Chapter Text
Before the third years graduated, Sundays were Futakuchi’s favorite day of the week. Sundays meant no practice, no expectations, complete freedom for Futakuchi to be doing much of nothing.
After taking over the team, Sundays mean watching plays, planning practices, managing the team, worrying, studying, and little else. Needless to say, in the wake of certain events, he needs stress food.
He’s at a convenience store at some sinful hour of the morning, grabbing groceries for training camp when he tosses a bag of candy into the basket as he picks out more healthy food for the team. They’ll never know. Besides, candy is like fuel for Futakuchi. Something to tide down Nametsu’s power smoothies.
Futakuchi goes over today’s plan all the way out of the store, snacking on gummies and not-so-briefly reminiscing on the days where he could sleep in every weekend and game every weeknight. For a while, he misses his easy life, but then remembers the third years retiring and guilt ties him back down.
Okay, so maybe he’s not completely into the whole captain thing just yet. He’s doing his best, ever since he promised Moniwa he would take the team to Nationals. This is his team now, his responsibility, he can’t afford to even slack off. All of his juniors were so fired up, and even Aone, who barely said more than five words a day, managed to make every practice worth it.
Futakuchi stuffs gummies into his mouth and glares at the cracks in the sidewalk. That’s a good thing, Futakuchi, he tells himself stubbornly. Jeez, it’s as if you’re asking the universe to show you how shit your attitude has been.
“Heh,” he chuckles to himself, to create some illusion of irony, and then his snacks get stolen.
Futakuchi, sleep-deprived and distracted, takes a moment to comprehend if he just saw Ushijima Wakatoshi take candy right out of his hand. And then he turns around and sees that exact person slam them into a trash can as he jogs past. Damn, he jogs fast. Wait, what?
“What the hell?” Futakuchi gapes, aghast, at Ushijima’s back disappearing in the distance. “I paid for that, asshole!”
Ushijima keeps running, and Futakuchi is left standing on the sidewalk with his fucking feelings and his hands snackless. He’d barely even gotten through half the bag. Who just steals candy from a stranger and throws it away?
For once, Futakuchi thinks, something about Oikawa Tooru makes sense.
Futakuchi remembers meeting Ushijima up close once, in his first year, when Datekou got destroyed by Shiratorizawa before even touching the semifinals. It was also the year that nearly got Datekou kicked out of the top four teams. The guy came in like a storm, and Futakuchi, barely at the top of his game as a first year middle blocker, found himself completely humiliated. It was safe to say he had a less than favorable opinion about the Shiratorizawa captain.
This all comes back as Futakuchi finds himself on break from summer camp and trying to treat himself to snacks and alone-time. He hasn’t forgotten about Sunday’s incident, though he has pushed it deep into the back of his mind, just like every other thought he has about Ushijima.
But no matter. He finishes his fruit milk as thinks about how to train their new setter, and after he’s done with that, he pops open a new bag of sour gummies and chews them in frustration.
To his credit, he actually gets through half of the bag this time before seeing Ushijima’s ugly mug. Though the first thing he does, ironically, is nearly choke on his candy, because if there’s one thing (out of everything) that he never cleared up, it’s how the sound of candy opening has come to summon Ushijima like the devil himself. It takes him so off guard he has to consciously swallow everything he’s eating before shrinking back and gaping.
Ushijima doesn’t seem to notice him, a smudge of dirt on his shiny earth, but Futakuchi’s learned. The moment Ushijima comes running past, he pulls the candy out of reach and sticks his foot out instead. Ushijima, of course, dodges the attack with grace.
But it also gets his attention. “You tried to trip me,” Ushijima says, as if there should be some confusion.
“Why are you stealing my food?” Futakuchi demands, and stuffs the bag into his jacket pocket. “It’s not yours, stay away from my stuff.”
“It’s unhealthy,” Ushijima tells him. “You should take care of your body or you’re useless in a match. Don’t be stupid.”
“Oh, really?” Futakuchi says as he tosses another gummy in his mouth. “Look, I’m not in the mood for this. Don’t act like my coach and go bother your own team.”
Ushijima peers down at him like he’s an unknown specimen, but nonetheless, keeps jogging. Good, that should keep him away for some time.
Except Futakuchi eats as he walks, and this time, it’s only making him more stressed. Every bite makes him think of Ushijima and he ends up not even finishing the bag before he tosses it in the trash. He scares Koganegawa with the expression he’s making when he finally shows back up at camp.
He doesn’t need to deal with any more troublesome people in his life.
There’s a burning resentment that’s evident the following days. It only hits how on how much this candy debacle with Ushijima has affected his mood when he almost makes Sakunami cry by accident and Aone has to take him aside and stare at him until Futakuchi confesses he hasn’t been feeling well. Yutaka gives him a look of pity as Futakuchi tries his best to pull himself together and act like a proper captain.
“It’s okay, Futakuchi-sempai,” Sakunami tells him after practice, when he apologizes. He has one of those nervous puppy smiles that makes angels weep. “We know you’re still getting accustomed to being captain.”
From anyone other than Sakunami, Futakuchi would have been offended, but it is, and he truly means it. That’s still not an excuse to scare his underclassmen. Moniwa wouldn’t want this.
It doesn’t help when Onagawa walks up and says, “Seeing you work hard is disturbing. Your crap attitude was better.”
“Guess we know who’s getting extra suicides tomorrow,” Futakuchi retorts, and though it doesn’t crack Onagawa’s deadpan expression, it shuts him up.
“You really don’t have to stress too much over us, Futakuchi-sempai!” Sakunami assures him quickly.
Futakuchi’s already knows that. He should know that, really, but how can he not stress when he’s responsible for an entire team and preliminaries are right around the corner? Especially when Karasuno has barreled in out of nowhere and completely trampled over them. Not to mention Aobajousai with Oikawa as captain, and Shiratorizawa.
He remembers Ushijima’s stone cold gaze and glares at nothing. Sakunami must have noticed, because his eyes grow big and worrisome, as if he just said something wrong. Futakuchi sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll try. Now stop loitering around here and go home." And then they disperse.
At this point, Futakuchi doesn’t care whatever dastardly captains are haunting him, he needs his stress food. He turns his heel into a convenience store on the way home and finds most tempting bag sour gummies he can find. The minute he reaches for it, every muscle in his body freezes. How good would he be on the court if he’s binging on candy every time he gets stressed? Could he find other coping methods? What kind of example is he?
He shakes it off. Whatever, his mental health has bigger needs right now. Though he grabs a slightly smaller bag and turns to the cash register, then nearly smacks right into Ushijima.
Futakuchi refuses to register him at first, due to fervent denial, but Ushijima is staring back at him with a look that clearly screams, “Why are you here?” As if he would dare ask.
“I didn’t think I was this popular,” Futakuchi says smoothly without looking him in the eye. “To what reason do I have the pleasure of seeing Ushijima Wakatoshi everywhere I go?”
“Still eating candy, I see,” Ushijima says, ignoring him as always. Futakuchi looks down and sees a mass of sports drinks and vegetables in Ushijima’s basket. Of course. “After I already told you not to.”
“And I told you to go screw yourself,” Futakuchi tells him. “I need it for stress. Not all of us can be mindless volleyball monsters.”
“You look even worse than last time,” Ushijima comments.
“Whose fault is that?” Ushijima just peers at him, wondering why Futakuchi is wasting his time with such futile, pitiful words. This isn’t getting him anywhere. “It’s been a long day, and I need something to make me feel better. Don’t go all volleyball police on me. I’m a new captain, not a delinquent.”
“Is that so?” Ushijima says, and leans over to invade his personal bubble, as if to challenge that.
Futakuchi swallows and steps out from under Ushijima’s breathing space. “I’ve seen how your team functions,” he says. “You all go off and do your own thing. It’s not your problem to take care of them.”
“It’s more efficient that way,” Ushijima tells him. “We don’t need to worry over one another and eat junk food when it gets hard. You could learn a thing or two, it might help.”
He then snatches the snacks from Futakuchi’s hands and tosses them on the opposite shelf. Futakuchi narrows his eyes. “You’re not very popular, are you?”
“I’ve heard otherwise,” Ushijima says.
Futakuchi bites back saying something stupid and merely huffs in annoyance. He grabs a different bag of candy off the rack and steps around Ushijima so he can pay and abandon the third year in the store with his energy drinks and salad. He doesn’t feel guilty about stuffing his face walking home, only fueled by the burning fire of defiance.
The next few weeks rush past after that, even with preliminaries coming right around the corner. Summer flies into the new semester, and Futakuchi’s watched so many volleyball videos he’s starting to see it in his classes. When he’s not wondering about the trajectory of a volleyball if Yuuta spiked it off of a cliff 300m high with a power of y, he’s training Koganegawa and the new first-strings, going over management with Nametsu, and, of all things, studying. Even if he’s in class A, he can’t let the team see him lag behind.
Aone is especially excited to face off with the little Karasuno guy again. Futakuchi’s glad he found a rival, even a friendly one. Futakuchi wonders if Ushijima has amiable rivals like this. Futakuchi wonders if anyone would a want to be amiable with Ushijima Wakatoshi, if they met him. They could grow their own vegetables together and talk about volleyball all day and be the best of friends.
“Futakuchi,” Yutaka interrupts him at lunch one day.
“What?” Futakuchi says as he stabs into his food.
“Have you been eating healthy all week?” Yutaka motions to the salad in Futakuchi’s mouth. “You haven’t even touched the melon bread, and you usually eat one every other day.”
“So?” Futakuchi says, but then he notices that, maybe this is why Aone’s been shooting him these worried looks. Aone, affirming this, nods. This was probably more unusual for him than he was considering. “Preliminaries are coming up,” he tells them. “I want to be ready.”
This only eases Yutaka slightly. Aone offers him his melon bread, and Futakuchi is tempted, but some force of nature makes him turn it down. Yutaka squints at him, but ultimately seems to decide that it’s not like there’s no harm in it, and they return to lunch.
It’s after the day is over, completely over, that Futakuchi is walking by a convenience store on the way home and it hits him that this miniature war with Ushijima might be getting to his head. He buys a melon bread the next day, but it doesn’t feel right, and he ends up sacrificing the rest to an overly-eager Koganegawa. He spots a sports magazine in the clubroom with Ushijima’s face in it and considers cutting it out and tacking it on his dartboard back home.
It’s Sunday again when Futakuchi is out in town trying to replace his old equipment, and passes by a very tempting ice cream parlor a couple stores down from the sports shop. Even with his new healthy instinct, not even Ushijima can scare away the leftover summer heat, and Futakuchi treats himself on a scorching hot day.
Except when he steps out of the parlor, he finds who else but Ushijima, planted in front of not the sports shop, but the book shop in between them. He pokes at the used selection with vague curiosity, an unexpected sight. Luckily, he hasn’t seen Futakuchi yet with his ungodly sugar intake, so Futakuchi has the chance to escape.
He moves to cross the street, but stops and reels back. Even if Ushijima is an unwilling thorn at his side, there’s still something interesting about watching him contemplate over books. He seemed to be thinking hard, too. Futakuchi didn’t even know Ushijima liked reading; he assumed he didn’t really take interest in anything out of, well, volleyball. It would be pretty funny to know what Ushijima read in his free time.
Futakuchi lingers by discreetly and watches Ushijima turn over a political thriller that was popular around ten years ago. Apparently it’s not his style, because he makes a disgruntled face and places it back neatly before skimming over the selection again.
Futakuchi muffles a laugh, when a title catches his eye. “Oh, that one’s good,” Futakuchi says, coming up from behind Ushijima. Ushijima’s hand stops over the book in question, but instead of taking it, he turns to Futakuchi and peers at him.
“Did you need something?” He glances at Futakuchi’s ice cream but doesn’t say anything about it, giving Futakuchi a look that tells him he should know better.
Futakuchi shrugs. “Don’t act like you’re the only one allowed to throw out advice every once in a while.”
Ushijima obviously doesn’t appreciate people shoving themselves into his personal space, the hypocrite, but he turns around and pulls out the book Futakuchi suggested. “What’s so good about it?”
“What?” Did he actually want to know? “Uh, well, I didn’t hate the main character. The plot was consistent and the author is known for how she writes suspense.” What does Ushijima like? “There’s no volleyball involved.”
“It’s set in the desert,” Ushijima tells him with his eyes on the blurb.
“Just thought you’d want to know,” Futakuchi says. Ushijima isn't impressed. “Fine. What are you looking for?”
“I need to update my library.” In the used books section? “My mother gets worried if she sees me doing nothing but prepare for Spring Tournament around this time of year and I have to convince her my other interests exist.”
Oh, that’s… that made sense, in a weird, roundabout sort of way. “I didn’t think you’d really care about anything outside of Spring High now.” Futakuchi grabs one of his favorite recent books from the other basket and places it on top of the book in Ushijima’s hands.
“She says it’s not healthy for a teenager.” Well, at least Ushijima had someone in his life who saw him as a teenager. Futakuchi was sure he wasn’t the only one who forgot that little tidbit. “It’s not like I don’t like reading, though I’d prefer to do it at a better time.” A pause. “Sounds sappy,” he says, handing the new book back.
Futakuchi makes an annoyed sound. “Could have fooled me,” he scoffs, and bites into his ice cream cone hungrily. Ushijima makes a face. That reminds him. “By the way, you owe me money”
Ushijima pauses in his book hunt and squints. “Why?”
“You stole food from me and threw it away. Pay me back.” Futakuchi finishes off the cone. “What’s with that look? I never asked you to play health coach for me.”
“You should have done it yourself,” Ushijima tells him.
“You barely know me, you don’t get to decide that,” Futakuchi retorts, and Ushijima motions to reply, but stops short. Futakuchi is confused for a moment, and then: “…Do you know me?”
“New captain of Datekou’s team,” Ushijima replies, but takes a moment to say, “Futakuchi Kenji. Your team’s ace, if I remember right. Half of the iron wall.”
Oh, Futakuchi thought people only remembered Aone. He has to admit, he didn’t actually think Ushijima would be able to answer that. He wasn’t much of a player when they first met on the court after all. Though it was still kind of unfair considering Futakuchi recognized him from the get-go. Famous people.
“Then you should know better than to pick fights with other teams off the court.” He shakes off any extra distracting thoughts and returns to business. “Now I want a snack from the convenience store. Oh, and buy this.” Futakuchi puts the book Ushijima rejected back on his pile. “It’s good. And there’s volleyball involved.”
Ushijima glowers at him, but rereads the blurb anyway. “How is volleyball—”
“That’s a spoiler.” Futakuchi winks, making Ushijima’s glare reside. “Now hurry up, ice cream doesn’t help the appetite.”
Ushijima buys him a fruit salad. It’s actually pretty good, but Futakuchi would never admit that.
Datekou makes it past the first round of prelims. Though it’s not as easy without the third years around, it helps reassure Futakuchi that they’re still a strong team, even under his supervision. The second years congratulate him and the first years celebrate, he gets so emotional he begrudgingly treats them out to ramen just to cover it up. Onagawa notices and laughs at him. Onagawa’s running extra laps on Monday.
Or he would, except coach orders them to take a break from practicing until they’ve rested up physically and mentally, which hits Futakuchi on how invested he’s become in the team. He was planning on setting up for the Spring High prelims and he’s scared of returning to old habits if he stops now, which would very likely happen. Futakuchi is self-aware enough to know that.
Unfortunately, everyone is against him and they, Aone especially, will know if he’s been planning over his free weekend. Things like this used to be so much simpler.
If he stays at home, he’ll end up either planning or playing video games, so he grabs his headphones and goes on a walk around the city. He can’t go to the sports shop again, but he does loiter around a music store, buy a new shirt, and treat himself to a fruit salad from the convenience store he stops by. After that, he decides to eat and walk off his thoughts of the team.
It’s ironic, because before he knows it, he starts to recognize landmarks that are obvious Shiratorizawa turf. He looks down at his fruit salad suspiciously and realizes that he just bought this thing on his own terms, without even a thought of Ushijima. It was like certain food had some supernatural effect on his brain and lead him into proximity of Ushijima. Futakuchi wants a new subconsciousness.
“This is the worst day off ever.” Futakuchi stuffs a melon cube in his mouth and scowls. It’s still really good.
It distracts him long enough for him to notice that he’s might actually run into people from Shiratorizawa. He’s still not surprised when he passes a gym and sees Ushijima walk out. Fucking fruit salad.
He’s not wearing his usual Shiratorizawa jersey, which is oddly intriguing, but whatever he’s been doing, he’s finished with it. He’s managed to break a good amount of sweat and looks significantly less growly than he usually does. This is a rare sight; Futakuchi wants to take advantage of it.
“Working hard, huh,” Futakuchi says, taking off his headphones. Ushijima looks up and luckily, he’s a lot calmer than the last time Futakuchi interrupted his business, so there seems to be less tension.
Ushijima stares for a while, as surprised as he can look. His expression drops. “Did you come here just to prove that you can eat healthy?” he says with a suspicion in his tone.
“That’s offensive, I don’t eat sugar every meal of the day, Ushijima. Sorry to ruin your image of me,” Futakuchi tells him, and Ushijima rolls his eyes. “I’m on break, so I took a walk.”
“Break,” Ushijima says, word foreign.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Futakuchi admits. “They’re making it very apparent they want to see me slack off. But stress has become a new lover in my life.”
“You seem to eat a lot when you’re stressed,” Ushijima comments, and gives Futakuchi a good look over. “At least you’re eating better.”
Which may be because of Ushijima, but Futakuchi doesn’t say that. “Was that a compliment?”
Ushijima stares at him in confusion, so Futakuchi decides to take it as a yes. He looks suspiciously like he wants to comment further, but instead says, “Are you implying you can’t handle your responsibility?”
Futakuchi chokes on a strawberry. “What?”
“Because you’re eating so much. Ever since becoming captain, or at least that’s what you said,” Ushijima says.
“Of course I can—” Futakuchi bites back his retort. He doesn’t think he has trouble managing his team, at least, not after they passed the first round prelims. Especially with the new look in their eyes. “Of course I can handle them. It’s just not easy; they’re first years, and I’m…” He waves his hands. “…new to this. I just need to make sure they respect me.”
“If they don’t, you’re not a very good captain,” Ushijima tells him, and tone of it is completely offensive, but at this point, Futakuchi’s gotten used to his tactlessness. He laughs instead.
“Of course you would know that,” Futakuchi says. “People respect you in an instant whether you’re an asshole or not.”
“You’re not very popular, are you?” Ushijima says, though only looks moderately irritated. It’s not a bad expression on him.
“Shut up,” Futakuchi says, and the next thing he knows, his fruit cup is empty. It’s after this that he takes notice of the setting sun over Ushijima’s shoulder. “Ah, I should get going.”
“Oh,” Ushijima says, and then pauses, keeping Futakuchi put under his gaze. Futakuchi considers leaving him at that, but then Ushijima then pulls a book out of his sports bag, the same one Futakuchi told him to buy not too long ago, and says, “Why did you make me buy this?”
“It’s good, right? Not as sappy as you thought,” Futakuchi says smugly, eying the bookmark halfway through.
“It is,” Ushijima admits easily, making Futakuchi fall silent. “So far. I didn’t like the antagonist in the other one, made the story fall flat. You could have done better.”
“Really?” Futakuchi says once he’s recovered his voice. He has a point, Futakuchi guesses, just not as easily forgiving. “Well this one’s one of my favorites.” He motions to the book Ushijima’s stuffing away. “It’s still good for you to compliment my taste in some way,” he says mockingly out of habit.
“Save it for the court,” Ushijima tells him, though it has less bite to it than Futakuchi expects. Futakuchi responds with a half-assed salute, and Ushijima walks away, carrying his air of false charm and superiority with him.
That turned out a lot more pleasant than Futakuchi expected. If he were a more ambitious person, he’d actually hope to he’ll meet Ushijima at prelims now, no matter how stupid that may sound. It’s a bit of a selfish expectation, Fukiage and Sakunami would freak, and Futakuchi knows what happened the last time they faced off Shiratorizawa, but he wants to try knowing the feeling of facing off against Ushijima as the leader of the new iron wall.
Practice starts up again with a bang. Futakuchi is ready to make his team work until Onagawa is at his knees. Koganegawa joins his and Aone’s blocking, and Futakuchi’s face meets the floor more than once, but anything to make sure they’re ready for October’s prelims. He improves his jump serve and makes Koganegawa practice until he can get him, the ace, to actually hit the ball. The sound of the ball hitting the net comes to haunt Futakuchi in his dreams.
But it feels different from when he first became captain. By now he’s found himself ruffling Sakunami’s hair and complimenting him on a job well done and yelling at Koganegawa less. His study sessions with the second years consist less of him overstressing and more of him making fun of Yutaka’s inadequacy at math, which apparently is a relieving thing, according to Onagawa (though not much to Yutaka).
Aone seems much happier about how he’s turned out, too, and gives him the proudest stone-still expression, to which Futakuchi replies, “Thanks, buddy,” with his most sincere smile.
He’s feeling good about himself for the entire week. So when he walks out of a convenience store one Sunday morning and sees Ushijima on his morning jog, he actually feels even better. He sticks his foot out just because he knows his mere presence can’t stop Ushijima during training, and Ushijima avoids it flawlessly, as always.
“Morning,” Futakuchi says with a grin. He bites into a mango cube. “Thought you’d be here around this time.”
“I thought you only wanted to talk to me if I owed you something,” Ushijima says, skeptical.
“Just thought you’d miss me,” Futakuchi tells him, grinning to himself. When he looks up, Ushijima’s staring at him with an unreadable expression, but it’s definitely not annoyance. “What?”
“Nothing,” Ushijima replies immediately. He pauses. “You’re in a good mood.”
Futakuchi swallows down a strawberry. “I’ve had a good week.”
“It’s probably the salad,” Ushijima says, full of himself. “Nice to see you’re making better life choices.”
“There’s the guy that forces me to eat healthier,” Futakuchi says, chewing on a kiwi. “He’s an asshole.”
“He’s also right,” Ushijima replies, and okay, now he’s actually full of himself. Luckily Futakuchi likes him enough now not to threaten to stab his eye out with a fork. “The other guy looked like shit when they first met. He looks a lot better now.”
“Aw, thanks,” Futakuchi says, tossing his bangs out of his eyes.
“He’s also a bastard,” Ushijima continues, snorting.
“But a handsome one,” Futakuchi says cheerfully. “With good taste.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, you sound like Oikawa,” Ushijima rebukes.
Futakuchi grimaces. That wasn’t something he wanted to hear, ever. “Okay, okay, fine. But it was a good book, huh? Did you finish it?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Ushijima says, and actually looks contemplative for once. “The twist was well-hidden. I don’t feel stupid for not catching it, so it worked in pretty well. Oh, and you lied about there being volleyball.”
“I thought you might want some convincing,” Futakuchi says with a shrug. “Why else would you read it?”
“I’m glad we both agree you’re a bastard,” Ushijima replies, but it lacks malice. That’s pretty nice. “But my mother was happy. She gave me five more novels for my birthday.”
That takes Futakuchi a moment. “You have a birthday?” he asks, because he’s an idiot.
Ushijima stares at him in disbelief, unable to understand how this creature is even standing before him, existing. “Yes,” he says, because of course he has a birthday. Why wouldn’t he? Futakuchi is an idiot. “It was a couple weeks ago, after first round prelims.”
It’s not that Futakuchi can’t imagine Ushijima not, well, having a birthday. The harder imagine to conjure is him, in a party hat, surrounded by happy people waiting for him to blow out the candles of his cake.
Okay, so it’s not that hard to imagine, because Futakuchi physically but obviously has to stop himself from bursting into laughter, shaking from his shoulders to his chest.
Ushijima, looking down at him, unimpressed, then turns to leave. Futakuchi panics and drags him back in place. “Wait, wait! Sorry, just…” God, he’s huge, it’s like lugging around a bear. Luckily, Futakuchi has Aone experience, Ushijima isn’t too much bigger. “Hold on for minute.”
“I’m in the middle of training,” Ushijima tells him, as if he hasn’t been talking to Futakuchi for the past fifteen minutes.
“I know, just wait here,” Futakuchi tells him, and before Ushijima can reply, he runs inside as fast as he can, not believing Ushijima would waste his time waiting for him to do something mysterious. He then runs out to toss a sports drink at Ushijima, the same one he remembered filled Ushijima’s basket from long ago. “There. Happy birthday.”
Ushijima blinks down at the gift in his hands, silent for a good while before Futakuchi breaks the silence and says, “You jog pretty far, right? You have to if you want to end up around here.”
“You’re not going to make me pay you back again, are you?” Ushijima asks, as he opens the bottle and downs half of it.
“Only if you do something stupid and ruin our beautiful friendship,” Futakuchi replies, and finishes off his fruit salad, pleased. “Then I’ll be mad.”
Ushijima pauses and lowers the drink to stare at it more thoroughly. He gives Futakuchi’s awaiting expression a couple glances, but ultimately finishes off the bottle. It feels like a win for Futakuchi. “Thanks,” he says, looking refreshed, and then, after a beat, makes a move to leave.
Futakuchi is about to watch him run off as always, but suddenly he sees Ushijima’s back, and the words tumble out. “Oh, one more thing!”
Ushijima, half a step from escaping, stops and turns around to face Futakuchi one more time. “What?” he asks, a little breathless, and Futakuchi looks him straight in the eye and shoves his empty fruit cup into Ushijima’s chest.
“Throw this away for me,” Futakuchi tells him when Ushijima takes it. “Since you’re so good at it.”
Ushijima glares at him.
Futakuchi smiles. “And then you’re fully forgiven.”
Ushijima doesn’t bother to grace that with an answer other than turning around and slamming both pieces into the trash as he runs by it, with the same vigor as he did to Futakuchi’s candy a not so long ago. Yep, it’s a pretty good day.
Good days, no matter how uplifting and wonderful they are, don’t last very long. He learns on Monday that apparently Fukiage did a parkour course with a few of his friends from the basketball court over the weekend and fell three meters, miraculously only walking away with a broken wrist. Fukiage, unlike Koganegawa, has the face of a deeply serious man and is pretty sincere about apologizing, especially with Spring High prelims in the next couple months.
Futakuchi, merciful, decides not to yell at him and tells Nametsu to help Fukiage heal by feeding him power smoothies until he recovers. He hopes this teaches Fukiage to be more careful.
But by losing one of their new starters like that, Futakuchi’s entire training regimen is thrown off track. He spends a good couple days trying to move around practice teams, figuring handless exercises for Fukiage, and figure out a plan that doesn’t scream, “I have no idea, honestly, just work it out.” It gets even worse from there, with a Japanese History test thrown in their faces, Aone getting pushed into and accidentally managing to tear a net, and Futakuchi getting scolded for reliving his stress on the first years again.
The worst part is that Yutaka manages to tempt him into eating melon bread again as stress food, and the next thing he knows, he’s pulled an all-nighter on a Saturday and is paying for sour gummies early on a Sunday morning.
He makes it out of the convenience store, sleepless and frustrated, before opening the bag and tossing a piece into his mouth. He’s distracted enough by the invigorating taste, how he’s missed it, that he forgets who runs this route and is actually surprised when Ushijima grabs the snacks, cuffs him on the head, and slams the bag into the trash in his exit.
“…Ow!” Futakuchi says, loud enough for the offender to hear, and rubs where Ushijima hit him.
He can’t stay mad for long, it’s actually pretty endearing.
He still paid for those.
When Ushijima disappears down the road, Futakuchi grumbles, shuffles back into the convenience store, and buys a fruit salad. Eating it, disturbingly, actually makes him feel better.