Chapter Text
There are three things in this world that Kageyama Tobio needs for survival: food, water, and volleyball.
“Really?” someone says, reading Tobio’s paper with a flabbergasted expression. “I mean, food and water are a given. But, volleyball?”
“Yes!” Tobio responds without a second thought, his voice sounding far louder than he intended. Still, his fingers itch; he can feel the ball against his fingertips, his hands instinctively forming a set. He wishes class could end already so he could go and find the volleyball club, or, at the very least, the gym.
“Well,” his seatmate responds, handing his paper back awkwardly, “that’s nice.”
“Do you play volleyball…” Tobio trails off, already forgetting the name of his seat partner who, if he recalls correctly, just introduced herself a few moments ago.
“Yoshinaga Aimi,” the girl says. “I don’t play volleyball.”
“Oh.” Silence ensues.
Introduce yourself! The first-year homeroom teacher said. Tell all your fellow high schoolers about your hobbies! The first-year homeroom teacher said. Make some friends!
Tobio’s lips form a thin line.
After many repeated introductions (which, really, all ended the same way: silence), Tobio finds himself in the front of the classroom, standing sheepishly in front of you. While he’s standing, you’re sitting comfortably at your desk, fiddling with a pen, your introduction paper remaining blank.
“My name is Kageyama Tobio,” he reads robotically off of his own paper, cerulean gaze fixated on the words (which, really, he should have memorized already), rendering his face blocked by the white sheet.
“Nice to meet you, Kageyama!” you exclaim, and Tobio doesn’t really know how to respond to that; that’s off-script.
For a moment, his gaze parts from the paper, his mind assigning your face to your voice, and, well—he wasn’t ready for the grin which tugs at your lips. You’re practically beaming. Tobio slouches a little; how is it possible to be so happy on the first day of school?
“I’m Takeuchi [Name],” you say, still twirling the pen in between your fingers (Tobio fixates on the movement; he’s envious of the deftness; he’s going to go home and learn how to do that today, so he can pass the time in class). “The three things I need most in this world are ramune, theater, and money!”
Tobio blinks. “Ramune?”
“Yeah,” you reply, “y’know, like the drink?”
“I know,” Tobio responds, “but why?”
“It tastes good.”
He should’ve done that, too. Glancing down at his paper, Tobio rereads his answers with a hollow expression, feeling inferior and miniscule in comparison to the grandness of your response. You mentioned things you actually liked—and even though Tobio really does like food and water, he could’ve said so many more things! Like, a volleyball! He needs both the sport and the object! He also needs a spiker, and a net, and—
“What about you, Kageyama?” you ask. In the time that he’s known you—two whole minutes—Tobio has concluded that you’re quite natural at talking.
Even when silence envelopes him, as it usually does, you don’t mind; you’re quick to occupy the emptiness, your grin remaining unfazed, self-assured and bright and oh, that’s right—Tobio thinks you’re beaming. Again, he doesn’t know how you manage to find joy on such a sullen day (read: the first day of school).
“I need food, and water,” he starts, reading directly off his paper, “and volleyball.”
You tilt your head. “You play volleyball?”
Tobio’s eyes grow wide. That’s the first time someone has asked him that. Again, you’re going off-script! But Tobio appreciates your improv—yes, he plays volleyball! Yes, he wants to talk about it! Yes, you should play volleyball, if you aren’t already playing! Yes, yes, yes!
“I do!” he exclaims, with just the right amount of vigor and volume that volleyball deserves. “Do you play, T…” he trails off, blood becoming cold, mind falling terribly blank when it comes to recalling your name. Tobio hadn’t expected you to mention volleyball! If he had, he would’ve definitely—most definitely!—kept in mind what your name is, and he would’ve known to check for your name on the upcoming team’s roster, and—
You laugh. “Takeuchi [Name].”
“Do you play, Takeuchi?!”
“I used to.”
Tobio’s heart drops.
“Used to?”
“I quit a while back.”
“What do you mean?!” Tobio leans forwards, slamming his hands on the wooden surface of your desk. “Used to? You… You don’t play anymore?!”
You just laugh. Unbelievable! Tobio thinks, your carefree expression drowning in a sea of cerulean. Unbelievable! Tobio thinks, again, taking note of the grin which, truly, seems to belong to you; and the way your face leans into the palm of your hand; and the way you, really, seriously, look far too happy for someone who doesn’t play volleyball anymore! Who doesn’t stand on the court anymore!
That’s—the thought alone is enough for Tobio to feel his heart drop, his ribs straining, curling inwards, his breaths labored and shallow, the sights and sounds of the court remaining intangible—that’s just, terrible!
“Yeah,” you say, waving your hand dismissively (too dismissively, Tobio thinks), “I just didn’t like it anymore.”
He stares at you with a hollowed-out expression, his cheeks sunken in, his face paler than usual.
“Didn’t like what?”
You shrug. “Volleyball.”
“What position did you play?!” That must be it! Tobio thinks you must’ve played a position that didn’t fit you—he can see why you wouldn’t enjoy the sport, if that were the case. If he weren’t able to play setter, then Tobio thinks volleyball would feel terribly unfamiliar, terribly wrong and terribly terrible!
“Wing spiker,” you respond. He stares at you, bewildered. His fingers press into the air, feeling the leather, the curve of Molten, the movements of all six players on the court, whirling around him, moving towards and from the ball.
He can see his set: the trajectory, the highest point, the swing of the spikers as their arms launch behind them, the bend of their knees, the summit. He can see it all! And, and so could you!
His heart shrivels, his figure slouching forward as his hands grip onto the ridge of your table, knuckles turning white. You played spiker? And you still didn’t like volleyball?! Even when the ball molded to your palm, even when the contact would ricochet all throughout the gym, even when you landed and when you stared through the net, making eye-contact with the blockers which had failed—you, you still quit?!
This is just—Tobio clenches his fists, feeling wronged—terrible!
“What side?!” he asks, thinking, that must be it! Maybe you played on the right side, which is more difficult and receives less sets, especially from less experienced setters. If that were the case, then—Tobio clenches his fists, feeling righteous—he can change that! He’ll give sets that anyone can hit, he’ll break open blocks and stand on the court the longest! He’ll fight, and so—Tobio swallows thickly, still clutching onto your desk—so will you!
“Left side.”
“What?!” Tobio yells, not even trying to keep his volume down. “You played left side, and still quit?!”
You nod far too coolly for Tobio’s comfort. At your nonchalance, he shivers, feeling inexplicable fear from your dismissal of what he considers to be paramount to his own survival.
“Yeah,” you respond, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
“Were you a regular?!”
“Yep.”
“What school did you go to?!”
“Chidoriyama.”
“That powerhouse?!” Tobio exclaims. “And you—”
“Yep!” You smile. It infuriates Tobio. You can’t be smiling! he thinks. Not when you can’t play volleyball anymore, not when—
“I quit!” you say, waving your hands around. “I found something else to do, anyway.”
“Do you… manage a volleyball team?” Tobio asks, feeling hopeful. Maybe that’s it! Maybe you found more joy in coaching and assisting than playing! Being a manager is no easy feat, after all! But still, to be so close to the court yet unable to stand on it—Tobio clenches his fists, feeling wronged once more—that’s just, just terrible!
“Nope!” you exclaim, again, sounding far too happy. Tobio has pictured former volleyball players before; if they’re good, they’re sure to pick up coaching. The thrill of the court is incomparable, after all. Good players must pass on their goodness (Tobio really has a way with words), and alas, if they don’t, they must be moping pathetically, clutching onto the railings of the stands, leaning over to catch a whiff of the ball. That’s what Tobio thinks he’d do, anyway. If he were forced to give up volleyball, or, heavens forbid, he were rendered unable to play anymore, he’d do anything in his power to at least remain adjacent to the court. Close enough so the thrill can find him again. So the court could be his again.
Tobio has pictured former volleyball players before. In his mind, they look despondent and depressed, terribly guilt-stricken and longing to stand on the court once more. When he looks at you, however, a chill runs down his spine. You look far too joyous. You don’t look despondent at all. Even though—he clenches his fists again—even though you quit volleyball!
“Do you coach?”
“Nope!”
“Are you a referee?!”
“Nope!”
“Do you manufacture volleyballs?!”
“Haha! What are you even talking about? I don’t.”
“Then—then what do you do?!”
You grin that grin of yours, and even though he’s only known you for two, no, five minutes now, Tobio can tell you’re up to no good—you’re up to no volleyball, that is.
“Theater!”
“What?!”
As if on cue, the cherry blossoms dance all across the sky, scattering outside the window as if this were some momentous occasion. Tobio doesn’t know much about theater, but he knows that whoever’s in charge of the background scenery needs to be benched immediately—this is a situation that calls for a storm! Rain! Torrential downpour! This is, this is heinous!
And still, you grin that grin of yours—terribly unbothered and terribly terrible. Tobio feels a chill coming on, an insatiable fury, an itch in his fingertips—he wants to play volleyball. And, and to think you don’t?!
There are three things in this world that Kageyama Tobio needs for survival, and you’ve already lost one of them.
“How…” He flails his fingers around as if he were setting a ball. “How are you still alive?”
HOW TO COURT?
Special Note: Ask these guiding questions: What are your interests? What draws you towards these said interests?
Keep in mind that you should not ask too many questions, as to ensure that the other party gets a chance to speak and learn more about you.
Good luck!