Chapter Text
"This one is your favorite, right?" Someone nudged a book into Shirabu's hands.
Drawn and colored across the hard cover of the dilapidated picture book was an ocean, inked dark in waves, and a dragon flying low over the water. Shirabu didn't bother flipping it open.
"No. It's not. Stop trying to push these books on me, Tomori." Shirabu pushed it back across the table.
"I saw you reading it the other day."
Shirabu raised his arm to swat Tomori away. "I'm a little busy." He hunched over his notebook.
"You've barely done anything lately other than study," Tomori mumbled. He drooped in his chair.
Class was going to start soon. Shirabu had intended to catch a few minutes of reading before class, but Tomori's interruption came with several other distractions from other people. He stiffened and made a long wordless grumble as he looked down at his paper covered desk.
All the time in the world didn't feel like enough for studying for entrance exams. Shirabu forced himself to keep going, but if he didn't have the kind of resolve that didn't let him settle and rest, then he'd continue to stare at his notebooks, falling into a blank despair. He could never let that happen.
A few people gathered around him. "Are you still studying for Shiratorizawa?"
"Yes," Shirabu said in a harsh annoyed syllable.
"Do you study every day?"
Shirabu turned his head slightly. "Can't you help me?" he asked Tomori.
Tomori leaned back in his seat, his arms stretching and then folding. "Stop studying."
"No."
"Then no."
Shirabu sat up straight and rubbed at his eyes. He tried to manage a scowl, but nothing deterred anyone.
"What makes you want Shiratorizawa that badly?" someone asked.
Shirabu brushed his hand over his hair.
Shiratorizawa. It was the first high school Shirabu read in a magazine, saw in a newspaper, heard in passing on the radio while on the way to school or on the TV flipping through channels. He saw it alongside the best universities he knew in Japan, and when he was little, he thought it was one at first. When he discovered it was a high school, it felt closer than the far away prospect of university.
Shirabu kept hearing about it, casually, mentioned in the same sentiment of breath as a star, a legend. It was the best and strongest, and it had a nice ring. There was an undeniable authority in its renown.
"If you know what it is, then do I really need to explain?" Shirabu asked.
The questioning student paused. "But it doesn't sound fun."
The announcement of the school bell silenced them and gathered them back in their seats. Shirabu shoved everything away and pulled out his pen and paper, setting himself to school work for the day.
Part of the appeal of watching high school volleyball matches was weighing the options of going to the school, and looking over the first and second years and considering them for teammates. They didn't visit games as a team that often, but Shirabu went with some of his club friends, and it became another way to fill up free time and still make it about volleyball. They stood near the rail bars for most of the games instead of sitting, closer to the court action while leaning on the rail.
Shirabu curled his hands on the rail. The cold metal under his fingers, the bright lights from the ceiling, the warm thrum of energy in the audience -- another match was going to start, right in front of where he stood.
"Nishita High and Shiratorizawa," Kawatabi said next to Shirabu. "Shiratorizawa's probably going to win."
"The game hasn't even started," someone else said.
"Just watch."
Shirabu remained silent. He knew who Shiratorizawa was. He deeply knew about it, marked with the twitches of his arms and the low noise of his head telling him to say something, that he knew it better than his friends. Shirabu thought several answers out, stringing them and listening to them in every possible way, but he wasn't satisfied with anything he could say. He decided to ignore them. He slid his eyes to the Shiratorizawa players below, lined along the court for warmup drills.
This was a new year. It was one of the first games of the season, with a fresh set of first years. Even though every team had their own character, something changed each time with new players, every year. The gears will have shifted again by the time Shirabu continued to high school, and next time it could be because of him. Everyone in junior high was starting to think about which school to go to now. He was dead set on Shiratorizawa, and this was the closest he could get to seeing what the newest assembly of Shiratorizawa would bring.
"Have you thought about where you're going to go?" Kawatabi asked Shirabu.
"Shiratorizawa," Shirabu said in a sigh, sinking and resting his weight on the rail.
A teammate right next to him snorted.
"How?"
"When it comes down to it, it takes effort." Shirabu turned his head, lifting it up a little. "If you're not willing to work, then why go to practice at all?"
Shirabu looked away, not bothering to wait for a response. Warmups were ending, and conversations were lulling to watch. Shirabu glanced over both teams. He forgot about some details as he noticed them, how tall Nishita's captain was next to his spiker, the timing of the ball in a server's hands in a practice serve. Shirabu waited to remember. Their numbers blurred by, and he didn't bother picking players out and placing their positions in his head, letting Shiratorizawa take over his attention.
The slam of the ball on the gym floor automatically drew in Shirabu. Some of the spikes and serves were clearly powerful, but Shirabu didn't fix on the average ones. Most of the satisfying spikes came from a first year, #8, consistently strong with steady accuracy -- Ushijima Wakatoshi. He saw him before when he was still in junior high; a rising ace then, and a powerhouse now.
Shirabu could tell that Shiratorizawa was already the favorite to win. He didn't recognize a first year blocker right away, but he was blocking so cleanly and confidently that his red hair burned into Shirabu's memory. Shirabu eventually recognized his blocks as guess blocks from Tendou Satori.
He watched intently, enjoying the flow of the game but still fixing to movements and details isolated from the people behind them. Their setter tossed the ball in the air, and Shirabu didn't realize who was going to spike until Ushijima was jumping, legs bending up and arm folded back. His arm swung, his hand thumping and slamming the ball down. He couldn't frame it in slow motion in his head, but the blur of activity as Ushijima shot down the blockers was incredible, not in the speed but in the anticipation for the moment before the spike, jumping height and timing perfect, muscle tense for the spike. The lights were shining just as much as before, but Shirabu felt a level of dazzling atmosphere that came only from the spike, power beside the brilliant glow of the gym lights overhead.
The ball ripped by the blockers. It was one thing to spike a step ahead of a blocker, but completely blowing them away took a staggering difference in strength, stopping a block in a parodying reversal of it.
Shirabu's eyes widened, filled with the reflection of the ceiling lights, instinctively admiring instead of falling into surprise. His mouth pressed together quietly. Shiratorizawa was easily winning, but Shirabu didn't think it mattered if it was a close tense match or a landslide in points.
"Ushijima," Kawatabi said, flicking his hand on the rail as his face lit up. "That's his name. I only remembered what he looked like."
"Your memory is better than mine," Shirabu lied.
Ushijima Wakatoshi. The name echoed in his head, stretching out as he mumbled to himself, his mouth silently around the shape of his name.
"If Shiratorizawa's just going to win, then why'd we come?" someone asked.
"It's their first game. Might as well."
"Might as well…" Shirabu echoed.
Shirabu made his choice. He knew that he wanted to go, and it felt like a natural, instinctive goal to have. If he went, then he would already have a shot at the best colleges in Japan. There was no bad side to it. Aside from the entrance exam.
He was still dedicated to his current team, but his goal was a little isolating. He didn't know anyone else that wanted to study as much as him for the exam.
"Can you help me with the math homework?" Takagi asked.
Shirabu looked up from his desk. "Let me see your paper." He took it without waiting for it to be handed to him. A smooth blank wave of surprise held Takagi's face, but he recovered and crossed his arms.
Takagi wasn't close friends with Shirabu. Everyone in class felt comfortable asking Shirabu for minor help, and Takagi was one of them. Shirabu attracted the most people asking for help, casually, like they were asking him for the time or the name of a store. Most of the time in class it was the only reason someone asked him for something or talked to him, someone who he barely talked to and couldn't consider a friend, but it was neutrally amicable.
Shirabu wasn't gifted with the perfect answer to everything, he wasn't a genius, but practiced persistence brought him into a comfortable amount of capability. He dredged up the problem process from repetition, and he did a problem within a minute from its predictability, checking others with what he already solved. He crossed out a few wrong answers and gave it back.
"Thanks," Takagi said.
Shirabu tried to return to silence, but someone else turned in their seat and leaned over from the side, asking Shirabu for more help. He sighed and accepted it, hiding his irritated frown by leaning over the paper.
He handed it back and pushed his notebook away. There were still a few minutes before class, but he didn't expect to get anything done as they waited for the teacher. He rested his chin in his hands and stared into space.
There were a few months left of junior high. Shirabu spent a little of his free time exercising, but studying for entrance exams took up almost all of his time after school aside from homework. By now the third years had stopped playing on the volleyball team to prepare, and Shirabu was going to cram school. It wasn't as lonely as his friends made it out to be, but it was exhausting and tedious. He was too busy to care about being alone at home afterward and studying in his room. A couple of his friends went to the same cram school he did, but they couldn’t find the time to talk about movies and have substantial conversations.
Shirabu headed to the train station after school to set out for cram school. His backpack was heavy with the extra books, and he dumped his backpack on the floor next to a wall to wait for the train. He leaned against the wall and bent to rest his hands on his knees from the effort.
After a minute, Shirabu stood up. The train still wasn't here yet, but he didn't know how to fill his time in the fifteen minute wait, so he always ended up people watching, sometimes finding the same people in their routine or commute. Businessmen on their way home, an elderly woman walking her dog, the same crowds of schoolchildren in their identical uniforms; Shirabu recognized them. The scores of buildings and plants drew his eye sometimes, but they rarely changed from day to day. The only noticeable difference were flower blooms making slow progress through the season, unfolding or curling back up in small gardens out front of houses or in windows. Shirabu turned his head up to the sky and glanced over a clump of red tulips growing in a window sill.
He stared ahead. He zoned out looking across the street, his vision drifting from the window to a point on a nearby lamppost. A tall head passed by, and he unfocused in a few blinks, resolving a feeling of vague familiarity. Ushijima was walking in front of him, his pace a little fast but still unhurried and seemingly normal to him, his head slightly turning to glance around at the trees in the sidewalk. He carried a backpack himself, and Shirabu guessed that he was returning from school for the day. He wore his Shiratorizawa uniform, the lapels and sleeves of his jacket still neat after a day's work. Shirabu knew what Shiratorizawa's uniform looked like already, but the casual reality of seeing him in person, Ushijima wearing it on the street right in front of him, cemented the sense of recognition in Shirabu. It was him, from tie to toe, Ushijima. Not just on the court, a TV screen, or a magazine page. It was him as his everyday self, without the pretense of a match.
A well of uncertainty bubbled in him, and he hesitated to call out. Ushijima was unapproachable, intimidating, any choice word of detached, almost fearful respect that Shirabu heard about him, even when he was only a first year in his high school career. Shirabu wasn't actually daunted by him, but he was struck with a feeling of preemptive awe. He didn't want to disturb the feeling by doing something embarrassing.
But he already decided he was going to go to Shiratorizawa. Even if he didn't get in and he chose a different school, he had to overcome the inevitability of meeting Ushijima, whether it was beside him or against him. If he couldn't talk to him now, then it would be impossible to be on a team with him. It was better that he did it now, before Ushijima's presence rose so much that Shirabu could barely touch him.
Shirabu steeled himself and tried to wave at him and yell his name. He balked at suddenly lifting his backpack and chasing after him, but Ushijima didn't hear him, and Shirabu ended up running. He lurched to a halt in front of Ushijima, huffing and raising his hand to silently stop him. Ushijima waited for him to regain his breath.
Shirabu raised his head. "Ushijima Wakatoshi?"
Ushijima looked down at him steadily. "Who are you?"
Shirabu straightened, grimacing from his backpack weight shifting again. He smoothed the grimace away to give a nod in greeting. "I'm Shirabu Kenjirou. I'm a third year in junior high." Shirabu let out a heavy breath to completely recover. His lungs felt high in his chest, but it was a satisfying echo of adrenaline from the sprint to catch him. "I'm applying for Shiratorizawa."
"I wish you luck, then." Ushijima moved to step around him.
Shirabu held his hand out. "Wait, I'm not done." He looked up at Ushijima, moving his hand to his forehead to brush his hair away in a pause. The sprint to catch up unsettled his hair in a mess, but Shirabu left it alone after a moment. "I play volleyball at Toyokuro. I'm a setter, and I want to be Shiratorizawa's setter one day."
"You?" Ushijima looked him over, his eyes hovering past Shirabu's face and slowing on his backpack. "Why Shiratorizawa?"
"Why did you pick Shiratorizawa?" Shirabu asked.
Ushijima's eyebrows furrowed. "It's the best high school in the prefecture."
"Then it's obvious. If you know why you chose it, then I shouldn't have to explain."
Shirabu knew he understood, but he guessed that Ushijima didn't think he'd flip the question back on him. Ushijima fell into silence, his mouth settling in a thoughtful line.
"Shiratorizawa's entrance exam isn't easy, and it isn't a place for the weak," Ushijima said after a moment. "Your goal is admirable, but it's not realistic."
"I'm not afraid to take a risk. There's nothing guaranteed about getting into high school or playing volleyball, and I'm prepared for anything that happens from my decisions."
"You sound serious…"
"I'm being completely serious," Shirabu pressed. “More than a promise. I’m going to Shiratorizawa, and I'm sticking with my choice. I won't get scared and back down."
Shirabu heard the screech of the train pulling into the station, and his mouth wavered at the prospect of running again to make it in time. If he left now, he wouldn't have to rush that much. He turned and gave Ushijima a final glance, bowing his head slightly.
"I'm glad I saw you today. Take care, Ushijima-san." Shirabu hurried away, his breathing picking up again to carry the backpack weight.
He made it to a seat and flopped in relief, and he unhooked his arms from the straps to move away and rest comfortably. Shirabu could still feel his heart beating, and he breathed deeply, trying to calm down from running and from meeting Ushijima in person. Shirabu wasn't scared, but bumping into him in the middle of the day was unexpected, and the fatigue in his lungs made him feel light. Shirabu might as well have been scared, because his heart was pounding and tightening his chest.
"Are you even going to consider another school?" Tomori asked. He placed his hands on Shirabu's desk, leaning to look him in the eye.
Shirabu didn't look up from his book. He wasn't concentrating that much, either. He wasn't so focused that he was automatically ignoring Tomori, but he didn't want to look at him and see if he was disappointed. "Of course I am."
"I thought about Aobajousai, but I don't think I'll get in." Tomori sighed and returned to a seat, bending to rest his head on the desk.
They were near the end of their lunch, sitting out of their usual seats in class to eat next to each other. They finished eating, and Shirabu had returned to finishing homework so he wouldn't have to do it later, leaving more time for cram school work. The homework for junior high was easy enough that he didn't have to focus too much. Shirabu could do it while half-listening to his friend talk.
"It's too late to start preparing for their entrance exam," Shirabu said.
"...Thanks, Shirabu." Tomori grumbled wordlessly. "But you'd get in, if you wanted. You'll probably get in to Shiratorizawa."
Shirabu wanted to thank him for the compliment, but it felt like an underhanded one, an irritated admission instead of acknowledgment. He thought about it so much that a noticeable amount of time passed, and he couldn't bring it up anymore without telling Tomori that he got lost thinking about it.
Shirabu watched as Shiratorizawa continued to nationals at spring high. Ushijima couldn't be their ace when he was just a first year, but his support made him as much of a star as their actual ace, racking up points and dominating attention on the court.
He didn't have time to watch every match. He only flipped through on TV to glance, glimpsing a spike followed by serves and receives. The ball flew back and forth, seesawing with the tension of a battlefield, and Shirabu was so, so tempted to keep watching. Ushijima's heavy, unwavering gaze completed every spike, deepening with the concentration in every serve, and Shirabu felt his chest revive its impression of a balloon.
He convinced himself that it was a a residual reaction from before. He could almost feel his back deaden from the load of books, and the thrum of air into his lungs from running. He twitched from remembering the messy, unimpressive stumble in front of Ushijima. He lifted his glass of water to drink down the memory.
Shirabu turned off the TV and returned to the book on his desk in his room. His desk couldn't hold all the books he needed for school and studying, so he left a pile on the floor next to his desk. The drawer had actual immediate necessities like pencils and different kinds of paper, and a couple of the books he used every day.
Studying gave him a mild feeling of accomplishment. He didn't enjoy doing it, but he liked the feeling of having done it, and it was the reason for his grades and test scores. Now he was really glad that he had a habitual study ethic to carry him.
The brief time after watching TV always distracted Shirabu. He drifted and stared at the page while thinking about something else, anything else for a little while, something to keep him from being bored even though he was working.
Shirabu itched to play volleyball again. He didn't completely base his decision on volleyball, he was confident that Shiratorizawa had a lot to offer him, but volleyball was one of his primary motivations. Shirabu had to remind himself of how great he'd feel when they accepted him, when he stepped into the gym for the first time and onto their practice court, his legs and arms pumping with a perfect burning limberness into his first toss. It was several months away, but still an easily imaginable feeling.
His arms slid on his desk, his head falling and elbows slipping further apart, slipping with his focus and enthusiasm. He pushed his book away and pressed his fingers over his eyes.
Shirabu saw Ushijima when he closed his eyes. He didn't mean to think of him right away, but it was the first thing he thought of when he tried to think of Shiratorizawa. Imagining an entire school didn't bring a sudden rush of familiarity like a person did. Ushijima reminded Shirabu of the kind of power he admired and wanted, and not just physical power - a demanding presence, mental fortitude, stability, composure, everything compact in one firm manifestation of will.
He sighed. He decided that he really needed to sleep.
This wasn't Shirabu's first time at Shiratorizawa. He visited once to take a brief tour, and it bolstered his faith in his decision, sealing his determination to go. Shiratorizawa was amazing in every way, with a fully equipped gym, a greenhouse, teaching labs, an archery range, a swimming pool, dorms, and clubrooms the size of classrooms. Shirabu remembered being overwhelmed by Shiratorizawa's size then, feeling lost even with a guide.
This wasn't his first time, but he still felt lost. He had a small map folded in his hands, his other hand tugging a suitcase along, and he was by himself, walking around campus trying to find the dorm building. Classes hadn't started yet. They wouldn't for another few days, but some students hurried around campus already busy preparing for club activities and sports teams. Shirabu watched them run around him as they moved with brisk purposeful speed to the buildings sprawled over different quads, traveling past trees and over paths to their destinations.
Shirabu stopped in front of a square high-windowed building standing between two larger ones, painted white on every wall. Through the large window on the front wall, he could see students shuffling papers inside and setting up chairs. It was small compared to the other buildings, but from a distance, Shirabu barely noticed that it was there at all. He squinted at the sign above the glass door.
It read "Music Building." Shirabu let out a sigh, his breath drawing his shoulders down.
"Do you need some help?"
Shirabu lifted his head. Someone stopped in front of the door in, one hand on the doorknob and another on a handle to a large instrument case.
His eyes flicked to the lawn forming their cluster of buildings. "Do you know where the dorm building is?"
The student pointed to a tall building in the distance. "It's over there. Just before you cross to go to the fields."
Shirabu mumbled and nodded in gratitude, and he left. He navigated his way by the landmark of the dorm building in his sight, walking around other buildings and crossing concrete paths onto the grass lawn. The dorms didn't tower over the other buildings, but he could still see it when he wasn't blocked by another building in his view.
He turned to look up at the tall classroom buildings as he walked. Most of them were orange, but one stood out above the rest in a blue tower that reflected the blue of the sky, shining like rows of glinting mirrors. Everything else was square, including the windows.
He felt relieved when he stepped inside the dorms and established that he was in the right building. Every floor had hallways of rooms and bathrooms, the walls plain but still new in bright colors. Shirabu climbed to his room on the second floor and tested the lock with his key. It clicked open easily. He didn't have to struggle with fitting the key in the way he did with his door back home, an annoying comfort that nagged at him. There was nothing to worry about with security, but it didn't feel like home at all.
Shirabu dumped his belongings on the floor. Most of his suitcase was filled with clothes. He didn't think he wanted or needed much more than that, but he could figure everything out later. He decided to wait until a problem came up to buy more supplies.
He spent a couple hours shuffling everything around, tucking the suitcase under his bed and clothes in the closet and dressers. His phone alarm vibrated and told him that he was running out of time, and he glanced at the map for the gym directions before locking the door and heading down the stairs.
Shirabu eventually found the building with a name that matched where he knew practice was being held, the gym next to the blue tower. Shirabu opened the door, the sounds of squeaking shoes and volleyball slams filling the air. It was naturally warmer from the stir of activity and from being sheltered from outside, but the looming pressure of trying out for the team stifled the heat to Shirabu. He felt an uncomfortable warm gust of air hit him as he walked in.
The coach took notice, and he looked over and yelled out to be heard. "If you're trying out, come in. If you're here to dawdle and watch, leave."
Shirabu stepped in more confidently, removing himself from the doorway to let the door completely close. The coach's loud voice was probably intended to scare him, but it reassured Shirabu that he was the one to talk to right away.
"I'm Shirabu Kenjirou."
The coach lifted his clipboard, turning through pages clamped to the clipboard. Shirabu sent in his club application well in advance. He remembered the coach's name, too; Washijou Tanji.
"We already have setters, but they're second and third years, so you might eventually be useful. Change and go line up with the others, we're starting soon."
After he returned from the locker room, his gym shoes and practice clothes on and street shoes gone, Shirabu glanced around slowly to find the group of first years to join. They weren't in a line. They were milling around in a clump of nervous energy, talking and throwing glances to the upperclassmen.
Shirabu awkwardly walked up to them, shuffling to slow down. He folded his leg to stretch, and he switched, and then moving on to stretch his arms and twist at the waist. He could see the upperclassmen already running around the court and starting to practice on their own to warm up. Tendou ran alongside Ushijima, and Semi ran behind them, looking faintly irritated.
Shirabu went through a series of practice runs in different positions for the team, testing out being a spiker and setter. His spikes were average, and his receives were fine. He didn't feel his abilities shine until he was asked to toss to spikers. The players broke apart for a couple setters to set at once.
"Shirabu, toss to Kawanishi," Washijou told him. Washijou barely gave him a glance, and Shirabu didn't get the chance to ask who Kawanishi was.
"You're probably Shirabu," someone said, walking closer and tapping him on the shoulder. "I think I saw him point at you. I'm Kawanishi."
Shirabu turned and acknowledged him in a relieved nod. "I'm never going to remember everyone's names."
"Some of the people here will probably quit. Don't bother trying to right now." Kawanishi stepped away to give Shirabu space to toss.
Kawanishi had a point. Shirabu even suspected that the first few practices were going to be especially hard on them to weed first years out. Already, the tentative practice they were doing started with harsh bouts of laps and exercises without that many breaks. It felt more like an examination of limit than a practice to test out their positions.
Shirabu paused after a few tosses to wipe sweat off his neck and forehead. Kawanishi kept up with him at an equal, steady pace, and he grew tired at the same time as Shirabu. Their arms were sore from receives and spikes, and their legs moved slower with the weight of fatigue.
Shirabu rubbed over his wrists. "This practice feels really long."
"We're probably not done." Kawanishi rolled his shoulder and glanced at Shirabu. "You're a good setter. Good luck," Kawanishi said, and he stepped away as Washijou gathered them in the middle of the court.
The talk was their short break into the last stretch of practice. Washijou spent the time ordering the upperclassmen to specifically practice with the first years, letting them pick which ones to play beside.
Before Shirabu could think about it too much, one of them stepped forward to greet him. "Wakatoshi told me you two've already met, so I'll test you instead. You have a minute to impress me."
Shirabu was startled from the sudden approach. He didn't think about what to say, he just looked up. "Tendou?"
Tendou made a buzzing, screeching noise. "Wrong! Tendou Satori. You have fifty seconds left."
Shirabu's eyebrows drew together. "You want a toss from me?"
"A setter? If you're a setter, then set. I'll determine if you pass."
Tendou had already managed to lead him to a clear area after a few moments of talking. Shirabu ran to the nearest supply cart and picked up a volleyball. Tendou was looking at his bare wrist with mock impatience, but Shirabu knew Tendou had no idea how long he took to return.
Tendou started moving when he saw Shirabu prepare to toss without warning. Shirabu didn't think he wanted a warning. Tendou was quick enough, easily leaping and spiking it down. His natural instinct to it made Shirabu rise with pride, thinking it was a sign of his proficiency enabling Tendou to spike it so well, but Tendou let out a clipped hum.
"You're okay. Not Wakatoshi approved, but Satori evaluated. Set, set, and set again with someone else." Tendou waved at him to move.
Shirabu stepped aside, and he watched as Tendou strode past, already intent on another first year a few steps away. After a brief exchange, Tendou motioned for him to serve.
Shirabu spent the rest of practice in unremarkable event, tossing to other first years and practicing with a couple third years and another second year. None of the upperclassmen were any more impressed than Tendou was, and they all moved on to the nearest first year quickly.
At the end, Shirabu bent to catch his breath, indulging in the chance to relax and cool down. He didn't get a starting position, but he didn't expect to right away.
He began heading towards the locker room, automatically walking with a stream of people instead of thinking about where the lockers were. He heard Ushijima and Tendou, and he slowed down, idling conveniently behind them.
"Tired enough," he heard Tendou say. "But not that tired that I'll faint. If I did, you'd catch me, anyway."
Ushijima didn't respond. Tendou kept talking, his hands moving in the air in unnecessary gestures. Shirabu thought Ushijima would split and walk alone, but he didn't even turn his head away. He listened with quiet attention. Semi walked next to Tendou, and he pressed a hand to his forehead and grumbled when Tendou asked him about his shoes.
"They don't make me clumsy," Semi snapped. He extended his foot to trip Tendou, but Tendou effortlessly stepped over, his body remaining in its normal momentum. Semi's foot skidded, and he stumbled.
Tendou burst out laughing, the guffaw startling every first year near him. "Want to trade shoes, Eita?"
"No."
"You don't have the same shoe size," Ushijima told Tendou.
"Maybe he's wearing the wrong size, and we're supposed to be the same."
"Satori, please," Semi said.
Shirabu expected them to talk about volleyball, something important that would fly over his head. He wasn't wrong; he didn't understand them at all.
He sighed and drew his attention to a bench. He opened his sports bag and lifted clothes to change into. He didn't have his own locker yet, so he had to make do with having his belongings on the bench or floor.
He tugged his shirt off and threw it on the bench in a pile with the rest of his dirty clothes. The air washed over his sweaty skin, prickling and chilling him. He hiked his shoulders up and hurried to get dressed.
On his way out, he walked by Kawanishi. Kawanishi nodded at him, but Shirabu wondered if he remembered his name after the long day. He didn't think any of the underclassmen did.
After a few days, the crowd of first years thinned out a little. Judging from the coach and the rest of the team, it was an expected reaction. Some of them came to Shiratorizawa purely for the academics, with volleyball coming second, and they probably moved on to a club more suitable for them after they slogged through exhausting practices. Shirabu didn't think anyone tried to join who didn't already play volleyball in junior high, but they still changed their mind.
He continued tossing to other first years some of the time. He occasionally tossed to Kawanishi, sometimes because he was told to do it and sometimes because Kawanishi was conveniently nearby, ready to be tossed to when spiking practice began.
"Just toss with me," Kawanishi said, pulling Shirabu out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"You keep looking over at the second years." Kawanishi's eyes flitted to them for a moment. "Did you want to toss to one of them?"
"No. Sorry. I want to toss to you. I mean it."
Kawanishi's mouth twitched up. "It's fine."
Kawanishi returned to spiking his tosses. His mouth turned slightly smug from catching Shirabu distracted, but he didn't bring it up again.
Shirabu dragged himself to the locker room, feeling exhausted and trudging across the gym floor with heavy feet. Practice was definitely more demanding than junior high, and Shirabu felt like he was going to liquefy into a puddle on the floor.
He leaned against the wall outside, resting in the merciful breeze of the night air. Shirabu's legs were numbingly sore, and he swore they were going to turn into slush.
Shirabu heard Ushijima's voice close by, deep and infrequent compared to Tendou. He couldn't catch any of the words, but after a few steps, they passed in front of him and stopped talking completely.
Tendou snapped his fingers. "You're a setter."
Shirabu lifted his head. "Don't you remember?"
"Nope," Tendou said.
"The first thing you said to me was that Ushijima-san told you who--"
"Really? I don't remember that."
Shirabu's shoulders sunk, his mouth pressing together in a frown he tried to hide. Tendou turned his head up with a grin.
Shirabu turned to Ushijima. "Do you remember me?"
"Yes. We met at the train station."
"Wakatoshi has amazing memory," Tendou piped in.
Ushijima glanced and gave him a heavy look. Tendou snorted. Shirabu had the feeling that it was supposed to be a joke judging from the easy exchange, but he missed the punchline completely.
"I meant what I said back then," Shirabu said, looking away from Tendou to address Ushijima, his voice slower to deliver his serious tone. "I really did want to come here."
Ushijima's mouth worked through silence, unable to decide on what to say right away. "You're really determined."
Shirabu wrung his hand over his wrist, rolling his wrist and rubbing it to soothe the soreness. "I really am."
"It's only the first week," Tendou said. "Try a month."
"Fine. A month," Shirabu said, tilting his head and emphasizing the words while looking at Tendou.
Tendou linked his fingers together and stretched out his hands, cracking his fingers. "Well. Time's up. Let's go, Wakatoshi."
Ushijima's face was unreadable as they walked away. Shirabu was sure that he wasn't emotionless at that moment, or ever, but he couldn't tell what Ushijima felt. Ushijima's eyes and the twitches of his mouth and nose were the only signs Shirabu could read so far. Ushijima was too serious and composed to yell or smile.
Shirabu turned away, willing himself to move.
Shirabu still had to keep up his studying when classes began. There wasn't one gigantic hurdle to overcome like the entrance exam, but there was a persistent stream of homework and the looming threat of exams in the distance. Shirabu wanted to make sure he didn't fall behind.
He loaded his backpack with his notebooks and headed off to the school library. He came right after school ended, carrying his supplies and books with him from class. Practice didn't happen every day, leaving them time to keep up with the rigor of Shiratorizawa's brand of academia. Shirabu sometimes liked studying in his room, but after the years of junior high only studying at home or cram school, it felt stale. His room lost its studious feeling by now, and he was tired of the worn atmosphere that was just too comfortable and laid back to concentrate.
Shirabu took a seat at a table in a corner of the library. He didn't like having free space behind him where someone could pass by and look over his shoulder. It gave him not just a sense of vulnerability, but vague irritation and discomfort.
He spread his books and notebooks, piling the couple of them he didn't need and opening the ones he did. He pushed an open textbook away to have his notebook directly in front of him to write in.
A screech of chair legs on the floor clawed the air, and Shirabu jolted, his eyes wildly shooting up.
"Golden week is coming," Tendou said ominously, quiet enough to not disturb the students nearby. The low silent quality that the atmosphere demanded lent more foreboding to his voice.
Shirabu recovered immediately and looked back down to his book.
Tendou huffed. "You're not supposed to ignore your senpai."
"I'm prioritizing my homework."
"I won't bother such a hardworking student, then."
Shirabu interpreted that as patronizing, and he would've kept thinking that if Tendou didn't sit down and dump his own set of books on the table.
He straightened to look at him, working his shoulders irritably in the movement. "Can't you find your own table?"
"It always gets crowded here. I'm taking advantage of luck."
He pushed Tendou's books to the farthest corner of the table from him. "Don't sit that close."
Tendou slid them back. "And let you have the lonely table all to yourself? Share."
Shirabu stopped reading completely and pressed his hand to the side of his forehead. Tendou didn't notice, and he contentedly began studying.
Tendou was surprisingly quiet. Shirabu didn't expect him to be loud when they were in a library, but he didn't think Tendou could be silent like he was doing it out of consideration instead of observation of library rules.
He resumed studying once he got over Tendou's presence. He fell into a such a deep attentive trance that he forgot Tendou was there until his phone vibrated, his alarm quietly going off and reminding him to go home.
He filed everything away one at a time, careful so he wouldn't make noise. He ended up dropping the heaviest book he had on the floor, and the noise startled him even though he knew it was coming. He flinched and stumbled, his foot slipping backward with a squeak on the floor. His hand caught on the chair for balance.
A muffled snicker came from Tendou, rushing in a broken noise that almost sounded like a snort. He didn't say anything as Shirabu shoved the last book in. He roughly zipped his backpack up and walked away.
Shirabu didn't think he had an endurance problem. He kept up with the other first years and Washijou's demanding drills, and he was as exhausted as everyone else at the end of the day. Even Semi and Yamagata looked out of breath when practice ended, more than Ushijima.
He flopped on a bench in the locker room, slumped and utterly worn out. He finished his water bottle, and he was about to stand up when Ushijima walked by the row of lockers behind Shirabu and saw him. He paused and slid his foot to face Shirabu.
"Tired?" Ushijima asked.
"Very tired," Shirabu admitted with an absentminded sigh.
Ushijima's eyes concentrated on Shirabu. "Improve your endurance if you intend to complete your goal. Otherwise, I won't take you seriously."
Shirabu stared ahead even when Ushijima left. He clamped his mouth so it wouldn't open, his jaw tightening from struggling in confused surprise.
A first year standing next to Shirabu coughed. He pulled his mouth together into a slow question, his eyes swimming and widening at the edges. "What'd you do to him?"
Shirabu turned to him. "What do you mean, what did I do? We've barely talked."
"I was just asking. He didn't sound happy." He slipped his school bag strap around his neck onto his shoulder and walked out.
Shirabu sucked in a breath and got up. He shuffled out of the locker room and went outside, frowning to himself as he thought it over. He and Ushijima only talked a few times. He couldn't think of anything that could've prompted that response from him. The one goal Shirabu could think of, getting into Shiratorizawa, was already fulfilled. It was what Ushijima doubted when they first met. Shirabu didn't know what Ushijima was talking about, but whatever it was, getting stronger was what he wanted from him.
Shirabu slammed his locker closed with a lazy swing. He wasn't upset or riled up, but he liked the satisfying sound of the metal locker slamming shut. The clang blended in with the noise of the locker room, echoing with other players closing their lockers and tugging shoes on. He tested the lock to make sure his belongings were safe, and he stepped away.
He ran out onto the court and began stretching. School ended for the day, and it was the last day before golden week. Today's practice would go normally, but tomorrow, Shirabu had to be at the training camp facility early in the morning for the week of concentrated practice and matches with other schools. Shiratorizawa's team was large, and while he didn't know how big the camp buildings were, he guessed that they'd be enough to accommodate all of them, and the other sports teams at Shiratorizawa.
After stretching to his feet and working his arms and muscles to a limber warmth, he began laps around the court. He jogged at a mild pace, waiting for Ushijima to reach his side in the middle of his laps he had begun before Shirabu. Shirabu increased his speed then, his legs burning more and his breath coming faster. His muscles were already straining from the effort after a minute of following Ushijima. Ushijima's naturally longer and more muscular legs carried him through his speed easily, his breathing even and calm.
Ushijima slowed and turned his head.
"You're going to wear yourself out," Ushijima said.
"I'm fine," Shirabu said, but it came out in a forceful rush between breaths.
"Learn to pace yourself." Ushijima lifted his head and shifted into a faster speed, running ahead and leaving Shirabu behind.
Laughter sounded behind Shirabu. He glanced back and saw Tendou jogging, managing to keep up behind Shirabu despite laughing and holding a hand over his mouth to sloppily hide his sniggering.
"You tried to run with Wakatoshi?" He managed to ask after his laughter died down. "Where do you get off thinking you can keep up with him?"
Shirabu leaned forward, simmering and tightening his mouth to stay silent. He was already warm from exercise, but now his face burned even more. He wiped his hand over his mouth, dragging it slowly and pressing it in place, almost biting it.
"Embarrassed now?" Tendou asked cheerfully. "You've put me in such a good mood, so I'll conveniently forget this happened. For your sake."
Tendou pulled ahead as well, running with bright eyes and a light grin, head tilted up.
Shirabu hung behind with a scowl. The lesson in impatience lodged a thorn in him. If he was going to improve with their approval, he couldn't try to get their approval.
He sifted through Ushijima's reaction and decided to not coast by in practice. He didn't actively try to relax and just go through the motions, but if he wasn't thinking about pushing himself, then he wasn't going to do it. For today at least, Ushijima and Tendou's unprompted glances motivated him to work harder without him having to remind himself.
Shirabu helped remove nets from the metal poles in the gym, working with a second year in a combined effort to fold one and carry it to the supply closet. He didn't mind cleaning with someone he didn't know yet. Neither of them talked, but the second year greeted Semi as they passed, Semi carrying a load of volleyballs in his arms beside Tendou.
Kawanishi's mopping brought him near Shirabu after Shirabu dusted his hands free. Kawanishi slowed and straightened the handle to come to a stop. "Some of the first years are going out for gyudon in a little while. Want to come?"
Shirabu's first instinct was to refuse, but he hesitated. A month of school hadn't even passed yet, so not having friends wasn't a big deal, but he thought it'd reflect badly if more time passed and he still wasn't making friends.
Shirabu shrugged. "Fine. I'll go."
Kawanishi nodded and pushed on the mop to guide it away.
Shirabu took a heavy breath and returned to collecting nets. He helped a first year with the last net, and after that, the gym clean up was finished. Shirabu went to the locker room and hurried through changing clothes to wait outside the gym.
Immediately someone turned when he stepped outside. "Are you coming with us to eat?"
Shirabu gave a small nod as he walked closer to join them. It was a much smaller group of first years than the one he remembered seeing during tryouts. Their heads and shoulders resonated vague familiarity in him, small memories anchoring the faces to the lazy details he remembered, barely.
"Who told you about it?"
"Kawanishi."
"Oh, him. I didn't know you knew each other." He held his hand out. "I'm Hijiori Kaede."
"I'm Shirabu Kenjirou." Shirabu glanced down at Hijiori’s hand. His arm twitched, and his fingers curled, mentally gauging for a moment. He made a noise in his throat, and he met him in a brief, almost instantaneous handshake, only to tap his palm. He crossed his arms when he pulled away. "Kawanishi told me only first years are coming."
Hijiori smoothed his hand over his neck, bringing it to his shoulder and scratching sheepishly. "The second and third years don't really know us, so we didn't ask any of them."
Shirabu briefly thought about Ushijima, and then Tendou, but a flicker of his laughter and burning hair snuffed itself out.
"I know what you mean…" Shirabu trailed off, unable to even imagine Ushijima tagging along.
Hijiori glanced around. After a moment, he asked, "I saw you talk to Tendou earlier. What's he like?"
Shirabu's eyelids lowered to a distant level. "He's hard to take."
"That's what I heard..."
The gym door opened, and Kawanishi appeared, along with another first year. Shirabu recognized him as the one from the locker room the other day, when Ushijima told him to work harder. Shirabu rumbled faintly in the back of his throat, his shoulders heavy with the memory. Now, without Ushijima's presence overwhelming his attention, he noticed the first year's dark brown hair, darker than his own, messy and slightly curling with a perpetual wind.
"I think that's everyone. Let's go," Hijiori said. He removed his hands from his jacket pockets and started walking.
Shirabu fell in line beside Kawanishi. The gyudon shop wasn't that far away, but it still wasn't on campus, and they had to make their way to the sidewalk and traverse the path through town.
"I'm exhausted," someone mumbled in front of them. He managed to slouch and drag his feet as Hijiori pulled him along by the arm for a minute.
Shirabu leaned in slightly to Kawanishi from the side. "Didn't you walk out with him? Do you know him?" he asked in a whisper.
"No."
Shirabu returned to facing forward. "I met him once, but I don't remember his name."
"Then you're just as bad."
"I don't think anyone told me," Shirabu said.
Kawanishi sighed. His arms tugged down from his shoulders, his hands falling past his waist. He remained silent, his mouth held quietly, pinched like he couldn't decide if he wanted to add something else.
Shirabu twisted away to stretch at his waist. He didn't want to admit it, and he wasn't going to complain, but he was tired, too. The lingering soreness ached for a stretch, even after the routine cool-down.
He relaxed and switched to bending an elbow behind his head. His head tilted back, and he saw the blossoms in the trees of yards by the sidewalk, the branches long and straight overhead. Almost all of the sakura blossoms were in bloom by now, trimming the branches in dense clouds of light pinks. The breeze blew lightly enough to stir the petals and leaves into rustling, but they didn't fall, waving in the wind and glowing white.
"We've been here a while, but we haven't really gone exploring," the same exhausted voice from before said.
"We're only here for gyudon," Hijiori said.
"I meant in town for school. We've been here for a week or two now."
After a pause, Hijiori said, "We're only getting gyudon today."
"He has a point, though," Kawanishi said. "We just spend time at school, in the dorm, at the gym, or on the train going home."
"We're too tired for anything but food today," someone said behind them.
"That's probably why we never do anything, we're always tired."
Shirabu's eyes fixed ahead in a slow, bored blink.
"This is never going to happen again," Hijiori mumbled.
By the time they made it to the restaurant, Hijiori's friend was shuffling and trudging to rest against the door, his sway to lean against it too delayed to be convincing.
They took a table to the side, along the wall under a window. Shirabu stepped around Kawanishi to claim the seat right against the wall. He moved in a quick motion, fluid with intent, but Kawanishi sat down calmly without paying attention to him.
"If you're so tired, why did you come?" Shirabu asked the slumping first year across from him. "Gyudon isn't something to get excited about."
"I'm hungry."
"He's too tired to deal with making food back at the dorm," Hijiori said.
Kawanishi's attention turned to Hijiori's friend. His arm slid on the table with his weight, and he leaned a little to the side. "I still don't know what your name is."
He straightened. "I didn't tell you?"
"No."
"I did," he insisted.
Shirabu's hand fell to the table. "I don't know it," he said. "Just say it."
He cleared his throat. His shoulders rose in a cough, and a series of choking noises brought Hijiori to pat his back.
"His name's Akayu Hiroto," Hijiori said.
Akayu flapped his hand at Shirabu. His other hand flattened on his chest to calm his coughing.
"I'm Shirabu Kenjirou," he said, his eyes calm as he watched Akayu struggle to breathe.
Kawanishi shifted more to the side to meet Akayu's eyes. "Want my name, too?"
His arm brushed Shirabu, quiet and light, rustling like a stray leaf. Shirabu moved away. His smooth reaction followed within a second, and the instinctive quickness caught Kawanishi's attention, along with the sudden sharpness of Shirabu’s eyes piercing ahead. Without the weight next to Kawanishi, his arm slid, and he turned and raised an eyebrow.
Their group number rung out from the counter. Two of them stood up and scrambled out of their chairs.
"I'll get it!"
Hijori returned from his conversation of telling Kawanishi's name to Akayu and glanced at them walking away. "They must be really hungry..."
Kawanishi drew his drink closer and took a sip. Shirabu scooted to fit comfortably against the wall, and he stared out the window, at the green-leaved trees lining the path outside.
Akayu gestured at Shirabu. "I see you with upperclassmen a lot."
"Not really," Shirabu said, his head carrying the movement of talking as his chin rested on his hand.
"I see you with them, kind of," Akayu continued at Kawanishi.
Kawanishi shrugged.
Hijiori rested his arms on the table, his head inclining with interest. "So, you've talked to Ushijima-san outside of volleyball?"
"No," Kawanishi said.
"A few times," Shirabu said a beat after him.
Akayu scooted in beside Hijiori. "What's he like?"
"He gets to the point..." Shirabu unwound in his seat, his arms crossing and relaxing. "It's hard to tell what he thinks."
"He looks terrifying on the court, but I think he looks awkward everywhere else," Akayu said.
Hijiori's mouth tightened, but his shoulders were shaking, along with the seriousness in his eyes.
"Awkward...?" Kawanishi asked.
"He frowns a lot. I heard him talk about plants once."
Hijiori turned his head completely, laughing under his breath.
"If you knew, then why'd you ask me?" Shirabu asked.
Akayu's face drew together, almost blank with a crease in his eyebrows. "When you put it like that, I don't know."
The other two first years arrived and deposited their food on the table. One of them paused, glancing at Akayu. "Everyone's quiet."
Akayu sat up. He thrummed his hand on the table. "Yutagawa, what do you think of Ushijima-san?"
"He's going to be captain after the third years leave."
"That's not what I meant."
Everyone dug into their bowls, and Akayu grumbled to himself as he detached from the conversation and grabbed a pair of chopsticks.
Kawanishi tapped Shirabu's bowl. "Why do you keep looking out the window?"
Shirabu turned from him and glanced back outside. "It's getting warmer."
"It's spring."
"When summer comes, it's going to be hot and disgusting."
"And you...don't like summer," Kawanishi said, voice flat, answering instead of asking.
Akayu's head turned up. "Don't say that again," he said in a muffled voice from the food.
Shirabu looked at him steadily.
"He gets annoyed at me about the weather, too," Hijiori admitted as he picked up a piece of food.
"The sakura blossoms are already in season," someone said.
"That's not part of the weather," Akayu shot back.
Shirabu resumed eating. The conversation unfolded, loudly, when Hijiori pressed that he could "feel" it was going to rain tomorrow, and Shirabu grew too tired to contribute.