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It’s no surprise given the season, but Octobers, Iwaizumi has come to learn, always signal the start of a new cycle, whether he likes it or not.
On a chilly October morning, Iwaizumi enters the practice arena of his current team at 8:30 AM sharp. He gives his greetings to the players already present in the gym and enters his office, flipping on the lights. The familiar sheen of the machinery underneath the fluorescent white shines like usual. Iwaizumi turns on the radio at his desk, always set to the news station, and starts making himself a cup of coffee.
A research ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean has been reported as missing, is the first thing announced today. The RV Mirai was sent out to study a peculiar phenomenon occurring within our planet’s waters, but on September 22nd, it has since lost contact with its base. With heavy hearts we announce the lives of many great minds on board...
He hears your name called out.
Maybe that’s why he stops.
Iwaizumi departed from Japan on a sweltering August day, a less emotional experience than he originally imagined. But maybe that was for the best.
Oikawa caught the eye of an Argentinian club and immediately boarded a plane headed to Argentina around New Year’s. Hanamaki left for Tokyo a day after graduation. Matsukawa ended up being the only one staying in Miyagi, so he was the one that saw Iwaizumi to the airport—“two-thirds out of boredom and one-third out of the goodness of my heart,” or so he claims.
“Have fun. Don’t die out there,” Matsukawa tells him right before the security screening. He’s wearing an old T-shirt Hanamaki bought him with the red volleyball mascot on it once at a game (probably the last thing in his closet still fresh to wear). “Make sure to call me every weekend.”
“Oi,” Iwaizumi grumbles, the handle of his suitcase gripped in his hand. “I don’t remember you being my mother.”
For his part, Iwaizumi mostly pushed himself to go somewhere abroad. Despite what most people thought, he didn’t do too shabby in his studies and ranked pretty highly in their grade. English came relatively OK to him as he managed to score decently on his TOEFL. With strings of late nights and red eyes, Iwaizumi got accepted into a college for kinesiology in March.
“Oh my. This is the treatment I get now that you’re leaving?” replies Matsukawa, his apathetic expression betraying any sense of sadness. “I don’t remember raising such a rebellious son.”
“Cut the crap. I didn’t want your mug as the last thing I’ll see in Japan.”
“I know you’d much rather have Oikawa—”
It’s all Iwaizumi does to keep himself from slapping the man in front of the crowds of people there.
Instead, he yanks Matsukawa’s earlobe.
Hard.
“As always, no sense of your strength. Have a nice time out there.” Matsukawa winces a bit while rubbing the spot of pain with his fingers. “Come back and visit if you can, or something. We can play a game or two again, if everybody’s here.”
There’s a lot more the two of them want to say. Or should say, rather, but the words don’t come spilling out from either of them. But maybe that was alright. Some conversations you can only have in silence, and the two of them understood that in the crowded Sendai airport.
So Iwaizumi holds up a hand in farewell, ready to leave. “See you later then,” he says, barely over the din of the airport bustle.
The faintest of curves makes itself known on Matsukawa’s lips. “Take care,” he replies, genuinely.
Iwaizumi lands in the new country a day later, greeted by the dry air of a Californian August and the lazy sway of palm trees in the breeze.
His first couple weeks were an absolute mess.
For one, his English could’ve been a little better. Two, the smattering of other Japanese internationals were from Tokyo—none from his rural prefecture up north. Three, Americans were really, really overwhelming, in ways he wasn’t even prepared for. Joining the intramural volleyball team was on his mind, but a quick glance at everybody’s heights told Iwaizumi he’d only be able to play libero.
(“Culture shock, isn’t it?” Hanamaki said with a loud laugh over the phone that night, after Iwaizumi recounted a particularly memorable encounter with a frat house that included no less than six streakers and three keg stands. The noise of wherever Hanamaki’s eating for lunch plays out in the background.
To which Iwaizumi complained with a huff, “I’m never gonna get used to this.”
“Aw, come on. It’s not as half bad as you think.” He can practically see the sneaky look on Hanamaki’s face. “Go find yourself a plaything or two while you’re at it.”
“Exactly who do you think I am?”)
But as all people did sooner or later, Iwaizumi settled into the slow currents of California life, smoothing down the bumps that came with living in a new country, even starting to enjoy his time.
So May rolls around soon enough in an almost emptied-out dorm building.
“Hey, wanna go snorkeling with me and the others this weekend? You’re still free then, aren’t you?” his roommate, David, asks him one day out of the blue. He’s lying down on the top bunk bed, tapping away at whatever’s on his phone screen. The small window at the side is wide open, letting in a slight warm breeze.
“Uh, sure, I guess,” Iwaizumi replies, sitting at his desk, checking for flights to Japan on his laptop. The prices make his eyebrow twitch unconsciously—he definitely should’ve booked this earlier. “Where are you guys going?”
“Somewhere just down south of here. La Jolla Cove, have you been there yet?” A small grunt comes out of David’s mouth—probably playing a game. “We’re meeting up with a couple of UCLA people that Hyunwoo knows who said they’re gonna be here for a couple days.”
“Can’t say I have,” Iwaizumi says. Should I stay in Osaka for a week? he thinks, stumbling upon a particularly cheap flight that stops there. But Osaka to Miyagi... “They have stuff for rent?”
“You’ll only need your trunks. I should have a spare goggles set to lend you though.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it a lot.”
So that’s how Iwaizumi lands in the backseat of an old Toyota with barely any leg room to spare. Some soft rock is playing on the stereo and somebody’s humming along off-key underneath their breath. Iwaizumi rests his elbow a bit uncomfortably on the edge of the window, hand resting underneath his cheek, watching the coastline roll by with unfamiliarity and nostalgia flowing in all at once.
(“You think you could take a swim in there?” Hanamaki asks casually out of the blue, head jerking to the coastline dyed golden in the setting sun running next to them. Seconds later, the bus hits a pothole. Everybody winces at the impact.
“If you want to get hypothermia, I’m more than willing to dunk you in there,” Matsukawa comments, who’s sitting next to Hanamaki. The three of them were heading back home from their most recent bathhouse expedition in the middle of winter, too much free time on their hands.
Hanamaki glances over, feigning an expression of shock. “What did I ever do to you?” he asks. He then turns to face Iwaizumi, peeking in the space of the headrests, and says, “When you go to California, go swim in the ocean for me, okay? Even just once is fine.”
“Oh, could you also send me a pic of the bubble tea over there? I heard they have some really good stores over there,” Matsukawa chimes in, having been recently hooked on the drink.
“Are you two five years old or something?” grumbles Iwaizumi, rolling his eyes. He’s sitting behind them, thankfully accompanied by nobody next to him (though Iwaizumi could swear Oikawa’s presence took up that seat nonetheless). “I don’t even know if I’m going there yet."
“If you’re not going there, who else would be?” Hanamaki fiddles a bit with the window, opening it just a crack. “Even Sato thought you’re getting in, no joke. You know how he is.”
“Like I give a damn about Sato’s opinion.”
“How rude. I’m telling Sato that.”)
“Heeeey, Haji?” You there?” somebody calls out.
Iwaizumi blinks. Once, twice. A pair of blue-green eyes stare back at him curiously.
You’re in America right now.
“Oh. My bad. We're here?” Iwaizumi says, shaking off his daze.
“Take a look yourself.”
They all get out of the car with a couple of grunts and stretch out their limbs. Iwaizumi cracks his knuckles and gazes at the scene in front of him.
A good crowd of people and a plethora of colorful umbrellas are popped up across a long stretch of sand. Seagulls swoop around in the vicinity, watchful for any stray bits of food. The blue waves of the ocean sparkle underneath the hot sun, rising and crashing without a plan in mind.
“Yo, Hyunwoo!” somebody calls out, waving. A person’s walking over, wearing a wetsuit. “Over here! We got a good spot!”
Hyunwoo gives them a wave and their group starts walking towards them. Iwaizumi’s feet are soon submerged in the white sands, filling the crevices in his sandals. They pass by people tanning on towels, a group of kids making a sandcastle, until they stop in front of an umbrella, where some more people are, unfolding chairs. Everybody goes around to introduce themselves, and then—
“Hey,” you say with a slight grin. Iwaizumi’s a bit taken aback at how direct your stare is. “Nice to meet you all. I’m gonna be your pseudo-tour guide for today, so if you’ve never snorkeled before, just hang tight to me.”
“Don’t accidentally swim too deep again,” a guy with sunglasses sitting lopsided on a head of blond chuckles— Alex, Iwaizumi recalls. “Still can’t believe you’re going to grad school and can’t follow basic procedures.”
“Be quiet.” You roll your eyes, giving him a playful jab on the shoulder. “No harm was done, so it's all good in the end.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Anybody here need a wetsuit? Water’s gonna be colder than you think. I got a spare…”
He learns that the world underneath the water’s surface is overwhelmingly blue.
Iwaizumi isn’t unaccustomed to blue. California’s blue skies are sometimes all you see for months on end without a single cloud to dispel its stillness. But here, the overwhelming vibrancy of the color floods his eyes, and it’s all he sees for kilometers— miles on end. Specks of color from the tropical fish swim past, but Iwaizumi is too invested in the deep blue to pay it much attention.
And he thinks, as he exhales through the tube of his goggles, he can understand why somebody would want to be surrounded by this.
You motion to Iwaizumi and point to something in the kelp forest swaying in the distance. Seconds later, he makes out the elegant form of a small shark swimming through the yellow-green hues— they’re not dangerous, you had said earlier on the beach as you were teaching him the basics of snorkeling. He makes a thumbs-up motion to you, and you start swimming again, Iwaizumi trailing right behind. As everybody else had already gone snorkelling before, he’s the only one alongside you.
He’s never gone swimming much before, but even he knows you’re good at it. A certain grace flows in your movement, a fluidity like you’re one with the currents. Had Iwaizumi not been keeping up with his workouts, he’s not sure if he’d be able to catch up to you.
(Almost like a certain someone, eyes always trained straight forward.)
“Pretty cool stuff, isn’t it? It’s a good day today,” you say to him as the two of you finally surface, feet touching solid ground (or as solid as sand is). “May’s not too bad a month for seeing the ecosystem around here. Water’s a bit cold though. If you go scuba diving, you’d get to see some even cooler things.”
“That’s a bit…” Iwaizumi takes off his snorkeling mask as he wades out of the ocean. The water gathered in it splashes out in front of him, spilling onto the white sands. “Seems like a lot to do.”
You shrug in response. “Once you get used to it, it’s just like riding a bike,” you say, taking off your flippers. “But I’m kind of biased—been swimming ever since I was born.”
There’s a story lying in wait in your words, but Iwaizumi doesn’t think he’s the right person to listen to that just yet. “You said you’re studying marine biology?” he asks instead. “Is scuba diving needed for that?”
“Oh nah, not at all. There probably wouldn’t be half as many people in the field if it was. I’ve met some people who can’t even swim, believe it or not. But, well—” you gesture to the waters, arms outstretched. “Isn’t it kind of a shame to miss out on all of this?”
Iwaizumi follows your gaze, watching the white sea foam of the waves rise and crash in undulations. Almost trance-like, hypnotizing him to stay for longer.
“Sure,” he answers with nothing else to say. “But I think I like the feeling of ground beneath my feet more.”
A small chuckle escapes your lips. “Guess that can’t be helped.”
The two of you rejoin the group back on the beach, bodies now fully warmed up by the sunlight. Alex teases you about staying in the water for too long, which you ignore with a smile.
“Hey—Haji, wasn’t it?” you say to him, slinging a duffel bag across your shoulder. A pair of sunglasses sit lopsidedly on your face, covering your eyes. “You’re a cool guy. I hope I’ll see you around again.”
“Yeah,” Iwaizumi nods, even though he’s not sure how that’ll happen. “See you again.”
Sometime in February, he meets Utsui Takashi with Ushijima just outside of UC Irvine’s gym, the sunlight still as warm as the summer.
“Thank you for taking the time out of your day to talk to me! It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir!” Iwaizumi says, a hand nervously scratching the back of his head, still recovering from the Extreme Shock that Ushijima and Utsui are related, hyperaware that his backpack is at the front of his chest. “I’ve been following your training regimens ever since high school! I really, er, liked your principles that you put forth in your book.”
The man beams, the slight wrinkles around the corners of his eyes and mouth deepening. “Is that so? I’m glad to hear that. Training efficiently is important, but overworking yourself is never a beneficial thing. I presume you played volleyball too, then?”
An image of an annoying setter’s face pops up in his mind. “I did. I played as the ace. Um, I lived in Miyagi too actually, so…”
“Oh?” Utsui’s eyebrows raise as he casts a slight glance to Ushijima. “Did you have a chance to play against Waka-kun then?”
“He did. Their team was quite good, though never able to get to Tokyo,” Ushijima’s deep voice cuts in. Iwaizumi tries to not let the irritation show on his face, knowing full well Ushijima’s statement wasn’t out of malicious intent.
“Well, we tried our best with you and that freak duo around,” grits out Iwaizumi, a too-wide grin on his face. “I’d say we did pretty well too.”
“Had Oikawa gone to Shira—”
“Let’s not go down there today,” Iwaizumi cuts in, holding up his hands. Strangely, the little banter has relaxed his nerves a bit, loosening the tightness in his shoulders. He takes a deep breath before speaking again. “Utsui-sensei. I actually wanted to talk to you today about getting an internship under you in the future, once I graduate. I came here to study sports science and I hope to become a trainer in Japan once I’m done with my studies.”
“I see.” Utsui places a hand underneath his bearded chin in thought. “Why did you decide to go down this path?”
“Um, somebody close to me was… actually in a pretty similar situation as you in your book, and I wasn’t really able to do much to help him out,” he begins, the annoying setter’s face even more clear in his mind now. There’s a goading look in those brown eyes, as if taunting him, are you going to reach me? “Which I kind of regret still, so I want to make sure nobody else goes through that.
“Oh—” Iwaizumi pauses for a bit, regaining his breath. “I know I can’t help everybody, but I want to be able to help those who want to achieve big things. Even though I’ve given up on playing volleyball professionally, I just can’t... leave it behind, I guess.”
If such a thing like fate exists in this world, Iwaizumi would chalk this up underneath that.
He isn’t burning with strong convictions, eyes trained straight forward on only one path, not anymore. But the game sticks to him like a prickly burr, something he won’t ever brush off. Not even after he’s tasted the bitterness of defeat so much it’s almost comforting. Some things can’t be let go of so easily.
(On second thought—some things demand they aren’t let go of.)
Utsui nods in affirmation. “You’re pretty dedicated then, coming all the way here. Is there a team in particular you wanted to work for once you’ve graduated?”
“Well—” Iwaizumi averts Utsui’s gaze with a nervous chuckle. “I was thinking of aiming for Nationals, one day…”
“Nationals, huh?” Utsui’s warm smile grows even larger. “That’s not bad of a goal, not bad at all.”
“Somebody like you on the team would be helpful,” Ushijima notes. He probably takes more from his mother personality-wise, Iwaizumi thinks. “I believe you’d be a valuable asset.”
“When you put it like that…”
The trio chats some more, with Utsui offering an opportunity to sit in on some practice matches as early as this summer that Iwaizumi readily accepts.
“Hey. You wanna go grab a coffee?” Iwaizumi asks after Utsui leaves for practice, glancing at the time on his phone. Saying those words are much more foreign than English, he’s not even sure if he’s saying them in the first place. “I’ve still got some time before I have to leave.”
“Sure,” Ushijima stoically replies, nonchalant as ever. Iwaizumi almost laughs at how absurd the situation is. He makes a mental note to take a selfie later to send to that certain setter.
And when he finally does enter one of the parking lots, about to leave Irvine—
“Is that you, Haji?” a voice calls out. Iwaizumi turns to the direction of the sound, seeing you get out of a small car with a couple of other people. Your look is more formal than when he saw you at the beach.
“Oh, hey there,” he replies in greeting, not entirely processing the situation. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I’m attending a conference here, we’re talking about—actually, I’ll spare you the details, running short on time.” You give him another wave. “Nice seeing you again! I’ll see you around then.”
You leave in a whirl, leaving Iwaizumi alone in the parking lot, distantly wondering if that chance would actually come to him again.
It does come to him, later down the line.
Iwaizumi turns twenty-one on a stifling July day. He’s raucously shoved into a bar somewhere outside of campus late at night with his friends to celebrate the occasion. A small crowd is littered around, some sitting at the stools nursing their drinks, others conversing in bustling tones at the booths.
“Let’s start off with a round of fireball, all on me! Can’t guarantee the next round though.”
“Dude, are you crazy? We’re getting this man a Negroni or nothing.”
“How ‘bout we just let him choose? Haji, you got any ideas in mind?”
All eyes turn to him as Iwaizumi stands in the middle of the bar, slack-jawed. “Uh…” he starts, mind tangled into a mess of knots by everything thrown at him. “Can I just get a beer?”
“That’s so lame for a first drink though!”
“But according to Japanese law, I’m already legally able to drink, so…”
They all settle with pints of chilled beer and the time swirls by in a murky haze, both a bit warm and bittersweet all at once, the overbearing heat of summer long forgotten in tones of pleasant conversation.
“Wow, we’re really gonna be graduating next year, huh,” somebody remarks offhandedly, their face flushed a bright red. “Time really flies.”
“Hey, we’re supposed to be celebrating the guy’s big day today, not talk about shit like that.”
Iwaizumi shakes his head, brushing off the comment with a wave. “I don’t really mind, don’t worry about that.”
His friend sitting to the right of him leans backwards with a dazed look on his face. “You said you’re doing an internship right after you graduate? With that old man you met down at… uh… Irvine?”
“After I take my test, yeah.” Iwaizumi takes another sip from his drink, the taste all but disappeared on his tongue. “I’ll be at it for a year or two.”
“Got it all settled, huh?” His friend’s eyes cloud over. “Man, I don’t even know what I’m gonna do after I graduate...”
“You know you should get onto that soon, yeah?”
“Argh, shuddup. It’ll work itself out in the end, I swear.”
Some more time passes under this sort of idle conversation, until everybody’s decided they’ve had enough with the bar for the night. They’re about to leave until a strangely familiar voice stops Iwaizumi.
“Bartender, another one!”
“My apologies, but we can’t serve any more to you.”
“Ugh, you serious right now?”
Next to him, somebody lets out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of glasses she’s got going there…”
Iwaizumi turns his head, seeing a slouched woman at the countertop.
Wait.
“Can you guys give me a sec?” Iwaizumi makes his way over to her, each step more and more confident of who the person is.
“Um”—he begins upon reaching her seat, not entirely sure what to do in these sorts of situations, so all that comes out is—”are you doing alright?”
And maybe not to his surprise anymore, your head lifts up from the counter in a lethargic manner. While he’s seen faces that have gone through much worse after some drinks, your bloodshot eyes and haggard appearance isn’t too far off. “What kind of question is that?” you reply, slurring your words. “Tell me the answer to that yourself.”
Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry at this question. He probably should’ve planned this out better. Maybe if he had more tact, he would know what to say. “Er… probably not the best?” he offers with an air of caution.
“Damn right about that,” you mutter with a tsk, turning your attention back to the empty glass in your hand. “Too much shit to do for next year, money’s not going well, men are just gross—when does it ever end?”
Out of a sense of reserved politeness, Iwaizumi chooses to not directly respond to your statement. Maybe if he were braver, he would’ve pushed for more. “Do you want me to call you an Uber?”
You give an incoherent response. He takes it as a yes and pulls out his phone.
“Hey, Haji!” someone calls out. “You comin’ or not?”
“Sorry, you guys can go without me, I’ll stay here for a bit.” Iwaizumi says, waving them off. “Thanks for today.”
His friends exchange confused looks, but decide to shrug it off. “Yeah, see you around. Happy birthday, man.”
At this, you pick your head up even more. “Birthday?” you ask with an eyebrow raised. “What’re you even bothering with a drunk for?”
Truthfully, Iwaizumi isn’t even sure himself. Why it’s always you he bumps into over these years, at the oddest times. Or maybe that itself is supposed to say something, these unexpected collisions (what is it?)
“Beats me,” he replies, too drowsy to push that line of thought more. “Do I need a reason though?”
With a miniscule shake of your head, you exhale a ragged sigh. “Let’s go outside for a bit,” you announce abruptly, rising from your seat. “I want some fresh air.”
After you pay the bill, Iwaizumi follows you outside, greeted by a blast of dry air with a taste of the sea. Even though it’s a Sunday night, the streets are still bustling with activity. Your head leans against the brick wall of the bar, right underneath a purple light. The two of you stand there, in the weird liminal space that exists between the passing of one day to the next, waiting for the Uber to come.
And if Iwaizumi was a bit more caring, he might’ve asked what led up to all of this in the first place. Why you even came down here, what led you to be at this establishment in particular.
Instead, he can only soak up the silence, broken up by the occasional noise of a car engine passing through.
“I’m here for a talk,” you finally speak up with a tired voice, as if reading his mind. “Today’s my last day here. Who would’ve thought I’d run into you.”
“You’re the one who’s always saying see you around,” Iwaizumi points out, “maybe there’s some sort of hidden magic in that.”
“You think?” A chuckle escapes your lips. “Let’s just say there is then.”
Another silence passes, this time less awkward than the first. You’re staring somewhere far off in the distance. Iwaizumi’s eyes have now adjusted to the nighttime scenery, making out the fuzzy silhouettes of the buildings across the street. In the thick of the darkness, a couple share a secret kiss on a stairway. He shifts his gaze to somewhere else.
“So… why’d you study marine biology?” slips out of his mouth before he even realizes it.
“Huh?” You phrase the word as if you’ve never even considered not studying it. “Well, that’s kind of a long story. If I were to sum it up, hmm…” you tilt your head to the side, maybe a bit too much to be comfortable.
“I made a promise with it. The ocean. I don’t even know when or how I made it. Hell, my mother’s last name is Umino. Maybe it’s because of that.” Despite your current drunken state, the intoxicated slurring is replaced with something a touch more serious. “It’s not something you can put really easily into words, but it’s there, deep down inside me. And I’m gonna live until I can fulfill that promise, no matter what it takes. Because it’s all I’ve ever known to do.” You look up to the sky, a sliver of a smile on your lips. “You get me?”
Iwaizumi’s eyes trail up to the dark sky as well, nothing but a slice of the moon shining in response. It’s the same moon as that night, when he made a certain promise, all those years back.
He’s not sure what’s drawn you to the ocean so much so, but he doesn’t have to know. Some things in the world just can’t be said out loud. Bringing them to words removes what makes them special. So they sit at the bottom, simmering away, never to surface.
And that’s alright.
“I think so,” Iwaizumi breathes out. “But I think that’s a sort of blessing.”
He’s not the star anymore, but it’s not like he’s ever been one. It was always six people coming together, carving a singular path forward. That Iwaizumi was able to play alongside the best setter, best partner, for so long—if it’s not a blessing, he’s not sure what else to call it.
“Blessing?” Your eyes narrow in thought. “Huh. I guess. In my case—” you stretch your hand out in front of you, grabbing a fist of air, and pull it back. “Everyone calls me a genius. It’s kind of funny at this point.”
“How so?”
But before you can answer, a white car pulls up to the curbside, interrupting the conversation. After a quick confirmation, you open the door to the passenger seat.
“Hey, um—would you mind if I gave you my number?” Iwaizumi hastily asks, before you close the door. “If you could text me when you get home, that would be great.”
There’s a million other things he wants to say to you, but he’s not sure how to say them.
Wordlessly, you hand out your phone and he swiftly types in his number. When he’s done, you squint at it for a bit and pocket your phone—he hopes you don't forget about it. “Thanks for tonight. And happy birthday, Haji.” You wave at him with a lopsided grin and close the passenger door shut.
Iwaizumi watches the car drive off until the taillights disappear into the night, distantly wondering what his full name would sound like on your tongue.
His phone dings with a message from an unknown number later that night.
i’m home,,, i’ll pasy you back okk? thx (00:35)
A wry smile forms on his face as he taps away at the screen.
Alright. Have a nice night. (00:35)
Maybe sometime later in the year, he decides to call someone after finally having a breather from his midterms.
“Hey."
“You haven’t called me in a good year now and all you can manage is a hey ?”
“Hello, Matsukawa. How are you doing ?” Iwaizumi asks through gritted teeth, gripping his phone a bit tighter. The hour’s strange for him, but Matsukawa didn’t like anybody bothering his sleep.
“Why, just fine,” Matsukawa replies, without missing a beat nor with a trace of emotion. “I’m glad you asked. How are you?”
Iwaizumi breathes out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re seriously going to continue this crap?”
Silence on the other end. Both of them are aware they should probably grow out of this. “You talked to Oikawa lately?” Matsukawa asks, pivoting the conversation.
He should do that, shouldn’t he? The last full conversation they had was when Iwaizumi sent the selfie of him and Ushijima together. Oikawa not leaving him on read out of irritation is something that still shocks Iwaizumi.
(These days, Iwaizumi isn’t sure what he’d even talk about with Oikawa anymore. Not out of awkwardness, but just that there isn’t much to say anymore. When they do meet again (because, after all this time, neither of them would dare say they wouldn’t), Iwaizumi reckons there’d be more, much more then.)
“Like hell I have,” he replies, quieter than he likes. “I’m not his mom.”
It sounds like Matsukawa’s about to retaliate, but decides against it. “You and me both then,” is sighed out in a theatrical manner. “Hiro’s been giving me the cold shoulder lately.”
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Just let a despondent lover drown in his sorrows.”
“You sound anything but.”
“Touché,” admits Matsukawa, though there’s a note of conflict in his lilt. “But you’re the one in America. Talked to anybody interesting yet? It’s been, what, coming up to three years?”
Iwaizumi falls silent on this, knowing full well the subtext of what Matsukawa is trying to get at. Somebody appears in his mind, waving at him with a grin. She’s about three years older than me and I’ve talked to her that number of times too. “Not really,” Iwaizumi decides to say, not wanting to go down that path tonight. “I do know someone who’s kind of like Oikawa though. Maybe… a bit more stable?”
Matsukawa whistles in surprise. “Wow, do you even realize the horrificness of the statement you’ve just spewed forth. You got a type or something?”
“I swear I’ll kick your ass — ”
“At least kick Hiro’s first—”
“Go do that yourself, idiot—”
“That aside,” Matsukawa cuts in, probably tired of the joke too. A moment of silence lingers before he continues, a touch quieter, “Don’t hold yourself back because of what you’ve limited yourself to, you know.”
And Iwaizumi knows this too well by now. That you can’t exist in this world always too scared of taking a step forward. Sometimes you have to dive into headfirst, even if you’re not sure what beneath the surface. Not everything can afford the wait.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Same goes for you, you know,” he echoes, a touch of a smile on his face.
“Yeah.” Matsukawa sounds like he’s probably smiling, at the end of it all. “I know. Be stupid not to.”
Still, not all things are so easily discarded and left aside to be forgotten. Some things demand that their presence still remains, for better or worse. Don’t you dare forget me, they seem to say confidently. I won’t let you do that.
Iwaizumi’s grip on his phone loosens a touch. “Thanks,” he says, feeling like he’s seventeen all over again. ( I won’t, is his silent response.) “Nice talking to you.”
He’s six when he first meets Oikawa.
They’re on the same team at the local gym when Iwaizumi first touches a volleyball. Oikawa was already learning how to set tosses by then, and naturally roped Iwaizumi into spiking some of them. As much determination Oikawa put into them, no six-year-old’s sets could ever be amazing.
“I’ll show you! ” Oikawa exclaimed when their parents arrived. “ The best toss ever! ”
He’s twelve when they play in their first ever tournament in junior high. They’re both captains already, taking the team to high levels. More and more games they won, Oikawa as the setter, Iwaizumi as the ace.
Only to be stopped by none other than Shiratorizawa.
He remembers the first defeat: absolutely, utterly crushing. Oikawa’s eyes were teary, his hands shaking profusely with frustration as the game-ending whistle sounded. Iwaizumi watched him without a word. We’ll get them next time, they all collectively thought.
When it does come, it’s still the same ending. One more year, we got this. The following, a new upstart joined the team, one that could only be summed up by the word genius. Oikawa’s face turns more clenched, becomes more guarded— fake. It’s jealousy, but even more than that, it’s another wall they hit, and they both begin to realize that the world is not always kind enough to give them the firsts they want.
So he’s seventeen when Oikawa first sprains his ankle even after countless warnings not to overdo himself— nothing serious, just landed on it badly, are you my mother or something? —but Iwaizumi knows it's more, so much more than that.
Eighteen, when Oikawa’s had enough of Japan, vowing to rise strong enough to crush it with his bare fists. I’ll show them all, what I can really do. Eighteen, when they made their promise.
“I’ll beat you when we meet again,” Iwaizumi declared that night, his hand held out in a fist.
So don’t you dare forget about me either.
So Iwaizumi is eighteen when they go on their separate paths, because he isn’t that dauntless enough to make a new home for his dreams. He’s fine staying, because the space he takes up isn’t that much to begin with.
In the dark of his bedroom, Iwaizumi clenches his fist tightly, then releases it. Your words come back to him in waves, crashing over him. Because it’s all I’ve ever known to do.
Twenty-one now, and Iwaizumi briefly wonders if it’s all worth it.
(It has to be, doesn’t it?)
You up for some stargazing tonight? I finally have some free time. (14:43 PM)
There’s a laundry list of reasons why Iwaizumi should decline your invitation.
(One, that after almost a full year of dead silence on your end, this is the only thing you’ve sent.)
Sure, where are we meeting up ? (14:45 PM)
(Two, where you’ve suggested takes a good deal of time to get to and gas prices aren’t getting any cheaper.)
“You actually made it. I’m surprised,” you greet him at the entrance of the observatory with a grin. Right behind you is a pure-white dome structure, stout in size and smaller than what he pictured. Up above, an endless blanket of stars stretches out against an inky sky. The sight alone is enough to make his heart stop. “Parking wasn’t too bad, I hope?”
(Three, he’s not even all that interested in stars to begin with and can’t even name where the Big Dipper is to save his life.)
“Uh, no,” Iwaizumi stammers, shaking his head. “Got a bit lost driving up the hill though.”
“The downsides of wanting to stargaze, unfortunately. Light pollution’s too strong to see anything out in the city.”
(Four, because he’d cling to any chance you granted to him but doesn’t know why.)
You lead him through the observatory, greeting a couple researchers along the way, to where the center of attraction is—a telescope of enormous proportions. It’s cylindrical in structure, with a ginormous arm attached to the side that Iwaizumi presumes is for motor adjustments. All sorts of smaller cylinders are stacked on top, looking like mini telescopes. He doesn’t dare to be in the vicinity of three feet in anything here, careful to avoid the cables snaking on the ground. You take a seat in front of a monitor and type away on the keyboard.
“I bought sandwiches in that bag,” you say, pointing to a duffel bag at the side. Moments later, the dome of the observatory starts creaking open, revealing a large section of the night sky. “Take your pick if you’re hungry. Come over here, I’ve got the telescope ready.”
Iwaizumi walks over to where you’re sitting and you hop off the chair, letting him on. He looks through the lens right in front of him.
“Wow…” is all he manages out, greeted by an even greater plethora of stars filling his vision. “This is seriously crazy.”
“Right? I’m glad it didn’t cloud over tonight.”
Following your instructions, he moves the lens around with the tiniest of increments to spot all sorts of celestial bodies.
“I had no idea you were into astronomy too,” Iwaizumi says after finding Venus, a note of awe in his voice as he looks at the planet. “You got any more hidden talents?”
“Would you believe me if I said I knew how to fly a plane? Or know how to speak five other languages?”
“That’s…”
You let out a short laugh, not pursuing that line of conversation further. “I don’t think it’s all that surprising though, the astronomy thing,” you reply. “Everything in this world is much more similar than we give it credit for. All the basic elements—carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, we all have them right inside us too.”
He’s passed his chemistry lessons, so he’s got a faint understanding of what you’re talking about. “So you’re saying, we’re also similar to the world too?” he asks.
“Yup.” It sounds like you’re smiling. “There’s sea creatures and coral that resemble parts of the human body too. Maybe if you found enough of them, you could even make a human out of the ocean. Personally, I think it’s very possible. We’ve explored hardly any of it, after all.”
The whole thing sounds a bit preposterous to Iwaizumi, but he doesn’t comment.
“And what’s to say we all aren’t singular parts of a much greater whole either?” you continue, as if you’re speaking from somewhere far away yet close all at once. “If I were to go into space, I’m sure it would be pretty similar to the ocean. I mean, whenever I look at the sky, it kind of reminds me of diving.”
You take a breath. “Sorry, am I rambling too much?”
No, I want to hear you talk more, he wants to say.
“No, I don’t mind at all, it’s pretty interesting,” he says instead, pulling back from the telescope. “Wanna switch?”
The two of you switch positions on the chair. You fiddle a bit with the knobs. Iwaizumi takes out a sandwich from the bag, unwrapping the plastic wrap, and bites in generously. Probably due to the heat, the flavor’s a bit bland, but he doesn’t mind.
“So, as I was saying—the sea, the stars, and us, we’re all connected...”
And then, as his eyes quickly shift over towards you, Iwaizumi realizes he’s fallen just a little in love with you.
In the midst of early autumn, when the leaves are just beginning to turn gold, Iwaizumi forgets about it all.
(Or so he likes, wants to think.)
After his year-long internship with Utsui, Iwaizumi finally returned to Japan with a certification for athletic training under his belt. Here the skies are more cloudy than clear, the streets crowded with suits and briefcases, faces all stern. The languid days of California feel like a dream away now, like he just woke up from a long nap. Did it even happen?
He’s at the supermarket one evening on his way home. Iwaizumi absentmindedly reaches out for a container of tofu, mind filled with tomorrow’s schedule for practice. Somebody’s hand brushes against his and he jerks his hand back, lifting up his head.
“Oh.” He blinks. “Uh, hey there. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Haji—wait, should I call you by your last name now?” and who else but you asks, a foreign twang strong on your tongue. Looking the same as you did, all those years ago. “Sorry, you can take this; you were here first. Nice seeing you here too.”
Ah, it wasn’t a dream.
“Haji’s fine,” slips out before he’s even able to process it, to take it back. “Er, I didn’t expect you to be in Japan at all.” And maybe he should start getting used to these strange occurrences.
“Long story short, I’m part of a research project. Can’t talk too much about it, but there’s some pretty interesting stuff going on out here—” you drop the tofu into his shopping cart and reach for another one on the shelf. “So I’m gonna be here for half a year, maybe a year, not too sure yet. What about you?”
“I got a job as an athletic trainer for one of the volleyball teams here,” he answers, fiddling with the handlebar of his shopping basket, double-checking what’s in it. He originally wanted to get some fish, but for some odd, unexplainable reason, there’s been absolutely no fish in stock these past months. Still need to get some eggs. “Season’s gonna start soon.”
You peruse the shelves stacked with endless brands of instant noodles opposite from the chilled foods. “I’ll see if I can catch a game or two. Can’t say my volleyball knowledge’s all that good though.”
“It all passes by so quickly, it’s more about the emotions than knowing what’s actually going on.” Iwaizumi doesn’t even need the noodles because of his diet, but he looks at the selection with you anyways. All the sodium levels make his eyebrow twitch unconsciously. “Seeing a really good spike go over, or an almost impossible dig, all of it just really makes you excited. Sooner or later, you get sucked into the game’s pace—”
He abruptly turns to you, realizing he’s gone on too long. You don’t seem to mind though, a bemused look in your eyes.
“That so? Sounds pretty fun.” Finally deciding on a bag, you drop it in your basket. “I hope this brand’s good...”
Iwaizumi doesn’t think his job is all that interesting compared to what you’re doing, but he keeps this to himself. “If you want a healthier option, I’d recommend this one instead.” He takes a bag from the top shelf. “The taste is pretty good too, though they don’t have much choices”
You purse your lips in thought. “Hm, I’ll take your word for it.” You take it from him, curiously examining the packaging. With a noncommittal shrug, you toss it into your cart. “In return—”
The conversation falters for a bit as you rummage for something in your purse, quiet mutterings under your breath. A small ah sound comes out as you’ve found what you were looking for.
You hand over a small card to him, scrawled haphazardly with your name and phone number. Possibly a makeshift business card. “Call me sometime, alright? Before the summer’s over,” you say, with a slight grin, like the one he saw all those years back when he first met you. “Don’t be a stranger.”
Iwaizumi thinks he’s dreaming again.
But the indistinct murmurings of shoppers and shopping cart wheels squeaking by, the unflattering fluorescent glow of the lights all somehow makes you look even more here, in the present.
“Sure thing,” he says. He reaches for the card, fingers lightly brushing against yours and puts it in his jacket pocket, clenching it tightly for any last lingerings of warmth. It fades; that’s something he expects. The smile on his face that comes next is almost bittersweet, and what follows is: “I’ll see you around.”
...at the moment, we are still trying to find the ship’s whereabouts, but efforts are looking dim. Still, hope has not been given up yet in the search. Next on the news…
“Iwaizumi-san. You there?”
He blinks, realizing his mug’s about to overflow with scalding coffee. In haste, he turns off the pot, wiping off the liquid on the rim with a paper towel snatched from his desk. “Yeah,” Iwaizumi calls back, turning to face the player hovering outside the door. “What’s up?”
“Um, practice is starting in ten...”
“Oh shit, sorry.” Sure enough, the radio’s clock now reads 8:42. “I gotta make a quick call first. Won’t take too long.”
The player nods and exits the doorway. Iwaizumi pulls out his phone from his pocket and scrolls through his contact list until he finds a certain name and presses the call button.
The number you have contacted is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep…
“Hey, it’s me.” Iwaizumi pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. “Sorry for not calling you earlier. Summer’s already passed now, hasn’t it?” The corners of his mouth tug upwards. Of course the timing wouldn’t be good.
He stalls for a moment, choosing his next words. “You remember that promise we talked about?” he continues, looking to the ceiling of his office, the hum of the fluorescent light buzzing in his ear. “I’m on my way to fulfill it. It’s still a long road ahead, but I’m sure about this.
“And—” his throat chokes up a bit, unexpectedly. Iwaizumi coughs a little to clear it. “I just wanted to let you know that I...”
“I really wish I knew how to fly a plane right now,” you grit out half-jokingly, howling sea winds spraying over your face. The boat beneath your feet trembles wildly, threatening to throw you overboard. “Would be pretty nice.”
“What’re you saying?” somebody next to you shouts, barely heard above the wind. They’re clinging desperately onto the railing, trying to make their way back inside. “Hurry up already!”
A great wave splashes across the deck. Somewhere in the distance, an eerie song cries out, a primal one sung by the creatures of the sea. It’s nothing that can be put into words, because it is a language itself. Overhead, flocks of seabirds swarm over cloudy skies, the flapping of millions of wings flooding your ears.
It’s no use, didn’t you know?
The song grows louder as a pod of humpback whales break from the water’s surface, all covered in barnacles, surrounding the boat on all sides. Just moments later, a school of fish leap out, their silvery scales a dull sheen. It’s the beginning of a dance, directed by the sea, with everything in the waters as the performers. A birth rite of sorts, one causing mass disappearances of fish all over the world. Animals thought to be extinct resurfacing on shores. Everything is gathered here, in this moment, from giants of centuries long gone to plankton that have split just seconds ago. A banquet celebrating the very essence of life.
To put it simply, it’s unexplainable.
To you, that’s more than enough.
It’s why you’ve run up and down coasts to gain any sort of information about this phenomenon. Why you’ve learned four, five languages just to visit other countries and their research for all these years. Getting your Open Water certification at twelve, traversing the waters of both poles for just one glance longer at what lies beneath.
And what’s led you to now, back in your mother’s home country despite you never setting foot here before, not once in your life.
This is what I’ve been chasing after, since the very beginning.
But did you have a reservation to see this? No matter how gifted you were, how much of a genius they called you, you still amounted to just a drop of life in the grand scheme of everything. A small cog in the connection of the world.
Just another human, with only the power to observe and record what you see. Whether the universe chose you to behold this spectacle or not isn’t something you have the right to decide.
Even still, that wasn’t going to stop you from trying to get a seat.
You hear your name called out just faintly over all the noise, but you pay them no attention. The song of the whales, of the sea, of the universe, is pulling you in like a siren’s call. In your hands, the railing rocks threateningly back-and-forth again as the boat’s sent hurling down a wave.
You have to know.
Without another thought, you dive into the sea, free of your gear. The cold shocks you upon impact, but you don’t heed it any mind.
You open your eyes.
For some reason, a memory of long ago floats into your mind. A not particularly memorable summer back in America, when nothing seemed to be going your way at all.
I’ll fulfill that promise, no matter what it takes.
This has it to be it, you think, as you sink further into the depths of the ocean, watching the stomachs of all sorts whales and dolphins pass over you, accompanied by the muffled sound of their song. A group of manta rays weave through the whales, their fins proudly splayed out as they glide along the currents. Alongside them all are hundreds of fish swimming through, guiding themselves to their own destination.
It’s a blessing of sorts, he said back then. You never knew what he was referring to, but it doesn't matter.
Yeah. It probably is.
You smile as your lungs start to close up. A trail of bubbles escapes from your mouth, floating to the surface. All that's in your vision now is an overwhelming blue, deeper and deeper in color.
Sorry, Haji. I’ll be going on ahead.