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Sweat, heat, exhaustion. All of them surrounded me, suffocating. Game point, muscles tight, jittery; Kageyama's set is perfect, made for Hinata, and we all could feel the tension within us start to slip out of our sweat-soaked skin at knowing they would make it. I can already feel the grin start to spread across my face.
Three blockers appear from thin air, immeasurably tall, like giant walls surrounding and crushing, and then the ball was flying down on our side of the net, and if I had been paying more attention, if my reflexes were better, if I was just a little bit taller-
I wake up, drenched in sweat and face covered in wet, salty tears. "It's okay, Noya; you couldn't have done anything more," don't say such things to me, Captain, not with that loss in your eyes. Suga, don't give us all a smile as we do our cool down. Asahi… don't take the blame on yourself, not like you did last time.
Mornings don't feel good anymore; they feel like I overslept our most important match and that I'm trying to make up for my tardiness. Mornings feel like desperately swimming towards an unknown shore, because each morning since our loss has started with a rude wake up call from the vivid nightmare of the past. I stare at the ceiling then, consciously unsure of why I look at the cracks in it but unconsciously knowing it’s only so that I will distract myself from the pain thudding in my chest. Asahi, will you continue coming to practice once you realize that we can't, no, that you can't go on to nationals?
The ache in my heart doesn't go away even though I give a blank stare to the ceiling. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, breaths coming in shuddering gasps, because I failed you, I failed the team.
I didn't have your back.
Practice comes early with the sun barely making an entrance against the sky. We jog a distance that feels too short and return to the gym, sleepy yet energized. No one seems upset, tormented by the ball that slipped through our fingers just days ago, but there's a melancholy that hangs around and that refuses to leave, at least just yet. Coach senses it, so does everyone else, but it is the elephant in the room, the pain we all ignore so that we can continue fighting. When we leave for classes, none of us feel satisfied with what we accomplished at practice, but we plaster on a smile and look happy about it, saying things like "good work."
In class my mind can't seem to focus on the words in front of me. I tap my pencil around, pretending to take notes as I watch birds fly outside. Sure, we were asked to fly, but if a bird has a broken back then it's doomed.
The first year geniuses take lunch break in the gym where they practice more, and I applaud them begrudgingly. I wish I could motivate myself to get through my gloom by polishing my skills, but I don't even want to get out of bed in the mornings anymore because it’s embarrassing; it's embarrassing to show my face because, for all my talk about supporting the team, I failed.
Afternoon practice is hard on us all and none of us seem 100% there. Asahi is late, walking in with an excuse that his councilor wanted to have a meeting. I shrug and pretend not to care, but I'm worried because I can feel the hold I have on him slipping through my fingers like shattered glass, and maybe it's the way that I miss receiving too often but Asahi notices. I think the Captain might've caught on too with the way that he's eyeing me curiously from across the court. Even though I don't want to let on that something's wrong, I can't help it. "Sorry," I call out, false smile spread wide, "once more, please!"
In the club room after practice things are more quiet than they used to be. No one hangs out to chat, not for long, and before the sun is even a sliver along the horizon everyone has left. I grab a juice from a nearby vending machine before I make my way to leave, and that's when today becomes different than what the past three days have been.
"Noya," Asahi leans against a wall until I pass by him, trying to look collected. He quickly matches my walking pace, his long legs finding a way to slow down for me.
I stick the straw into the juice, squirming a little when a few drops spew out of it and onto my hand. "Mmh, yeah?" I ask casually as we walk, pretending I don't feel a painful tightness in my throat. I wonder if I'll even be able to get my juice down.
He holds his bag tightly, as if his furrowed brow isn't enough. "Noya-" he stops himself, collecting his thoughts, and the taste of my name refuses to sit right in the air. "Noya, we need to talk."
I sip on my juice innocently and speak around the straw in my mouth, "So talk."
Asahi is frowning even more - if that's possible - and he shoves his hand that isn't carrying his bag into his pocket. "I would, but… it doesn't feel right to talk about it here."
The third year pretends he doesn't look at my face and I pretend I don't glance at his. "Fine," I say after a moment, then crush my empty juice carton, "we can just go to my place then."
The walk turns silent after Asahi's brief thank you. I trace the ridges on the juice container to distract myself, not really sure what to say. I should bring up school, or even volleyball, but something between us blocks out my ability to speak, like the ever looming blockers on the side of the net in my dreams. It's been three days since the both of us have talked - have had a real conversation - and I now understand that it wasn't just me who felt our relationship wearing thin under the strain. Maybe this was it, the final formal goodbye, and while I felt hurt well up within my chest at that thought, I also reminded myself that this was Asahi, the guy who was too shy to actually ask me out even though he was the older of the two of us. If he really did want to end our relationship, I'm sure the breakup will feel as gentle as sliding into bed at night.
When we reach my home, I hastily turn on the lights so that the place won't seem so empty. Funny how at one time we would have been excited to have the place to ourselves, but today it just feels like a black hole sucking us into some vortex. Asahi tries to act like he doesn’t sense it, but there is the hint of a crease in his brow.
"Would you like some tea?" I ask, tossing my bag onto a chair. It sounds so formal, especially with the silence that sticks to the end of the question, and for a second I think Asahi is actually going to dump me right then and there. Instead, after minutes pass, he hums an affirmative noise and I can breathe again. "You can go wait in my room while I make some," I didn't have to show him where it was, he already knew.
Asahi lumbers away, and suddenly I'm alone in the kitchen and then I can't help but feel loneliness seep into my skin. I know what's coming, I know what Asahi is going to tell me, and I know that I could have prevented it if I had just talked to him. I pour the tea, set it on one of my mom's nice trays, and then make my way to my room where the ace is waiting, probably running over how to tell me goodbye in his saintly mind.
He's sitting on my bed when I enter, flipping through one of my volleyball magazines with an expression that tells me he’s not really paying attention to it. I clear my throat and he jumps. "Tea's ready!" He nods, setting down the magazine, and smiles at me with a touch of apprehension in the way he does it. I pass him a cup and he takes it gently, sipping down what I've just given him as if it has been touched by God. That's the thing about Asahi, he always makes you feel important, and it reminds you to be thankful that he’s in your life. The only thing is, you easily forget to be thankful if you stop talking to him.
I stand for a moment, not sure where to sit, but then I shrug to myself and plop down next to the third year, acting like I can't sense any tension. Oblivious, calm and oblivious. I pretend that we're normal here, sitting on my bed next to each other, but there's a distance between us that seems impossible to overcome. An invisible barrier pushes me away from him, making sure I don't lay across his lap or lean on his shoulder like I always do. It's uncomfortable.
And it's silent. Bad silent. I strike up a conversation based on the page that Asahi left the magazine open to, but the way that I fill up most all of the talking seems desperate, not like the usual excited way it feels. I go on and on about volleyball with only one-word answers from the ace. I'm nervous. My throat feels swollen again, or, rather, it has only felt worse since the walk home, and my mouth is drying up due to the uneasy way that Asahi goes along with the discussion. His eyes stay stuck to the tea and his hands fidget along the walls of the cup.
After one particularly long ramble on my part, Asahi doesn't reply to a question I posed. I wait, chewing the inside of my cheek because I can tell it's happening now.
"Noya-"
I don't want this to happen, not between us. Regret floods me, pushing out all of what I've been meaning to say ever since we lost the match. I refuse to let this end without my honesty, so I cling to his glass heart until I've told him everything, even if the broken pieces of it cut my hands.
"Listen, okay, I know I've been ignoring your texts and calls and I know that I've been lousy at practice and I know that you don't deserve a shitty boyfriend like me who stops talking to you completely, but I messed up, okay! I knew I would have to say this if I talked to you, but it wasn't you this time, it was me; I'm embarrassed to say that it was me who screwed it up." My throat closes for a moment and I have to stop to breathe. Asahi waits, and when I start talking again it hurts. "This was your last year, Asahi, yours and Suga's and the Daichi's and Kiyoko's last year, and I screwed it up! It was me who missed the receive, not you, and it was my responsibility to get it. That's why I couldn't bring myself to face you, that's why I've been so distant. So, just… this is my fault, and I understand why you're doing this, so don't apologize, okay." I squeeze the cup in my hand, hoping my words didn't sound as rushed as I felt they did.
Asahi doesn't reply and I'm too busy being fucking terrified to look at him. I hear his cup being placed on the tray and I feel him before I hear him, his arms as they curve around me and his heart thrumming deeply in his chest as he pulls me to him with a sort of gentleness that I have only even known with him. The tray isn't far away, so I place my cup next to his on it because I feel myself unwinding already and I finally collapse into him, letting him be nice to me before he breaks my heart. He is warm in a way that I had forgotten, like waking up under your favorite blanket, and I thank God that I was allowed to experience it one last time. Moments pass and I begin to realize the fear I was experiencing before has left me because he is there to calm me, and somehow I know that he wouldn't be hugging me so tightly if he wanted to break up.
I cry against him, feeling small and fragile, and he just holds me, rubbing circles along my back in long, fluid motions. It's something he's always done and it always makes me think of Sunday mornings with the sun peeking into his bedroom and the smell of his mom making eggs in his kitchen.
When I can't cry anymore I just curl up against him in his lap and Asahi presses kisses to the top of my head. They're so soft, like he isn't even there, but I know he is; I wouldn't feel so at peace if he wasn't. He's so gentle to the point that it's almost unbelievable, and if I didn't know him I wouldn't think it was possible for anyone to make someone feel so special just by existing.
If God was a person on this earth, surely Asahi Azumane would be better than even Him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, and before I can fight him on it he continues. "This wasn't yours to take alone, you know. We all feel upset, all of us, because we all really would have loved to go just a little bit further in that tournament. We didn't, though, but that's okay, because we still can get onto the court." A pause fills the air as I try to think up a rebuttal, but nothing comes to mind so I huff instead (because admitting defeat isn't like me). He then smiles - I can tell it in the way he hums lowly in his throat - and releases a puff of laughter, "You've been spending too much time around me! I think my negative qualities are starting to rub off on you."
I'm able to snort a little at that one. "You have negative qualities?" I say in my head because I know he would fight me on it if I said it aloud.
I push myself off of his broad chest and take a moment to wipe the remnants of tears from my face before I look up at his chocolatey eyes. A question is shared between us in my look because I am still unsure of where things stand between us, and in response Asahi lets out another short, airy chuckle and shakes his head the slightest amount before touching his lips to mine in an answer that is infinitely more definite than the movement of his head, and his mouth feels so right and soft there against me, and I can't believe I actually thought he was going to leave me for not talking to him for just three days.
When he pulls away something in the air is better, like the tournament wasn't everything, and I can feel myself returning to normalcy.
"Hey," I pipe up in a way that makes the tiniest of smiles appear of Asahi's lips since I finally sound like myself again, "so this means you won't be skipping practice, right?"
He laughs, grin stretched on his face, "What gave you the impression that I would?" At my pause he gives me a gentle smile, a smile that says he understands my concern, "Because of you and all of the others, I'm not how I used to be. We're a team, and I get that now."
I grin, nodding a little, "Of course." I then stop myself and realize how hypocritical I had been - telling Asahi to not take the blame yet shouldering our loss completely on myself. I sigh lightly, then snuggle against the ace, "Sorry for forgetting that myself."
He pets my hair, hands large and warm and inviting, and breathes deeply. There isn't a verbal reply, but I already know that I'm forgiven.
"Next time," Asahi says with his voice gentle as the spring breeze, "talk to me. I'm not your boyfriend for nothing, y'know."
I nod, he continues to hold me tight to him, and I realize that maybe Asahi's heart isn't made of glass because it's breakable - maybe it's so that you can look inside and see that he's not lying.