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In the leadups to the prefecture playoffs, Subaru went for checkups for his knees every two weeks. It meant he usually stayed only for warmups instead of the full practice afterschool, which inspired mixed feelings in him and, as a result, everyone else on the team. Those were unproductive afternoons, even if it wasn't what Subaru wanted, the whole team so tightly wound it felt like the slightest provocation would set everyone off like a string of landmines, Ochi gnawing on his thumbnails in the corner as he fretted. This time, it was Jungo who had to drag Subaru out of the gym by the waistband of his shorts, like a farmer with a bag of particularly heavy potatoes. "Stop momma-birding us," Jungo growled. "We'll be fine without you!"
"Let go of my butt then," Subaru joked, and Jungo snapped the waistband back, hard enough to leave a little pink spot on the small of Subaru's back.
"No one wants to touch your ass!" Jungo hollered after him, as Subaru ran off, laughing.
Well, Subaru had eyes, and a mostly working brain, even though once in middle school he'd caught a volleyball hard enough in the face that he fell over and almost cracked his head against the floor, not quite a concussion but close enough. He knew that for Fukuho, he was something crossed between a figurehead and a god, a friendly enough tyrant but one who nevertheless ruled with an iron heart and fist. It was a circular codependency. He never just took. He sucked in the energy from his teammates and fed it back to them, the trade wind and the flagship both, but it wasn't an easy relationship to be in. After they lost to Amasaka in Inter-High last year, Issei had admitted he was looking forward to the break, some time off from practice. "And from you," he'd said, eyebrows furrowed even as he grinned.
Subaru had mimed being shot through the heart. "That hurts, Ikkun. I thought you liked me."
"I do," Issei had said, unperturbed. By then he'd been with Subaru for years and was immune to Subaru's tricks. "But you know, it's tiring, being your teammate." He looked up at the sky to avoid looking at Subaru's face and added, "Even if there's no other team I'd rather be on."
Subaru knew. He knew without Issei having to tell him, he knew without Jungo having to kick him out of practice. He knew there was a rumor that you couldn't join the Fukuho men's volleyball team unless you took a personality test showing you were compatible with Mimura Subaru as a date. Once, Subaru had even heard it was a ritual initiation where you promised yourself to Subaru, like a maiden sacrifice. It wasn't true, of course, but he had to admit it made a certain kind of emotional sense. Mimura Subaru was a cursing and a blessing both, but that was just Fukuho's fate. They were all doomed to carry on this way until he graduated--or died.
Ochi was waiting for him in the lobby after his appointment. He was rolling a Pocari between his hands absently, lost in thought, probably replaying a volleyball game in his head, maybe a specific game from last year's spring tournament, rearranging his teammates like shogi pieces, frictionless the way only abstraction could be. Subaru smiled and made his way over to Ochi silently, slinging his elbow around Ochi's without warning just to feel Ochi jump. He got a pinch on the arm for his trouble.
"Were you waiting for me?"
"No, I just really like the hospital," Ochi grumbled. The Pocari was unopened; Ochi unscrewed the cap and instinctively passed it on to Subaru first. "Just thought you'd like some company on the ride back."
"Ochi always knows how to spoil me," Subaru told him gravely, and didn't comment on Ochi's ears, which flushed bright red in the sunset as they walked out, Subaru's arm still tight around Ochi's shoulders.
This was their last year in high school, Subaru's last year playing volleyball for a while. Usually, he tried not to think about it too much. The finality of this year was part of the foundation on which he built his determination, sure, but it was pounded into the ground along with everything else in the last seven years, all the losses and near-misses and mistakes, every time his body betrayed him. But there were days it crested in him, a sudden pang like when his body was still growing and he'd wake up screaming in the middle of the night from a sudden muscle cramp. Only, nowadays, he couldn't afford to scream.
In their second year, when Ochi still had rehab and they sometimes scheduled their appointments for the same day, they started a tradition of taking the train from the hospital to a station equidistant from their houses and walking until they had to part ways. Subaru had never told anyone this before, but since starting high school, he'd developed a fear of being alone, when his mind would get so loud it threatened to drown him. It was always the worst after a hospital visit. There was no reason that Ochi should know, except of course, Ochi did anyway, as if all that time spent analyzing Subaru's play on the court had created in Ochi's mind a perfect copy of Mimura Subaru, secrets included. It was probably why Ochi was here, although if you asked him, he'd say, it's just my job as manager.
"What are you thinking about?" Subaru asked.
"How to beat Seiin," Ochi said immediately. "What crosses you need to practice. Kohei needs strength training. And Yuhi was weirdly out of it today."
Subaru laughed. They had swapped the bottle of Pocari between them, alternating sips. Now, it was empty, and Subaru pretended to shoot it like a basketball onto Ochi's head, missing entirely. Ochi scowled, but went to fetch the empty bottle anyway from where it had rolled off.
"What is Subaru thinking about?" Ochi asked when he returned.
"How if I died, they could put Ochi in a VR headset, and you'd be able to recreate me perfectly," he said. There was an awkward pause. Ochi fiddled with the empty Pocari bottle, not looking up, and Subaru closed his eyes, feeling his own heart beat rapidly, his face burning. "Sorry. That was morbid. I've just been reading a lot of isekai webtoons."
"You're not going to die," Ochi told him.
"You're right. I can't until they have the technology to preserve my body in a game!"
"I won't let you," Ochi said, voice stronger now. "You still haven't taken me to center court at nationals."
This was a well-worn groove between the two of them, a call and response refrain that hadn't failed them. Ochi was only expecting one answer from him, and was offering this like a friendly hand trying to pull Subaru out of whatever funk he could sense Subaru was in. Mimura Subaru was always half a persona, a symbol of volleyball that also happened to be shaped like a person, but he'd done a special number on Ochi. Three years ago, he'd come on to Ochi so hard and so strong that it embarrassed him to think about now. When he'd bound them together initially, it was mostly a joke, the braggadocio of a newly crowned king convinced that all worlds were his for the taking, unwilling to let even the smallest pawn out of his reach. He'd channeled his pride and determination into one crying first year. He had luck and pride to share, and it had worked out, hadn't it? Ochi had turned out to be a perfect manager, half a coach, Subaru's very own good luck charm, his conscience when his own ego started to fail.
He thought about all the things he hadn't said to Ochi, the things he couldn't. His feelings for Ochi felt like a crime for which they'd yet to invent a punishment, and if he ever admitted them out loud, some angry god would forbid him from ever talking to Ochi again.
I wish I was the Mimura Subaru in your head, the king of the court, invincible and unbroken.
One day, Ochi, you're going to let me take more than you're willing to give.
I made you think I was strong enough to bear your sacrifice, when I'm not. You gave me three years and I can give you nothing in return.
He knew couldn't say any of those things. He knew that even thinking of them was a betrayal. He opened his eyes and for a moment, he could see nothing, just afternoon light flooding in. Ochi was a distant shape, flickering. When Subaru blinked, he saw Ochi's smile come into focus first, then the rest of Ochi's face, bright and trusting, like there was nothing Subaru could ever do to fail him.
"Yeah," Subaru said instead, smiling. "I promise."