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The first tournament of the new season starts tomorrow.
Most of the team has already left, eager to get home and rest up before their game tomorrow, but Koutarou decided to stay behind a little bit longer.
He doesn’t have any intention of practicing extra tonight. He knows well how important it is to rest up so that he’ll be in optimal shape for the game, knows all too well the consequences of overdoing it. There isn’t much else he can do to prepare for the tournament. All he can do now is trust that he’s done enough.
He sits on the steps leading into the gym, leaning back on his hands with his legs splayed out in front of him. He stares up at the sky, watching the clouds drift idly by as the sun begins to set before his eyes. A cool breeze runs through the air and he relishes in it.
He’s excited. Of course he is. But there’s a sense of tranquility, a calmness that isn’t usually present the night before a tournament. Usually it’s all excitement and anticipation buzzing beneath his skin, so potent that he can hardly keep still. This time, the anticipation and excitement are all there, but he’s also very relaxed about it all.
He’s been playing very well as of late. In almost every practice in recent memory, he’s been on top of his game. He’s been seeing everything on the court more clearly, and everything he does just feels better, somehow. There’s a confidence to his movements that wasn’t there before. Clearly all that extra practice has been paying off. He’s got a really good feeling about what’s to come. He’s excited to show off everything he’s been working so hard to polish.
But there’s something else, too.
There’s a newfound level of comfort with his teammates that wasn’t there the year before. Being one of the few first-year starters in a team comprised mostly of second- and third-years had been difficult. They already knew each other, trusted each other, had some sort of connection that he wasn’t a part of. He had played together with them, and he had gotten along with them, but he hadn’t truly felt like he was a part of them.
Now, things have changed. With another year of experience under their belts, he and the other second-years have all stepped up to the plate. They’ve grown as individual players, but they’ve also grown as a unit. Each one of them has their own strengths, but together they’re unbeatable. Even if one of them falters, everyone else is there to pick up the slack.
Now, he’s playing with people that he’s able to connect with. They trust each other, not just on the court but outside of it too. He’s not just someone they “put up with”. He’s their ace, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t live up to that name.
“Bokuto-san? What are you still doing here?”
He’s pulled out of his thoughts as Akaashi plants himself down next to him. He hadn’t even heard the other boy’s footsteps as he approached.
“Akaashi! I thought you’d gone home already! We have a big day tomorrow, you should be resting!”
“I was about to head out. You still haven’t even gotten changed though,” Akaashi points out. “And someone has to make sure you don’t stay here all night.”
Koutarou bristles at that. “Akaashi! Of course I know better than that, have a little faith in me!” He’s whining a bit, not that he’d ever admit it.
Akaashi doesn’t look convinced, opting to shoot him a very flat stare in response. This just makes Koutarou pout more.
Sighing, Akaashi turns his gaze away from Koutarou and up towards the clouds. They sit in silence for a moment and Koutarou glances over at Akaashi, bathed in the orange light of the sunset. He seems to be mulling something over, biting his lip as if he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how to put it into words.
Koutarou bumps Akaashi’s shoulder with his own to get his attention. He turns to face him more fully before shooting Akaashi what he hopes is a reassuring grin and asking, “Something on your mind?”
Akaashi gives a noncommittal hum in response. He clearly has more to say, so Koutarou waits for him to collect his thoughts. “Not particularly. Just... nervous, I guess.” His expression remains neutral, but he’s turned his gaze downwards, avoiding eye contact.
“Of course, who wouldn’t be? It’s your first high school tournament, after all!”
“Even you, Bokuto-san?” The question is so earnest, Koutarou can’t help the surprised laugh that escapes him.
“Sure I do! I may be pretty great but even I still get antsy before games!”
Akaashi just gives him a very unimpressed look but Koutarou can see the tension start to leak out of his shoulders, so he continues.
“Akaashi. Seriously, it’s okay to be nervous about this. That’s totally normal, y’know?” Koutarou reaches out to hold the other boy’s shoulders in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. “I get that it’s probably a little worse for you since it’s the first time you’re playing in high school, but nobody’s expecting you to be perfect. If you slip up, we’ll be here to pick you back up. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone because we already know that you belong here.”
He knows better than anyone that Akaashi’s a perfectionist through and through. It’s in the way he practices, diligent and methodical, giving maximum effort and repeating everything until he can do it in his sleep. It’s in the way he always apologizes after making even the most minor of slip-ups that anyone else might have missed. It’s in the nearly unnoticeable furrow of his brow and the way he bites his lip when he thinks nobody can see him, the frustration that comes with messing up, with performing any less than 100% of what he’s capable of.
Some people say that Akaashi is hard to read, but to Koutarou, nothing could be further from the truth. Sure he may not say much, and sure his expression ranges from neutral to slightly exasperated most of the time, but he has plenty of tells if you know what to look for. It’s in his eyes, in his posture, in all the spaces between his words. He can say so much without saying anything at all.
“I...” Akaashi’s voice breaks a little, so he clears his throat and tries again. “I just don’t want to let the team down. I’m only a first year, there are plenty of people on this team who are more qualified than I am.” He tries to look away once more, but Koutarou grips his shoulders a little more firmly, forcing his gaze back to him.
“Akaashi. Look at me. You’re this team’s starting setter for a reason. Whether you’re a first-year or a third-year, it doesn’t matter. You’ve worked your ass off to get to where you are, and it shows in your playing. You’ve earned this spot. The team knows it. I know it. Have a little more faith in your own skills.” Koutarou smiles at him, squeezing his shoulders for emphasis.
“You know, I don’t feel nearly as jittery as I usually do before a tournament. You wanna know why?” He waits for Akaashi to nod before continuing. “It’s because I have you by my side. I have you, and I have the team, and I know you guys have my back when it counts. Even if I mess up, I trust that you’ll all be there to back me up. That’s why there are 6 of us on the court, right?”
Akaashi’s lips quirk up. “You have a point there.”
“Of course I do! Trust in your teammates a little more. We’ll be there to pick you up if you fall. But even more than that, trust in me as your ace. I’ll spike every toss you send my way, Akaashi. That’s what we’ve been practicing for all this time. You and me? We’re unstoppable. Remember that.”
A watery laugh escapes Akaashi’s lips. “You’re right.”
Koutarou grins, giving Akaashi’s shoulders one last squeeze before letting go and standing up. He extends a hand out. “Let’s go home, Akaashi!”
Akaashi smiles, small but genuine all the same. He takes Koutarou’s hand and pulls himself up. Koutarou doesn’t let go once he’s up though, instead tightening his hold as his expression sharpens.
“Let’s go out there and win ‘em all, Akaashi.”
Akaashi’s eyes widen and there’s a glint in them that wasn’t there before. Koutarou finally lets go of his hand, turning around and walking towards the club room.
They’re going to win it all.
~~~~~~~~~~~
They lose.
They lose and it sucks and Koutarou is so frustrated with himself. If he had done things differently, if he had gotten more shots in, if he had just been a little bit better, maybe they would have won.
But they didn’t.
His teammates keep casting glances at him where he’s curled up under a table, but he can’t really bring himself to care. They probably think he’s getting a little too upset over a loss, but they just don’t understand. They weren’t the one who couldn’t get a shot in no matter where they tried to put it. They weren’t the one who got blocked again and again. They weren’t the cause for their team’s demise.
He tried his best, and it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough.
The team leaves him be as the rest of them clean up the gym. They know by now to leave Koutarou alone when he gets like this. He’ll probably be back to normal within the next day or two anyway so it’s fine, right?
They don’t realize that Koutarou doesn’t actually want to be left alone, not really. It’s just that nothing they say helps him feel better, but they take his lack of response and assume he doesn’t want them around.
Unfortunately, Koutarou himself doesn’t even know exactly what he needs.
A pair of eyes meets his from across the gym, and an idea strikes him.
“Hey, Akaashi.”
The setter doesn’t look surprised in the least when Koutarou calls his name. He makes his way over to the table, an expectant look on his face. “Yes?”
“Come practice spikes with me for a bit.” It’s not a question.
There’s not a moment of hesitation before he answers, not an ounce of uncertainty in his tone or expression. There are no questions. There are no doubts. It’s only one word, but it says so much more.
It’s trust. It’s understanding. It’s devotion, to the sport and maybe, just maybe, to him.
“Okay.”