, his feet scrambling comedically as socks fight for traction. Even though they’re both wearing socks, it’s easier for him since he’s less heavy than others and has a better center of gravity. Poor Wakatoshi has to either slow down or slam into the wall before running again.
Wakatoshi does the latter, shoulder-checking the wall and slowing down just enough to be in Daichi's benefit. The older boy barely begins to speed up when Daichi turns and pushes off the wall for extra speed. He launches himself at his brother, bringing both of them to the ground.
“Haha!” Daichi exclaims, squirming his way up to sit on Wakatoshi’s back, planting his feet on either side of his broad back to stabilize himself and keep Wakatoshi from knocking him off. Even though they’re both nearing eighteen, they still manage to become kids around each other, and Daichi loves it. Outside his home, he has to be mature- the one to keep people under control, a role he somehow keeps on automatically receiving. Since his family extended, Daichi thinks he’s also become better at making himself happy. He can lighten up, shed the stress of school, and try to get a team to be great again. He gets to refill his dad-joke reservoir from his father. And Wakatoshi, who seems so emotionless and stoic to everyone else, is probably one of the most secretly mischievous people Daichi has ever known.
He likes being happy and living in the moment. Even if the moment includes threatening to make him late to practice.
“You lost. Again .” Daichi grins, flicking a finger against the back of his brother’s head. Wakatoshi glares at him out of the corner of his eye, the side of his face smushed against the floor.
“You forget that I was the one who subdued you first the last time,” Wakatoshi retorts.
“You have to stop poking my cheek at some point, you know,” Daichi states, crossing his arms. Wakatoshi’s shoulders move a little. Was that supposed to be a shrug?
“I cannot help it if you look like a chipmunk,” Wakatoshi replies. Daichi frowns.
“What the heck is a chipmunk-”
“ What are you two doing? Again?” Both boys look up, and Sawamura Aoi stands with a fond, exasperated look. Utsui Takashi emerges from behind the corner with a yawn.
“Wha?” Utsui yawns.
Sawamura chuckles and offers a hand to his children on the floor. “Come along- I’ll make some honey milk.”
Five minutes later, they sit at the dining room table, nursing pleasantly warm mugs of the promised milk. Wakatoshi’s cheek is red, but it’s not going to bruise. Sawamura and Utsui scolded them for fighting again so early in the morning and potentially waking up the twins. All was forgotten when they remembered it was their anniversary upon seeing the food Wakatoshi had prepared. And it’s good. Wakatoshi has always been a good cook, which he gets from their father- Utsui. Their dad- Sawamura- on the other hand, can’t cook anything besides rice, clear soup, and microwave meals. Daichi is glad he didn’t inherit that characteristic.
“Sooooo,” Utsui grins, leaning over the table with his hands clasped together. “It’s your boys’s first week of real captainship! Ah, I remember the good old days. Aoi, you were quite formidable yourself.”
“ More than formidable,” Sawamura corrects with a chuckle, crinkling the fine lines next to his eyes. “It was the greatest victory Aoba Johsai ever had- even though it was against Shiratorizawa…” The tease draws false outrage from his husband.
“What do you mean -” And once again, Daichi and Wakatoshi resign themselves to watching their parents bicker about which of their two teams had a better volleyball team “back in the day.” The two haven’t even finished their meal when Daichi and Wakatoshi clear off the table and clean the kitchen. They even leave the house to go to school, breaking into laughter once they leave the large property, leaving behind the traditional Japanese-style two-story home hidden by trees once again and for the still-arguing couple to be silenced.
“You never told me how tryouts went,” Daichi says as they walk, approaching the intersection where they always part ways. “How many poor souls got kicked out? All?” Wakatoshi shakes his head.
“None of the students who tried out made it. We do have some promising recruits, but that is all. What about you?”
“Four first years,” Daichi grins. “We have ten players now.”
Wakatoshi frowns. “...Azumane and Nishinoya have not yet returned?”
Daichi shakes his head. “They need more time, I think. Two of them, Kageyama and Hinata, finally started to get along. Hinata can jump, and Kageyama is an amazing setter, but he just goes too fast for everyone. Has too many expectations.” He shifts the weights of his duffle and backpack. “But I can tell he’s working on that. He’s less intense than he was at the middle school qualifiers.”
Wakatoshi nods. “Do you think you finally have a team worthy of your abilities?”
Daichi sighs. He reminds himself that Wakatoshi means well.
“Yes,” Daichi says, leaving no room for question. “And this year, we’re going to make it to Nationals. We’re not going to waste our chances. Just you wait, Wakatoshi- Shiratorizawa will have their worst loss since our dads battled it out.”
Wakatoshi actually smiles at this. It’s not a mocking, disbelieving smile. No, it’s one of reassurance and support. Pride.
“If Shiratorizawa were to lose, it would only be to the team you are on.” Wakatoshi’s voice is filled with nothing but honesty and promise. They stop at a crossroad, waiting for the light to turn. He tips his head up to look at the sky, eyes squinting slightly against the brightness. Daichi follows his gaze. The clouds are a soft pink at the edges of the horizon. “But that is only if you stop losing.”
“Why you-” Daichi starts before forcing himself to relax, lowering his hand back to his side where it had risen again. They’re in public. He chooses to lightly elbow his brother’s side instead. “I’m confident, Wakatoshi. And don’t try pulling that “you should have gone to Shiratorizawa” crap on me, which annoyed... who was it? Aoba Johsai’s captain?”
“Oikawa Tooru, yes,” Wakatoshi replies. Daichi lets out a hum. Surprisingly, he’s never seen the guy in person with how much Wakatoshi (occasionally) mentioned him. From what he’d read in the magazines, he thought Wakatoshi would have been more interested in their ace, Iwaizumi Hajime. Either way, he doesn’t really care. What he does care about is that he’s sure that this Oikawa Tooru guy isn’t all that nice. Wakatoshi would always repeat exactly what his encounter was like, and every time, it would sound as if the setter had become more and more toxic. Wakatoshi already gets enough trouble from some of his classmates- he shouldn’t get more just because he’s upfront about how much he appreciates someone’s skill.
Daichi became more involved with volleyball because of ToTo-kun, the little boy holding Daichi’s hand while standing in a white dress. A dress Daichi clearly remembers donating after his mother passed away. ToTo loved setting, eagerly clapping when Daichi’s hand made contact with the ball after wildly chasing after it across sand or grass. Even though both toss and spike were terrible, there was always joy, laughter, and cries for “one more!”
It’s a shame that there are people like Oikawa who turn something as pure and enjoyable as volleyball into something only about competition. Into something other than a sport meant to bring people together and make them happy .
“Good luck with practice,” Daichi says once they reach the final intersection. Wakatoshi nods, and the two go their separate ways without saying another word.
That day during practice, Daichi starts them off with drilling serves. He helps Yamaguchi out with a basic serve since he also needs practice with the same. He’s grown too reliant on jump serves and jump floaters to the point that he can’t consistently execute a regular serve or floater. Besides that, he doesn’t want to put too much pressure on the new recruits to know something so fancy, yet- he remembers every time he joined a new volleyball team, he’d always look at the captain and try to mirror what they were doing. He knows some of the first years will do the same. So, for now, as long as a regular serve works, it’s okay.
“Sawamura-san!” Kageyama calls, coming up to him with a ball held between both hands in front of his chest. At first glance, Kageyama seemed a bit intimidating. Honestly, he reminds him of his first meeting with Wakatoshi, who has always been taller than Daichi, a fact that had only added to how intimidating he seemed when Daichi was only eight.
“Please, call me Daichi,” he says with a smile. “I feel like my dad otherwise. What is it, Kageyama?” The moment the words of acceptance leave his mouth, Kageyama’s eyes brighten, and his posture relaxes just a bit. He takes a slighter step forward, and Daichi knows he will ensure Kageyama is happy here. So far, it seems like he’s just like another Wakatoshi.
“Can I practice my jump serves?” Kageyama asks. Daichi considers it for a few moments. He remembers seeing Kageyama use a jump serve in the last tournament, and it was good even though it looked forced and rushed. If Kageyama already knows how to do them- his eyes dart over to Yamaguchi right as the freckled boy’s latest serve hits the net. Kageyama can wait a few more days, he thinks. Yamaguchi still isn’t comfortable with his serves, the poor boy’s arm trembling after just a few. He doesn’t want to make him even more nervous by seeing the difference between his serves and Kageyama's more advanced ones.
“Maybe wait a few days. I really want to see how far you can go with your regular serve accuracy.” He ruffles Kageyama’s hair. The boy doesn’t stiffen or pull away, blue eyes gaining even more of that childlike gleam that hadn’t been there the week of tryouts. “Anyway, I can’t wait to see it again. You were really good out there at the last competition.” Kageyama brightens even more.
“Oh,” he breathes, cheeks dusting with pink. His gaze meets Daichi’s. “I learned from Oikawa-san, but he told me I wasn’t good.” Daichi forces a warm smile to remain on his face. Once again, this Oikawa guy making himself seem like even more of an asshole. If he’s doing his math right, Kageyama must have been in his first year when he was told that. How can someone be that cruel to a first year !?
Pocketing his rage for later, Daichi puts a comforting hand on Kageyama’s shoulder. “Well, that’s obviously not true. I think I’m pretty decent at jump serves, so if you want to stay behind for a few more minutes after evening practice, I can give you some tips.” Kageyama doesn’t hesitate to accept the offer and bows.
“Thank you very much!” Kageyama exclaims. “I’ll make sure all of my serves are good- I won’t disappoint you!” Daichi can’t help but chuckle as Kageyama turns around and almost sprints back to the exact spot on the court where he’d been practicing his serves. Daichi watches Kageyama. Hinata jogs over to Kageyama and says something to him. The setter’s demeanor changes, and he says something to Hinata. A few seconds later, he shakes the shorter boy as quickly as a chef waggling a noodle, laughter filling the air.
“You’re such a dad,” Suga says. Daichi can’t help but flinch, quickly turning around and scowling at his vice-captain.
“Suga! Stop doing that!” He demands. The teen just cackles.
“Can’t help it,” he says with a shrug and a jovial kick to Daichi’s calf, trying to paint a false angelic look on his face. “I was just saying what I saw. Anyway, I think we got a good bunch this year. Nishinoya’s one-month ban ends today, so he’ll be coming in for afternoon practice. You talk to Asahi yet?”
Daichi nods. “Of course.” He can’t help but feel the excitement and dread when reminded that Nishinoya, their libero, is returning. Yes, they need a libero, but he and Tanaka make both an extraordinary and terrible duo. Excellent because of how well they get along and their synergy on the court, and terrible for the same reason.
It’s only after evening practice, filled with Yamaguchi and Hinata gwa ing over Nishinoya’s receives, rounds of spiking practice, helping Kiyoko evade Tanaka and Nihinoya’s teasing, and then assisting Kageyama with his jump serves that Daichi, unfortunately, remembers the existence of that horrible Oikawa Tooru.
Maybe they won’t defeat Shiratorizawa this season. But he knows that they have to beat Aoba Johsai, not for victory or success, but for one thing Daichi rarely uses as an excuse: revenge. It seems petty to dislike someone so much who he has only seen in online videos and volleyball magazines, but Oikawa Tooru- he’s confident- isn’t a good person. And if it turns out he is, well...then he’s still going to win. He is not going to let Karasuno fall even further. He won’t let Oikawa hurt more people he cares for.
He doesn’t know why, but when he goes to his room to do his homework and stands in front of the photos on his wall, he feels more longing than ever. A yearning for a life he used to have, a friend whose hand he used to hold. Something else tickles the back of his mind. Still, Daichi forces himself to do his homework before he gets distracted even more.
The feeling is lost after a dozen derivative problems and erase marks scrawled across the workbook.