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There is a deafening silence throughout the gymnasium. Both teams on either side of the net aren’t saying a word. The only sound coming from them is that of their heavy breathing as they try to catch their breaths after such a vigorous match. The audience, too, is silent for the first time since the match started.
Then the score keeper flips the numbers on the scoreboard—Karasuno – 26, Seijou – 24—and the silence is gone. There is no longer a deafening silence, but a roar coming at Iwaizumi Hajime from all angles. The noise is surrounding him, closing in on him. He feels paralyzed by it.
Once the score is changed, the audience resumes their screaming. The team on the other side of the net, Karasuno, lets out ear shattering screams and cries of joy. The teammates surrounding him let out wails of agony at the realization of their loss.
He looks over at his captain, his setter, his best friend, Oikawa Tooru. He is shocked to find that Tooru isn’t crying. His hands are balled up into fists and shaking at his sides, he’s looking away from the rest of the team, his jaw is clenched tight, and his nostrils are flared but he is not crying.
Hajime doesn’t know why he expects to see him crying—he knows that Tooru is far from the Grand King with a fragile ego everyone believes him to be—but he does. He expects to be the one who will have to console Tooru when they’ve lost but those expectations are shattered when he turns around and finds Tooru calm, not even a glint of tears forming in his eyes.
Tooru finally tears his gaze away from the faraway point he had been staring at for the past several minutes. It isn’t until he makes his way over to Hajime that he notices what it was Tooru was staring at so intently.
It was the runaway volleyball, the one that he attempted to save and ended up hitting it out. It is the ball that caused the loss.
He walks up next to Hajime but still refuses to look him in the eyes as he stands next to him. “It’s time to line up, Iwa-chan,” he says calmly.
Hajime follows him to the front of the net, standing next to him silently. The rest of the team continues to line up next to the captain and vice-captain as they wait for the team across from them to settle down enough to shake their hands.
He looks down the line of his teammates lined next to him and finds that every one of them is crying. The first years are biting their lips, their faces red as the tears run down their face and they refuse to admit that they are crying. The second years sniffle silently, sad over the loss but the thought that they still have one more year in mind. The third years have tears streaming down their faces, ugly cries making it out of their throats every now and again as they are reminded of the fact that this is it. This is the end for them.
Hajime doesn’t realize that he, too, is crying until he feels Tooru’s hand slap against his back.
Tooru rubs slow, soothing circles on Hajime’s back until Karasuno has finally calmed down enough to shake their hands. Hajime tries his hardest to hold back his tears as he shakes Kageyama Tobio’s hand, not wanting his former kouhai to see him this way. He gives Tobio a pat on the back in spite of the fact that Hajime blames him for their loss; he knows that Tobio deserves every bit of the praise he receives.
As they pack up their stuff and ride the bus home, Tooru is silent. Hajime does not bother him, knowing that nothing he can say will make it better. There is nothing that Hajime can say to Tooru that will make up for the fact that they lost, that they will never be given the chance to defeat Ushijima. He cannot say anything that will turn back time and give them the chance to win.
Hajime also leaves Tooru be due to the fact that he figures Tooru is probably forming a speech in his head. He believes that Tooru is so silent because he’s thinking of what he can say to his team that’ll make them feel like this loss wasn’t a devastating one. He’ll shrug it off as if it had been no big deal because he is Oikawa Tooru and nothing bothers him. At least, that’s what he wants the world to believe.
When they get back to their school gym, the coach calls them to gather around. He offers them his speech, about how he is proud of them despite the fact that they lost. He has tears in his eyes as he tells them that he couldn’t have asked for a better team this year.
The coach’s tears results in the team, once again, sobbing. Everyone is crying. Everyone, but Tooru.
When the coach leaves, the team turns to Tooru and waits for his speech. They’re waiting for the words of wisdom from the man (but, wait, isn’t he only just a boy?) that’s been holding the team together for the last year, the man who they trusted faithfully and looked up to despite all his flaws.
There are several long moments of silence. For a split second, Hajime can see it. He can see the look of utter pain and devastation on Tooru’s face, the look of panic as Tooru realizes that he really has no idea what he can say that will make the situation any better.
Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the look is gone. It is once again replaced by that care-free grin that make’s Hajime’s eyes twitch in anger. It’s plastic, it’s fake. The smug grin is back and Hajime can’t stand to look at it anymore, not when he saw what Tooru was really feeling.
Hajime cannot and will not listen to Tooru dismiss it as if it’s no big deal. He can’t bear to stand by and listen to Tooru shrug and say that this loss is not the end of the world because it is.
It is the end of the world. It is the end of their world, Hajime and Tooru’s. It is the end of the world in which they are a duo, a force to be reckoned with. It’s the end of the world where Oikawa Tooru is Aobajousai’s captain and Iwaizumi Hajime is their vice-captain. It is the end of the world in which Tooru is Seijou’s setter, their star player, and Hajime is their ace.
Their ace. Hajime is their ace. Hajime was their ace. Hajime was supposed to be their ace.
He let them down.
Hajime walks out in the middle of Tooru’s speech and makes his way to the locker room. It is unusual for him to be so rude, but he cannot stand to listen to another word of Tooru’s speech. He can’t listen to Tooru say that they all did the best they could when Hajime knows for a fact that he could have done better, he could have been better.
He cannot stand to see the devastated and broken look on the faces of his teammates and know that he put that look there, all because he failed as an ace. He made his friends feel that way, every tear shed that night is because he couldn’t live up to the title that was given to him.
Hajime walks to a shower stall and turns on the cold water, standing under the shower head still fully clothed in his uniform. The shower water mixes with the tears streaming down his face as Hajime lets out a roar of anger, hurt, pain, agony, resentment, regret, all rolled into one sound. He slams his fist against the tiled shower wall and continues to cry.
He presses his back against the shower wall, slowly and pathetically sliding down until he is seated on the floor of the stall. All he can think of is the fact that he did this. The team relied on him as their ace and as a result, he failed them. They lost. It’s his fault.
Tooru will never be able to defeat Ushijima, Seijou will never be given a chance at nationals and it is all because of his failure.
He continues to sit in the stall, hoping that if he stays in the shower long enough then maybe he can cleanse himself of the overwhelming amount of guilt he feels.
His cries are so loud that he is unable to hear the door of the locker room open and slam closed. He cannot hear the sound of Tooru calling his name over the body wracking sobs ripping from his throat and coming out of his mouth.
When Tooru find him like that, sobbing on the shower floor, he does not say anything. He silently watches Hajime for a few minutes as he rocks back and forth and hugs his knees to his chest, his uniform drenching wet and his face red from crying.
He doesn’t say a word, instead he gets down on the shower floor next to Hajime and takes him into his arms.
Hajime wraps his arms around his best friend and cries into the crook of his neck. The water pouring down on them flattens Tooru’s hair to his forehead and begins to soak his uniform as well, but Tooru does not complain. Instead, he rocks with Hajime as he continues to cry. Tooru holds Hajime’s head close to him and comforts him to the best of his abilities.
“What kind of ace am I, Oikawa?” Hajime manages to ask as he pulls back from Tooru’s embrace.
“Mine, of course,” Tooru replies as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “You are my ace, Iwa-chan.”
Hajime manages to let out a laugh, albeit a sarcastic laugh but a laugh nonetheless. “I’ve failed you.”
Tooru does not answer him. Instead, he stands up and turns the hot water knob. As the two temperatures mix together it is no longer the brutal and punishing cold Hajime had it set on, but a relaxing warmth washing over them. Tooru holds his hand out to Hajime.
When Hajime takes Tooru’s hand in his, Tooru helps him up to his feet. Once they’re both standing, Hajime does not let get of Tooru’s hand, and Tooru does not try to make him. Hajime uses their slight height difference to his advantage and rests his head on Tooru’s shoulder, closing his eyes and letting the water wash over them as he continues to hold onto his captain’s hand.
“Why aren’t you crying?” Hajime whispers after several moments of silence.
“I suppose I would cry if I knew that we hadn’t given it our all,” Tooru answers. “We did, though. We fought our hardest, Iwa-chan. We gave Karasuno all we had up until the very last point. In the end, that’s all I could have ever asked from my team. I’d like to think that we went out with a bang. Wouldn’t you?” When he’s finished with his explanation, he takes Hajime’s face and holds it between his hands.
Hajime is still crying when Tooru looks at him. His face is red and his eyes are puffy and it is very apparent that Hajime had been crying the whole time he was hiding his face in Tooru’s neck.
Tooru wipes away his tears.
“I never thought we would lose,” Hajime begins, sniffling every so often. “I never expected us to, but I did still prepare myself for if we did. When I imagined us losing, though, I imagined me having to be the one to comfort and take care of you. Tell me, Oikawa, why is it that in reality it’s the other way around?”
For the first time, Oikawa Tooru’s eyes are shiny with tears. A sad smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he looks into his ace’s eyes.
“Oh, Hajime,” Tooru breathes. The use of his first name coming from Tooru is enough to make the tears stop for a while as Hajime gives Tooru one hundred percent of his attention. “You’re so used to taking care of everyone else that it never even occurred to you that maybe, for once, someone would need to take care of you.”
Hajime brings his hand up to the back of Tooru’s neck and pulls him forward. He crashes their lips together as he kisses Tooru, gripping his fingers into the hair at the base of his neck.
Tears run down Tooru’s face now, but he does not pull away. Instead he returns the sentiment, giving all he’s got into the kiss and gripping Hajime’s face. It’s messy and it’s haste, but it’s passionate. It’s everything they’ve both been wanting to say for a long time, but were never able to find the words.
The kiss continues until Tooru manages to back Hajime against the tiled wall. Once there’s nowhere else for Hajime to move, the boys pull away from each other and try to catch their breath.
They both remain silent as Tooru leans down and rests his forehead against Hajime’s, their noses touching.
The silence is finally broken by Hajime, who sighs and lets out a barely audible, “Tooru.”
“Our volleyball career is far from over, Iwa-chan,” Tooru grins against the shorter boys lips and he strokes Hajime’s cheek. “Don’t you know that?”
“I love you, idiot,” Hajime whispers before once again closing the distance between them and sealing their lips together.
The match against Karasuno was the end of the world. It was the end of this world, the world in which Tooru and Hajime are Seijou’s setter and ace, but it is not the end of their world. It takes Tooru to help Hajime realize that not everything a person loses is a loss, sometimes it’s more than that.
It may be the end, but it also their new beginning.