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Nostalgia, in all of its affection and regret and everything in between, comes in waves. The longing for a simpler time can be sparked by something as subtle as a familiar scent, perhaps even a phrase or some music. A visual cue can recall the company of an old, but still youthful friend. After all, that friend is frozen; vacuum-sealed in a time capsule. Never to age, never to change.
That is, until Ukai Keishin sees said old high school friend post a picture to his social media. He sports a few more kilos and laugh lines around his eyes. He stands tall in his boxy suit, boasting a work promotion and an incoming baby. It shatters Ukai’s frozen memory into pieces and the silhouette of his youthful, uniformed friend is replaced by that of a salaryman standing next to his beaming wife. Still young in many ways, but different. Changing, as all things are wont to do.
It reminds Ukai that the world moves on. The past has its place, time, and purpose, but it is not inherently better, nor is it rosier than the present. The past is simply the past. A very unromantic notion, but Ukai is a realist. Though sensibility still tastes bitter on his tongue.
Ukai decides he’s reached his social media quota of the day and pockets his phone. He shuffles down the quiet, main road toward Karasuno High School and quietly chides himself for what could be envy. He’d rather dust the shop, read magazines, and yell at noisy high schoolers for the rest of his life than be stuck in an office anyway. And if those noisy high schoolers are his boys, then all the better.
Ukai purses his lips in an attempt to stifle his smile, knowing it must look silly to any passersby.
His boys.
Hah, when did he start thinking of them that way?
Ukai turns off the street and crosses the high school’s threshold like he’s done thousands of times before. The final part of the day is still in session, so teenagers haven’t flooded the hallways and quads yet. It’s calm, if not a little eerie as Ukai moves unhindered through the spaces he knows like the back of his hand. Like the hallway where he and his friends used to meet before scouting a lunch spot. Or the aptly named Confession Alley — a narrow row of hedges where he acquired his first girlfriend (that lasted three weeks). And then there’s the bike racks where he almost got in a tussle with some lippy jerk in his second year and the bathrooms where he tried his first cigarette.
Despite the good head on his shoulders, Ukai has discovered his waves of nostalgia come on quite suddenly. His proximity to Karasuno and his daily interactions with the team are partially to blame. But Ukai hypothesizes that, more than anything, it’s the gym that does him in.
Ukai follows the concrete path underneath the awning and to the double doors. Their faces are rusted in parts, cracking under decades of wear, weather, and abuse. The key gets jammed in the lock sometimes, but Ukai knows how to jimmy it open because that’s how it’s always been. He opens the door and steps inside.
I’m home.
Welcome home, the empty space echoes back.
The above curtains are drawn and Ukai walks through the gray darkness to the power box on the far wall. The switches flip sideways with a satisfactory snap and the gym floods with light. He shuts the box and goes for the supply closet.
Ukai is early to practice on purpose. He wants some time away from the store and some space to just think; sort his thoughts before the team arrives and fills the gym with noise. Ukai has a lot to think about as the Spring Preliminaries fast approach.
He unlocks the supply closet, takes out a dust mop, and starts on the floors. It’s something the boys should do for discipline purposes, but Ukai has decided to give them a break for the day. He starts in one corner and walks the mop the long way across the floor to the opposite corner before rotating and going back the way he came. It’s mindless, a little therapeutic, and gives him intense feelings of deja vu.
He hums — a habit from working in the shop — keeping his voice soft at first. Until Ukai realizes the gym’s acoustics are actually very nice. His voice echoes back, heightened and bright with a nice, clear quality. Better than his shower and certainly better than the shop aisles.
After a few passes up and down the gym, singing is inevitable.
“When I was young, I’d listen to the radio — Waitin’ for my favorite songs, when they play I’d song along — ”
It’s an older song, something from a CD his mother used to put on in the shop before they got WiFi and bluetooth speakers. One of her favorites. The melody is slow and steady and Ukai can hear the instrumental accompaniment in his head.
“Those were such happy times, and not so long ago how I wondered where they’d gone — But they’re back again just like a long lost friend — ”
While there isn’t anyone around to impress, Ukai thinks he sounds pretty good. As he turns the corner and heads back over the floor, he really punches the chorus.
“Every sha-la-la, every wo-o-oh still shines — Every shing-a-ling-a-ling that they’re startin’ to sing’s so fine — ”
Without any music, the ‘sha-la-las’ and ‘wo-o-ohs’ sound a little silly.
“When they get to the part where he’s breakin’ her heart, it can really make me cry — Just like before, it’s yesterday once more — ”
But man, those acoustics are really good.
It looks the same. It feels the same. It smells the same. If Ukai buzzed his hair and dug deep into his closet for his old jersey, he could pretend he never left.
When Ukai stepped foot inside for the first time in nearly a decade — only once, he promised himself, just to grind Nekoma into the trash heap gravel — he was flooded with sentimental memories. He had about four seconds to get a hold of himself and wrangle a group of slack-jawed teens into a practice game, so he couldn’t dwell. But those memories incessantly churned in the back of his mind as he listened to the squeak of shoes on hardwood floors and the smack of leather against palms all night.
“Lookin’ back on how it was in years gone by, and the good times that I had — ”
He’s dust mopped and wiped sweat off that polished wood floor more times than he can count. But this is the first time he’s happily done it.
“And I’d memorize each word — Those old melodies still sound so good to me as they melt the years a—ah, christ.”
Ukai stops dead in his tracks.
Takeda stands in the open gym doorway, leaning against the frame. He hugs his clipboard to his chest and he’s got an embarrassing, charmed expression all over his face. Ukai got carried away and completely missed his arrival. That's the second time Takeda has snuck up on him mid-song.
Ukai partially hides his face in his shoulder. “How long have you been standing there?”
Takeda shrugs and Ukai can hear the pure delight in his voice when he says, “Long enough.”
Ukai clears his throat and the good acoustics pick it up just fine.
“You have a nice voice,” Takeda says. “A really nice voice. One might think you did choir instead of volleyball when you were in school.”
“That’s a laugh.”
“I’m being sincere.”
“And I sincerely think the idea of sixteen-year-old me being in the school choir is a laugh,” Ukai says. “But...thanks.”
There’s a slightly awkward pause as Takeda shyly shuffles in place and Ukai passes the mop handle from hand to hand.
What he and Takeda have isn’t anything serious. Just some heated looks over frosted pint glasses, drunken flirting, and a bout of footsie under the pub table. But he’d be an idiot not to acknowledge the electrified air between them as of late.
“Maybe we should do karaoke sometime,” Takeda offers, nervously tapping his fingers against his clipboard. “Since you’re a singer and all.”
Ukai’s embarrassment disappears lightning fast. He doesn’t know where Takeda’s courage is coming from, but he likes it. He grins, “Karaoke?”
“Yeah.”
“Mm, that sounds like fun. We could do another practice match and get together with Coach Nekomata and Coach Naoi afterwards.”
One big difference between his young self and current self is that older Ukai knows how to play ‘The Game’. Other than volleyball, of course.
Takeda’s smile falters. “Oh, um, yes — that could be — though I was — ”
Ukai leans his weight on the mop handle. “Unless you wanted me to serenade you in one of those private rooms or somethin’.”
‘Cherry red’ would be what Ukai would call the shade on Takeda’s face. He’s so easy to tease and, quite frankly, Ukai thinks Takeda looks cute when he’s flustered.
He adjusts his glasses. “That’s — uh — well, I — we could — ”
The bell rings and startles the teacher. Ukai can’t help but laugh. Not even a moment later, he can hear the sounds of students talking and shuffling out into the halls.
“Guess we gotta table this talk for later, huh, Sensei?” he says. Takeda nods, still very much on edge.
Ukai pushes the mop the rest of the way to the wall, props the handle up, and goes to the gym entrance. The young teacher looks wide-eyed and a little terrified as he approaches, but he’s brave enough to stand his ground.
Ukai brushes shoulders with him as he passes, a gesture he knows will go unnoticed by the couple of students who have trickled out into the quad. Takeda tenses and Ukai loves that look — when Takeda seems like he’s about to explode. Usually, it’s from anxiety or stress or his serious lack of chill. But right now, it’s from something else entirely.
Ukai glances over his shoulder and says, “But, yeah, I could be down for karaoke.”
The flush on Takeda’s cheeks and the hopeful gleam in his eye are very promising, but Ukai’s got to play it cool. He’s almost positive that’s part of the appeal for Takeda; that Ukai seems like a little bit of a hard-to-get bad boy with bleached hair and pierced ears. Little does he know that the worst thing Ukai Keishin does is drink cheap beer and occasionally fudge the inventory for Sakanoshita’s snacks so he can partake for free.
Maybe they could make out in the supply closet one day. That would certainly fit Takeda’s expectations and make Ukai feel like a hormone-addled teenager again. Not to mention he would be getting hot and heavy with a teacher — a Teenage Ukai Keishin Grade-A Fantasy from days long past.
All of a sudden, Kageyama and Hinata come barreling down the stairway in front of him, shattering his daydream. They nearly topple over one another in their attempt to arrive at the gym first, clawing at one another like alley cats. It’s a typical scene, so Ukai is hardly alarmed.
“Out of my way, dumbass!”
“Ow, you stepped on my foot!”
“Then get your foot out of my way!”
“Oi, cool it would ya?” Ukai reprimands.
The setter and tiny middle blocker look up and are surprised to see him. “Coach!”
“You boys are lucky. I already swept the gym for today. So all you gotta do is set up the net. Chop, chop!” Ukai claps.
“Yessir!” Hinata takes off like a bat out of hell and Kageyama nips at his heels. Takeda follows them inside to make sure their damage is minimal. Their energy is exhausting. He has no idea where it all comes from. He doesn’t remember ever having that kind of pep in his step.
Ukai stakes his claim off to the side where he usually smokes (no one has told him he can’t so far) and watches as the waves of high school students stream from the main building. Mostly, it’s students heading for the club rooms or out into the field for practice. The older he gets, the younger they look. Students are so energetic; so full of promise. Their world is so small; their problems so big and dramatic. Ukai doesn’t miss that part.
Even if he could, he doesn’t want to go back. That’s not the point.
He’s mature enough now to recognize he’s right where he needs to be. Because his own life is still full of promise and potential — for adventure, love, money, personal fulfillment — and he’d be a fool to not see the value of the present.
Ukai takes his pack from his pocket and taps it against his palm as the three seniors approach. Daichi and Sugawara are engaged in a heated discussion as the gentle Asahi attempts to placate his friends. They notice Ukai and wave before disappearing into the gym.
The gym is no longer his, not really. It’s theirs. It’s their golden time and he gets the privilege of being a part of it. He gets to give them something to be nostalgic about ten years in their future, just as someone once did for him.
Tarnishing a pristine, rose-tinted idea of his high school experience is what Ukai was so afraid of when Takeda first approached him. But what he’s realized is that he’s not erasing history and replacing it, he’s simply creating something new. A new stage of life in the same place.
Because the spaces he once knew have taken a different shape and meaning. His friends’ hallway is now where the third years gather to discuss their mature woes. Confession Alley is where Tanaka, almost bi-weekly, rehearses a formal confession to Kiyoko when he doesn’t think anyone is looking. The bike racks are Kageyama and Hinata’s designated fighting grounds and the nearby corner bathroom is missing a sink because Asahi accidentally pulled it from the wall while leaning against it. Noya won’t shut up about it, even months later.
And one day, when his juvenile crows have grown up and long flown the nest, Ukai will feel nostalgic about all that too. Thus the cycle continues.
Ukai lights his smoke and takes a long, first drag. He turns his gaze up to the sky and hums under his breath.
“All my best memories come back clearly to me, some can even make me cry — Just like before, it’s yesterday once more.”