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Akiteru didn’t really know what he expected when he showed up for Karasuno’s Quarterfinal match against Kamomedai, but seeing Udai Tenma standing at the railing was something he could comfortably say was not it.
Even all these years after high school, Akiteru still had conflicted feelings about Udai. Logically, Akiteru knew that it wasn’t really the Tiny Giant’s fault that he hadn’t made the starting lineup, or even the bench when he went to Karasuno. There were a lot of really good players at Karasuno when he was there, highly motivated, hungry, and ever-evolving monsters that Akiteru, with his decent talent, decent height, and decent drive, couldn’t really hope to compete with.
But he loved volleyball, loved the feeling he would get just before a spike when his feet had left the ground and he hung in the stillness between upward momentum and downward gravity. So even as a First Year, Akiteru showed up to every practice, every game, completed all the drills and shagged all the balls just on the off-chance that he might one day learn to fly .
By the end of his First Year, Akiteru felt hope rise within his chest as Coach Ukai remarked on his persistence, on his growth that year. He couldn’t help the smile on his face as the Coach actually patted him on the shoulder as he sent Akiteru on his way. This was the chance he had been waiting for, the acknowledgement he had craved that he wasn’t fighting a losing battle, that he would be able to work his way onto the bench and possibly even the starting lineup by his Third Year if he worked hard and got just a little bit lucky.
He had left for break that year feeling like he was walking on air, eager to build his wings and try for more . He had always craved flight; that’s why he went to a high school whose mascot was a Crow with a coach he thought would teach him how to soar .
But wax was weak and Akiteru sounded a bit like Icarus when you thought about it.
At tryouts Akiteru’s Second Year, he had the unique privilege of watching his dream melt before his eyes as a tiny First Year, a boy even shorter than their libero, went in for a spike and flew in a way that Akiteru only dreamed of. He had stared at the boy with messy black hair and the fire of a thousand suns burning in gunmetal eyes, the boy who would one day become the Tiny Giant, and felt any hope he had of being a wing-spiker, of being on the starting lineup let alone the Ace , erode in a flurry of feathers.
Because what Akiteru had just seen, what Miyagi and Japan would see in a few short years, was the beginning of a legend . Udai Tenma would be the name on everyone’s lips, the Tiny Giant who dared to play a game not designed for him, who dared to fly in the face of those nearly half a foot taller than him, and Akiteru couldn’t compete with a boy destined to glow brighter than the sun, not with his wax wings as fragile as glass.
But Akiteru loved volleyball and craved flight so badly that he stayed, kept training, kept pushing, kept reaching for the sky even when Coach Ukai couldn’t see anything past his shining boy, his future Ace, Udai Tenma. He never knew when it was enough, when to give up, even when it was staring him in the face.
It was during tryouts his Third Year that Akiteru first started finding out what it meant to fall . He had worked so hard, had put in so many hours , but it wasn’t enough, he wasn’t enough. He didn’t make the starting lineup that year. He didn’t make the active roster at all , because in a roster built around Udai Tenma there was no place for Tsukishima Akiteru, was no place for a wing-spiker outclassed by a teammate both younger and shorter than him.
But what else could he do? He still loved volleyball, even if he wasn’t the one on the court. So he stayed, and he cheered, and he lied when his little brother looked at him like he had hung the stars in the sky and asked him if he was the Ace .
When Akiteru saw Kei in the crowd at the last match of his high school career, cheering for the team he had never truly gotten to play for instead of the Ace like he had told him, Akiteru felt shame and guilt burn in his chest as his little brother’s trust in him turned to ash in his mouth. And he was falling, falling , as he ripped the posters from his walls and knocked his middle school volleyball trophies to the ground and curled up, sobbing into the crow-black fabric of his Karasuno jacket.
Akiteru guessed that falling felt a lot like flying, but that didn’t make it hurt any less when he finally hit the ground.
So Akiteru had clipped his wings after high school, had melted the wax and left his feathers to rot in disuse as he entered college. He buried his head in textbooks, in science and numbers and logic and strenuously tried to forget how it felt to be floating . He had been Icarus, daring to reach for the sun on the off-chance he could soar among the stars, but he knew how that story ended, had lived it only a few short months ago. So he lied and told himself he didn’t miss it.
That lasted only until he happened to see a clip of the National Tournament that next year. Udai, now a Third Year and known more by his moniker “Tiny Giant” than his actual name, had seemed to scrape the ceiling, an unmatched aerial combatant that drove Karasuno higher and higher.
But not high enough. Karasuno made it to the Top 16, but no further.
And something deep within Akiteru, something petty and spiteful, thought with glee that Udai Tenma had burned up in orbit and finally knew what it was like to fall . But…
Akiteru hurt for Udai, for Karasuno. He knew well how gravity could be your greatest enemy.
That night, Akiteru found himself wandering in search of a court, a park, an empty lot, anywhere he could dare to fly just one more time . He had found the Kaji Wild Dogs instead, and slowly but surely he felt his wings unfurl again. And with each bump, each set, each spike , he learned to believe he could fly again.
So while Akiteru couldn’t really say he was surprised to see Udai here at the Quarterfinals to support Kei and his Karasuno team, he also couldn’t say that he was particularly happy or excited to see the boy, now man, that had been such an insurmountable obstacle to him throughout high school.
But it had been years, and Akiteru still loved volleyball despite everything Udai had symbolized for him, and he couldn’t begrudge the man for wanting to root for his old high school especially when Akiteru was there for the same reason.
Akiteru settled next to the man at the railing, looking down at his former teammate. “Udai-san, it’s been a long time,” Akiteru stated, and as the shorter man looked up Akiteru almost flinched at the differences he found.
The years seemed to have softened Udai, from his hair softly curling around his face to the warm light suffusing his gaze. Gone was the vicious, hungry flame that seemed to blaze within him, and in its place was nostalgia and nothing more than fondness.
“Ah, Tsukishima-san! It has been. I noticed there was another Tsukishima on the team; your brother?” the former Tiny Giant asked warmly, and Akiteru nodded mutely, too gobsmacked by the opposing image this soft, approachable Udai Tenma made to the blazing, golden god in his memories.
“That’s so great! I’m glad Karasuno was able to make it so far; they really are something, aren’t they?” Udai continued, chattering amicably as they waited for the game to start. Akiteru answered any questions he had, introduced him to Saeko and Takinoue and Shimada, but all the while felt like something was missing .
It wasn’t until Hinata Shouyou stood before Udai Tenma, his idol and the reason he had started playing volleyball, that Akiteru was able to put his finger on what exactly it was.
As Udai faced his successor and told him that he stopped playing volleyball after high school, Akiteru realized that Udai had been grounded , that his wings had been clipped , and it was anathema to the boy who had been more at home in the air than with his two feet on the ground. And Akiteru hurt for Udai, hurt for the talent that had been lost in that single plummet back to earth so many years ago.
But history loved to repeat itself, and as Hinata collapsed on the court Akiteru felt more than saw Karasuno’s wings catch fire as they began the slow, inevitable crash landing.
It was bittersweet watching Karasuno play Kamomedai with Udai at his side, two Icaruses watching their kin crash and burn and knowing they could do nothing to halt the inevitable collision. But it still hurt when Kamomedai won and Karasuno was shut out of the semifinals, and Akiteru felt his wings shiver in sympathy as Karasuno imploded in a flash of feathers and flame.
Udai sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess that’s it, then,” he intoned solemnly as he turned away from the court, but Akiteru saw it then: that flash of burning, that hunger, that need for flight that had been reignited by Kei and Karasuno.
No one was more shocked than Akiteru was when he blurted, “Why don’t you come play with me sometime?”
Udai froze. Turning slowly to Akiteru, he tilted his head in a way eerily reminiscent of a large bird of prey as he flatly asked, “What?”
Akiteru valiantly fought down an embarrassed blush as he rubbed his hand over the back of his head. “I--I... why don’t you come play with my team sometime? Volleyball, I mean…” he stuttered, trailing off.
Akiteru saw something flicker in Udai’s eyes, there and gone again so quickly it may as well have been a trick of the light. “I don’t play anymore, Tsukishima-san,” Udai answered slowly, licking his bottom lip. “I haven’t played since high school. I don’t know if I remember how .”
Akiteru couldn’t hold back the snort at that, and Udai sent him a glare that reminded him so viscerally of the boy he was in high school that Akiteru grinned in response. “You never really forget how to fly , Udai-san,” he stated and this time he didn’t imagine it: the light in Udai’s eyes grew from a flicker to a blaze, his gunmetal gaze piercing as a small smile played at his lips.
“I would like that, Tsukishima-san, very much,” Udai replied, and Akiteru felt excitement burn hot and heavy in his veins.
Watching Udai Tenma rebuild his wings was a revelation , and playing at his side while he relearned how to fly was more than Akiteru could have asked for. They rebuilt themselves from the ashes, two Icaruses who dared to touch the sky once more and not fear the potential burn. Because at each other’s sides, as teammates and friends and as two people who knew intimately what it was like to crash, there was nothing to fear. Together, they soared .