Chapter Text
They sit next to each other on the bus. Toru on the side of the aisle, as always, Hajime on the side of the fogged-up window, watching the streets of Sendai slowly slipping by. It's busy for a Saturday afternoon; people who are just getting on have to keep standing. The heating is too high, Toru talks too much, and Hajime feels a faint headache coming on from afar. He could take off his coat. That would make it a little more bearable.
‘I just don't understand,’ Toru says, slumping a little in his chair. 'Why didn't Ushiwaka look sadder? All of Shiratorizawa was crying, but he just looked the same as always. Is he some kind of robot or something? He has to be. He must be a robot, there's just no other explanation for it.'
He can’t stop whining about the match they went to see, Karasuno against Shiratorizawa. No, not even about the match, about Ushijima and Kageyama and how sad the first one made the other one, or the other way around. And the bus is still only at the bike shop. Then it’s at least another twelve minutes by bus, fifteen minutes if they have bad luck. Hajime takes off his coat.
‘All I wanted was to see him sad for once. That was all! He didn't even have to cry his eyes out, I would have been satisfied with a little moisture in his eyes, but I can’t even have that. Why is life so unfair, Iwa-chan?'
'Why are you such a jerk? Why should I listen to your self-pity? There are so many questions we will never have an answer to.'
Toru turns his head to Hajime, his eyes narrowed to slits. 'Well, why are you always so mean to me? Do you know the answer to that?'
‘You're asking for it, Crappykawa.’
'Then I ask you now to become a better person. How does that sound? And will you please stop calling me Crappykawa? Call me an incredible setter again, like yesterday. Oh, and what was that other thing you said?' Toru pretends to think about it for a moment, then snaps his fingers. 'The best partner you could imagine? Was that it?'
Hajime rolls his eyes. He should have known that Toru would use this against him at every opportunity he’d get. Not even twenty-four hours have passed since Hajime uttered those cursed words while they were walking home after their loss against Karasuno, and Toru has reminded him of it about twenty-four times already. ‘If you bring that up one more time,’ Hajime says, ‘I'll break both your arms. Let's see how well you can set then.'
He hears a cough behind him and glances over his shoulder. The two older women sitting there, one with gray hair and the other with white, look at each other with raised eyebrows. They pull their handbags closer to them.
‘Iwa-chan!’ says Toru, perplexed. ‘Why would you do such a horrible thing to your wonderful partner?’
‘We're not partners anymore,’ Hajime says, softer now. 'We played our last match of our last tournament yesterday.'
‘Oh, and does that give you the right to break my arms?’
‘Don't talk so loud.’
'Why not? Shouldn’t people hear what you want to do to me? Shouldn’t I warn them of how dangerous you are?'
'Shut up, asshole!’ Hajime glances around quickly and gives the two women behind them his politest smile. They don't seem to appreciate it.
Toru smiles too, his lips pressed together. Not to the women, to Hajime. Stupid jerk.
The bus stops at a stop where few people get off and many people get on. There aren't even enough handles left to hold on to. The new passengers have to use the backrests of the seats to stay upright when the driver pushes hard on his accelerator.
‘Do you think the buses in Argentina are this full too?’ Toru asks, leaning slightly toward Hajime so as not to hit the piece of guitar sticking out of the backpack of the man standing next to him in the aisle.
'No idea.'
'I’m guessing they’re not. Not where I'm going, at least. Fewer people live there than here. But then again, there are probably fewer buses too. So maybe they are full after all.'
Hajime is still warm with only his sweater on. Or maybe not really warm. Rather stuffy. There’s a tight feeling in his chest. He rolls up his sleeves.
'I was thinking recently: I'm going to stand out in such a small town, don’t you think? As a Japanese among South Americans?'
'Probably.'
'Although I'm used to that, of course, that people are constantly looking at me. That's what you get when you’re as stunning as me. By the way, there’s a sushi bar in San Juan, Blanco-senpai told me so, so I can’t be the only Japanese there. He wanted to take me there on my first day, as if I don't like anything but sushi just because I’m Japanese, so I told him to find something else. Argentina is known for its barbecues, I said I wanted to go to a place like that.'
‘You're not even there yet and you're already making demands on your new coach.’
'I don't make any demands at all, I just think it's bullshit to eat sushi there just because I'm from here. I mean, I get it, I know why he suggested it, he wants to make the transition a little easier for me, but that's not going to work by eating sushi, you know. No, it's better to adjust to the life there right away. Eat what they eat and do what they do. I told him that too, you know, I told him he should give me a tour around the city. He was going to show me his favorite places, he said. Talked about a wine museum and a water dam where people go swimming for lack of an ocean.'
'Sounds nice.'
‘It does, right?' Toru sits up a little straighter again. ‘I'm looking forward to it more and more, you know. Even more after today's game.'
He doesn't say what today's game has to do with it. Not that he has to. Hajime can read it in his gaze anyway. See it in his right leg wiggling impatiently, as it always wiggles during the last minutes of class, just before he can start training. He can hear it in his voice, calm and resolute.
He wants to move forward. He doesn't want to wait here while Kageyama and Ushijima keep going.
Toru doesn’t look at him when he says: 'We have agreed that I will move there in April. I hadn't told you yet.'
Hajime knows he heard it right, but still he asks: ‘April?’
‘April, yes.’
‘The next April to come?’
'Yes.'
‘April when?’
‘Twenty-four.’
Hajime counts. ‘That's in six months.’
'About six months, yeah.'
Six months. About six months. Hajime puts his warm cheek against the damp glass of the window. It's better this way, he thinks. Now he knows how long it is. It’s better, because now he can prepare for it. ‘That means you only have six months left to improve your Spanish. You know that, don't you? Hola and adios won’t cut it.’
‘Tch. I'll just learn it there. You only really learn a language when you are constantly surrounded by it. I've just rehearsed a new sentence, by the way. Me gustaría una cerveza.'
'Which means?'
'I would like a beer.'
'Useful. But you may need to learn how to get from the airport to José Blanco first. And from José Blanco to a place where you can order beers.'
'Ah! Lo siento! ¿Puede ayudarme? Mi español es malo y estoy perdido. ¿Hablas inglés? And from then on I'll just continue in English, I'm a little better at that.'
Hajime refuses to compliment him on his Spanish. Instead, he says: ‘I really hate you sometimes, you know that?’
'Claro. But it’s not my fault that I'm so good with languages. Unlike someone else I know who also urgently needs to improve his English if he gets to study in America.'
'If. You say that right. If I get to study in America. My chances aren’t that big.’
‘Not with that attitude, Iwa-chan. Is your essay finished yet?'
'No. Almost.'
‘You've been saying that for weeks.’
'When should I have worked on it then? With all those volleyball training sessions, there was no time left.'
'Well, at least now you can’t use that excuse anymore. If you need any help translating it into English, just say so.'
‘My English isn't that bad.’
‘You can't even say chance ball correctly.’
'I sure can.'
‘Do it then.’
'No.'
'What is 'I would like a beer' in English?'
‘I'm not planning to order any beer in America, if I ever get there. You can't drink there until you're twenty-one.'
Toru could remind him of that night, exactly one year ago, the night when Hajime was so fucking tired of everything, tired of losing in every aspect of his life, that he yielded to the temptation of the numb feeling the beer promised him. You didn’t care much about the minimum drinking age that night, Toru could say. And maybe he would say it, maybe he would rub it in, if they both weren’t still pretending that they’d forgotten everything that had happened that night.
Instead, Toru says: ‘Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. We can practice together. Or well, you can practice and I can teach you. Let's start with chance ball.'
'Fuck you. They say that in America too. Is that English enough for you?'
'It's a start. But you really have to do something about that pronunciation.'
Hajime punches Toru hard against his upper arm, his knuckles deep into his skin, upon which Toru lets out a cry of pain and the women behind them begin to mutter to each other.
‘Okay, okay, you're right,’ Toru laughs afterwards, rubbing his arm, ‘actually, chance ball isn't that important in America. But do you know what sentence you should definitely be able to do by August? ‘My best friend Oikawa Toru is a superstar in Argentina and I like him very much.’ Give it a try. Rolls right off your tongue. You can also use it in any situation.'
‘I wish the next six months were over already.’
'So mean! Admit you're going to miss me when I'm gone.'
'I’m not. You're just a burden.'
'I know you don’t mean that.'
‘I do mean it, though.’
For the rest of the drive home, Toru translates everything he sees in English. Street. Tree. House. Side walk. Garden. Bus. Car. Bike. Man with a large backpack and a guitar. Woman. Child. Cat. Sky. Sun. Cloud. Rain. Another house. Another car. Window. Street lamp. Fence. Me. You. My best friend in the world.
Hajime repeats it. Secretly. In his head.
And despite everything, despite the fact that their friendship can never again be what it was a year ago, he thinks, in English: I will miss you. Of course I will miss you.
***
'Iwaizumi-san? What do you want to be when you grow up?'
Fuck. There you had it. Hajime had hoped the bell would ring before it was his turn, which might have happened with Keiji going on and on and on about his long list of dream jobs (which ranged from window cleaner to manager of a music group). But when he was finally done, it was up to Shiro, who simply said he would succeed his father in his ballpoint pen business later, and that was that. Miss Fujita hadn't even asked him extra questions, while Miss Fujita was always asking extra questions. That’s how interesting it was to her, a ballpoint pen business.
Hajime decided that he would never buy ballpoint pens from Shiro or Shiro's father in his life and wiped his clammy palms on his pants. ‘I don't know yet, Fujita-sensei.’
‘You don't know yet?’ Miss Fujita said it as if it was the most unbelievable answer she'd ever gotten to her question, even more unbelievable than Mina saying she was going to become a nurse, even though everyone in the class knew she fainted when she saw blood. ‘No idea at all?’
'Not really.'
‘But I'm sure you've already thought about it.’
'Yes. I’ve thought about it before.' In the past, when he was still very young, he had wanted to become a knight. Until Otou-san explained to him that knights don't carry swords or armor anymore, let alone save princesses. Otou-san didn't know what knights did do these days, but Hajime didn't care anymore anyway. If it wasn’t fighting or saving, it wasn’t for him. After that, he'd gone through a phase where he told everyone he would be a firefighter when he grew up, but that stopped when he burned his left hand on the oven when he wanted to see if Oka-san’s sponge cake was ready. And when Akiko suddenly started to limp (a splinter in one of her back legs, it turned out afterwards), Hajime had thought about becoming a vet for a while. That didn't last very long, because when the neighbors across the street had to go to the vet to have their old cat with diabetes put to sleep, Hajime decided that he would never kill an animal.
And by now, he still hadn't really decided on what he wanted to do in the future.
Still, Miss Fujita apparently thought it was important that at the age of twelve he already knew in which direction he wanted to take his life. ‘What do you like to do, Iwaizumi-san?’
Hajime ran his eyes over the bare white walls of the classroom. 'To play sports?'
'That's a good start. Anything else?'
'Gaming, maybe. I don't know, Fujita-sensei.'
'What are you good at?'
'Volleyball!' It was Toru's voice, sitting diagonally behind him.
‘I didn't ask you, Oikawa-san. Wait your turn.' The teacher turned back to Hajime. ‘What are your best subjects?’
‘Hm… Biology. And sciences.'
'And gym!' Toru yelled.
'Oikawa-san! What did I tell you? Let Iwaizumi speak for himself!'
‘I'm sorry, Fujita-sensei. I just want to help him.'
The teacher's face softened upon hearing that apology. She wasn't mad at him. No one ever really got mad at Toru. She said, ‘That's very sweet of you, but I want to hear it from Iwaizumi himself. Iwaizumi-san, you have many opportunities if you are good at biology and science. Perhaps you could work in a laboratory and study cells from animals or plants. Or do research into all kinds of diseases. That is very important work. I really think you would do that very well.'
‘Okay, Fujita-sensei. Thank you, Fujita-sensei.'
She moved on to the next. Hajime listened only half while counting the minutes on the clock until the bell would ring. A fat blowfly came to keep him company on his table. Hajime blew at him and he flew up, after which he landed on Hajime's forehead, just above his eyes. Hajime waved him away.
Then Miss Fujita said: ‘Now it’s your turn, Oikawa-san.’
‘Okay. Easy. I want to be a volleyball player.’
Hajime turned his head towards him. Toru radiated in his chair, just below the light from the ceiling lamp that flickered every now and then.
‘Sounds nice,’ Miss Fujita said. 'And what do you want to do as a job? What do you want to earn money with?'
Toru frowned. ‘With… volleyball. I want to be a good volleyball player. The best.'
Miss Fujita didn't answer right away. Everyone could hear the light rain tapping against the windows. 'Ah well,' the teacher said eventually. 'That’s very ambitious. It doesn't seem easy to me to become a professional volleyball player. Do you also have a plan B, if it somehow doesn’t work out?'
Toru simply said: ‘I don't need a plan B, Fujita-sensei.’
Hajime looked away again.
During the training at the end of the day, they practiced the overhead toss in pairs. Toru had always been the best at that. Sometimes Hajime got distracted by the graceful way Toru touched the ball, the feathery pock-pok-pok on his fingertips, so careful yet so confident, and Hajime wished he could do that too. Then Toru suddenly touched the ball to Hajime and then Hajime reacted too late, and then Toru said: 'You should pay attention, Iwa-chan!'
For a while they did nothing but that. At one point, when Hajime hit just right and the ball made a perfect arc toward Toru's fingers, Toru simply caught the ball between his hands instead of tossing it back. Hajime looked angry. Toru looked serious. 'Why,' Toru asked, 'did you say you don't know what you want to be when you grow up?'
Hajime shrugged. 'Because I do not know.'
‘What do you mean? You should become a volleyball player too.’
‘I don't know if I want that.’
'Why not?'
'I do not know. Just throw the ball.'
‘If you become a volleyball player, like me, we can play together forever. You want that too, don't you? Imagine: we could join the same college team after school. Then we will become Japanese champions together and then world champions.'
Hajime looked at the other pairs, the first and second and third years who wore the same dark blue uniforms as him, and the same brand of sneakers with socks that were raised just as high as his, in which their feet stank just the same. They were all practicing in a room so high that Hajime could feel all the space above him press on his shoulders, heavier than anything, even though that space was filled with nothing but air.
He said: 'Yes. Sounds good. Now play.'
‘Are you going to become a professional volleyball player too?’
'I don't know yet. I'll think about it.'
Toru's face brightened. He threw the ball back up. Pok-pok-pok it went. The room seemed smaller when he played. Only when he played. Hajime didn't know how he did that.
***
As a child, Toru once asked him if he wanted to stay in Japan forever. He had been given a globe by his father, on which he could draw crosses on all the countries his father traveled to for work, and while he was doing it, he suddenly asked Hajime that question. I don’t know, Hajime said, because forever was a very long time. He loved Japan, the parks, the fried tofu, the fireworks at the summer festivals that made his whole body crackle. But sometimes, such as when Otou-san didn't come home until nine o'clock in the evening in his tailor-made suit that smelled like coffee and cigarettes and was too tired to check Hajime's homework, or when he saw the exhausted looks of some teachers on his school, he thought: is that how I'm supposed to live when I’m an adult? Is that what my future in Japan looks like?
Toru rotated the globe on its own axis and said: I don't think Japan is for me. Sometimes it feels like I don't belong here. He had landed his finger on a random spot, causing the orb to stop spinning. Stop with that bullshit, Hajime had told him, or something like that, it's not because you always act so strange that you don't belong here.
But ever since then, Hajime had known. Even before José Blanco had asked Toru anything, before Toru found out exactly where Argentina was. He already knew it when Toru kept telling himself that he wanted to play for Japan in the end. Hajime knew it before Toru knew it. He will leave one day.
What he hadn't known was that it would be so soon. That one day would mean in six months.
'Mauritania', Toru had read on the globe, where his finger had landed on. ‘What would it be like to live there?’