Work Text:
“The gaze is a singular act: to look at something is to fill your whole life with it, if only briefly.”
― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
--
“Kosaku?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you gonna do in university?”
“Man, I don’t know. Sometimes, you don’t hafta know, y’know?”
Riseki kicks a stray pebble down the street. It bounces a few times before rolling away somewhere.
“Riseki.”
“Hmm?”
“You think too much.”
“I know.”
The comfortable summer silence hangs between them as they walk down the empty street, and then Riseki is being tugged by the wrist around a corner, and Kosaku’s hand is curled too warm against his skin.
It’s like his first year all over again and all the times Kosaku had helped fix his serve form— hand higher here, he’d say, gently nudging it, or put more power into the swing, patting his bicep. Back then, Riseki would flush, and Kosaku would just give him an easy grin and turn away with a here, I’ll do it again for you.
Riseki doesn’t flush as much now. Only a little.
It’s still Kosaku, after all.
Somewhere along the way, they break into a run, fast and stumbling and still attached to the other, and they collapse side by side at an open field, chests heaving. Riseki feels a little bit lighter, adrenaline still rushing through his blood.
He blinks at the sky. It’s a cloudless day. The grass is a bit damp, and it itches a little against his legs, but he doesn’t want to sit up yet. In a few days, Kosaku will go to university, and Riseki will probably see him less, even though he’s staying in the same city. He wonders if their friendship will be enough for Kosaku to keep in contact. It’s one built on shared experience— sitting on the bench together, both being pinch servers mainly, late practices, waving hello in the hallways, and trying weird foods. He likes to think he’s successfully made Kosaku a Teriyaki Pizza enjoyer. In a few days, most of those shared things would no longer happen. What then? In a few days, he’ll become a third year. Being a third year is probably a huge responsibility. And a lot of work. He’d seen all his seniors go through it. What if he can’t—
A thump his his chest he lets out a small oof.
“Riseki. Stop thinking, for the love of god,” Kosaku groans. He retracts the hand he’d smacked Riseki’s chest with and drapes it over his forehead.
“Look, it’s good that you’re thinking about the future. Good to be prepared and all, right? But sometimes things are out of your control, even if it seems like they aren’t. There’ll be some days where it just is what it is, and that’s okay too. D’ya remember what Coach Kurosu used ta say?”
Riseki nods. “If you’re busy protecting yesterday—”
“—where will you end up tomorrow?” Kosaku finishes. “And Riseki, sometimes you’re so far into tomorrow that I can’t reach you.”
“Ah.” Riseki turns his head to face him, holds his side profile in his gaze, and smiles softly. “I’ll try my best to live in the present then, Kosaku.”
“Though,” Riseki continues, as he turns back to the sky. “I’d like to wish we could see the future, sometimes. I think it’d be nice, if only for a little bit.”
“Yeah. Me too, I think,” Kosaku agrees. “But Riseki, I think it’ll be okay. You work hard, and you’re dedicated. And I’ll be okay too, even though I won’t play volleyball like a pro or whatever, it doesn’t mean I’ll stop.”
Riseki hums.
“Then, if you don’t know what you’re doing in university yet, what do you want to live like?”
The reply comes almost immediately.
“Without regrets.”
“Without regrets,” Riseki repeats, rolling the words around in his mouth. Regret, easier said than done, he supposes.
“Even the bad stuff, it could be valuable in the end, couldn’t it? I wouldn’t want to change anything.”
Riseki dwells on the concept of regret for a bit longer, sliding grass between his fingers and plucking it up from the dirt, blade by verdant blade. He’s sure he has some, or even quite a few, and most of them could be found in every single cringe thing he’s ever done and the way they surface to his mind right before he’s about to sleep.
He realizes that to have no regrets does not mean to forget, and even though he still feels like he still wishes to change a lot about the past, there’s really nothing to do but focus on the present, to move forwards. Step by step, right? There’s still a lot he wants, things he wants out of high school, things he wants for himself, things he wants to do with others, and with Kosaku, if he could ever figure out just what he was gonna do about it.
“Does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to high school and stuff?” Riseki waves a hand vaguely in the air.
“No, not really. I think it’s something I’ll always remember. And think about. And also constantly be reminded about.”
“Damn, what happened to who needs memories,” Riseki comments.
Kosaku huffs out a laugh. “There are a few memories I’d like to keep. I think they’re valuable.”
Riseki chooses to keep quiet, and Kosaku goes on.
“Like our game with Karasuno, last year. We both played in that one, remember?”
“Ah yeah. I was really nervous and I fucked up my first serve.”
“And look at you now. You’re doing fine. Also, the first time you made me eat Teriyaki Pizza. I think it’s grown on me.”
“It better have. It’s good, okay!”
“Only after like the third time. I’d also like to keep this memory, right now.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. The summer, the cloudless sky,” Kosaku says, turning his head towards Riseki. “Us in this field.”
Riseki’s chest clenches at the way Kosaku says it, the way he describes right now as if it were an infinity, as if all that matters is right now. He turns his head towards Kosaku. The instant eye contact makes him flush a little again, hopefully unnoticeably. He traces the slope of Kosaku’s slightly crooked nose with his eyes, then his cheekbones, then back to his eyes.
And maybe it is all that matters.
After all, he said he’d try to live in the present, and maybe he didn’t have to figure out anything or plan anything.
Everything is right here.
“Imgonnakissya,” is all he mumbles before closing his eyes and leaning his face forwards until lips meet skin.
He pulls back just as fast, heart beating, and Kosaku is grinning at him. Before the small rush of adrenaline fades away and Riseki begins to feel any kind of embarrassment about it, Kosaku loops an arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer.
“You missed,” he says. “That was my cheek. Here, I’ll do it again for you.”
The second try is short and sweet and they’re wrapped up in the warm feeling of late summer. Time passes by a little slower.
And it may be the first of many times, or simply just the last time, but Riseki cannot bring himself to care too much.
Blade by verdant blade, touch by feather-soft touch, it’ll be okay.