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Ikejiri stays in his room the next day. His parents leave him alone, probably because they could see how puffy his eyes were when they picked him up from school after the ride back on the bus. He does everything he can to try to distract his mind from being so upset over the loss.
Homework, video games, manga.
He turns on a movie at one point on the tiny television in his just-as-tiny bedroom and curls up on his side to watch it. There’s still a VCR in here, and the tape in it hasn’t been taken out in years. A little bit of crunchy tracking appears at the bottom of the screen from so much use, but it clears out as the movie begins.
Jurassic Park.
Ikejiri’s stomach tightens as he rolls over on his bed to hug his pillow under his head and watch as the movie plays out. He knows it by heart. Every line, every scene, every swell of music.
“Are you going to come over this weekend and sleep over after practice, Sawamura?”
“Yeah, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it is! We can watch Jurassic Park again if you want.”
“You’re sure you’re not tired of it?”
“No way! I know it’s your favorite.”
Sawamura…
There were so many things that he should have said, before he disappeared again. Three years he had kept his phone number and for three years he was too nervous about calling him because he figured he had moved on to be such a hot shot at his new school. With his new friends. New volleyball team.
He wants to cringe into nonexistence. He could have told him everything. All the things he had been holding onto all this time.
And instead…
“Win! You have to keep winning! Win for us too!”
Could he really blame him, for making it about the game in the end? Kurasano's whole team was standing there, looking at him. It would have been worse for both of them if it had become too personal. Humiliating. But now...who knows when the opportunity will arise again?
He presses his hand to his chest. He can still feel the warmth, the tingling from spiking and hitting the ball so many times through the match, right before Sawamura had taken it in his own.
“Here! You should use lotion, Sawamura. No girl is going to like a guy with rough gym hands!”
“Haha, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that anytime soon. … I mean. I… I think I’m good.”
Ikejiri wakes up when the tape clicks at the end of its track, triggering the loud rewind in the fifteen-year-old VCR. Evening has cast his room in a buttery light, and when he gets up, his mom is making dinner. “That’s too bad about Karasuno,” she says, as he wanders over to pick up a piece of pickled vegetables.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, sorry, I thought you were keeping up with the championship. I just saw on the news.” She doesn’t look up from the broth that’s simmering, stirring occasionally. “They lost to Aoba Johsai. Evidently it was a very close game, they went into...overtime? Is there overtime in volleyball? I can never remember—”
“I need to use the phone!”
Grabbing it off its cradle, Ikejiri runs back into his room and sits on the edge of his bed, gripping his pants. Each ring is so long, and his breath is so heavy. When the phone finally picks up, it’s him. Ikejiri thought he would have to ask his parents to get him but now he's faltering because Sawamura is the one who answered, and...
He sounds so tired.
“Hello?”
“Sawamura. Hi. Um...hi.”
“Hey.”
“It’s...it’s Ikejiri.”
There’s a puff of air, like Sawamura is laughing through his nose. Just once. Short. “I know. What’s up?”
“Do you want to come sleep over?”
Sawamura doesn’t reply for such a long moment that Ikejiri actually pulls the phone away to make sure the battery hasn't died. “I...is it okay? We’re not middle schoolers anymore.”
“Yes, I swear, it’s okay. Mom’s making soup.”
Another pause. And then: “Sure.”
Ikejiri gets scolded for not asking first, but he isn’t punished. Maybe it’s because his mother saw how upset he was by the loss yesterday, and she can imagine how hard it is for Sawamura too. She brings out the guest futon. “You’ve always been lucky it’s just the two of us,” she says with a little smile. “If your father was around, he wouldn’t have let you do this.”
Even Sawamura’s family had thought the practice of sleeping over was rather strange. It certainly was never an invitation offered the other way around. But when Ikejiri’s American pen pal had told him about the practice when he was younger, he loved the idea too much not to try it.
Sawamura liked it too.
Sawamura comes over with an overnight bag. He’s moving slowly, sore and heavy, and Ikejiri can see the red, swollen softness in his cheeks and under his eyes like he could see in his own face the day before. Of course he doesn’t comment on it. He just gives him a grin and takes his duffel bag to his room. When he comes back, Sawamura is giving his mother a bag of oranges. “Thank you for having me.”
“Oh, Sawamura-kun, that’s so sweet.” She bows back to him and takes them, putting them into a bowl that she sets out on the table. As they eat, Ikejiri’s mother doesn’t bring up the game, and he’s so grateful for that. Instead, she’s asking Sawamura all about Karasuno, about his studies, about his plans for college.
It’s not until they are getting up and making their way out of the dining room that she says, “I am sorry to hear about the game today, Sawamura-kun. It sounds like you really gave it your all. You should be proud of yourself.”
Ikejiri watches as Sawamura gives her a thin-lipped smile, hands bunched in his pockets. “Thank you very much for your support.” Then, to Ikejiri, he asks, “Where’s your bathroom, again?”
“Ah, just down the hall on the right.”
That smile stays fixed. “Thanks. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Ikejiri waits, sitting on his bed and staring at his sock feet. When Sawamura comes back in, he jumps up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think she would bring it up. Really, I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay!” Sawamura hurriedly replies, holding up his hands and putting them on his shoulders with a light pat. “Everyone’s parents seem to be doing it.”
“Still!”
“And besides, I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Sawamura’s gaze falls to the floor between them, and he looks so tired. So worn out. “I told you we would keep winning and…”
"No… Sawamura, I… don't. You don't have to. That was on me. I..."
I shouldn't have put that on you in the first place.
They stand there together in the doorway. It’s so quiet, all around them silent, the air heavy on their shoulders.
And then the VCR whirrs with inactivity, the occasional sound of resetting. Ikejiri has mostly gotten used to it, but Sawamura blinks.
“You still have that old thing?”
“Yeah, of course. I can’t get rid of it now, can I?” He chews on his lip before asking hopefully. “Do you want to watch something?”
His heart feels like it's trembling when Sawamura’s eyes get bigger, more excited. He looks like his younger, less-serious self, the one Ikejiri had remembered until the day before. The one that didn’t carry around such an air of stoic intimidation. “Something like…?”
Now they’re both laughing, because they know they are thinking the exact same thing. That’s how they end up on Ikejiri’s bed, a quilt spread between them, leaning back against the wall as scenes they’ve seen a hundred times play on the tiny screen.
Occasionally he glances over and he can see Sawamura smiling in the glow of the screen. For the two hours they are sitting there, does Sawamura ever actually stop smiling? Under the quilt, he finds his hand and then pulls back nervously, like it’s hot, like it would burn him to touch it too long.
“I don’t mind,” Sawamura says, without taking his eyes off the screen as the Tyrannosaurus Rex storms through a field of smaller herbivores. He can’t see it under the blanket, but he hears it, he feels his hand flip over. “If you don’t.”
Suddenly Ikejiri has forgotten about the movie. Because the moment he sets his hand down and they are palm to palm that is the only reality he knows. His hand isn’t that much bigger than Ikejiri’s but it doesn’t matter because that just makes it perfect for him to weave his fingers between his and squeeze.
Sawamura doesn’t move much, though when Ikejiri’s finger strokes a calloused spot, he does say, “See? I told you no girl was going to be the one holding my hand.”
Ikejiri’s whole body warms up, like he’s experiencing a head-to-toe blush. “You didn’t say it exactly like that…”
Does that mean Sawamura knows that it doesn’t bother him? Not in the least?
The credits roll. Ikejiri doesn’t move to press stop on the tape. He just lets it run, music sweeping around the room in the darkness. He’s about to comment about it, about getting the chance to revisit this moment, but when he looks at Sawamura again…
There are tracks of tears down his cheeks, thick and shimmering. His lip is shaking, his nose is running, and now and then his shoulders shake with little hiccups of quiet sobs. All of the words Ikejiri thought he would say, that he might get the chance to say tonight, all of it fades away. He just wants to comfort Sawamura the way he needs it, not the way Ikejiri wants to give it.
But when he rubs his hand and opens his arms, Sawamura’s body bows into the side of Ikejiri’s body, and he’s not broader like he thought he was the day before.
He’s exactly the same.
He can still fit his arms around him just the same way.
They fall asleep like that, and Ikejiri regrets it when they wake up in the early hours of the morning. Even though somehow they had gotten into a semblance of lying down, he had let Sawamura crush him into the wall. His already-sore joints and limbs angrily clench as he unfolds himself, watching Sawamura get up and put his uniform on.
Right. If he wants to get there on time, Sawamura has to take the first train to Karasuno.
He doesn’t say anything as Sawamura buttons his shirt and pulls on his socks. When he gets up and goes to the bathroom to wash up, Ikejiri sits up and takes the quilt, wrapping it around himself. It smells like him. Like his deodorant - it may not be the same one he used to use but it’s similar, something spicy - and like his clothes, because somehow Ikejiri still remembers how those smell after one time being given his coat.
When he comes back in, Sawamura reaches down to pick up his bag. “Thanks. This was really fun. I want to do it again soon.”
“Absolutely. Next time I won’t drag you out on a Sunday and make you get up and run to the train.”
Sawamura chuckles. “I won’t run.”
“You will at this rate.”
They both laugh a little, quietly. “See ya, Ikejiri.”
“Bye.”
His throat constricts almost painfully when Sawamura leaves the room, and he listens to him walk. Now it’s his turn to start tearing up, pulling the quilt tighter until it’s painful around him. Except then, he jumps as feet hurry back in, and Sawamura is there, gripping his cheeks and kissing him. Kissing him hard and a little off-center, it seems, and he wonders if this is his first kiss too.
The tears fall, and he pulls back to wipe them away with the blanket. “Sorry…”
Sawamura shakes his head and sits down beside him, strong arm around his back, callous rubbing his cheek, kissing him again and again.
“What were you going to say?” Sawamura asks finally, when he pauses for air.
“What?”
“Last night. We were falling asleep and you said there was something you wanted to tell me. What is it?”
Now Ikejiri doesn’t know. He’s pretty sure he did know, yesterday and the day before, but now...the words don’t seem to matter as much. Instead, he takes all the effort he had given to fretting and puts it into kissing Sawamura Daichi, and when he finally does find a few words, barely a handful, they seem to be more than enough.