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A whim. An impulsive move, spurred by his aching heart. An incentive, hidden under years of repression and lonely nights standing alone in empty rooms where Tendou's ears teemed with ringing noises.
Tendou had no choice but to admit how his life became bathed in listless regrets. Every waking hour provided a missed opportunity, whether it'd be a memory he looked more fondly over than the people he shared them with, or a decision he was too slow to make.
In hopes of "spicing up his life" (younger Tendou would be appalled by how boring he had become), Tendou bought a rather costly plane ticket back to Japan, directly from Paris. Luck struck him then, given it was the last direct flight for a while—he glossed over the long maintenance reminder.
In a meditative state, he packed his clothes, his souvenirs and an impassive part of his heart before boarding the plane.
Several stages of sleep overcame him during the fourteen hour ride. He vaguely remembered moments when polite flight attendants asked him questions to best accommodate his experience, but he had no recollection of his answers. His naps were highlighted by overplayed cheesy movies and a desire to hush his racing mind.
Landing in Tokyo brought upon tides of melancholic blues.
When had he become so world-weary?
A younger Tendou satisfying his most selfish wishes would have been sated by now. He'd be humming happy tunes and swaying on the spot from excitement.
Perhaps this exact knowledge caused his heart to clench uncomfortably, insecurities rattling inside his chest like a constant buzzing from a malfunctioning air-conditioner (Tendou still felt bitter about that). Not for the first time, he felt truly alone.
He had no justification for his loneliness. He frequently talked to his fellow Shiratorizawa alumni and often caught up with friends from culinary school, but rarely had he been present (instead, he felt numb, desperate to feel something when they went on tangents about their successes).
Tendou yearned for something he had yet to pinpoint. A longing driven purely by emotion and no intention of finding out what for.
Perhaps Tendou was homesick for a place that would never be.
If not in Paris, if not in Miyagi, where else? Would travelling make his senseless worries disappear?
The air tasted crisp and clear. A distinct experience, sentimentally familiar to Tendou as the air quality spoke endlessly about the distance between countries. Regardless of culture or individual, distance could be measured by all senses, yet Tendou still wished for someone to understand him. He wanted someone to hug him, to tell him everything would be alright, to remind him things will pass and this pervasive emptiness would too; when he turned around, he could only see his own footsteps and a whole lot of nothing.
His feet trailed idly towards sights he had no energy to entertain. A glimpse of his own reflection directed his tired face to a mind full of apathy. Red hair. Bags under his eyes. A black mask. Facts of life he could accept, unlike his loneliness.
Paris grew too familiar for him. Memory gaps existed between the everyday streets he visited, the hours dragging on regardless of what month it was, or what year had passed.
Tendou felt complacent. Incredibly alone. Stagnating in a world of soaring people.
A Tendou fresh out of Miyagi's prefectural qualifiers had been proud to say his dream lacked his usual impulsivity. Paris had not been any reckless matter, he'd tell Ushijima, who stoically nodded and hummed his approval. He knew before leaving for France, he would be stranded in a country with a poor grasp on their language and a borderline offensive lack of knowledge on their culture. He only breached the surface of speaking French, skimmed through articles on their culture, and listened to videos explaining what to expect living there. Nothing could have prepared him for an entirely different culture from his.
Though, he hadn't expected to feel so alone, so tired, so meaningless during the entirety of his stay.
Scanning through bags being sifted through by others, he blindly reached for his luggage and walked to a train heading directly to Miyagi. Heart caught in his throat, he tapped his fingers rhythmically on his cheek. Scenery whipped past him as he leaned his head against the sturdy, clear window, and although the sights remained familiar, there existed a palpable distance between Tendou Satori and the world he chose to embark on.
He decided to keep silent on his impromptu trip, aware of the reckoning his parents would strike upon him (they'd remind him to visit, and he would leave them on read) and chose to omit saying anything to his friends (they were surface level friends, really). Nor did he tell them about the foul manifestation of homesickness for a place he didn't think he belonged in. He suppressed it. He ignored it. He couldn't conquer it by willing it away.
The change from French chatter to Japanese conversations threw his head for a loop, and even as he grew accustomed to hearing Japanese, Tendou realised a fragment of his heart resided in Paris.
As he threaded through crowds and walked closer towards withered paths, he found himself halting.
Would this change anything?
Did anything matter?
Volleyball mattered to him. In a flash of nostalgia, apparitions of his Shiratorizawa friends stood beside him, laughing for reasons he didn't know, absorbed in a world Tendou had been lucky enough to share. Fondness tugged his lips into a smile, smitten over the familiarity of Ushijima's grounding presence, Ohira's relaxed nature, Semi's hunger for victory—devouring through his path like fire—was it foolish to say he missed them all?
His feet stopped. Lush trees, dense bushes capturing so much sunlight, everything seemed orange—he knew the trail to their hiding place off by heart.
Further along the greenery, stood a man far too tall for the secret entrance.
Brown hair, broad shoulders enhanced planes of greys.
Tendou's breath hitched. He found Ushijima toeing the line between hard pavement and a faded gravel path concealed by ruly, overgrown plants of many assortments. Something inside his chest ached, a pain he selfishly did not want to comprehend. Guilt? Greed? Nostalgia for memories long past? Tendou didn't know.
The youthful urge to bound himself into Ushijima's arms, skipping the entire way to announce his presence compelled him to take another step, but his older, jaded heart reminded him to take his time (because patience was a necessity when handling someone like Ushijima).
Tendou reached an impasse.
He trained his mind to adapt quickly, having spent too many hours slaving his life away to corporate kitchens and restaurants catering to customers far outside his wage. Tendou disliked admitting he lost count over his grievances—how else would anyone know about his poor working conditions—but life strung him along like a bean sprout left rotting away inside an unclean bowl. How dull. As a chef rushing to complete orders for revered restaurants, he played up his miserable moments as "adaptability", "handling pressure" and "excellent work ethic", but in the end, all those flowery words were unfit to describe him.
Especially when his feet planted themselves to the ground as he idly surveyed how much Ushijima lived without him. His hair still glowed a tawny brown underneath sunlight. He still carried an air of mystery regardless of how well you knew him.
Yet Tendou knew nothing about this Ushijima.
Did he still read Shounen Jump, flickering through every page slowly but surely (because he wanted to appreciate everyone's hard work)?
Had he, too, thought of Tendou, the way Tendou did of him? Waking up trying to clutch onto dreams where he seemed happier by Ushijima's side, thoughts flickering to Ushijima—Ushijima occupied his mind far more than he'd like to admit.
Did he replay their last words inside the stale gym (filled with regret for what could have been)?
Tendou smiled sympathetically, minutely curving his eyebrows downwards as he observed Ushijima hesitating—seemingly lost in thought. He began finding it strange how squared Ushijima's shoulders were, how his black shirt clung onto taut and sure muscles, how he turned his head multiple times as though he wanted to commit the remnants to memory instead of finding it intimately routine the way he did during highschool.
"I figured you would forget this place," Tendou said coolly, even as his heart hammered inside his chest and a bittersweet grin replaced his contemplative expression.
Ushijima pivoted on one foot to face Tendou, and a low hum of recognition accompanied the instant he met Tendou's eyes. "Why would I?"
Tendou flailed his hands to signify the unimportance of their shared memories (they meant everything to him), "I just didn't think it would matter much to you, the way volleyball did." His paradise was short-lived, but Ushijima's paradise was forever. He still lived in an oasis, and here, Tendou stood, infringing on it.
"It mattered to me," Ushijima levelled Tendou with a pensive gaze (at least he thought it to be—when had Tendou gotten so rusty at reading Ushijima?). "You mattered to me as much as volleyball did."
Tendou felt like he had been slapped by the magnitude of Ushijima's sincerity. Dressed in a loose black long sleeve shirt, and clad in denim jeans, he shifted uncomfortably. Surrounded by history—their history—and still he seemed out of place. Would a Tendou adorning the Shiratorizawa name fare better? Would he have known what to say in response?
"That's very heartfelt of you"—could Tendou still call him by his first name?—"Ushijima." Tendou had no place in Ushijima's life anymore. It would be naive for him to call him by his first name, as though they were close school friends and not adults apprehensively navigating an old relationship.
Ushijima raised his eyebrows by a fraction. "It's the truth."
Tendou seemed to be entering unfamiliar territory. He knew Ushijima was many things—a leader, hard-working, diligent, a little bit of an airhead, but especially earnest. However, Tendou found himself doubting Ushijima's honesty. Perhaps Tendou had changed just as much, given how easily his younger self would believe Ushijima.
Tendou hid the frown eager to present itself, and leaned down to pluck a dainty yellow flower from its stem. "You say that with so much certainty." Tendou had never been more afraid of certainty. "How do you know?" How did you know I meant something to you?
Ushijima's breath fanned over Tendou's nape, and Tendou sharply inhaled.
"You are a memory I cannot forget." Tendou stiffened in place, heart very much fluttering, reminiscent of eighteen year old Tendou. Ushijima leaned over to pluck the adjacent pink flower before ushering him to head further inside. He followed without question.
A wave of wistfulness coloured their old spot grey, similar to teenage years spent under cloudy days before practice started. Tendou perched himself upon the fence in the exact same place he used to claim, perfect to memory yet still out of his element. He smoothed the petals out between his finger and his thumb. Velvety to the point of rubber.
Ushijima stood next to Tendou, appearing composed just like his memories—except, they were adults holding little flowers. "You didn't tell me you cut your hair." Ushijima said lowly. Tendou had to strain his ears to listen. "I miss being able to run my fingers through it."
"I mean, you can pat my head instead if that makes you feel better," he patted the top of his head for reference, "but I wanted to change things up. It was an impulsive thing, much like these piercings," He replied in a sing-song voice.
Ushijima tapped the space above his own eyebrows. "Have those healed yet?"
"They have, they were some of my earlier piercings. The most recent ones are the dermals below my collarbone."
"How do those heal?" Ushijima's clinical stare raked over his fair skin and the dainty opals adorning his sternum.
"These piercings have a single exit hole, and anchors on the bottom. It was a fairly simple looking procedure," Tendou stroked his chin thoughtfully, intently watching Ushijima marvel over the three evenly spaced piercings.
"Did it hurt? Did any of them hurt?"
Tendou peered at the railing, thinking back to piercing appointments and pain levels. "Some did more than others, but it's a temporary kind of pain." Tendou traced over his ear piercings (cool metal to the touch), "but anyways. I didn't expect to see you here."
Ushijima hummed in response. "Me neither. I didn't expect you to come back to Miyagi"—
"I can say the same for you."
—"Why did you come back here?" He barrelled on, surprisingly intent on figuring out why Tendou returned (even though he himself did not know).
Tendou smiled sheepishly. "I came"—because I don't know where I belong—"to sightsee," He answered quickly, heart rubbed raw. Tendou could count on two hands how many of his dreams began exactly like this.
"But you've seen all these things before."
"Yeah," he sighed, "Yeah, I have."
A contemplative silence cloaked their hideout in equally dull colours to Tendou's memories. Tendou picked the fraying threads on his jeans, unsure of how much to say, how little to say—should he have said anything at all?
They weren't close anymore. In fact, they hadn't been much of anything since the year they graduated.
Salonpas. A woody, musky smell imbued the gym—the janitors had recently cleaned the floorboards. His underclassmen roaming around, cleaning up nets, balls and other items Tendou had long since lost interest in. Synchronised breathing, stretching simultaneously, Tendou's steady heartbeat rang in his ears.
"Probably not the best timing, but I'm still feeling the rush after playing alongside you again. I don't really expect an answer…" Tendou switched legs, "considering we'll be miles apart after graduation." One breath in, then a breath out. "I like you, Wakatoshi-kun, romantically. I want to pursue a romantic relationship with you. A little naive though, to expect anything with so much distance."
Ushijima made a noise of affirmation. "I like you too. Romantically," He moved to a sitting toe touch stretch, "Though I would not know why distance would be an issue for you."
"I wouldn't want to hold you back. You're destined for greatness, you know? I wouldn't want to affect your decisions." Tendou leaned down to enhance the stretch in his hamstrings.
"You are too. I want to be by your side when you accomplish it," A light touch to the small of Tendou's back caused him to jolt—a large, stocky hand Tendou knew belonged to Ushijima.
"I do too," Tendou smiled, although hidden by his pose, "but not if you'll hold back for me."
"I can't say I understand, but I will respect your thoughts. I suppose that still makes us friends?"
Tendou straightened up to match Ushijima's gaze. "Of course it does."
After their parting words during their graduation ceremony, a heavy stillness prevented their relationship from continuing. They said the heart grew fonder from distance, but Tendou started to have difficulty recalling Ushijima's favourite books when he knew them so intimately before. The itch to contact Ushijima spurred many late night messages, but by sundown, he had already deleted all of them.
Their shared inactivity in contacting each other stunted Tendou during slow moments of his day, leaving him to stew in his thoughts. He looked down, and the table sparkled back at him. He moved on to a different table.
Tendou still watched replays of Ushijima's matches, he actively tried to catch up with his appearances, but he seemed far removed from it all. Like a fan, rather than someone who meant something to Ushijima.
Rubbing the raised skin on this internal scar, he felt strangely tender. Comparing his lesions to the one inflicted by their separation, the scar seemed fully healed but upon closer inspection, it still bled under pressure—visceral pain when confronted by the very object of his dreams.
He never fully moved on. Not even Tendou, stuck under mountains of denial, could ignore the blood rushing to his ears from every move Ushijima made. Tendou subconsciously rubbed his nape, running his fingers over cropped hair, thinking back to nameless flings and casual relationships that never went further than ground level.
How pitiful Tendou was, to harbour feelings for a man who had grown so much without him, who had an entire life without him.
"I came to visit my family." Tendou's eyes snapped up to Ushijima's face. Ushijima twirled the flower between his pointer finger and thumb.
"Oh, have you seen them yet?" Tendou pushed, desperate to drive away any lingering feelings.
"I haven't yet. I wanted to visit this place for nostalgia's sake." Tendou exhaled shakily. Perhaps the others cared more than he thought. Perhaps Ushijima missed it too.
Tendou plucked a petal. "Does it live up to your expectations?"
"It does." Ushijima inclined closer towards Tendou, lifting his quaint flower near Tendou's ear. "Better, even, because I found you. Can I place this around your ear?"
Tendou blinked, a ruddy colour blooming on his cheeks. "Of course you can, Ushijima."
"Wakatoshi." He delicately wrapped the stem around Tendou's right ear, avoiding the backing of his piercings. "Call me Wakatoshi, the way you used to."
"Wakatoshi-kun. Are you flirting with me?" Tendou hopped off the fence, legs turning shaky—he wouldn't be stable enough to keep his balance.
"Yes, I am. Do you not like it?"
"No!" He shook his head, "No. I do, just a little flustered. I'm not as used to your sincerity as I used to be, it's been a while."
"It has been a while. Yet my feelings for you remain the same." Ushijima intertwined their hands, fingers between Tendou's own, fitting snugly. "Is that the case for you too?"
"I was never able to get over you." Tendou murmured, shaken by late night longing in Paris. A fond smile lined Ushijima's lips, and Tendou's heart quivered. After all the years they spent apart, Ushijima still looked at him the same way he did at eighteen years old.
"Does this mean we're dating?" Ushijima cupped Tendou's face tenderly, like he was holding the world. Tendou bit back a smile.
"It does." Tendou closed his eyes, leaning towards Ushijima and wrapping his arms around his neck. Ushijima met him in the middle.
With their lips, they spoke eternal things that could not die.