Chapter Text
When he was 5 years old, Bokuto Kōtarō suddenly created an imaginary friend. They did everything together: they walked to school, and played in the yard; the friend even helped Kōtarō clean his room!
“What’s your friend’s name, sweetie?” she asked her son.
Tiny Kōtarō beamed, and clapped his hand to his chest.
“Kaashi!” he said proudly. “My friend’s name is Kaashi!”
Kōtarō’s mother tried to be patient; she knew children often did such things when coping with loss. So instead of telling Kōtarō to forget about his friend, she tried to encourage him, when meant that Kōtarō spent more and more time with Kaashi, especially at home.
So it was that Kaashi slowly became a part of the family. Kōtarō’s mother and two older sisters accommodated both Kō and Kaashi; his sister Rei would set an extra place at the table when they ate, a place that was once occupied, and, according to Kōtarō, still was. His other sister Asuna would set tea and water at the place, and Kōtarō’s mother would serve the food.
It was all rather surreal, as only a few months before, the patriarch of the family had held that seat.
And now, that seat belonged to Kaaashi.
It hurt Kōtarō’s mother’s heart, but she knew it was helping her son grieve.
And maybe, that tiny gesture helped her, too, reminding her that those who have left us are never truly gone.
Regardless, Kōtarō’s mother had to admit: it was awfully cute watching Kōtarō and his ‘friend’ play together in the muddy March grass. The new school year would be starting soon; she hoped that once Kōtarō got to school, and made real friends, Kaashi would eventually fade away.
The first day of school came: Kōtarō dressed adorably in his polo shirt and knickers, and posed with his sisters for his first day of school picture. He had one arm around Rei, and the other in the air, presumably around Kaashi.
Kōtarō’s mother walked her children to school, and took Kōtarō into his classroom, giving him so many hugs and kisses before she left.
She walked home that day to an empty house. She’d been alone before, but the house had never seemed so...lonely.
She sat on the sofa and took out her phone, anxious to recall the events of the morning, to hold onto those memories, which, as she had learned all too recently, were fleeting and could slip away if they weren't cared for, preserved.
When she got to the picture of her children in front of the house, she froze.
Because, next to Kōtarō, was a shimmering light that, if his mother looked close enough, appeared to be in the shape of a boy.
Kaashi.
After that day, Kaashi became a fixture in their lives.
From breakfast, to school walks, to afternoons in the sunshine, to stories at bedtime, Kaashi was always there, by Kōtarō’s side, and Kōtarō was always jabbering away to him about the things he’d learned in school, the friends he’d made, and, most importantly of all…
“And today in gym class,” he told Kaashi excitedly, as Kōtarō’s mother served them both cookies and milk, “we got to play a new game called volleyball. ”
“Aren’t you a little bit young for that game, Kōtarō?” his mother asked.
Kōtarō was silent for a moment. “Kaashi says that if I like it, I should keep playing.”
Kōtarō’s mother simply smiled, and began to wash the dishes in preparation for dinner.
Every day, Kōtarō was full of stories about school. He talked endlessly about his teachers, his classmates, what they did at recess, his homework, and anything else that caught his attention.
And he told it all to Kaashi.
Before Kōtarō’s mother could blink, one year passed, and then another, and soon, Kōtarō was a big boy, entering third grade, halfway through elementary school. She was so glad to see that, despite everything, he was thriving: he had lots of friends, he made decent grades, and he loved sports. She was busy shuttling him back and forth to soccer, basketball, and, of course, volleyball.
Volleyball was Kōtarō’s favorite sport. He felt at home there, even at eight years old, and Kōtarō’s mother would do anything to make sure that her son was happy and safe. If he wanted to play three sports, she would let him play three sports. If he needed to skip school for a tournament, she let him.
So long as he was happy.
Because for a long time, he hadn’t been.
And she never wanted to go back to those days.
Kaashi came along for the ride for all the volleyball practices. Kōtarō never acknowledged him during practice, but afterwards, on the way home, he’d carry on the most two-sided, one-sided conversation that his mother had ever heard.
“Kaashi! Did you see me spike today? I finally did it!”
“Kaashi, I wish it was you setting to me. Nobu’s sets are fine, but I bet yours would be perfect!”
“Kaashi, someday when I’m famous, will you still love me?”
All the way home, it was always question after question. And always, Kōtarō would listen, and nod, as though he could hear everything that Kaashi was saying.
Which…sometimes, when Kōtarō’s mother listened from the front seat of the car, she swore that she could hear Kaashi talking, too.
Yes, Kō, your spikes were amazing today.
Yes, Kō, I wish it was me setting to you, as well.
Maybe someday we’ll be able to play together.
And Kōtarō’s mother would listen with a smile, but inside, her heart would be breaking, because she knew that Kō would never get to play with his friend, and that one day, his friend would be gone.
Kōtarō’s mother knew a lot of things about her son. She knew that he loved volleyball, and yakiniku. She knew that he was a stomach sleeper, and that he talked incessantly, including when he was asleep. She knew that he loved science, but hated math. She knew that he kept a record of all the mean things his sisters said to him, so that he could read them back someday at their weddings.
She knew all of this, but the one thing she wasn’t prepared for was Kaashi…
Or, rather, the way that Kaashi left their lives.
She should have been prepared for it; the process had been in place for a number of years, if she had been paying attention. Kōtarō mentioned Kaashi less and less, and by the time he reached sixth grade, he was firmly ensconced in the volleyball world; he’d even given up soccer and basketball to train year-round. He played on the school intramural team, and he also participated in training camps and outside practices. He was going to be a wing spiker, he told her proudly. The best in the nation!
Kōtarō’s mother smiled. Her son had lofty goals, and she was happy to help him achieve them.
But then, she realized: he was telling her these things…
And he wasn’t telling Kaashi.
What had happened? Had Kaashi left? Had Kōtarō gotten tired of him? Was this the natural progression of age, of life?
Kaashi had been such a part of Kōtarō’s life—of all their lives—that the realization that he was not there shocked her.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she bring it up, ask her son what happened? Or leave it alone and let Kōtarō be?
Kōtarō’s mother was a good mother. But...like any good mother, she was also a little bit nosy.
“Have you told Kaashi about your practice today, Kōtarō?” she asked him casually one night over dinner. Rei and Asuna paused, their chopsticks halfway to their mouths, as they gaped at their mother. Had she actually just…
“Oh!” replied Kōtarō cheerfully, stuffing his face with rice. “Kaashi isn’t here. He said that I didn’t need him anymore, that he’d done all that he could for now.”
“'For now'?” Asuna frowned. “You mean he’ll be back?”
Kōtarō shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said. “All I know is that he said he’d done all he needed to do for now.”
Kōtarō’s mother gaped at her son. She thought he would be…sad, angry, dejected, something. But no; if anything, Kōtarō seemed…fine? Like he was at peace with what had happened.
She smiled and ate her dinner. She’d been so worried that Kōtarō would hang onto Kaashi for as long as he could, but it seemed like, in fact, he’d been able to grow beyond Kaashi, all on his own.
Kōtarō would be okay. They all would be.
The first day of volleyball practice of the new year. Kōtarō’s mother was busy making a huge serving of yakiniku for her son; he always worked so hard, and practices left him hungrier than usual, especially the one on the first day. She couldn’t believe he was a second year high school already; how did the time go so quickly?
Rei and Asuna were already in college, and soon, Kōtarō would be joining them, out in the world. She was excited for that change, but also, she knew that she would miss having her baby, her youngest child, her only son, at home.
Time had made things easier, the sharpness of the hole in her heart eased into gentle slopes. It was still there, but less cutting.
But once Kōtarō left, even though she would be happy for him, the hole in her heart would rupture, all over again.
The door opened, a “Tadaima” sounded in the genkan.
“Okaeri!" his mother called. “Dinner’s ready!” She looked up at the time; almost 8. “You’re late today,” she added as Kōtarō padded into the kitchen. He gave her a hug from behind, then slumped into his chair at the table.
“You okay?” his mother asked, concerned. Normally, Kōtarō came home from practice full of adrenaline and stories, especially the first day. She expected him to regale her with stories of what Konoha had been up to all summer, if Washio asked that girl out, if Kuroo’s practice had gone better than Kōtarō’s (she loved that her son had friends at other schools, especially ones that were also in Tokyo!). “Usually you’re a little more…did the first day not go well.”
“What? No!” he exclaimed as she set a plate of yakiniku before him. “This smells amazing; thank you for the food!”
“Then what happened?” His mother narrowed her eyes. She knew her son; something was definitely wrong.
“Everything was great!” he said as she set a bowl of rice, soup, and tsukemomo in front of him. “Really!”
“Kōtarō.” He yelped and looked up at her, finally meeting her eyes. She could see that he was…well? Perhaps shock was too strong a word, but he was definitely something.
“I…we have a new setter,” he murmured, waiting for her to sit.
“Oh?” she asked. “And that’s bad?”
“No! Not at all!” he protested. They gave thanks, and began to dig in. “He’s…he’s amazing, so good, such perfect sets,” Kōtarō continued in between bites of food. “This is delicious, Kaa-san.”
“I’m glad you like it,” his mother smiled. “Now suppose you tell me the problem?”
“Well?” Kōtarō took another bite, then set his chopsticks down. His golden eyes were serious. “It’s…his name, Kaa-san.”
“His name?” His mother was confused. What could…
“It’s Akaashi,” he said. “Ah—kaah—shi.”
Oh. Oh.
“Like…” she whispered.
“Yeah,” Kōtarō finished. “Like Kaashi.”