Chapter Text
“Ushiwaka, you’ve been spotted shirtless quite a few times during your career,” the host stated. “And every time fans have seen a tattoo on your chest, just above your heart. Many are wondering what the meaning of it is.”
The man, now a professional volleyball player for the Schweiden Alders, was taken aback by the more ‘simple’ underlying question: What does the tattoo mean?
Wakatoshi didn’t show his hesitancy on his strong face, instead just showed he was debating within his own mind. Should he tell everything of his love on a live interviewing that was being shown to the thousands, give them a glimpse of what he carried for someone he so loved deep in his soul? Or should he pass it off as just a compulsive, drunken decision made in the middle of a night in his third year of high school, just a few weeks before graduation?
Then, the memories came flooding into his consciousness all over again. Memories he tried not to think about too often, afraid he’d have an uncharacteristic breakdown if he let them settle at the front of his mind for the first time since he felt the great loss.
For the first time in years he let them grow, their strong vines weaving themselves into each little nick and cranny of his brain, begging the man to be remembered and shared. The life full of struggles, and the inevitable death of his first and only true romantic love.
– –
Satori never told anyone of his seizures. They were his to deal with, so why should he burden his loving teammates with the medical diagnosis of which haunted their energetic guess blocker? The woman who gave birth to him knew, and that was good enough for him.
When he smelt burnt food with none around or deja vu plagued his movements, Satori would simply excuse himself to the bathroom. If it lasted longer than normal, he’d play it off as having a hard shit. Being such an absurd thing to say out-loud, his teammates would make a grossed-out face before just scolding him for TMI.
The doctors, his neurologist in particular, told Satori to notify the people around him of his disability–Progressive Myoclonic Epilepsy–because if he were to have one, “They'd need to know.” Satori thought this to be bullshit, an excuse to make himself some kind of helpless victim. He had auras. He could get away before it set in. And if his true attitude, angry and frustrated, was actually some coverup of more issues he had? Well, it wouldn’t matter, would it?
Satori never told his neurologist of his frustrations, and since the man couldn’t care enough for when he was lying through his teeth, it was never a problem.
You tell them the answers they want to hear, and they continue sending you the medication you need to not feel like you’re walking on sticks. Because Tendou Satori hated expressing when his symptoms flared-up.
It almost always meant he’d become like an unconsenting medical specimen that had no other choice if he still wanted any help at all. The ups and downs from all the side effects, and how they often tore his body to shreds, was something he’d probably never get used to. Although, it didn’t stop the passive tone in his voice each time his mother noticed how much Tylenol he took for the migraines.
She worked a lot, was never around much, she always had been. Sometimes Satori would feel a certain frustration towards her for this, too, but then the guilt would remind him she wasn’t around because of him. She was never around because she was too busy grinding herself into burnout just to pay for his stupid medications that barely worked, the doctor appointments that led nowhere.
All that money wasted, when she could be spending it on herself. It’s a thought that oftenly swept through his mind.
One day, during a late evening practice for the Shiratorizawa volleyball team, everything was going as normal until it wasn’t.
He was in the locker room with Hayato. He could hear a volleyball smack hard against the wooden floor, and knew it was Wakatoshi practicing some insane serve that he saw a tape of once. The second years were mindlessly arguing over a question on their Science Finals outside the door, making him chuckle at their occasional vulgarity. Satori was aware of all of this when he felt it hit.
An aura, he thought. Recognizing as the world around him seemed to move so slow, yet so fast, he told his brain to move. And yes, he had been more stressed recently because it was now his third year, but he didn’t think it’d trigger this. It still had caught him completely off guard.
He recognized the burnt smell filling his nose, and Satori could only be happy he didn’t feel the dreaded feeling of deja vu. That usually indicated a bigger one for him, and goddamnit, he’d rather die right then if waking up meant seeing the traumatized faces of his kouhais.
Satori’s legs wouldn’t move no matter how hard he tried to lift them. He felt overstimulated and sensitive to the few fluorescent lights hung in the ceiling of the locker room, and if it was bad here, he couldn’t imagine how being inside the actual gymnasium would’ve felt. It was like his body was being lulled asleep, just to be pulled out of his body and watch himself across the room. Satori makes a last ditch effort to sit on the ground, in front of his designated locker, and the last thing he feels is how his muscles contort and tighten before everything goes black.
When Satori wakes up, he isn't able to recognize where he is. At least, not right away. The sound of squeaky sneakers filled his ears and the blinding lights above him–well, blinding. Then it’s like he becomes conscious of his body again because he can feel the aching pain in his extremities–the arms and legs–full-stop.
He wasn’t in the most pain he’s ever been in. Probably not a tonic-clonic, he would’ve thought if he had been able to. But still. It’s like he’d been hit by a truck and gone through surgeries to put him back together again afterwards. He looked at his arms, he looked at his legs. They looked normal, as they always did.
Satori knew it was an awful thought since so many had it worse, but he often saw this aspect as one of the worst things about his disability. You’d think if the universe was making him suffer so much from these seizures, it'd at least have the decency to give him proof of the pain. But alas, every time he came to there was no new scar, never some reminder left permanently on his skin that what he experienced was real.
Whether his deep-seated desire to be seen as real came from being the constant class freak or just because he felt so dissociated from his body each time a seizure fell upon him, he didn’t really know.
His mind was still full of a looming static when he finally took notice of Hayato snapping his fingers in front of his face. The teammate in front of him looked… worried? Somewhat terrified? Satori couldn’t pinpoint it yet with his mind so fuzzy, effectively blocking out so many instinctively-built senses.
“Tendou?” the boy in front of him voices, but the guess blocker has a hard time processing what has become like a foreign language when he goes to move his own tongue to respond. “Tendou!” the boy said more urgently now, looking increasingly mortified. Something in Satori saddened upon seeing it though he didn’t know why or how. His body still felt heavy, like it needed him to hibernate for a thousand years just to get rid of its drowsiness.
Then, he saw a man come into his line of vision. Something about him was familiar, the white hair and bushy gray eyebrows, the deep lines in the man’s face that made him look like a natural grump. If he didn’t have a gut feeling he was safe, Satori probably would’ve ran right then–well, if he could’ve in the first place.
His brain slowly started to piece some things together, although, at first, not all of them had been correct. Examples being that he thought he had possibly been taken and somehow held hostage in the grimy room, or how he must’ve fallen since his body hurt. They’re things that sound completely unreasonable, but felt as real as if it had really happened in the moment.
Satori briskly remembered reaching out to the ground, almost desperately clawing on its tiles to pull himself out of whatever he had gotten himself into. However, the man who had penetrated his vision not long ago gently grabbed his wrists reassuringly.
He remembered. Not all of his senses were up-to-date, but he remembered how his muscles tightened before it all went black. Satori could feel his eyes widen as he looked at the man once more. With direct eye contact, he felt weak and this helpless feeling he hated. What does it matter? he thought. Even after all his work to hide it, his body had another idea, and gave up on him. He couldn’t help himself. He was worrying people he’d come to love because he couldn’t take care of himself enough.
When he looked around the room and saw no one else but Coach Washijo and Hayato he could at least let out a little breath of relief. Not everyone had seen it.
“Tendou,” Coach Washijo said, “do you need to go to the hospital?” The words that left the man’s mouth made Satori try and sit up straighter. He didn’t miss when his body reminded him of the pain in his extremities or when Hayato reached out as if to catch him. Satori had seen that in his mother enough times to know he had scared the boy, and his heart broke a bit at the sight.
“No,” he forced himself to say. “No, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine. Just a little tired.” He saw how Coach went to disagree but Hayato beat the man to it.
“What was that? You like… had this hundred yard stare and started… twitching? Shaking–maybe–I don’t know! Are you okay? Is there something we need to do?”
“Calm down,” Coach said to the boy. “You need to calm down. This isn’t about you getting answers right now, it’s about making sure Tendou is going to be alright.” Afterwards Satori could see how Hayato took deep breaths into his chest before slowly exhaling them.
But even then, Coach Washijo could see that the boy wasn’t in the right state of mind to take and handle the situation respectfully. So the man sent him out, telling the boy to go to the bathroom and spend time in his own thoughts, and to not say anything to any of their teammates.
Satori may have been offended by this, but he couldn’t find the anger within himself the more he tried. Instead it was just anger towards himself for having a seizure in front of his teammate, and most definitely changing the viewpoint he had of Satori beforehand. Maybe it’d affect their performances together on the court. Maybe it’d affect how they interacted when they passed each other in the halls during lunch.
Coach Washijo went on to ask Satori a list of questions. “Can you tell me your name? Where do you go to school? Do you remember having a fall?” All of these were tiring questions the man asked, dragging on the time Satori stayed on the floor of the locker room. He knew the man had good intentions, that this was actually what was supposed to be done, but Satori couldn’t find it in him to care. He wanted to go home and sleep.
Still, he knew to get out faster he’d need to answer, no matter how exhausting it was to work his brain overtime to do so. “Tendou Satori. Um… Shiratorizawa Academy. I don’t think so.” After his questionnaire was seemingly down, the man stood up to make a phone call, telling Satori to stay on the ground a little longer. “How did you… know what to do?”
“I work at a school. Students have medical conditions. And I expected you to come to me with yours, but you didn’t. You’re lucky I have access to your medical record from your school files.”
“If you knew, then why didn’t you ask me about it?” Satori asked, confused. The man had never given away that he knew anything about his team outside the court. Now thinking about it, he knew it was probably common sense, but still. Coach Washijo was no-nonsense. He wasn’t one to just let something like this go, right?
“The school gave me enough training to deal with it if I had to, and you can still score, can’t you?”
What Coach Washijo said may have been nothing special in particular, Satori knew that. But there was something about the same words leaving the man’s mouth as when he’d first joined the volleyball team at Shiratorizawa that made a part of him–one he didn’t know was still there–heal. Two parts burned together and stitched themselves back with strong silver thread.
Satori looked down to the floor, observing the old tiles that long-past needed updating, to hide the relieved tears rimming his waterline. Here he was, on a dirty locker room floor and too weak to stand yet, and the notoriously strict man in front of him was still telling him he was worth something to this team. It made him frustrated again, yes, because he couldn’t understand how all of a sudden was accepted when he hadn’t been for so long.
Then again, he knew this place was to be his paradise for a reason. One he knew he’d probably never find again after graduating high school that year. Still, one he would chase any time he got a taste of it somewhere else, just for it to have a dead end. Maybe that’s what all his elders meant when they said to appreciate his younger years.
– –
Practices went on mostly normal after that first incident. With a bit more inevitable tension with Hayato that everyone seemed to notice, and didn’t get an answer of as to why, tried to ignore.
Coach Washijo had called the team manager to contact his mother, to Satori’s dismay but understanding, to pick him up. When he had disagreed, saying he was okay and to not bother the woman, Coach scolded him. Saying there was “No fucking way I’m getting in trouble because you think you can walk right now.” Honestly, it was nice to see the man’s more caring side no matter how vulgar it could be. Satori just wished it didn’t have to involve his mother.
When she arrived at the school’s gymnasium and secretly snuck him out of the locker room out of a back door, she spent the rest of the night checking up on him every half hour. Even though he was practically passed out sleeping after taking a good dose of Advil for the aches. She always had this fear he’d stop breathing in his sleep or something after having a seizure. And while Satori understood his mother’s concerns, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him in its own way.
Satori didn’t go to school the next day–on courtesy of his mother forcing him back into bed–and made sure to use the day to rest up his body. The day was spent in bed taking pain relievers respectively in appropriate and healthy rotations, along with his daily medications.
Of which included Phenytoin that he noticed didn’t work the best for him, but he wasn’t about to try and get his neurologist to change it. At least, not right now. He could only hope that in the future more effective medicines would be manufactured. It’s not that Phenytoin was useless. It worked for quite a few people, just not all.
The next day, when he returned, he asked Coach Washijo in private about everything that had happened in the locker room. Turns out the man hadn’t explained Satori’s diagnosis to Hayato no matter how many times he asked, or anyone else on the team. That it would be a breach of private medical information.
And while he’d obviously continue to keep it underwraps, it’d been impossible to hide that something had happened. Satori knew it’d been inevitable, but still felt as his shoulders sank at the news.
But to his relief Coach confirmed that if anyone was pushing it he could tell him and he’d deal with it. Satori could feel thankful for that, knowing he’d be able to still be comfortable around the majority of his teammates that didn’t know what had happened. The man informed the guess blocker that Hayato could be suspended from the team if he said anything, too.
Satori tried to go back to normalcy. He really did. Ignoring the curious glances he pretended weren’t because of his seizure, the tension caused by a slip of seeming trust between all the team members, he continued to push himself to the absolute limits. Although, he wasn’t the best player ever to grace the earth and he knew this. It just felt like such a strain on him because sometimes his weakened body couldn’t keep up, so he found himself more often than not making self-deprecating jokes on his plays.
All of this made his attempts at normalcy a lot harder. Especially when he’d notice how a teammate, usually the Miracle Boy Wakatoshi, would hesitate as they watched him break off from the group on their walks home. They’d look at him longingly like they wanted to make some cliche movie scene of running up, grabbing his wrist, and frantically yelling about how they knew something was wrong.
It briefly passed his mind that maybe he should’ve made it all easier for them and quit the team. But it was like Coach Washijo knew what was going through his mind as the man brought him to the side to make sure no one had questioned him about it. The self-sabotaging thought left him after that, not wanting to worry the caring side of the man that he felt honored to see more often than most others on the team.
Tendou Satori would have to ignore it. He really would have, if only his medicare and insurance hadn’t started having problems communicating about his medications. And without his medications, the seizures became increasingly more frequent.
– –
One morning he’d woken up on the floor again, something he’d done often in childhood before he was diagnosed. Satori shouldn’t have been surprised. The insurance company was having a hard time getting his medications approved since the manufacturer had changed. It’s stupid, he thought, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It’d probably be a while until he could get his hands on them again.
Still, the dread that filled his stomach as he felt the wetness around him, he couldn’t stop. Urine. He’d pissed himself. It’s something Satori always got embarrassed about when he did it.
He knew he couldn’t control it–heck, it didn’t even happen often. But the public humiliation he pictured in his head each time it did if anyone were to find out other than his mother and doctors made him want to roll up into a ball.
Careful to not push the ache in his back, (that he probably acquired from hitting the floor in the middle of the night) Satori cleaned up the urine on the wooden floor with some soap and water. Then he made sure to dry the spot neatly with a towel before chucking the supplies into the washing machine. Finally, after telling his mother, the guess blocker made quick work of getting his clothes off to take a warm shower. Luckily, he didn’t end up falling.
In class he noticed lapses in his memory. He’d be focusing just as much as usual, sometimes even more, but then wouldn’t be able to remember anything of the lesson. His arms and fingers would feel asleep and tingly, his head fuzzy. And when Satori would look up at the board to catch-up on his notes, the teacher would’ve already moved on. He ended up borrowing notes more often than not.
One evening he was watching TV with his mother, it being one of the rare days she got off early to be home with him. Satori didn’t have a damn left to care to remember what show was on because he could feel as his shoulders, face, and hands started to twitch. It wasn’t a tonic-clonic, he could tell that much because he was still partially conscious of this one. Those were always weird, the ones he felt. They were always the most scary–other than the bigger grand-mals of course–because he had to watch.
After that particular night, his attempts to try and pretend the increase in his seizures were small was pretty useless. She ended up demanding for a neurologist appointment sooner rather than later, even though Satori knew all of this was happening in the first place because of the communication slip-ups on his medications. An appointment wasn’t going to fix the issue.
He still agreed to see him to calm her nerves, not wanting to add more worry to her already full plate. Luckily, being eighteen-years-old, Satori was able to commute to his neurologist’s office in Tokyo himself with much convincing to his mother.
Promising that he’d inform her of everything once he got back from the long rides there and back after she got off work, he paid for the one-way bus tickets with only little difficulty.
It was a Thursday so he knew he’d have to ask for a school excuse and Coach Washijo would probably make him do extra laps the next day. Just because the man knew of his disability didn’t mean he’d treat the red-haired guess blocker any differently, and it’d be something Satori would always appreciate. Not treating him like some porcelain doll, like he was made of glass.
Satori’s bus ride was mostly uneventful–outside of the woman who decided a full-blown yoga routine would be appropriate to do in the middle of the aisle–and the walk to Tokyo Hospital, mostly peaceful. Inside the building was sleek and clean, doctors and nurses alike running around to help their patients as fast as possible with an understaffed workplace. Guess not even Tokyo can escape it, he thought.
Despite how much personal melancholy Satori had with the medicare system, he always had to have respect for the workers. They were what actually kept it going, and it wasn’t their fault that the medicare system didn’t have the best intentions in mind. Plus, without all the modern doctors and nurses in the world, a lot more people would’ve died prematurely.
The red-haired boy made his way to the front desk, and after a small family started their way towards the left-side elevator, asked the lady where the Neurology Ward was. It wasn’t his first time here, but it had been his first time here alone. His mother would usually lead them while Satori stared blankly at the walls, though now, he definitely wished he had paid more attention.
Akiko–the lady’s name by what the clipped nametag told Satori–pointed to the ceiling before informing him it was on the fourth floor. “There will be signs leading you towards the back where you’ll see a wall made of windows. Most patients can tell by that mark.” she said with a wide smile. “Once you’re there, just go up to the window marked ‘Neurology Check-Ins.’ If you get lost along the way, don’t worry. We have a lot of stations between here and there so you may ask for directions.”
Satori gave back a small smile of his own to the woman. “Thank you very much,” he said with a bow of the head and went over on his way to the right-side elevators. Hopefully it’s not too hard to find, he thought, pressing the button and watching it glow a bright vermillion. Soon the door opened to reveal an elderly woman with a cane who smiled before exiting to make room for him.
As he entered, Satori was alone in the tiny box and he pressed the button labeled with the number four. Elevators had always made his stomach drop, but now alone, Satori couldn’t help feel it more. He couldn’t hear his mother’s humming or see how she’d tap the front of her toes on the floor tiles.
But he had to remind himself to take a deep breath. When the doors opened once again on the fourth floor he stepped out and looked at the wall in front of him to see the directory signs Akiko had said would be there.
They were generally easy to read and understand, with a set of three signs down two main hallways leading him to the wall made of windows like Akiko had mentioned. He hadn’t even needed to stop and ask for help again, and Satori took that as an internal compliment to himself as he approached the check-in window.
From what he could guess, the young man at the window was probably fresh out of college. He seemed very young and not as worn-out by the workload yet, as his co-workers did. “Hello, what can I help you with today?” the young man asked.
“Yeah, um–check-in for Tendou Satori.”
“What time?”
“Pretty sure it’s 11:45.”
“Okay,” the man said with a smile. “Let me print out your armband and I’ll have you checked-in.”
“Okay,” Satori confirmed. Soon enough the armbands printed out behind the young worker and he asked for Satori’s arm. The guess blocker kept his eyes on the code number as the worker put on the armband, almost dissociating until it was on fully. “Thank you,” he said.
He walked to the chairs in front of the window and to the side of the entrance of the actual ward, huffing out a tired breath as he sat on the outer-circle. Satori had a little while to wait until his actual appointment time as it was around eleven o’clock. To fill up the time he didn’t want to continue watching the door so he checked his phone to see messages, of which were from three people. His mother, Wakatoshi, and Eita.
The message from his mother was asking him if he’d made it there safely, which Satori responded to truthfully and that he was already in the waiting room. Wakatoshi and Eita were asking why he wasn’t at school, if he was feeling sick, and if he wanted Wakatoshi to drop off his homework after practice.
Satori responded to the last two by saying he had just caught a little cold, that it was nothing serious, and if they didn’t mind he’d appreciate it if they had the time to.
Afterwards, he decided that scrolling through his phone maybe wasn't the best thing. He didn’t want to continue the conversations with his teammates and risk them thinking he wasn’t actually sick or more like… he didn’t want to think about the whole situation right now.
These increasing seizures were worrying him, too, no matter how much he tried not to think about it or show it. And with his last year of paradise coming to a close soon, he wanted to enjoy it, not be in-and-out of the hospital and switch medications again. The thought of it all affecting his volleyball schedule outside of the regular out-patient appointments made his skin crawl and his stomach turn.
Suddenly, an older woman came into the area before checking-in and sitting down next to Satori. Her gray hair fell over the light pink jacket worn over her shoulders as she turned her head to look at him.
“Well, aren’t you a handsome young man!” she said and Satori was slightly caught off guard. Not a lot of people, even if they were his elders and probably just trying to be nice, complimented him often. On the very rare occasions he was it was mainly on his character: how nice he was, how respectful. “I think I recognize that jacket, but it’s slipping my mind. Where do you go to school?” the woman asked.
“Shiratorizawa Academy,” Satori answered proudly. “We’ve gotten quite a few accomplishments these last few years.”
“Ah, I’ve heard of that school before. Seen you all on TV, I believe. If I’m right, you all are pretty well known for your sports. I know that because my grandbaby talks about it a lot since he plays basketball. What’s your name? What year are you in?”
“Tendou Satori, I’m a third year student. I play volleyball.”
“That’s good,” she said. “It’ll keep you healthy and away from here, unlike me. When you get old it’s like all your time is spent in the hospital. You’re young and you have to appreciate it while you can. That being said, I’m glad you’re here.” She then lazily pointed to the entrance of the ward. And that’s when it hit Satori. She didn’t think he was here for himself. Shit. Fuck. Fuck, no.
The clock on the wall read 11:43. He didn’t want to break the heart of this poor older woman who had been so nice to him on a day he was more than dreading. Because soon a nurse would be coming through the door and calling out his name and she would know immediately the implications of that.
“Honey, you okay?” she asked. “You look tense. Oh, I didn’t mean to worry you. Whoever you’re here for, I’m sure they’ll be okay.”
“Oh…yeah. Right–” Satori started to say before he was cut off by the entrance to the ward being opened. Who appeared was a nice looking woman in clean nursing scrubs, head tilted downwards to scan the clipboard in her hands. Satori quickly looked towards the clock hanging on the wall once again. 11:45.
“Tendou Satori!” the nurse said aloud. And, immediately, he could feel the older woman’s pitying eyes on him. She knew. She definitely knew that he was ‘sick’ in some sort of capacity. Even though she couldn’t have known exactly what because neurology included a lot of things, a lot of conditions that Satori honestly thought were worse than what he had, it made him feel bad nonetheless.
What if she thought he had something worse like cancer or early-onset dementia, not epilepsy? Because, sure, it was still a disability, but a more invisible one at that. It had its own difficulties, but if others had it worse then who was he to complain? Oh, but how much he really wished he could, if only sometimes.
Satori couldn’t take the older woman’s gaze on him anymore so he got up and hastily followed the nurse through the entrance to the Neurology Ward. As he looked up he could see a long and narrow hallway made up of many doors, leading to many rooms. It was almost claustrophobic. The nurse in the clean scrubs led him directly toward his left-side where four seats and a computer sat in the room. Satori obliged, preparing to be asked a million questions.
“How often are you having migraines?” she asked. “Do you often get a full night’s rest? How often do you wake up not feeling well-rested? Do you know of any recent seizures, and how often are you having them?”
“Weekly,” he answers. “Not often. Not often. Yes, they’ve been increasing and erratic. I think it’s because I haven’t been able to get my medications recently.”
When she asked why he hadn’t been to and Satori just simply explained it with “changed manufacturer,” he didn’t miss how she immediately seemed to understand. Not exactly pity, but a sympathetic look painted itself across her face as if to say she knew what it was like. Maybe she did. One thing Satori could say he’d learned from all this was that you really did never know.
All the extensive questions tended to tire him out every time without fail and this time wasn’t an exception. The nurse had seemed to notice but didn’t make much of a comment on it, it being routine for her. Luckily enough, they eventually ended.
“Thank you for your willingness to answer all of our questions, Tendou-san. We understand they can be quite frustrating,” she said and he waved it off passively. “Well, good news. Dr. Makoto is able to see you now” –she stood up– “so follow me.” Relieved that the appointment was finally, really starting, Satori did with no hesitation at all.
He was going to sit on one of the leather chairs across from the man’s desk but he motioned for Satori to sit on the examination table. He noticed how Dr. Makoto looked more tired than in his last visit, but it wasn’t unusual for the specialist. People in specialties are always in want, always busy. Satori cringed at the paper crinkling beneath him and the nurse left the neurologist’s office.
“Your mother moved your appointment up,” Dr. Makoto stated, his graying mustache moving with each movement of his mouth. “May you tell me why?” he then asked despite already having his patient’s file up on the computer screen.
“Yeah, she’s worried about how increasing and erratic my seizures have been recently,” Satori recited again. “With the changed manufacturer, my insurance company and the medicaid apparently can’t meet eye-to-eye on approving me of my medications. Got my dose last month and after that was when it really started.”
Dr. Makoto hummed. “I dislike that system myself. You’d think they’d listen to us doctors by now on whether our patients need the medicine and not the insurance companies or medicaid,” he agreed. “I’ll get on that as soon as possible. I’m sorry it’s been so complicated.”
I’d rather be inhaling plastic fumes than listening to your pitying apology right now, Satori thought shamefully.
By the look on his face Dr. Makoto seemed to have gotten the hint because he just moved on to his next question. “What were the symptoms of these seizures you’ve been having? From your file it appears there’s been more than one type of seizure occurring. That could be concerning, Tendou.” And Satori was reminded of how the man in front of him almost never used honorifics.
It was kind of funny since he was supposed to be a professional. Though Satori’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel more at home in the shockingly pale office. “Well, I’ve woken up on the floor in the morning, and… in urine,” Satori started, embarrassed. Dr. Makoto nodded, silently telling him that it was okay to keep going. “And as you know I hadn’t done that much since before I was diagnosed. It scared me, but I reasoned it’d just be a one time thing, a relapse.
“The pain was in my back, though probably because I hit it when I fell off my bed. I was also really sore in my legs.
“But I’ve also been having relapses in other areas. Like during class I’ll have empty places in my memory where things definitely should be, but there’s just nothing. I’ll feel all numb and fuzzy and just end up borrowing my teammates’ notes that are in my class. It’s becoming really frustrating, especially since I’m in my third year and college entrance exams are going to be coming up soon.
“And just two weeks ago, when my mom called and demanded that my appointment be moved up, we were watching TV when parts of my body just couldn’t stop… twitching? It was one of the weird ones. I could feel it but I couldn’t…” Satori stopped, not knowing how else to explain it. Dr. Makoto just nodded yet again like he always did.
“The first one you described could’ve very well been nocturnal, but it’s not one hundred percent, as you know. By the loss of bladder control you described it could’ve also been a tonic-clonic, but I don’t want to worry you. If it happens again or more often I’d advise you to see a local doctor in your area just in case it is.”
“Right,” Satori confirmed.
“The second and third sound like absence and focal seizures,” Dr. Makoto said and Satori nodded like what the red-haired boy had thought since he wasn’t a stranger to them. Heck, even when Satori was on a steady dose of medicine and there were no extra stressors in his life, absence and focal seizures still tended to bite him in the ass. PME seemed to specialize in them after all.
Dr. Makoto got up from his chair and turned off the light to his office before pulling out a small flashlight in his coat-pocket. “Obviously no one can avoid all everyday stressors, but do try to avoid an unnecessary teenage drama while I’m getting your medicine approved.” He looked into Satori’s eyes with the flashlight. “I’m going to schedule you an in person appointment in a few months and one over the phone in two weeks to make sure you’ve got everything. Good deal?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. By the way, I’ll need a school excuse for today.”
“I’ll send it to the window,” –he turns the lights back on– “and you can get on your way back home. In the meantime eat well, sleep well, and take care of yourself. That’s already something that’s important, but it’s especially important for you, got it?”
“Got it,” Satori said. And after he received his school excuse from the check-in window, he made sure not to make eye contact with the older woman who was still sitting in the waiting room for her turn.
And on the walk back to the bus station through Tokyo, Satori couldn’t help but think. To get stuck in his head. Will everyone look at me like that? he wondered, thinking of the older woman once again and how devastated she looked for the boy. Will everyone always look at me like that?
Satori saw it in Hayato sometimes, on early school mornings and in late evening practices, ever since his seizure in the locker room. But then it came to him. Coach Washijo didn’t explain anything to Hayato, the man couldn’t because it was Satori’s choice. And while Satori knew he didn’t owe anyone information on his disability, and that was still true, he couldn’t help but to want Hayato to know.
It wouldn’t be everything. Not even close. But the guess blocker felt this unfamiliar want inside him the more he pondered on it, pondered on how the libero would react. They weren’t the closest pair on the Shiratorizawa team, far from it. He’d considered himself the closest with Wakatoshi, and it was a known fact the Miracle Boy was going pro after high school, to be busy and far away.
So, he and Hayato were teammates and friends, right? At least to a certain degree. Maybe having someone to lean on, even if it wasn’t for everything, would be a nice thought on the hard days. Maybe Satori really thought about it.
– –
Satori got home in one piece to inform his mother of everything he and Dr. Makoto had gone over. The bus ride home had been long (over four hours), and while he felt like just passing out in her arms when she asked, he had to fulfill the promise that allowed him to go alone in the first place.
He still slumped into her arms on the couch though, his muscles stiff from the long number of hours commuting home. “He said he’d get me my meds,” Satori said. “Just to avoid unnecessary stressors and if I have too many big seizures to make an appointment locally. I have one over the phone with him in two weeks.”
“Is that all?” she asked, prodding and slightly irritated. Satori understood her stance on it, too, but he really wished that sometimes she’d accept there wasn’t too much that could be done for him. But he took a deep breath, making sure not to lash-out on the woman who’d been helping him his whole life when no one else did, even prioritizing his health over her own.
“For now. We can’t do much at the moment. Not until I can get my meds.” His mother let a deep breath of her own, steadying herself and her thoughts. Satori felt bad again for worrying her, for having been born the way he was. His brain wasn’t right. It never was, from the moment of his first cry, and probably never would be, not until he died. Sometimes Satori wondered if she just wished he would.
“Okay, my boy,” she said, using the nickname she often reserved for him since his birth. “Just… don’t keep anything from me.”
He looked up at her the best he could from her grasp. “I’m not, mom! I know you want the best but can you just… lay off? It’s not like I’m in control of this!” Satori snapped, brows furrowed and confused and agitated. But when he makes direct eye contact with his mother again after the short outburst he shrinks back.
The woman’s face was almost terrifying for a split second. It’s a face Satori hadn’t seen in a while, not since she had really been able to get herself together from the drug addiction which plagued her and their family for years. However, it seemed like his mother noticed how Satori tensed in her arms and started to look terrified herself. Like she didn’t want to revert to some smaller, older version of herself that Satori had unfortunately become familiar with in his earlier childhood.
Maybe that’s why he never could fully trust her with everything going on in his life, because he couldn’t ever trust her high on the pills. Maybe it had a part in why he wanted to be so independent from others, including all his friends and adults that weren’t his parents.
She quickly made work of caressing the side of Satori’s face, waiting for him to eventually be comfortable enough to slightly melt into her hand, as she then places a soft and reassuring kiss to his forehead. “Sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay, mom,” Satori huffed shakily.
– –
Wakatoshi had dropped off Satori’s homework within the next hour after that to his mother at the door, her making sure to say that he was busy resting so the Miracle Boy wouldn’t get too curious. Luckily the guess blocker was able to get it done in time and turn the papers in with no complaints.
He made sure to take the advice of his neurologist for the next couple of days, and he did start to see some improvement with his overall feel, though the seizures didn’t stop completely. It still made going to volleyball practice and hanging out with who he called his friends a lot easier, despite the bits of still air between him and Hayato.
“Tendou-san, are the recent sets I’ve been giving to Reon making it harder for you to guess block?” Kenjiro asked Satori from the other side of a volleyball net, the Shiratorizawa team being in the middle of a routine practice.
“Ah, they’re good, my precious little kouhai!” he exclaimed. “You don’t need to worry about me.” Satori waved his hands passively but energetically while Kenjiro just frowned, but then again, that wasn’t uncommon for the boy. But before long a look of realization came over the second year, along with a small and actually uncommon smirk. Satori couldn’t help but to raise an eyebrow at that.
“I’m not worried about you. I’m going to keep making them harder until you can’t guess them at all. I’ll make my spikers’ hits unblockable, just you watch,” the boy said. “I’ll make sure no one can beat us once you third years are gone.” Satori was shocked momentarily. He knew the boy in front of was determined, ambitious, but he hadn’t ever been one for cliche monologues. Satori almost felt… pride. He felt proud of the boy he’d be leaving his paradise to run.
“Aw!” Satori exclaimed loudly, and theatrically cupped his hands together to place them on the side of his own face. “Shirabu wants to make his senpais proud of him!”
Kenjiro’s face blushed in embarrassment as their teammates’ attention was now on them. The boy glanced down at the floor momentarily before staying focused on only Satori, trying his best to ignore their teammates watching the interaction. “Well, yeah. You can’t be disappointed when you come to see us play at nationals next year.”
Jin then came up from behind Kenjiro and slapped him on the back of the shoulder. “Isn’t that sweet coming from you, Shirabu? I’m almost jealous you didn’t say that to me first, guess Satori’s the one who gets to see your soft side.” Jin exaggerated a frown but couldn’t bite back the grin pulling at his face afterwards.
“I’m not soft!” Kenjiro said, exaggerated, and threw Jin’s arm off his shoulder. “I’m just making sure we’ll be even better.”
“Yeah, so we third years can watch you all proud,” Eita teased from beside Satori on the other side of the net. “It’s okay, Shirabu. You can admit it.” There wasn’t anyone on the team who didn’t miss how Kenjiro always genuinely seemed to look up to everything Eita said. Whenever the third year setter was talking, Kenjiro was starry-eyed, searching for the guidance in his senpai’s words.
“I don’t need to make you proud, I just need to make us better. You can be if you want to.”
“We already are, just keep working at it and don’t burn yourself out,” said Eita. Reon wanted to tease Kenjiro again on how he always took it from the third year setter, not anyone else, but decided to just watch with a knowing look on his face. Most of the team did beside Wakatoshi, who found picking up on social cues difficult at times. What made it somewhat even more insufferable though was that Eita seemed completely oblivious to the kouhai’s idolization of him.
“Why did it get so quiet?” Wakatoshi asked curiously, and oblivious himself. Satori took note of the way Wakatoshi tilted his head to the side ever so slightly like a confused puppy. It wasn’t too noticeable, and Satori knew the ace was definitely stronger than a puppy, but he couldn’t help to think he could be as cute as one.
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Miracle Boy!” the guess blocker said, walking up to the team’s ace with his hands behind his back and head high. “We were just talking. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Hm,” Wakatoshi hummed. “Guess not. My apologies.”
“Ah, don’t play with the man too much now,” Hayato said. The third year libero had been just listening to it all and not interrupting until then. With his comment it was like the tension between him and Satori was momentarily severed as their teammates let out small laughs and snickers they couldn’t keep in. However, Hayato seemed to notice that he had interjected and glanced over to look at Satori.
To his surprise, the guess blocker was already looking at him, too, and there was no malice or horror of any kind on the red-haired boy’s face. He was laughing along with them. And when Satori noticed Hayato looking at him hesitantly, he gave him a reassuring nod. It was okay, there was no need to worry.
Satori and Hayato shared their first relaxed moment together since Satori’s seizure in the locker room surrounded by happy teammates. Maybe they’d be okay after all.
Then, after practice Satori was packed up and ready to go home for the day, his bag draped over his shoulder when Hayato called out to him. “Hey, Tendou! Can we talk for a bit?” he asked. The third year libero was hesitant and Wakatoshi glanced over to spot any remaining discomfort left in the guess blocker beside him.
And it’d be a lie to say there was none, but Satori looked sure when he responded that he would, so Wakatoshi decided to trust his friend that it was the right thing to do. Besides, Wakatoshi didn’t know anything other than the surface pressure amount that apparently Satori and Hayato looked to not be on regular speaking terms.
“Don’t wait up for me, Ushiwaka,” Satori said before walking away with Hayato. Even as the two were out of sight, Wakatoshi made a point of giving Satori a slight nod.
Nostalgically, Hayato led him to the locker room in which the whole situation between them had started. The same fluorescent lights, the same dirty tile floor that none of them could make look clean no matter how hard they tried. It was the first time Satori really had a look at the locker room since he had the seizure because he’d decided on changing in the gymnasium’s bathrooms.
It was inconvenient for the time, yes, but it was as if something about being back in the room before processing he’d have to tell Hayato at least some of it reminded him of troubles he wasn’t ready to think about. By not taking baby steps at the beginning, it was like he’d disillusioned himself into thinking he’d have to tell Hayato everything when that wasn’t the truth. Satori still had a right to his privacy, but it was time to share some of his struggles with one of his teammates.
Hayato, taking a deep breath in and out, took a second to himself and got his thoughts together before finally speaking up. “Look… I can tell you don’t feel great talking about whatever happened. I can’t say I understand, because I don’t, but what I do is that we won’t be able to keep tip-toeing around each other forever. So you don’t have to tell me everything–”
“What you saw was a seizure,” Satori suddenly said, cutting off Hayato. The libero looked stunned for a moment, like he wasn’t expecting an answer so soon, before stumbling over his own tongue to reply back.
“Seizure? Uh… Oh, a seizure! Yeah, um… I know what those are. Somewhat. I’ve only ever really heard of and seen them on TV though,” he said and Satori nodded, showing some kind of comfort for the libero to continue. “But–well, sorry, can I ask about something I’m confused about?”
“Of course. I get that it can be confusing so ask away. If I feel uncomfortable answering then I’ll just say so, you don’t have to be so hesitant, you know.”
“Well, you had a seizure but there weren’t any flashing lights around that I can remember. I thought seizures were caused by flashing lights, so then why did you have one?”
Satori sighed. Honestly, he probably should’ve seen that question coming in some capacity when he imagined this conversation. Though even if he had, he probably still wouldn’t be fully prepared for how he’d have to fight down the frustration trying to come up from inside of him. It wasn’t even aimed at Hayato, but at the media which led him to believe that exaggeration of how many people with epilepsy are photosensitive.
The guess blocker still remembered how when he was thirteen and freshly diagnosed, and at the same time his mother was going through a relapse, they had gone to an event out of the city that she didn’t know would have a light show. It was already confirmed through many interrogation-like appointments that Satori wasn’t photosensitive, yet that wouldn’t stop the drug-induced hysteria that encased her as the first few animal figures started moving from the computer generated patterns.
His mother ended up screaming for him to cover his eyes, and at the poor event operators and employees that were just trying to do their jobs. They were kicked out.
She still apologizes for it sometimes. Because drugs do mess with peoples’ minds, and there was no doubt about that with her as it seemed she’d forgotten everything–as if she’d thrown everything out the window–it terrified him.
“You’re talking about photosensitivity,” Satori explained. “Some people with epilepsy are triggered by flashing lights, that’s true, but not all and there are many other different triggers people can have. Just because there’s no flashing lights around doesn’t mean someone who has seizures can’t have one, but if there are it also doesn’t mean that they will. It depends on a lot of factors, and on the person.”
“Ah, epilepsy,” the libero repeated, almost like confirmation to himself, information for him to remember later. “Oh, then…” Hayato then started, but it was enough for Satori to know the boy’s question he wanted to ask: What caused yours?
“I don’t know for sure, but it was probably just from my stress levels going up. It’s our third year and exams are approaching, you know how it is. There’s nothing anyone can do about it. But I’m able to deal, it’s not huge or anything, more of an inconvenience,” Satori said, laughing towards the end to lighten the mood. It seemed to work but Hayato still didn’t look fully convinced. The boy didn’t say anything about it though.
“Well that’s good,” Hayato sighed. “I don’t want you dying on us now, the Spring Tournament’s next week,” –he rolled his eyes at that part to tell he was joking– “and we’ll need our Guess Monster.” Satori felt a sting in his throat. A good sting. Like the one he always felt when Coach Washijo always reminded him he was worth something in the man’s view. It’s something funny–he’d been finding a lot of things funny recently–how Satori didn’t mind being called a monster anymore.
It’s a name he’d never thought he'd be okay with in any context, let alone feel a gut-induced joy for when hearing. Everyone who knew Satori before Shiratorizawa was scared of him. His appearance, his terrifying way of being able to read the being around him, which would just add on to peoples’ dislike of him when his younger version would block their spikes to the ground.
But not too long after he’d been given the name ‘Guess Monster,’ Satori wished he could’ve gotten it carved into his gravestone, to be remembered as he played on a conditioned court forever.
“I’m always watchin’ over ya,” Satori joked with a little twang in his voice and an exaggerated accent, probably used to cover-up the croak wanting to make itself known. He even gave a little salute with two fingers in Hayato’s direction.
“Prove it on the court,” Hayato said with a teasing smile, “But we’re alright now, right? No more walking on eggshells around each other?”
“Right. No more walking on eggshells.”
Hayato deflated in relief, his shoulders relaxing lower and his head held higher. The boy adjusted his bag saying, “Okay, then we should get going home,” before heading to the opposite door.
“Wait, why are you–” Satori started to say but then Hayato cut him off.
“Do you really think Ushiwaka would’ve left you here?” he asked and it made Satori pause. “Go on down, he’s waiting for you.” Then he pushed the door open, and before the guess blocker could question him further, was gone.
And it took a while, but when Satori finally shook himself out of the small shock, he made his way back to the gymnasium’s main door. And just like Hayato had said, Wakatoshi was leaning against the wall next to the door, waiting for him.
Now that the red-haired boy thought about it, the quiet ace had never left him alone after practice until they got to his house. The only exception to this seemed to be when one of them got sick, and Wakatoshi would always make sure to send a text or call Satori to notify him. Even if Coach Washijo and Coach Saito wanted to talk to one of them, alone, after practice was over for plays or how to improve their techniques, they’d always be waiting for the other by the door.
One time the year before, Coach Saito held Wakatoshi back to talk about a certain spike that had missed a few times in practice that day and while Satori was waiting it started raining outside. Satori remembered how when the ace saw, he’d felt so guilty. More guilty than maybe you’d feel for anyone.
The walk had been somewhat normal at first, but then they ran through the rain to a convenience store nearby because it had gotten so heavy. Satori could feel how it had washed out all the hair gel he’d used that morning. It’s drooping! he thought. I probably look stupid.
He noticed Wakatoshi being more quiet than normal, even for him and that they had just run through the beginnings of a storm. Because the ace was in god-like physical condition with how much he trained his body for what would most certainly be a flourishing pro career that just started earlier that season, and would only continue once he graduated and moved away. I don’t want to think about that right now, Satori thought.
Well, the reason the Miracle Boy himself had been so quiet? Satori turned to look at him just to see the athlete pushing his head into his palms, laughing. “Sorry,” he said shyly, “but you were pouting.” Satori was stuck in place, watching intently as little lines started forming around Wakatoshi’s eyes. He had quickly envisioned the boy in front of him as an older man, living a more retired life after a successful volleyball career, and adorable crows feet that had formed with age. It’s a nice thought.
“It’s okay,” Satori whispered, almost breathless.
“I’ve never seen your hair down before,” Wakatoshi said after a moment to catch himself again. “I like it.” Afterwards, as if he didn’t know he’d just shellshocked the blocker, the ace picked up two drinks in the store before heading to pay for them. “We’re going to need energy to run the rest of the way.” Satori didn’t miss how Wakatoshi knew his favorite was mango, despite never saying anything.
When Satori had gotten home that day, he had to engross himself in extra work, after his regular schoolwork, to not ruminate on that until he went absolutely insane. Thank God for Jules Verne and French literature, he remembered thinking that night.
And now, with Satori stuck in his mind and reliving this memory again, he didn’t notice when Wakatoshi, who’d still been leaning against the wall, walked up to him.
“Are you okay, Tendou?” the ace asked with his brows furrowed ever so slightly. His hands are in sweatpant pockets, rummaging around aimlessly at nothing to settle hints of nervousness. It’s another habit Satori picked up on soon after they met.
“Oh, yeah! Sorry, Ushiwaka. I spaced out for a minute,” Satori said hastily. “I told you that you didn’t have to wait for me. I didn’t mean to hold you up.” Wakatoshi looked troubled by that. And while Satori knew it’d already almost been three years on the Shiratorizawa volleyball team, he still had a hard time wrapping his head around the fact there would be people who saw value in him. Enough value to wait for to make sure he was okay.
“I wanted to. We never walk home alone unless one of us is sick,” Wakatoshi stated before pausing. “Did you not want to today?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that!” Satori exclaimed hurriedly, like he was trying to get out all of his words before the boy in front of him ran off. “I just thought me and Hayato would take a lot longer than we did. There’s never a day I don’t want to walk home with you, Ushiwaka.”
Immediately the boy in front of him smiled. It was small, because it was Wakatoshi and it wouldn’t be him if it wasn't, but it surprised Satori in how relaxed it made him feel. So they finally leave the gymnasium, side by side in a comfortable quiet that’s broken by Satori every once in a while to inform Wakatoshi on recent things he’s overheard from classmates and gossip relating to the school staffs’ personal lives.
On the way to Satori’s house he spotted the same convenience store they had run to the year before because the rain started coming down harder. He didn’t even really think about it, but he instinctively led Wakatoshi to the store to buy some drinks. Satori even picked out the ace’s favorite: passionfruit.