Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ushijima Wakatoshi is seven years old when he loses his first tooth.

One of his upper teeth had recently started feeling…looser than usual, if such a thing was possible. It wasn’t very loose, just loose enough that Wakatoshi could move it side to side if he really pushed at it with his fingers. Then his mother would tell him that it was unhygienic to touch his mouth with his bare hands, and then he would stop.

He’s at a family reunion of sorts, for his oldest aunt’s fortieth birthday. He’s been put with the rest of the children, and rather unfortunately, there is nobody there that is his age. His youngest cousin is five years older than him, and his oldest cousin is twenty one, old enough to talk with his mother about jobs and whatever else adults talk about.

There’s nothing for him to really do. His cousins gave him a picture book to look at, a book about farm animals, which Wakatoshi finished in about five minutes. His younger cousins are watching a TV show on the TV, one involving a lot of kissing, and his older cousins are all involved in some intense and violent videogame.

So he decides to amuse himself in what is really his last option: wiggling his loose tooth around. He vaguely wonders if it’ll fall out if he wiggles it around enough, but then comes to the conclusion that it probably wouldn’t. His teeth are hard, dependable things. They didn’t break when he crunched on carrot sticks or pretzels or bread. They wouldn’t fall out.

“Hey, Waka-chan,” one of his cousins—his name is Saito—says as he peers at him over the couch. “Whatcha doin’?”

“My tooth is loose,” Wakatoshi says, immediately taking his hands out of his mouth. He doesn’t want his cousins to shout at him like his mother did. 

“Oh, is it?” Saito slowly begins to smile—Wakatoshi’s not sure why. “Mind showing me?”

Wakatoshi, obediently, opens his mouth and wiggles the tooth with his fingers. 

“Huh. Cool.” Saito nudges another one of their cousins—Ginji. “Hey, Ginji, you wanna show Waka-chan that magic trick we showed Fumiko?”

Ginji shakes his bangs out of his hair and smiles, in the same way Saito is smiling. “Sure. It’ll be fun, right Waka-chan?”

Wakatoshi nods, his small seven year old mind telling him that his cousins are older than him—they would know what fun is. Right?

—

Evidently, the magic trick involves the three of them standing at the door to their aunt’s backyard. It’s one of those heavy doors, the ones that slam closed and require you to shove your entire body against it to open. Ginji is holding it open, with Saito tying a piece of dental floss to the doorknob.

“Now, the important part of this magic trick is that you don’t move,” Saito tells him as he ties the other end of the dental floss to Wakatoshi’s loose tooth. Wakatoshi isn’t sure how this is going to be a magic trick, but he trusts his older cousins and their judgment. 

“Alright.” Saito dusts his hands off and moves to stand next to Ginji. “Here comes the magic. Watch the door carefully, okay? Three…two…one!”

On one, Ginji lets go of the door, allowing it to close with a loud bang! The sound makes Wakatoshi flinch back. He still doesn’t see what the magic trick is.

Then he notices something…swinging? It’s hanging from the doorknob, jostling back and forth. It’s small, and white, and…

At that moment, Wakatoshi tastes something…strange in his mouth. He puts his finger to where his wiggly tooth is and finds—

There’s nothing there. 

His finger comes back red.

Saito lets out a laugh, holding the small swinging thing between his fingers. 

In between his cousin’s fingers is Wakatoshi’s tooth.

“Nice magic trick, huh, Waka-chan?”

The scream of horror that Wakatoshi lets out is loud enough that the neighbor’s dog starts to bark.

—

Wakatoshi hasn’t cried since—well, since he was an infant, and even then, all his relatives talked about how little he cried, how well-behaved he was. 

He is anything but right now.

“Stop crying, stop crying,” his mother hisses as she tries to shove pieces of tissue into his mouth. “Everyone is watching, Wakkun. Be a good boy and stop crying.”

He can’t stop crying, not long enough for his mother to stop the bleeding, not long enough for him to hear his aunts’ explanations of what’s going on, not long enough to see his cousins still snickering.

Oddly enough, everyone seems more hung up on the fact that he keeps crying, more so than the fact that his cousins essentially ripped his tooth out of his mouth. He didn’t even know teeth could bleed! He’s seven!

“It happens to everyone, Wakatoshi-chan,” one of his aunts coos in what he thinks is supposed to be a calming voice, but Wakatoshi can’t hear her over the sound of his own wailing. “Your baby teeth fall out and are replaced by grown up teeth!”

What? That’s stupid! Why would he need new teeth? His old ones were just fine! Why did they need to become wiggly and fall out?!

“Apologize to your cousin!” One of his uncles grabs Saito and Ginji by the ears and drags them forward. Both mumble out half hearted apologies before pushing through the crowd of adults and running off.

“There, there, bite down,” his mother says, finally having managed to wrestle the tissue into his mouth. Wakatoshi bites down, feeling the flimsy paper immediately soak up all his blood and spit and tears. He just wants to go home.

But there’s still an hour left of his aunt’s birthday party. So he miserably trods back upstairs to find a dark closet to hide in until the party is over. He can entertain himself using nothing but his own thoughts. That’s fine.

But the night still holds more misery in store for Ushijima Wakatoshi. He turns the corner to find Saito and Ginji prying open a window.

“Hey, Waka-chan,” Saito says, that same smile still playing around his lips. “Y’know what you do with baby teeth?”

Wakatoshi does not know. Wakatoshi is seven years old. He doesn’t know anything about the world. He doesn’t know why his older cousins decided to rip out his tooth because—because what? Because it was funny?

“This came from your top lip. You bury your top teeth, so the next one can grow in big and strong.” Saito holds up Wakatoshi’s missing tooth. It’s white and red all over. Now that some of the initial fear is gone, Wakatoshi wonders what it might look like if he rinsed it and cleaned it. It was part of him, up until fifteen minutes ago.

“Go bury it, yeah?” 

And with that, Saito throws Wakatoshi’s first ever baby tooth out of the window.

Wakatoshi doesn’t cry this time. 

But he does run as fast as his small seven year old feet can towards the window, reaching his hand out in some vain, desperate attempt to catch the tooth before it falls down.

He fails. He gets to watch as his tooth clatters down the concrete, tumbling into the soil of Wakatoshi’s aunt’s flowers, never to be seen again.

The sound of his cousins laughing at him will echo in his mind for a very, very long time.

 —

He starts school a week later. He’s afraid to smile. He’s so very afraid to smile. 

“Don’t be like that,” his mother chides as she tilts her camera to find the perfect angle to take a picture. “Smile, Wakkun, smile!”

Wakatoshi does not smile. He attempts his best try at a close-lipped smile, but he glances at the pictures a few moments later and decides that he doesn’t like that at all. It looks like he’s in pain. His mother says as much.

"Wakkun, try smiling with only your top teeth, can you do that for mama?" 

Wakatoshi tries again, moving his lower lip to cover his lower teeth. He doesn't bother looking at the pictures his mother took. At the very least, she seems happier with the new photos. 

"Don't try so hard, Wakkun, just act natural." His mother smiles, a beautiful one, probably to show him how he should do it. "You try too hard!" She taps his nose, laughing as she does.

I'm not trying. This is just how my face is. 

His tongue keeps migrating to the spot where his tooth should be. His mother tells him to stop being so nervous. “Other kids will have missing teeth as well. Nothing to be scared about.” 

His mother wasn't there to see his older cousins laughing as he propped himself up on a chair, looking into the bathroom mirror, trying to practice his smiling, stretching his lips around and squinting at his reflection. 

It's an ugly reflection. His mother says it's a beautiful one.

He’s still scared. 

—

The first few hours of his first ever day of school pass in a blur of introductions. Nobody is really keen to talk to him; he is tall and big for his age, he responds to questions with one word answers, and he has not smiled once. Everyone must be weirded out by him. 

Well—at the very least, he is not the weirdest kid in his class. That honor would belong to a red-headed kid with a bowl cut, wide eyes, a smile that looks more like a leer, and a name that’s—

“Ten-dou Sa-to-ri!” the kid shouts, planting his hands on his hips as he speaks. 

“He looks like a lizard person,” one of the girls next to him whispers. 

“Yeah, like a monster!” her friend whispers back.

“So weird…”

“Creepy!”

Tendou seems to hear them, as he suddenly snaps his head in their direction to give them a bright, toothy smile. The girls shudder and turn away. Wakatoshi wonders how Tendou knew they were talking about him; he’s too far away for him to have heard them whisper. 

Wakatoshi disagrees with the girls’ words. Tendou Satori may be strange-looking, but he is neither weird nor creepy. If he were any braver, he’d stand up for his classmate. 

He is not brave. He can’t even smile at his classmates.

—

“U-shi-ji-ma?”

Wakatoshi looks up from where he’s bumping a volleyball against the wall. It’s recess. None of the other kids invited him to play volleyball with them—he sees a couple of them aimlessly tossing a volleyball around, but he would bet that none of them actually know how to play well—so he figured he would use this time to practice his serves. The ball misses his hands and bounces to the concrete, rolling to rest against his foot.

It’s Tendou Satori, the boy with the strange hair and the strange eyes and the strange smile. Tendou Satori, the supposed weird creepy lizard monster. 

Tendou Satori, who is currently smiling at him .

"Whatcha doin'?" Tendou asks, tilting his head to the side. Wakatoshi's sure that he's not even blinking as he stares at him. 

"Practicing my serves," Wakatoshi says, picking the ball up and bumping it against his fists again, and Tendou gasps in delight.

"So you do speak!" he says as he watches Wakatoshi receive the ball against the wall again and again and again. "You didn't talk at all during class except to introduce yourself."

Tendou watches him in silence for a couple moments more, as Wakatoshi concentrates on his serves. The silence is then broken by Tendou saying: "You're pretty good at this! You should play with the other kids. Y'know, instead of just doing this by yourself. You look sad and lonely, all the way over here."

"Mm." Tendou is as blunt as only a seven year old can be. Wakatoshi appreciates it. He's blunt as well. "I am better than all the other kids. I would beat them. They would just get angry at me for beating them."

The red-haired boy barks out a laugh. "You're really that good, Ushijima?"

“Yes. Would you like me to show you?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Show me!” Tendou claps, then laughs. 

“Okay. Hold this.” Wakatoshi throws the ball to Tendou. Tendou catches it—he looks as though he’ll be knocked over, but he catches it—and eagerly awaits Wakatoshi’s next instructions.

It is then that Wakatoshi hesitates. He has never played volleyball with anyone but his father. What if he is actually not as good as his father says he is? What if he just makes a fool of himself in front of the one person who actually approached him of their own free will?

“So do I just hold it, or…?” Tendou throws the ball up, laughing as it hits him on the head on the way down. 

Right.

“Toss it like that,” Wakatoshi says, backing up to the brick wall. “But stay right there.” Tendou nods enthusiastically, tossing the ball up with both hands. 

Wakatoshi waits, watching the ball curve in a tight arc. His father hasn’t yet taught him how to spike the ball; he’s only seen it on television. He’s tried to do it before. He’s never fully gotten it right before. 

He has to hope he gets it right now. 

Three…two…one…

Go.

SMACK!

The sound of his left palm hitting the volleyball has never been more welcome. 

The ball bounds all the way to the playground equipment, startling a couple of kids into looking up. It’s never gone that far before. 

When Wakatoshi’s feet hit the ground, the first thing that he registers is that his palm stings, in the best way possible. A warm sense of success fills his chest, and despite himself, he feels himself smiling—

Oh, right. His smile. 

Tendou would laugh at his smile. Just like his cousins. Just like his mother. 

He can feel his smile fading away as quickly as it came.

The second thing he notices is Tendou absolutely screaming his head off.

“THAT WAS AMAZING!” he screams, crashing into Wakatoshi, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him vigorously. "How did you do that?! Can you teach me? Please? Pleaaaaaaaaaase??? Ushiwaka, please?"

Wakatoshi barely recognizes the new nickname he's gained, he’s more focused on Tendou's smiling face.

It's not a bad smile. Wakatoshi can see one snaggletooth near the front of his mouth, different from all the rest of his teeth. He likes how big Tendou’s smile is, how it shows off all his teeth, how unafraid Tendou is to show it. It's a good smile. If he looks like a monster, he's a friendly one. 

"Yeah. Okay. I can try."

Tendou lets out a whoop of delight, clapping his hands together. "Yeah! First day at school, and I already got a new best friend. I'm pretty awesome." He tilts his head, staring at Wakatoshi with those wide eyes of his. "Well, not more awesome than you, Ushiwaka. You're like, the coolest person to ever walk on this earth."

Coolest person to ever walk on this earth.

"I don't think that's true, Tendou."

Tendou smiles once again. It's a good smile . "It is to me, Ushiwaka!"

—

He likes gardening with his mother. 

It’s a thing they do, on Friday nights, on the weekends, on Monday mornings. It’s a part of their routine, his mother gets the trowel, Wakatoshi gets the watering can, and they garden together. 

It’s mostly just his mother trimming her plants, pulling out weeds, fussing over her flower placement. But he does get to water the plants, stand over them as he watches the droplets of water trickle down the foliage.

His mother likes beautiful things. The flowers she tends to are no different. They’re all bright, vibrant colors, pink, purple, blue, yellow. And they all require different amounts of light, water, soil, care. If the sunlight is too much, the flower will shrivel up. If the water is too much, the flower will drown. If the soil is wrong, the flower will simply refuse to grow. And if the flower is not tended to enough, the flower will run wild. 

“But with the right amount of everything,” his mother says. “They will grow up to be big and strong and beautiful.”

Wakatoshi nods, the water sloshing around in his watering can. Some of it spills over onto the flowers, and his mother immediately moves him away from them. He feels a stab of shame; his mother had just told him that all of the flowers require proper care, and overwatering them is not proper care at all. 

“Be more careful,” his mother scolds him. “You’re never careful enough, Wakkun.” She gives him a teasing smile, shaking her head. “So clumsy.”

“Sorry, mother,” Wakatoshi murmurs. “The flowers are beautiful today.” He finds it interesting, how such beautiful things can sprout from tiny seeds, how something so big can come from something so small. He hopes he can be like that someday—well, he wouldn’t be a flower. Flowers are too delicate, too soft, too beautiful, everything that Wakatoshi is not. He hopes he would be a tree, strong and reliable and dependable. He hopes that his roots would run deep, anchoring him to the ground, providing him with stability. 

“Mm, yes.” His mother digs up a weed, throwing it onto the pile that’s slowly building up next to her. “Did you know that each flower has its own special meaning?” 

“No, mother.” Wakatoshi stares around at the different flowers. It would make sense; all of them are different and unique. “Please tell me about them.”

His mother hums, happy to have an opportunity to hear the sound of her own voice. She points her trowel at each of the different flowers, listing off their meanings. Carnations mean fascination, distinction, and love. Azaleas mean patience and modesty. Irises mean good news, glad tidings, and loyalty. Hydrangeas mean pride. Morning glories mean willful promises. Forget-me-nots mean true love. 

There’s roses amongst her flowers as well. Red roses, pink roses, white roses. He already knows what roses mean, obviously: love. There’s a single red rose that’s the exact shade of Tendou’s hair. 

“This is the color of Tendou’s hair,” Wakatoshi notes out loud, poking the flower with the tip of his finger. His mother stops pulling up weeds, staring curiously over at him.

“Who is Tendou?” she asks, and Wakatoshi is very sure that he’s already brought up his new best friend, but he reminds his mother anyway. 

“He is my new best friend.” Wakatoshi stares down at a worm making its way through the dirt. “Tendou Satori. He has red hair just like this rose.”

His mother nods her head, slowly. “That’s good, that you’re making new friends, Wakatoshi. Very good. I hope he’s a good friend to you.” 

—

Tendou is not a bad friend.

Tendou is—Tendou is a very, very good friend.

Wakatoshi teaches Tendou how to play volleyball during recess and their lunch break, before school, after school, on the weekends. He's not very good yet, but Wakatoshi supposes that's because he's not a very good teacher. That's fine. He'll just wait until they play volleyball in gym class. Most of the practice just devolves into Tendou getting tired and collapsing onto the ground and Wakatoshi practicing by himself, anyway. 

Tendou repays Wakatoshi with snacks, manga, disposable trinkets, strange rocks that he finds. Wakatoshi keeps all of them. It's nice, coming to school knowing that there is someone he can always spend his time with. Someone reliable. 

They make an odd pair—Wakatoshi is one of the tallest and biggest kids in their class, and one of the most intimidating. Nobody comes to talk to him—he hears whispers about how he looks like a heartless, angry giant, how he could probably beat any one of them up without breaking a sweat. He doesn't really understand why; he would never beat up anyone, that's not nice. On the other hand, Tendou is lanky, skinny, and prone to staring and smiling creepily at people. 'Monster' is synonymous with 'Tendou', and the boy wears it like a badge of pride. 

They get teased plenty, mostly when kids think they're not looking. Children are mean. They work out a system. When someone calls Tendou a monster, Wakatoshi is there, silently lurking behind them until they notice and run away in fear. When someone calls Wakatoshi heartless, Tendou is there, getting up in their face with his wide eyes and his smile that looks more like a snarl and his endless, endless questions. 

His grandmother says that he should stay away, even though she knows nothing about Tendou. She says that he’s named after a satori , a mind-reading monkey monster that dwells within the mountains. Wakatoshi knows that this mythical satori has nothing at all to do with his friend, Tendou Satori, but his grandmother insists that the boy is a bad omen.

“They can read your mind, Wakatoshi-kun, and they can say what you’re thinking before you yourself know it. They feast on your liver, your heart. They take and take until there is nothing left of you. Do you really want to befriend a boy named after something so horrible?”

He thinks about what his grandmother says, often. He never follows her advice. He thinks there is zero chance that Tendou would ever turn into a monkey monster, read his mind, or eat his heart. His grandmother has always been superstitious. The rest of his family as well. 

 His strange friendship with Tendou Satori continues, well into and past their second year of elementary school. 

—

He likes playing volleyball with his father.

It’s a thing they do, every day, after he gets home from school and his father gets home from work. His father teaches him how to serve, how to set, how to receive, how to block.

He likes all of it. But he likes spiking the most, though.

His father tells him stories about volleyball while they practice. 

“Y’know, son, our ace was literally the best in all of Japan,” his father says as he throws the ball and catches it with one hand. His right hand—his father spikes the ball and plays volleyball with his right hand. Like every other volleyball player. He sends the ball over to Wakatoshi in a practiced arc, and Wakatoshi receives it perfectly. They bump the ball back and forth, back and forth, steady as routine. “By the time we were in our third year of high school, he was already well over six feet tall. But his height wasn’t his only weapon.”

This seems counterintuitive to Wakatoshi’s nine year old mind. All the best volleyball players were tall, and strong, and could send spikes over the net in the blink of an eye. Strength, speed, and stamina. Those were the most important characteristics of a good volleyball player. 

“He ultimately made you feel like that, no matter what, if you just set him the ball—” And here, his father’s hands come above his head, to set the ball. “He’d score! It felt like he could pull anything off.” 

His father catches the ball, stopping their game. “Also—he would get you so pumped just to play with him!”

Something about his father’s words resonates with him. He doesn’t fully understand all of it quite yet, but it’s the beginning of something . 

“It would be for the best if you joined a strong team,” his father tells him the next day. “It’s the kind of environment where you can thrive and learn from powerful and…knowledgeable people.” He serves the ball, and Wakatoshi receives it. “And once you gain strength, you’ll be ready to play against all sorts of opponents.”

The puzzle pieces are beginning to click together. 

“Strong opponents. Unconventional opponents. Anyone. And in return, all of them will make you even stronger.” Wakatoshi receives and receives, over and over again. “And actually, that can apply to all walks of life too.” 

His father catches the ball, scratching the back of his neck. “Although—it’s up to you, of course, if you wanna pursue the sport or not. It’s your choice.” 

His father’s question seems like an absurd one. Of course Wakatoshi wants to play volleyball. He wants to be like his father, but more than that, he wants to be like the ace from his father’s high school days. He wants to be the one that serves as a beacon of strength for others, the one that motivates somebody to keep on going. He wants to be brave . 

“In the end, though, I just hope you come to love volleyball. Just like me.” 

Later that day, Wakatoshi will pore through his father’s high school yearbooks. It will be on that day that he finds out about the private school called Shiratorizawa Academy . 

—

It's in his third year when something goes terribly wrong.

They've finally learnt volleyball in gym class. Wakatoshi is there to finally witness the moment where Tendou successfully blocks a ball, there to finally watch a light come into Tendou's eyes, there to watch Tendou block ball after ball after ball with an instinct he previously thought impossible. Wakatoshi never even thought to teach Tendou how to block a ball—but in his defense, Tendou always wanted to learn how to spike the ball. He thought that was all there was to volleyball. Wakatoshi supposes he is not a good teacher at all, nothing like his father. 

"Blocking's so much fun!" Tendou says cheerfully as they walk back to their classes. "I finally get why you like volleyball so much, Ushiwaka!" 

"Mm." Wakatoshi nods in agreement. It's nice to finally have someone teaching him volleyball again—his father left a couple months ago. Left to where, Wakatoshi has no idea. All he knows is that he's never coming back. 

"It's for the best." His mother had said, smiling widely. It looked forced, like the kind Wakatoshi used to pull when he was younger, the kind that his mother never liked because they didn't look natural enough. "It's for the best, Wakkun."

He doesn’t know what happened to his father, but if his mother tells him that it’s for the best, he figures that it really must be for the best. Even if his father will never play volleyball with him ever again.

That’s fine. He can make peace with that. 

He has Tendou. 

"Can I come over after school?" Tendou asks as they take their seats. He’s met Wakatoshi’s parents before. He must have noticed by now that his father is never around anymore. If he does notice something, he doesn’t mention it. Wakatoshi is grateful for that. "I wanna try more blocking!"

"Hm. Okay."

"Ha ha!" Tendou wraps his arm around Wakatoshi's shoulders, pumping his fist into the air. "Ushiwaka and Tendou, the volleyball miracle boys!"

"Mm." Tendou had recently came up with the nickname 'Miracle Boy Wakatoshi' for him when they were swinging on the swings last night, in the park. He doesn't quite understand it—it's longer than his actual name, so it can't really count as a nickname like Ushiwaka does—but it was the thought that counted, and Wakatoshi wholeheartedly appreciated the sentiment. It was just so Tendou of him. 

"Tendou, sit down!"

"Sorry, miss!" Tendou shouts back as he scurries away to his seat. Across the classroom, he gives Wakatoshi a beaming smile and a thumbs up. 

Yes, Wakatoshi appreciated Tendou for simply being Tendou . 

—

They start out fine, like how they normally do. Receives. Serves. Wakatoshi isn't really sure how to practice blocking, so he just throws the ball at Tendou’s face, and Tendou blocks it with his strange sense of intuition. He tries throwing it from different angles, bouncing it off the ground, but Tendou always manages to block it. There seems to be a method to his madness. 

Until it doesn't.

Wakatoshi gives volleyball his full focus. Whatever he is doing, he gives it his full attention, as it deserves. Especially when it comes to volleyball.

Tendou does not give volleyball his full focus. Tendou gets distracted very easily, by quite literally everything.

Wakatoshi throws the ball at Tendou's face. Tendou doesn't realize the ball's coming towards him until it's too late.

"TENDOU—!"

The ball, tossed perfectly by Wakatoshi, lands perfectly into Tendou's face. It knocks him off balance, and Wakatoshi swears Tendou's moving in slow motion. Tendou rocks backward, then falls forward.

Tendou shrieks, crashing face-first into the cold, unforgiving concrete of Wakatoshi's driveway. The ball bounces pitifully down into the road. Wakatoshi couldn't care less about it.

"Are you okay?" Wakatoshi asks, running over to his fallen friend. He's not quite sure what to do—his hands seem to move by themselves, grabbing Tendou by the arms and shaking him. "Tendou, are you okay?"

"Huh? Whuh? Oh yeah, I'm fine." Tendou holds up his scratched-up arm. "My arm helped protect my face. I can put a bandaid on it. It's fine."

There's something dripping from Tendou's mouth.

Something red—

"Tendou," Wakatoshi says slowly, fearfully, staring at the trail of red dribbling down Tendou's mouth. "Your...your tooth...."

"Hm?" Tendou looks down, spotting a small white thing on the concrete. "Oh yeah! My tooth! Huh, that was a wiggly one— oof! "

"I'm sorry," Wakatoshi says as he wraps his arms tightly around Tendou in his best approximation of a hug. He doesn’t know what he should do. He needs someone to tell him what to do. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm—"

You just knocked out your best friend's tooth. You just knocked out Tendou's tooth. You're a bad friend. You're such a bad friend. Tendou's never gonna want to speak to you again. Tendou should never speak to you ever again. 

"Ushiwaka?" Tendou asks slowly. This is probably the most emotion Wakatoshi has ever shown in front of him. "Hey, I'm—I'm fine. Are you—are you crying?"

Wakatoshi is crying. It's less hysterical than that day two years ago, with just small tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and more sniffling than anything. It's stupid. He doesn't even know why he's doing this. He’s supposed to think rationally, always, like his mother has told him. This is not rational.

"Hey, it's okay," Tendou says, fighting his way out of Wakatoshi's ironclad grip. "It's okay. I'm okay. I'm not hurt or anything. That was—that wasn't your fault. Or maybe it was your fault for throwing it directly into my face—"

"You weren't paying attention," Wakatoshi mumbles. 

"Oh yeah. Uh. Sorry for not paying attention." Tendou gives him a few hard slaps on the back. Wakatoshi thinks this is his way of trying to give him a hug. He's grateful they're both equally bad at hugging. "But I'm okay! Look!" 

Tendou pulls back and smiles, showing all of his teeth. There's one missing, one of the very front ones. Tendou's tongue pokes at the hole, giggling as he does. "Coooooool." 

Wakatoshi's breath begins to even out. How could Tendou still smile so brightly? The kids at school will make fun of him even more. 

Tendou's never been afraid to hide. There's no reason for him to be afraid now. 

He's brave.

Wakatoshi wishes he could be brave like that. 

"You wanna bury it with me?" Tendou asks, getting to his feet, holding up his tooth with interest, turning it over in his fingers. "That's what you do with baby teeth." 

Wakatoshi shakily nods. "Alright. Okay."

And Tendou smiles, baring his teeth, and Wakatoshi swears it's brighter than the setting sun.

Chapter Text

Ushijima Wakatoshi is ten years old when he gets his first tooth pulled.

By this point, the majority of his baby teeth have fallen out—a harrowing experience, but one that he survived nonetheless. He checked out several books from the library about teeth over the years, because his mother always told him that the best way to stop being scared of something was to find out why you were scared of it. Find out how it worked, so you would be less afraid of the unknown.

This did not work for Wakatoshi’s teeth problem. In fact, the more he read about what could go wrong with his teeth, the more scared he became. 

“Your teeth can fall out if you don’t brush every day,” Wakatoshi said during one of his and Tendou’s frequent sleepovers. Tendou had skipped out of the bathroom without brushing his teeth before bed. 

“Eh? Really?” Tendou asked, running his tongue through the gap where the last of his baby teeth had fallen out. “How does that work?”

“Bacteria grow in the cracks between your teeth. They eat away at your teeth, and then they become loose enough to fall out.”

Tendou wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Ew.” The prospect of his teeth rotting away, apparently, is enough to get him to brush his teeth. Wakatoshi brushes his teeth next to him, moving his toothbrush up and down, side to side. Another important part of his daily routine.

Tendou, it seems, has no routine.

“Aw, I forgot my toothbrush again,” the boy announces, rummaging through his duffel bag. “Ushiwaka, you got a spare one for me?”

Like clockwork, Wakatoshi pulls out the drawer containing Tendou’s spare toothbrush and hands it over to him. This is a common enough occurrence that Wakatoshi has started keeping a spare toothbrush in the drawer for this exact reason. They bump shoulders as they crowd around the mirror, trying to look at their reflections.

"You should smile more, Ushiwaka," Tendou says, spewing spit all over the sink and mirror. Wordlessly, Wakatoshi wipes it all off with a towel. "You barely ever smile. What, do you not like your smile?"

"No," Wakatoshi says bluntly, and he can see Tendou's teasing smile falter at his honesty. "Nobody likes it. I am bad at smiling."

“You're not that bad!" Tendou laughs as he haphazardly throws his toothbrush onto the counter. He grabs Wakatoshi's cheeks with both hands, squishing them around. "You just need practice, that's all. Smile!"

Wakatoshi gives him a half-hearted smile, which Tendou immediately starts messing with. "Ehhhh, ahhhhh, say ahhhhhhh!"

Tendou's face is very close. Wakatoshi can see his snaggletooth, can see his tongue sticking out of his mouth in concentration. Wakatoshi glances at his reflection in the mirror.

He looks ridiculous. Stupid. Like something he's not meant to be. 

"Let's go," Wakatoshi finally says, putting his palm over Tendou's face and pushing him away. Tendou licks his palm in retaliation, but lets go of his face. 

Wakatoshi curls up onto his bed, Tendou flopping onto the futon set up next to him. Wakatoshi knows that, at some point during the night, Tendou's unconscious body will migrate towards him of its own free will, seeking out his warmth. He still doesn't understand why Tendou just doesn't sleep in his bed with him—it's plenty big enough for the both of them. But he still sets up the futon every time. Routine. It’s about the principle of maintaining a routine. 

"Ushiwaka," Tendou says as he rolls over to face Wakatoshi. "Did you know that apparently, your dreams have secret meanings?"

"Ah." Wakatoshi shakes his head as he rearranges his pillows and folds his blanket, just like he does every night. "No, I didn't."

"Well, dreams where you're falling mean that you're losing control of your life." Tendou puts his hands behind his head and lies down. "Dreams where you're being chased mean that you're afraid of something. Uh...oh! And dreams where your teeth are falling out mean that you're insecure about something!"

That makes sense to Wakatoshi. He thinks that his mother has told him something similar to this before. His family has always been superstitious. He’s surprised his mother is also superstitious—he would have thought that superstition would contradict her stance on rationality. His mother is strange, and complicated. He wonders if he will ever understand her.

"These are all nightmares," Wakatoshi remarks as he turns on his lamp—Tendou sleeps better with a light on. "Is there no secret meaning behind good dreams?"

"I mean, you don't really remember your good dreams," Tendou says, now starfishing out across his futon. "And, like, nightmares are more...what's the word? Y'know those stupid paintings we learned about in art class? Like the splotchy ones? The ones that don't look like anything?"

"Abstract?"

"Yeah, abstract!" Tendou waves his hand around as he speaks. "So you remember them better. Good dreams are more...normal. So you don't remember them. You just think they're memories or something."

"I think dreams are made of your memories," Wakatoshi says as he stares at the back of Tendou's head. "That makes the most sense."

"Ooh, you know that people think that dreams have the power to predict the future? That's called a...a...."

"Prophecy?"

"Yeah, that!" 

Wakatoshi hums in acknowledgement. "Good night, Tendou."

He's turned away from Tendou at this point, but he can somehow sense Tendou smiling at the back of his head. "Good night, Ushiwaka."

—

Wakatoshi dreams that night.

It starts in school, just like normal. He's painting an abstract painting, splotches of color and shapes, just like he did yesterday in class. So he was right—dreams are based on memories. 

Except that his painting in class had purple and blue. He was trying to paint the sea. Tendou had made fun of it, saying it looked like blueberries. 

This painting is red. 

That's odd , he thinks in his dream haze. But he continues to paint.

Something is dripping out of his mouth. 

It drip drip drips onto his painting, blending into the paint. 

That's...even more odd.

He can feel something foreign in his mouth. Something...small. He spits it out.

It's a tooth.

He can feel something else. The weight inside his mouth seems to grow heavier and heavier. Wakatoshi claps a hand over his mouth, standing up, knocking his chair over. He can feel the gazes of his phantom classmates burning into his back. 

They're staring at you. They're laughing at you.

He has to run away. So he does.

The hallways of his elementary school all blur together. Every time he tries to look for a sign telling him to go, it's all blurred together, the characters gibberish. He doesn't know where to go. He feels so lost .

He runs around and around in circles for a couple moments more, before finally reaching a door that looks different from all the rest. The weight in his mouth feels so massive, so real . He can hear the echoes of his laughing classmates following him. He can't tell if Tendou's voice is among them. He doesn't want to know if it is.

It scares him. He vaguely knows that none of it is real, and it still scares him.

This isn't real.

It could be real. 

He throws open the door. The school nurse is there, facelessly staring at him.

"Well?" she asks. "What do you need?"

Wakatoshi spits up teeth and blood and gore into the woman's palm. 

—

Wakatoshi wakes up with his heart pounding in his chest and a scream in his throat. His eyes snap open, and the first thing he thinks of is that it was a wise decision to turn on the lamp before he slept—he thinks he would be infinitely more scared if it was pitch black.

He feels a weight on his chest, and he looks down to find Tendou has thrown his arm over his chest and is now lying face down on the mattress. Somehow, he has flipped himself over in his sleep. That can't be comfortable, so Wakatoshi very carefully rolls his friend over so that he faces the ceiling. Tendou, still asleep, stretches his hand towards Wakatoshi. He mumbles something about 'the kaiju' and scoots even closer to him. 

Wakatoshi stares at Tendou's sleeping face. He doesn't understand what everyone means when they say that Tendou is a monster. His face looks peaceful in sleep, his red hair falling over his eyes. It's gotten longer, long enough that his bangs cover his eyes, and he has to shake them out of his face. It’s still the color of roses. 

Wakatoshi brushes a couple strands out of his best friend's face and sleepily stares at him. He wonders if Tendou ever wakes up in the middle of the night during the sleepovers, wonders if Tendou does this exact same thing. It seems like something Tendou would do. 

It takes Wakatoshi not long at all to fall back to sleep.

—

Tendou's statement about dreams predicting the future seems to be true. 

Because here Wakatoshi is, a week later, sitting in his dentist's office, in the dentist's chair, missing school, with his dentist very patiently telling him that he'll need to have his last two baby teeth forcibly taken out.  

"We plan to give you braces when you turn eleven," Dr. Nagahama says, with a chart of his teeth x-rays pulled up. "Your teeth are doing what we call crowding , where they all move towards the middle of your mouth. You also have a slight overbite, which means your top teeth come too far down over your lower teeth. Does this make sense?"

No , Wakatoshi wants to say. It doesn't make sense. I've been taking care of my teeth very well. I have been brushing and flossing every morning and night and after meals. I did everything I was told. Why is there still something wrong?

"I've been brushing very well," he says instead. Dr. Nagahama laughs. 

"That you have!" she says, clicking her mouse to show pictures of his teeth. "No cavities or any other problems to speak of. But this is a problem that can't just be solved by brushing and flossing. It's genetic. It's just the way your body developed. And the way things are going, your back two baby teeth don't really want to come out by themselves. So we have to take them out. When they grow back, then we can start treatment for your braces."

There's something wrong with me. Like how I'm left-handed.

He's reminded of his mother's various attempts to make him right-handed, back before his father begged his mother and his grandmother to stop. Taping his fingers together, slapping his wrist whenever he used his left hand, literally holding his left hand down whenever he wrote. Whenever he asked why they were making him do this, they gave him different answers. This is just how it’s supposed to be. This will make your life easier. This is how we’ve always done things. You will attract bad luck and evil forces if you use it. Using your left hand stains objects, makes them impure and unclean. We want you to live a clean life, Wakatoshi-kun. This is just a behavior that needs to be corrected. 

We are doing this for you. 

None of those methods worked. He is still very much left-handed. 

What's to say that his teeth won't be the same? What's to say that even with braces, his smile won't still be horrible and awkward? What's to say that, despite everyone else's best attempts, something within him will still remain wrong ? 

And now it needs to be fixed. If it can be fixed at all. 

—

"Do you think I am weird for using my left hand?" Wakatoshi asks Tendou that day after school. They're getting ice cream at the konbini—chocolate taiyaki for Tendou and a popsicle for himself. Tendou passes him his ice cream, and Wakatoshi opens it. With his left hand.

"Huh?" Tendou asks, more interested in trying to rip open his taiyaki packet with his teeth. "Say that again?"

"Do you think I am weird for using my left hand?" Wakatoshi repeats as they walk out of the store and get hit by a cold gust of wind—it is winter. Wakatoshi is not sure why Tendou wants ice cream in the middle of winter, but he has never been one to deny Tendou anything.

"No," Tendou says immediately around a mouthful of chocolate taiyaki. Wakatoshi wants to scold him for talking with food in his mouth, but Tendou swallows it and continues talking. "It's just a thing you are. Nothing weird about it." Tendou tilts his head, in the way he does when he's about to make a very accurate guess about something. "Do you not like being left-handed?" 

Wakatoshi transfers his popsicle to his right hand, flexing his left. "I don't know." 

His father, before he had left for America, begged his mother and grandmother to stop their efforts to make him right-handed. He pleaded with them to allow this one thing, and that he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

He told Wakatoshi that it would be his greatest blessing. 

It doesn’t feel like it, not when his mother’s face pinches every time he uses his left hand to write, to hand her a book, to shake people’s hands. He’s been wondering if he should try switching to his right hand, just to see if the crease in her brow would disappear.  

"Well, I think it suits you!" Tendou says cheerfully. "I don't think you'd be Ushiwaka without being left-handed. It just adds to your Ushiwaka charm."

"My mother tried to get me to be right-handed," Wakatoshi mutters, then takes a bite of his popsicle so he won't have to talk anymore. Tendou's face twists into one of disdain—he's made this exact same face several times when talking about Wakatoshi's mother, actually.

"That's dumb," Tendou says, taking a bite of taiyaki to emphasize his point. "It's just you. You're just Ushiwaka. Nothing wrong with being just you."

Tendou stops very suddenly, tugging at the red strands of his hair. And now it's Tendou's turn to glance towards him. "Do you think my hair's weird? That it makes me a monster?"

"No," Wakatoshi says immediately, forcing the last of his popsicle down his throat, despite the freezing coldness doing so brings. "Do not ever say that. You are not a monster."

Tendou laughs, but there's not nearly enough heart behind it as there normally is. "My mom says I got it from my dad. 'Cause he's French. Or something. Nobody in my family likes it. My grandpa and grandma don’t like it."

At that moment, Wakatoshi would very much like to hold his best friend's hand and assure him that there's nothing wrong with him, like how they do in Tendou's manga. Tendou's red hair is—borrowing Tendou's own words—part of his Tendou charm. It suits him. He wouldn't be Tendou without it. However, he is not brave enough to even smile at his friend, much less hold his hand and comfort him.

So he settles for patting Tendou on the back and saying: "It's just you. You're just Tendou. There is...nothing wrong with you just being Tendou."

Tendou laughs again, this time in the Tendou way Wakatoshi has come to recognize as normal for his best friend. He splits the last of his taiyaki, handing half of it to Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi, in return, allows Tendou to bite off half of his remaining popsicle. 

Despite the cold, something about Tendou's words warms him to the core. Enough to make him forget all about his left hand and his awkward smile and all his inward worries. All he can think about is a certain redhead and his infectious enthusiasm for everything . 

"Thanks, Ushiwaka." 

"I should be the one thanking you, Tendou."

"Yeah, whatever!" 

—

“Wakkun,” his mother says one day. He’s in trouble. He wasn’t watching where he was going, and he bumped into his mother as she was running through the kitchen entrance, and he dropped a glass of water and broke it. And now his mother is angry, tight-lipped, her words cutting. He thinks it may have been less painful if she started screaming, slapped him across the back of his head, like she normally does.

“If you ever find someone to love you, you better not let them go,” she says as she kneels down on the floor, picking up the shards of glass with her hands. She could cut her hands on the sharp edges and bleed, and it would be all his fault. Wakatoshi tries to help. His mother slaps his hand away. “You might not ever get another chance.”

Many years from now, he will realize that these words were said with the implication that he is difficult to love, that anyone would be a fool to love him. But he is ten years old now. All he knows is that it is important to hang onto love, hold it like it is something precious, and never let it go. Love is something to be cherished. He knows this much. 

“Yes, mother,” he says, offering his right hand to help his mother up. He has to resist the urge to stick out his left, but it is worth it. “I’m sorry.”

The wide, happy smile that his mother gives him is enough to make his guilt recede. 

—

The dreaded day comes. 

Wakatoshi watches the cloudless sky pass him by as his mother drives. It’s almost as though the weather is personally mocking him, taunting him about his future pain.

Nothing good is awaiting you. The puffy white clouds seem to say.

Wakatoshi turns his attention away from the unfairly good weather and to his mother instead. 

He’s been with his mother to the dentist multiple times before, watched as the dentist stuck all kinds of metal tools into her mouth. His mother’s dentist talked about stuff called ‘crowns’ and ‘fillings’ and ‘veneers’, stuff he hopes he will never have to experience. She went to the dentist much more than he did. 

“Mother?” Wakatoshi asks as they reach the halfway point to the dentist’s office. “Will it hurt?”

His mother hums in acknowledgement, tapping one perfectly manicured nail against the steering wheel. “No. Well, they will give you a shot, and that might hurt, but it will make you feel numb for the rest of the operation.”

A shot? Why would they need to give him a shot? He had gotten shots at the doctor’s office before, but he understood why they were necessary; to protect his body from viruses. What were these shots for? Where were they going?

“Mother, why do you go to the dentist more than I do?”

“When you get older, your teeth get weaker,” his mother says. “So enjoy having all your teeth while you can, Wakkun.”

His teeth will get weaker? He supposes that makes sense, but he doesn’t like the idea of going to the dentist more and more frequently. And all his teeth? Will his teeth begin to fall out again? Would they fall out regardless of how many times he brushed his teeth? 

“Do you think braces will help with my smile?”

“Of course!” his mother says cheerfully as she pulls into the parking lot. “Well—I never had braces, so I can’t say how long it’ll take until your smile gets better. But your smile will get fixed. I promise you that.”

So his smile is a problem. And it’s not one that he got from his mother. 

It’s his problem that needs to be fixed, and his problem alone. 

—

"Alright," Dr. Nagahama says as she puts on her mask and gloves. "Now, there's nothing to be scared of, Ushijima-kun, okay? The needle will just sting a little bit, and then your gums will be numb."

Wakatoshi finds out what the shot is for. It's to make his mouth numb, so that he won't feel it when his tooth gets yanked out. 

He is very, very scared.

"Close your eyes," his mother says comfortingly, stroking his hand. "Wakkun, close your eyes. It won't hurt if you don't see it."

Wakatoshi closes his eyes, but not fast enough to erase the image of Dr. Nagahama sticking the needle into his mouth. He can feel it, like a bee stinging the very back of his jaw. It doesn't...hurt, necessarily, but it's a mild discomfort. 

But it doesn't hurt. If he pretends it's not there, it won't hurt.

Then his heart starts to race.

Many years from now, he will meet a boy named Shirabu Kenjirou, who will have aspirations to become a doctor. Shirabu will tell him that most lidocaine used in dental procedures to numb the gums contain epinephrine, better known as adrenaline. Epinephrine constricts the blood vessels, helping to keep the lidocaine in one area, and therefore increasing the duration of the lidocaine's effect. Epinephrine will also increase heart rate, which may cause the patient to panic. 

However, this is information Wakatoshi will not get until many years from now. Currently, Wakatoshi has absolutely no idea why it feels like he's about to have a heart attack. 

"Wakkun, Wakkun, baby," he can distantly hear his mother saying. "Wakkun, breathe. Breathe through your—your nose, please—"

Wakatoshi can hear a high-pitched wailing sound, like the sound of a dying bird.

It takes him a moment for him to realize that the sound is coming from him . 

"Alright, five minute break," Dr. Nagahama says as she sits him straight up in the chair. "Just to let your gums get numb, okay? Hey, hey, look at me." The woman gently tilts his head to look at her. "You're doing very good, Ushijima-kun. Very, very good. Your heart's beating really fast right now, isn't it?"

Wakatoshi nods yes, as best as he can. His heart feels like it's about to crawl its way up his throat and explode.

"That will go away in a bit. Just give it some time, yeah? Just sit here for a little while. The scariest part is over." 

"Okay," Wakatoshi whispers. 

Five minutes pass in no time at all. Dr. Nagahama is back, gloving up again and leaning him back in the chair. She looks towards Wakatoshi's mother, instructing her to "Talk to him about anything. It'll keep his mind off of what I'm about to do. Ushijima-kun, close your eyes for me, okay?"

Wakatoshi shuts his eyes immediately. His mother starts talking about the history of Japan, talking loudly enough to drown out the sound of—is that a drill? He decides that he's not going to open his eyes to look. He's not brave enough. He can hear Dr. Nagahama humming along to the song that's on the radio. That helps as well. He hears the clicking of—pliers? And he shuts his eyes even tighter. He feels some massive pressure at the back of his jaw. It fades in and out. At some point, he reached for his mother's hand. He squeezes it whenever he gets too scared.

"And done!" Dr. Nagahama finally says, sitting him back up. "You did very good, Ushijima-kun! Very, very good!" 

"Whuh?" Wakatoshi mutters, blearily blinking his eyes open. Hadn't his mother been talking about hanami just a moment ago? 

"You fell asleep halfway through the procedure," Dr. Nagahama says, laughing. "That's good. It means you were relaxed enough to fall asleep."

"Where's my teeth?" Wakatoshi slurs out. His mouth feels funny. Like sore, but not really. He supposes this is what Dr. Nagahama meant by feeling numb. " My...my teeth."

Dr. Nagahama gestures towards the tray that's holding all of her scary metal tools. Sitting right next to the pliers are two whitish-red blobs—well, they're more red than white, really. The last of his baby teeth. 

It’s over. Just like that. 

"You're growing up so fast," his mother coos, pinching his cheek. "You're not a baby anymore, are you, Wakkun?"

That's a terrifying thought to have. He doesn't particularly want to grow up right now. He doesn't want anything to change. He likes his routine of going to school, playing with Tendou during recess, eating snacks and lunch with Tendou, walking home from school with Tendou. 

He wonders what Tendou will say when he tells him he got his teeth pulled out. 

"You want to pick out a toy from the toy box?" Dr. Nagahama asks, and Wakatoshi nods yes. 

—

"My dentist never gives me cool toys like this," Tendou pouts as he stretches out the miniature gundam’s limbs. “He’s lame. And old.”

He twists his head so that he can stare at Wakatoshi while he fidgets with the gundam’s head. “What’d you do at the dentist’s office anyway?”

“I got two of my teeth extracted.”

“Eh?!” Tendou yelps in surprise. “You mean—you mean like they yanked them out?”

“Yes.”

“Holy crap! Show me!” Tendou commands, dropping the miniature gundam and attempting to pry open Wakatoshi’s mouth.

Wakatoshi obediently opens his mouth, allowing Tendou to look inside. It had stopped bleeding half an hour ago—he had to bite down on gauze for a while, which was very uncomfortable. He wasn’t supposed to eat anything very sticky or chewy or crunchy for the next few days, because it would interfere with the healing process. That was fine. He was content to eat hayashi rice for the next few days. 

“Whoa,” Tendou breathes out. “It’s like there’s a huge gaping hole! That had to hurt, right Ushiwaka?”

“No, not really. The dentist gave me a shot in order to numb my mouth. After that, I could barely feel anything.”

“A shot?!” Tendou’s mouth falls open, and his wide eyes go even wider. “They put a shot inside your mouth?! And it wasn’t painful?!”

“It was painful, but only for a little bit. It stopped hurting after that.” Wakatoshi doesn’t mention how he started hyperventilating right after he got the shot.

He’s not brave enough to admit to that yet. 

“Ushiwaka, you’re so brave!” Tendou says in awe. “I would be screaming and crying if that had to happen to me!”

He feels even worse about it now. Now he’s lying to Tendou by not telling him the whole truth.

Tendou’s eyes narrow, and he tilts his head in that way again. That way where he’s about to make a scarily accurate guess. “You sure you didn’t scream? Not even a little bit?”

“…I…I screamed after they gave me the shot,” Wakatoshi murmurs. “I was scared. Very scared.”

Tendou’s going to think you’re a coward. Tendou’s going to think you’re a liar. Tendou’s going to think you’re a coward and a liar.

He fully expects Tendou to start laughing at him. 

He doesn’t expect Tendou to say: “Ah, so the great Ushijima Wakatoshi is scared of something! Like the rest of us!”

“Huh?” Is all Wakatoshi’s incredibly eloquent ten year old brain can think to say.

“Y’know, other kids are always going on about how scary you are, and how nothing scares you. But you are scared of something!” Tendou leans in closer to Wakatoshi. “That makes me feel better. Like, when I go to the dentist’s, I can think about Ushiwaka, and how he was scared too! But it’s okay, ‘cause he was brave and he got through it! And now he’s okay, and he got me a cool gundam!”

“I’m not…I’m not brave, Tendou,” Wakatoshi quietly admits. For a moment, Tendou doesn’t say anything, and Wakatoshi thinks that his confession was swept up by the rustling of the wind through the trees.

And then Tendou says: “You’re brave to me, Ushiwaka. Really brave. Even if you were scared, you’re still brave.”

And when Tendou says it like that, small strands of red hair drifting through the icy winter wind, mouth stretched in a toothy smile, eyes looking up at Wakatoshi like he’s the most amazing person on this planet—well, Wakatoshi has never thought Tendou to be a liar. 

He supposes that’s not going to start now. 

—

Tendou is good at blocking. 

Tendou is very good at blocking. 

Tendou is the only person who is able to block his spikes. 

“How do you do that?” Wakatoshi asks, mildly frustrated, as Tendou stands triumphantly above him. Four spikes in a row were blocked, a new record for the both of them. “How do you…guess so well, where my spikes are going to go?”

Tendou shrugs. “I dunno. I…I kinda just look at where your eyes go. You always look towards the spot where you’re gonna spike the ball. And then I put my hands up and I block. The way you stand, and the way you run, too.”

The other kids they're playing with during gym mill around them, talking with each other. Not paying attention at all. Wakatoshi distantly thinks if they want to get better, they should listen to what Tendou has to say. 

“So…” Wakatoshi stares at Tendou’s hands. “What should I do to stop you from blocking me?”

Tendou laughs, amazed that he would ask such a thing. Wakatoshi speaks up before he can open his mouth. “You are…one of the best blockers I have seen.”

“Ushiwaka, we’re ten,” Tendou scoffs. “I don’t…I don’t think I’m that good. And how do you know that I’m one of the best, have you seen other people play?”

“I watch a lot of volleyball.” He’s been doing that, more and more, ever since his father left. He has to find a way to get better without his father’s help, and observation is the second best thing to actual practice. “And none of the blockers move like you. They can’t move like you. You either guess completely correctly or you guess completely wrong. There is no in-between."

“Ushiwaka! So mean!” Tendou protests, but he’s grinning now. “You wanna get your spikes past me? Then just do the opposite of what I said.”

“What?” 

“Wherever you wanna send the ball, just look in the opposite direction.” Tendou nods his head towards him, throwing the ball at him. “But, like, this is the worst thing you could’ve done, Ushiwaka. Now I’m just gonna block wherever it looks like you’re not looking.”

Wakatoshi did not think about that. He supposes that he just revealed his biggest weakness to his current enemy. It’s fine; it does not matter, because he and Tendou are always on the same side. If Wakatoshi can get spikes past Tendou, he will be able to get spikes past anyone. His father’s words echo in his head: “And once you gain strength, you’ll be ready to play against all sorts of opponents. Strong opponents. Unconventional opponents. Anyone. And in return, all of them will make you even stronger.”

So Wakatoshi does what Tendou suggests. He is not very good at it; he does not really know how to picture, in his mind’s eye, how he should act to deceive Tendou. But he tries. He turns his head to the left when he directs a spike to the right side of the court. He stares at the right when he spikes to the left. He even tries hitting the ball with his right hand, but that causes the ball to drop lamely to the ground and lose a point for his team.

But Tendou is as intuitive as ever. Only halfway through the second set, and he’s back to blocking his spikes with renewed vigor. He laughs every time he does—and every time he does, it distracts Wakatoshi for the briefest moment.

Get stronger. Get better. 

Tendou’s having fun with this, dancing around the court, destroying the other team’s chances of hoping to score. He laughs, a wild look in his eyes, and Wakatoshi is finally beginning to understand why the other children call him a monster.

He’s a monster. But he’s not a bad monster. He’s scary. But he scares Wakatoshi into wanting to become a better player, constantly pushing him past his limits. 

Still, Wakatoshi wants to see the smile wiped off his best friend’s face, just this once. Volleyball is no fun if he has to do what feels like complex math equations every time he wants to hit the ball.

So in the third set, after his team barely won the past two sets, Wakatoshi tries something new.

He just hits the ball as hard as he can.

Tendou’s eyes light up, because Wakatoshi did not try and do any deceiving moves this time around. He is back to just staring at the spot where he wants to hit, willing the volleyball to fly its way across the court. 

Tendou reaches his hands up to block the ball. 

Tendou screeches in pain as the ball collides directly with his fingers, the force of the ball in turn forcing him to allow the ball to drop down to the ground. He hisses, rubbing his fingers. That was a powerful spike, Wakatoshi knows this, but it was enough to finally, finally get a ball past Tendou.

Wakatoshi does not smile. Tendou, from where he’s kneeling on the court floor, on the opposite side of the net, does. In the distance, their gym coach blows his whistle twice, signalling that class is over. 

“Man,” Tendou says with awe, grinning up at him with a monster’s smile. “You’re really something else, Ushiwaka.”

Chapter Text

Ushijima Wakatoshi is eleven years old when he gets braces put onto his teeth.

The procedure isn't nearly as painful as getting his teeth extracted. But it leaves his teeth feeling sore. He keeps prodding at the metal brackets with his finger, not being able to shake the feeling that it feels wrong in his mouth. 

He gets to choose the colors of his braces. He asks for red. 

"You won't be able to eat any very crunchy or sticky foods," Dr. Tatsumi, his orthodontist, says as she hands him a brochure for maintaining braces. "And you'll need to floss with special ortho floss, to get the food out of your braces. 

More new changes. More things to incorporate into his routine. He doesn't like change. It takes so long to get used to. 

"Take it easy for a bit, okay?"

Wakatoshi nods miserably. Dr. Tatsumi allowed him to look in the mirror at his brand new braces. It looks...wrong. All wrong. And that's ironic, because they're supposed to make his teeth right . 

He can't eat any very crunchy or sticky foods, so he gets a plate of hayashi rice for lunch. That's fine with him. He pokes at his food with his spoon, feeling the food stick to his teeth in a way it hasn't ever done before. 

It makes him feel sick. He doesn't want to eat anymore. But he's hungry . 

"Wakkun, don't play with your food," his mother chides as she eats her own food. "That's not proper."

Wakatoshi shovels some more rice into his mouth, trying not to pay attention to how it squelches when he chews. He can feel it in every crevice of his teeth. He doesn't like it, not one bit. He suddenly feels the intense urge to get them all out, immediately. 

"You're so silly, Wakkun," his mother laughs as he pauses every few bites to take a drink of water. 

"It hurts," Wakatoshi mumbles, wishing that he could rip all the metal off with his bare hands. It's the kind of hurt that's dull, in the background, up until he bites down wrong on his spoon, and then the pain flares up, racing through his entire mouth. 

"Wakkun, speak clearly." Right. He has to always speak clearly and concisely. 

"It hurts, mother." 

"Wakkun, you know that there's no pain you can't get through," his mother tuts. Her tone hardens, ever so slightly. "It’s all in your mind. Don't tell me about your teeth hurting again. It'll go away soon, so don't be so sensitive."

"Yes, mother." 

—

He doesn't tell his mother about his teeth hurting. But he does tell Tendou. 

"Bang your head on the wall," is Tendou's first suggestion. 

"That sounds like it will lead to more pain," Wakatoshi says, holding the home phone to his ear as he flips a page of his library book. They had to check out a biography for class, then do a book report on the famous person it was about. Wakatoshi chose a book about Minamoto Yoshitsune. Tendou is still deciding. That is why they were on a phone call; Wakatoshi is attempting to help Tendou decide. Tendou, however, had skillfully derailed the conversation back into talking about Wakatoshi's newly acquired braces. 

"No, no, like, if your forehead hurts, you'll be too busy thinking about your forehead pain to focus on your teeth pain!" 

"That seems...not quite right." 

Wakatoshi can hear Tendou's pouting through the phone. "Well, I don't know what to do then!"

"You can start by choosing a library book," Wakatoshi says. 

"But that's boring!"

"Your book report is due next Friday."

Wakatoshi can hear Tendou muttering as he flips through the list of approved books their teacher gave them. The muttering then devolves into quiet—Wakatoshi supposes that Tendou is sulking. That was not his intention. He should say something to cheer him up. 

"Tendou, did you know that this general also had the name Ushiwaka?"

"Huuuuh?!" Tendou says immediately, and Wakatoshi can hear the palpable rage in his best friend's voice. "What?! I thought I came up with that all by myself!"

"Well, his birth name was Ushiwakamaru. I think that's close enough."

"Noooooooo!" Tendou's whine goes on for so long, Wakatoshi becomes concerned for his lungs. "I thought I was being clever!" 

"You are very clever," Wakatoshi assures him. "You blocked my spike the other day. You are the only one who can do that."

Wakatoshi hears Tendou laugh in triumph, pounding his palm against his fist. "Right! I did do that!" 

They lapse into silence for a while longer, long enough that Wakatoshi finishes up reading the second-to-last chapter. Just as planned. He'll finish the last chapter tomorrow night.

"Hey, Ushiwaka?" 

"Hm."

"You wanna come over tomorrow? My mom's gonna show us how to make cookies!"

"Ah." 

Well, that certainly throws a wrench into his plans. If he goes to Tendou's house, then he will have to push back his reading, messing up his schedule. But if he doesn't go to Tendou's house, Tendou may be sad. Wakatoshi doesn't want to make Tendou sad. 

He glances over at the clock. There's still an hour left before his bedtime: 9:00. If he reads fast enough, he can finish the last chapter of his book right now, leaving tomorrow night free.

"Okay, Tendou."

—

"Whoa," Tendou says as he opens the door. " Whoaaaa . There's—there's metal. On your teeth. How do they make it stick?"

"They put cement on the brackets," Wakatoshi says as he takes his shoes off, placing his duffel bag on the floor next to the stairs. "And then they stick it on."

"Cement?!" Tendou gestures frantically out his window, where construction workers are paving over a pothole. "Like—like the kind they put in the ground?! How are they gonna get it off ?!" 

"I—" Wakatoshi does not have an answer to this. "I do not know. I will ask my orthodontist the next time I see her."

"And when's that?"

"In four months." 

Tendou makes a face. "Four months? What are they gonna do then?"

"They will tighten my wires."

"Why do they need to do that?"

"To make sure my teeth stay aligned."

Tendou makes another face. “Wow. I’m really sorry for you, Ushiwaka. You must be suffering a lot.” For a moment, Tendou’s face almost looks…worried.

Wakatoshi knows the appropriate answer is to tell Tendou that he is not suffering, not at all. He knows that the appropriate course of action is to swallow his pain before it even has a chance to surface. He knows that doing so will ease Tendou’s worry for him.

Something inside him tells him that Tendou would worry about him regardless.

"Thank you for your concern." Wakatoshi nods his head towards the kitchen. "Is your mother in the kitchen already?"

"Ushijima-kun!" Tendou's mother, a short woman with unruly waist-length black hair, comes into view. Three identical toddlers cling to her legs—Tendou's younger triplet sisters. "Hello! How are you today?"

"Arisa, Erina, Marika," Tendou coos as they totter towards him. "You remember my bestest friend ever Ushiwaka, right? Coolest person to ever walk the earth?"

"Hello, Tendou-chan," Ushiwaka says, addressing all of them at once, kneeling down to look them in the eye. "How are you today?"

None of Tendou's baby sisters say anything, but Arisa—at least, Wakatoshi thinks it's Arisa—gives Wakatoshi a spirited pat on the cheek, and Erina and Marika laugh at Wakatoshi's expense.

"Sorry, Ushijima-kun," Tendou's mother says as she hands Tendou one of his sisters and scoops up the other two. "These three don't want to be put down for naptime."

"Arisa, you're so bad," Tendou teases his younger sister, bouncing her up and down in his arms. Erina laughs, batting at her older brother's face. Marika burbles nonsense. "Just sleep! It's not that hard, is it?"

"Would you like to help us put them down for naptime?" Tendou's mother asks, setting Erina back onto the ground. Wakatoshi nods, taking Erina’s tiny hand in his. She grasps the entirety of his pinky finger with her entire hand. 

As Tendou leads the way into the children’s room, he starts singing a lullaby in what must be French—Wakatoshi knows what English sounds like, and this certainly isn't English. It sounds nasally. He rocks Arisa back and forth, his baby sister slowly beginning to close her eyes.

"Satori has a real gift for this." Tendou's mother pats her son's head as he lowers Marika into her crib. "And a lovely singing voice as well."

As if on cue, Erina begins hiccuping and whining, and Tendou's mother sighs. "Yes, you as well, Erina. You as well."

Wakatoshi does not know how to comfort sleeping children, but Tendou certainly does. He stretches his eyes wide, blowing a raspberry at his little sister. Erina laughs, rolling over onto her side and eventually, slowly, falling asleep.

"Ah, good job, 'Tori," Tendou's mother says, ruffling her son's hair. "They started crying the second you left." The smile that Tendou gives his mother is enough to radiate sheer warmth. 

Tendou's household is so full of warmth and light. Not at all like Wakatoshi's own home. He can't even remember the last time his mother complimented him for just doing a mundane task. It was always just expected from him. But he distantly thinks that every family is different, and this is just how it is for his family. Quiet. Cold. Lonely. 

"Cookie time!" Tendou says, skipping out of the children’s nursery and dragging Wakatoshi behind him. Tendou's mother laughs, following behind the two of them. Her laugh is like her son's, full-bodied and infectious. Nothing at all like Wakatoshi's own mother—her laughs are always behind a hand. Small. Quiet. 

Wakatoshi has rarely ever laughed. He supposes that's fine. 

Tendou can laugh and smile enough to make up for him.

—

They make cookies. It's about as chaotic as Wakatoshi expects it to be. 

Tendou knocks the container of flour over, spilling it all over Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi almost cuts his finger trying to chop the chocolate. Tendou's mother burns her hand trying to heat the oven and says a word that she immediately tells the two of them they're not allowed to repeat.

"Wow, that took longer than I expected," Tendou's mother laughs as she slides the pan full of misshapen cookies into the oven. She unties her hair, letting it tumble down her back. Tendou copies her movements—his hair is long enough to be tied back into a tiny bun now. 

"Shouldn't you cut it?" Wakatoshi asks as Tendou blows strands of his hair out of his eyes. They gently float up and then gently float back down. "It's getting very long."

"Nah," Tendou says cheerfully. "I like it long."

"My mother says boys shouldn't have long hair." 

That gets Tendou to stop, hair falling back into his face. He squints his eyes in suspicion. "And do you think boys shouldn't have long hair?"

"Uh." Wakatoshi thinks. He doesn't particularly care how long Tendou's hair is. He thinks it would look good at any length—except, perhaps, the bowl cut he had when they were seven. "No. I think anyone can have long hair."

"Then there you go," Tendou says, resuming his hair blowing. "I don't care about your mom's opinion, Ushiwaka. I care about your opinion. 'Sides, your mom says some pretty stupid stuff."

"My mother does not say stupid stuff," Wakatoshi says, feeling the need to defend his mother against—against his best friend? "She...she's smart, and she's lived more life than me, and she—"

"She also thinks your smile's stupid," Tendou says flatly. "I heard her saying it to you after school a couple days ago." 

Wakatoshi's stomach begins to feel like it's sinking. Of course. He should've been more careful. His mother always has something to say every day after he meets at pickup, always something like straighten up your back, or stop fidgeting with your shirt, or—her favorite one— smile, Wakkun, aren't you happy to see me?

A couple days ago, he had been asked that last one. He should have complied. He should have forced his face into a smile, should have appeased his mother. That was always the easiest thing to do. But something inside him—something inside him told him no . He had kept his face in an impassive line, even when his mother pushed him to smile at her. 

And then she started yelling at him as they got into the car. Yelling about how he was such a disobedient child, how he can't even do anything his poor mother asks him to, how she just hates it when he looks like that, unhappy and ungrateful, how she's had a rough day and how she's so tired.

I had a rough day too. The words died in Wakatoshi's mind, never even making it to his tongue. I'm tired too.

I don't mean to be unhappy or ungrateful. I'm sorry. 

The parking lot was empty. Wakatoshi didn't think anyone could have seen or heard. Anyway, he deserved it. It was his fault for not doing what his mother told him to do the first time, his fault for not choosing the path of least resistance. 

And now Tendou is going to realize that Wakatoshi is just a bad son, a son who can't even respect his mother and obey the orders he was given. He's not at all like Tendou, who does what his mother asks him the first time, who gets a life full of warmth and happiness in return. 

"Her opinions are dumb. So her opinion doesn't matter to me."

Tendou's hands come down onto Wakatoshi's shoulders, and Wakatoshi is once again blessed with the sight of his best friend's bug-eyed face. "It doesn't matter if your mother doesn't like how you smile. Do you like how you smile, Ushiwaka?" 

His mother would have yelled at Tendou, told him that he has no regard for others' personal space. His mother would have told Tendou that he should look more proper, more put together. 

His mother hates Tendou.

"What about you?" Wakatoshi whispers. "Do you like how you smile? The kids at school all call you a monster. Wouldn't it...be easier to act like everyone else? They'd stop making fun of you if you did that."

Tendou blinks. And then Tendou laughs.

"Who cares about what they think?" Tendou asks, shaking Wakatoshi back and forth. "I don't care about their opinions! I told ya, I only care about your opinion. So, do you like my smile, Ushiwaka?"

I only care about your opinion.

Wakatoshi holds the ability to make or break Tendou's entire sense of self esteem in his hands. He's not quite sure he should be trusted with this heavy of a burden.

"I don't like my smile," he says softly. "But I like yours, Tendou."

Tendou grins, ear to ear, as he grabs Wakatoshi's cheeks and stretches them outward. He pushes a finger against one of Wakatoshi's brace brackets, looking curiously at the indent the metal leaves against his skin. 

"That's good," Tendou says happily as he pats Wakatoshi's face. "'Cause I like your smile too, Wakatoshi."

Distantly, the timer for the oven goes off. Wakatoshi barely hears it—the thoughts in his brain are too loud for him to notice.

Satori likes my smile.

"Thank you, Satori."

—

It's two years later, when they head into middle school, that Satori gets fitted with braces as well.

"This thucks," Satori says miserably, picking at the metal on his teeth. "Ow— ow! Ah, everything huuuuuurts , 'Toshi, how do you deal with it?"

Evidently, Satori's braces problems seemed to be much worse than Wakatoshi's, as he had somehow acquired a lisp. 

"How do I even eat," Satori bemoans as he picks at his food—a konbini chicken katsu sandwich. "Ah— ahhhh . This hurts. Wakatoshi, everything hurts."

"Tear it into smaller pieces," Wakatoshi says, reaching across his friend to rip the sandwich into smaller bits for him. "And then chew each piece individually, with your back teeth. It should help you somewhat."

"Huh." Satori shoves a piece of chicken into his mouth, nearly choking on it in the process. Wakatoshi slaps his friend's back several times—however, he may only be exacerbating the problem, if Tendou's increased coughs are anything to go by. 

"Urgh—'Toshi, 'Toshi, I'm fine, I'm good—"

You are just making his problem worse for him. You should go away. Satori probably doesn't even want you around him, not when all you do is make his life worse—

"Apologies," Wakatoshi says, feeling like he should now get up and get as far away from Satori as possible. So he does just that, gathering their trash and heading to the trash can. "I will get you some water from the vending machine."

"Lemme go with you!" Satori, completely undeterred by his coughing fit, hops up to Wakatoshi's side. "I can tell you about the newest One Piece chapter while we walk over there—"

And so Wakatoshi and Satori make their way to the vending machine together, and Wakatoshi is struck by the thought that it was incredibly silly of him to think that Satori didn't want him around. He is actively following him around. Always.

And for that, Wakatoshi is very grateful. 

"And then Luffy— owwww ." Satori seems to have knocked his teeth together. "Ow. Ouchie. Aw, this is gonna be a long three years. 'Toshi, aren't you getting your braces off soon?"

"In ten months," Wakatoshi says. It's strange to think about, because he's long since gotten used to the routine of flossing extra, brushing more vigorously, picking bits of food out of his teeth. He's already more than halfway through his treatment. He thought it would be forever, but it feels like no time at all. 

"Lucky you," Satori grumbles. "Y'know, the dentist says I might have to keep my braces on for three years. Maybe even four. 'Cause my teeth don't align right when I bite down." 

"Neither do mine."

"No, in a different way from yours." Satori taps at his teeth. "Dentist said I have a crossbite. So my teeth are slanted weirdly." He knocks aggressively at his snaggletooth. "Not just like you, 'cause yours is only an overbite." 

Satori looks up at him with what Wakatoshi is startled to notice is envy . "Lucky Miracle Boy Wakatoshi."

The water bottle thunks into the bottom of the vending machine.

Wakatoshi distantly thinks that it sort of sounds like the beginning of the end.

"Are you angry at me?" he asks, bluntly. "I am...sorry you have to go through the same thing I am going through. But, with time, you'll find that it gets easier."

This seems to only anger Satori even more, as his face crumples into even more obvious annoyance. "It's not—it's not that, 'Toshi. You just never complain about anything, and now I feel bad for complaining like this in front of you. 'Cause I don't know if it was this bad for you, 'cause you never tell me."

"Ah." This seems like a rather odd thing for Satori to be angry about. It doesn't even relate to him. "I am sorry. Would you like me to tell you more about my problems from now on?"

Why is he worrying about you? You don't need anyone to worry about you. You need to be able to rely on only yourself. 

"Yeah, 'Toshi!" Satori playfully shoves Wakatoshi as he stoops to pick up the water bottle. "You always let me complain about stuff and you always do stuff for me. You should be complaining about stuff. It's good for you."

"I am not so sure about that, but very well." Wakatoshi takes a deep breath, fighting down the voice in his head—it sounds oddly like his mother's—that tells him to never speak about any of his problems. "I do not like braces. They take a very long time to clean. They hurt." 

He is not sure if he is doing this correctly. Actually, he thinks he is doing this very incorrectly. But Satori seems satisfied, nodding vigorously. 

"Well," Satori says as he raises his water bottle in what Wakatoshi thinks is a gesture of cheer. "At least we match now!" 

—

Wakatoshi hasn't seen his extended family in several years. But now he's back at his aunt's house—a different aunt—to celebrate her fortieth birthday.

He's not too pleased with this—he and Satori had made plans to try out a new game on Satori's console, and he had to cancel on his friend on short notice. Satori had said he wasn't disappointed, but Wakatoshi wasn't so sure about that. He hates it when his schedule is thrown out of whack, but his mother says that hate is a strong word, and he should try to minimize his use of it. 

That being said, he thinks he's right in saying that he hates his older cousin. Saito is now nineteen and, according to Wakatoshi's mother, a complete and utter disappointment.

"Not sure where his mother went wrong with him," she sighs as she turns into his aunt's neighborhood. "Wants to become a music artist, of all things...his girlfriend's a piece of work as well. God, promise me you'll never end up like him, Wakkun, alright? Get a proper job, a steady source of income, and find a proper girl to marry."

"Yes, mother."

"Not one of those skanks," Wakatoshi's mother continues as she pulls into the driveway. "Spends too much time on her makeup, wears clothes that are too short and tight...bad girls like her die young, you know."

"Yes, mother." Wakatoshi is pretty sure his mother has never met this girl before, as they haven't been invited to a family function ever since his parents divorced. "But you've never met her before."

"Mm, that's true. But I can tell what type of girl she is just by looking at her."

That seems like a rather shallow way to think, in Wakatoshi's opinion. But he doesn't say anything as he gets out of the car and follows his mother inside the house.

It's loud inside, the celebration already underway. Wakatoshi is no longer the youngest of the cousins—his mother's youngest sister has a child, a girl aged five. Regardless, he still doesn't have anyone to hang out with.

He has a phone this time around, though, so he settles on finding a dark corner in what he thinks is the movie room and texting Satori all night.

me: There is nobody here my age.

me: I wish you were here.

ChickenTendou: i wish i was there too!!

ChickenTendou: sent a picture!

ChickenTendou: now i have nobody to play legend of zelda with!!!

Wakatoshi allows himself to laugh softly in the darkness of the room. The picture is of Satori's pouty face, his game in the background. 

ChickenTendou: you didnt change any of your phone settings right

ChickenTendou: it took me forever to show you

ChickenTendou: im still chickentendou in your phone right

me: Yes.

ChickenTendou: good!!!

me: I see no reason why you can't just be Satori, though.

ChickenTendou: its funny!! 

ChickenTendou: my name is tendou and i like chicken tenders!!!

Satori is very strange, in the best way possible. 

"Ey, what do we got here?" 

The door opens, a crack of light shining through. Wakatoshi knows he should turn on the lights—spending too much time on his phone in the darkness is bad for his eyes—but he likes the darkness. Likes the comfort it brings.

The light that shines into the room feels invasive. Just like the man that's making his way into it.

"Saito-san," Wakatoshi says, standing up and bowing his head. Now he has to make conversation with his nineteen year old loser of a cousin. Great. "How are you?"

"Good, good," Saito says as he ambles into the room, hands in his pockets. He still has that smile from six years ago, when he ripped out Wakatoshi's tooth for the fun of it, when he laughed at it. He has a streak of bright red running through his longer hair. He's gotten taller. He advances towards Wakatoshi's corner, and Wakatoshi has the inexplicable urge to dash past him and run away.

He feels like a small animal. A rabbit, maybe. Prey, backed into a corner by predator.

“You’ve grown up, huh, Waka-chan?” His cousin takes a step forward. Wakatoshi takes a step back. “You’re nice and tall. Takes a lot of energy to maintain a growing boy.” Saito cocks his head to one side. “Bet all that energy went towards your brawn, not your brains, right?”

What is he saying? What does he mean by that?

Is he saying I’m—

“I am not stupid,” Wakatoshi says, making sure his voice is as monotone as possible. He’s learned from many one-sided arguments with his mother that letting emotion creep into his voice only makes it easier for him to lose. “I have been maintaining exemplary grades in every one of my classes.”

Saito makes a ‘tch’ sound with his tongue. “Grades aren’t everything that matters in life, Waka-chan.”

What does he mean by this? His mother had told him countless times that grades were the most important thing right now; that he needed to get good grades now, so he could get into a good high school, a good university, a good job. He understands that grades are very important.

“There’s some things that matter more. Like focusing on your people skills.” Saito spreads his hands wide, in what Wakatoshi thinks is a placating gesture. “You haven’t gotten far in that area, have you, Waka-chan?”

Wakatoshi can feel his hands clenching into fists around his phone. He has to consciously remind himself to loosen up his grip, or he risks breaking the phone he spent so long begging his mother for. 

He knows he’s not the best with people. He knows this as an unfortunate fact, one that his mother bemoans constantly. 

"I mean, I wouldn't even be surprised if you don't have any friends, even now—"

"I have friends," Wakatoshi says, and his voice comes out more forcefully than he intended it to. "I have...I have a friend..." And then his voice peters out, seeming so insignificant, so small. 

"One friend, huh?" Saito asks, leaning forward, an ugly sneer splitting his lips. "A single friend?" His eyes flick down towards Wakatoshi's phone, and there's a sudden sinking feeling in Wakatoshi's stomach. "Is that who you've been texting all night?"

And then his nineteen year old cousin grabs him by the wrist—try as he might, strong as he is, Wakatoshi cannot fight off a man who is seven years older than him—and wrenches his phone out of his hand. All of the messages he has exchanged with Satori are still visible, and it is these messages that Saito flips through.

"Your friend's name is Tendou Satori, huh?" Saito huffs out a laugh. "His name's not so different from mine. Why don't you like me, huh, Waka-chan?"

Now that Wakatoshi thinks about it, his cousin is very similar to Satori. They have similar given names, they have red hair—well, his friend's is natural, and his cousin's is decidedly not, they have similar crooked smiles. But where Satori is comforting, Saito is not, where Satori is kind, Saito is not, where Satori is good , Saito is not. 

Saito may be the monster everybody says Satori is. 

Wakatoshi does not bother saying any of this to his nineteen year old loser of a cousin. 

"You ripped out my tooth when I was seven," Wakatoshi says instead. "I believe that is enough reason for me to dislike you."

Saito's sneer morphs into a scowl. He raises Wakatoshi's phone above his head. Wakatoshi knows that if he were to jump, to kick off the ground, he could reach it, as easy enough as reaching a hand up to spike a volleyball. 

He doesn't. He's paralyzed with something he vaguely thinks is fear.

"You gotta learn how to respect your elders, Waka-chan," Saito snarls. "We're older. We're wiser. You gotta do what we say. And right now, I want you to—"

"Saito?" 

It's a young woman's voice, and Wakatoshi supposes that this is the skank girlfriend his mother was talking about. Her hair is bleached blonde, her lashes are long enough that Wakatoshi can tell they are not natural, her lipstick is a vibrant shade of red, and there's a sprawling vine tattoo crawling across her exposed shoulders and collarbones.

Her voice, though.

"What on earth are you doing?" 

Her voice sounds kind.

Saito looks over his shoulder at his girlfriend, shrugging. "Just hanging out with my baby cousin. What do you need?"

I’m not a baby.

The girlfriend jerks her thumb towards the stairs. "Your mom's calling you."

His cousin tosses Wakatoshi's phone back to him. Wakatoshi's reflexes are superb, and he catches the phone with one hand. 

"Nice hangin' out with you, Waka-chan," Saito drawls, before stalking off. His girlfriend smiles and nods at him before following Saito. 

Wakatoshi slumps back against the wall, feeling exhausted even though he didn't even do anything. When he checks his phone, he finds forty new messages from Satori, in the ten minutes he hadn't been talking to him. In the absence of any messages, Satori had defaulted to narrating his journey through Legend of Zelda. 

ChickenTendou: anyway 

ChickenTendou: ooh I found a cool sword

me: That’s nice.

ChickenTendou: it glows!!

ChickenTendou: sent a picture!

He feels…incredibly lucky to have found somebody like Satori. And despite himself, he finds himself smiling at his phone screen.

—

Two hours pass, and it is now time to go downstairs and watch his aunt blow out her birthday candles. He reluctantly heads down, hunching into himself as he walks in an attempt to look as small as possible. The last thing he wants right now is some aunt or uncle pinching his cheeks and talking about how big he’s gotten.

He passes another room—someone’s bedroom, he thinks. He can hear shouting coming from it. He pays it no mind—eavesdropping is rude, after all.

“Saito—!”

And then he hears a thwack! accompanied by a scream of pain.

His cousin is hitting someone.

“Saito, stop, please—!” The person’s voice is high-pitched, nearing a wail.

His cousin is hitting a woman.

“Saito, please, no, I—I love you, please—!”

His cousin is hitting his girlfriend. 

Do not interfere with things that do not concern you, Wakkun. Doing so only causes more problems for yourself.

He always thought something was wrong with his mother’s sentiment. If he saw someone being hit, should he not step in and intervene? He was strong, he could handle being hit back, and if there was no damage to the other person, then what did it matter? If it helped someone, wouldn’t that be all that mattered?

Despite this thought, he turns around and walks away. But he cannot help but feel like he is condemning an innocent person to a fate they never deserved to have.

—

They are about to leave the party. Wakatoshi opens the door to the restroom—his mother asked him to find her hair clip while she continues speaking with his older cousins. He had been standing awkwardly next to his mother for fifteen minutes, waiting to leave after she had told him they were going. 

He finds Saito’s girlfriend hunched over the bathroom sink, crying. Her makeup is smudged, running in dark rivers down her face. Her knuckles are white from where she’s gripping the counter’s edge. 

Something within Wakatoshi is telling him, You did this. You walked away from her crying. You did this to her. You did this to her.

Now fix it.

“Are you alright?” Wakatoshi asks cautiously as he opens the door all the way. The woman stops, turning around to look at him.

“Oh!” She hurriedly scrubs at her face, trying in vain to clean it. “You’re—you’re Saito’s younger cousin from earlier! I—oh—“

“Are you alright?” Wakatoshi asks again, because the woman seems to be very much not alright—in fact, he thinks his presence is actually making things worse.

The young woman pauses at that, then slumps her shoulders dejectedly. 

“No,” she admits. “Your cousin just—he just—well, I just broke up with your cousin.”

“I heard him hitting you,” Wakatoshi says, and the woman’s face pales even more. He is doing this wrong. He is doing everything wrong, like he always does. He takes a deep breath, and there’s a voice in his head—it sounds like Satori—telling him that he is doing the best he can, and that is all that matters. 

“I believe you were right to leave him,” Wakatoshi says. “He would have only repeated that same behavior in the future.”

The woman laughs softly. “Part of me still loves him. I keep telling myself ‘Kumiko, you knew this would happen eventually’, but I still feel so…so stupid. How could I have let it get this bad?”

“Your actions are not a reflection of my cousin’s actions,” Wakatoshi says bitterly. “He is…he is a bad man. You are not obligated to try and fix him.”

Kumiko smiles. Wakatoshi can see that there’s a little bit of lipstick smudged onto her teeth. “What’s your name? I know Saito called you Waka-Chan, but…”

“It’s Wakatoshi. He has been calling me that ever since I was young. I…” Here he pauses. “I hate that nickname.”

“You’re a very smart kid, Wakatoshi,” Kumiko says, running a hand through her hair. “Real wise for your age. Thank you for…talking to me.”

“It was no problem,” Wakatoshi says. Now he should be leaving. His mother’s hair clip isn’t in here. He gives her a nod and a smile—wait, his smile looks bad, he shouldn’t smile. But she’s in pain, and don’t people typically smile to comfort someone in pain? It doesn’t matter—he can already feel his lips folding over themselves. Kumiko is staring at him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, and his voice sounds so small. Now he’s ruined the good first impression he’s made on Kumiko—first impressions are the most important thing when meeting a new person. 

“No,” Kumiko says, shaking her head. “You just have a very kind smile, Wakatoshi.”

And then she smiles at him, pats his shoulder, and walks out of the bathroom, leaving Wakatoshi to stare after her in disbelief. 

She thinks my smile is kind?

"There you are," he hears his mother saying as she approaches him. “I passed Saito's girlfriend in the hall—apparently, he hit her. Serves the girl right for hanging out with riffraff like him." 

Why would it be her fault for something that Saito did to her?

His mother was wrong. She has no idea who this girl actually is.

If she tried listening to the people around her—

"Let's go, Wakkun," his mother says, taking her hair clip out of her bag and re-pinning her hair up. And it's then that Wakatoshi realizes he was sent on a fool's errand, and that his own mother—

His own mother didn't want to be bothered by him.

—

They're in their last year of junior high when they win an official match with a nearby school—Kitagawa Daiichi. It was easy—of course it was easy, with Tendou Satori and his insane guessing abilities by his side. That's not to discount the other team's abilities—they are very good. Very, very good. But not good enough to get past Tendou's blocking, or Wakatoshi's spikes. 

His father was right. His left-handed spikes turn out to be his team's greatest asset. The opposing team never quite figures out how to combat them.

As he stands in the middle of the gymnasium, with entirely too many shouts and loud noises filling his ears, he recognizes something. Weaving their way through the shouts are whispers .

Whispers about him .

He hears kids murmur about how he's built like a brick shithouse—whatever that means—how it seems like he was destined for volleyball, how it was a simple stroke of luck that he ended up here. 

They say that Wakatoshi's presence on the court is a goddamn miracle. 

Somehow, it feels different from when Satori says it. Sharper. Meaner. Like they wished that whatever divine power graced him with his miracle abilities didn't exist. 

When they say it, it sounds like when they call Satori a monster . 

They're all wrong. He didn't get here because of something as trivial as luck. Luck is Satori's thing—his ability to make small, split-second guesses that snowball into something bigger. It's thin, a small balancing act that only Satori is capable of maintaining. 

Wakatoshi's never had luck on his side. Only hours and hours of training, of practicing serves and spikes until his hands blistered and calloused. He's not quite sure if there's anyone here that understands that. 

Well—there's a kid here from Kitagawa Daiichi that's his age. Technically, he seems to be the best player out of the team. He's got brown hair and eyes, with a cocksure grin. He doesn't let it falter, not even when he's shaking Wakatoshi's hand in defeat. His name is Oikawa Tooru. 

Every single one of his teeth is perfect. Just like his serves and his sets. Wakatoshi knows, deep down, this boy is just like him. Everything is calculated perfection, built upon solid foundations of hard work. He wonders if someday, he will be able to play on the same side of the court as him. 

There's another kid trailing in Oikawa Tooru's wake—a boy with raven-black hair and striking blue eyes. He's the only first year on the starting lineup. He scowls at Wakatoshi before turning away to run after his upperclassman. Wakatoshi vaguely remembers that his given name is 'Tobio' and nothing else. 

"I don't like that kid," Satori says as soon as both boys are out of earshot, while they're walking to the changing rooms. 

"Which kid?" Wakatoshi asks. "You're going to have to be more specific. The one with brown hair or the one with black?"

"Brown hair." Satori sticks his tongue out at the boy's retreating back. Another third year, this one with spiky black hair and green eyes, slaps the back of Oikawa's neck. Wakatoshi distantly recognizes that kid as the team's ace. "His smile's so annoying. Doesn't his face hurt? So cocky too."

"Smiles are very important for first impressions," Wakatoshi says. This is a fact both of them know very well, seeing as neither of them are very good at smiling, and both of them are terrible at first impressions. "It's one of the few parts of your body that you yourself cannot see. But it's the first thing people notice about you."

Satori snorts. "There's plenty of other places on your body that you can't see."

"Such as?"

"Back of your neck. Your back. Your ass."

Wakatoshi's brows furrow. "I do not think it's common for someone's first impression of me to be of my—"

"That was a joke, 'Toshi."

"Ah."

Wakatoshi points towards the water fountain. "I'm going to go refill my water bottle. I'll meet you in the locker room."

"'Kay!" Satori chirps as he skips off. He whistles as he does, a jaunty little tune that he's been trying to teach Wakatoshi to do for weeks now. He's never been able to get it quite right, but that's fine. 

He'll get it eventually. He always does. 

—

He comes back to find no Satori in the locker room. That's strange. Normally, he waits for Wakatoshi, doing any number of things to amuse himself; playing with his portable gaming system, twiddling his thumbs, staring off into space until Wakatoshi waves his hand in front of his face. 

Something is wrong. Wakatoshi changes quickly, nearly running out of the locker room in his haste. 

Where is Satori? He would have told Wakatoshi where he was going, if he was going somewhere—

He abandoned you. 

And then he hears it.

"Please—no, no—no, please, I'm—"

He'd recognize Satori's voice, no matter how quiet or how loud. He sounds far away, but Wakatoshi makes a couple educated guesses about this school's hallway structure and makes a mad dash towards the sound of his best friend's voice. 

He finds five kids from Kitagawa Daiichi—kids whose names he doesn't know and doesn't care to learn. He's sure that they didn't even play—they were benchwarmers for the entire game. They're not tall or imposing, but there's five of them and only one of Satori. They're backing Satori into a corner, and their leader is—

Wakatoshi makes it just in time to see their leader punch Satori in the eye, hard enough that he knows that a bruise will soon be forming. 

"God, even your face makes me sick," the leader says, paying no attention to how Satori writhes and shrieks. Two of the boys are holding him down, while the other two are simply laughing at Satori's expense. There are numerous other bruises on the redhead's arms. "Satori, I told you I'd do this when I got the chance, you fucking fa—"

The boy doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Wakatoshi grabs the boy by the shoulders, forces him to turn around, and punches him in the face as hard as he can.

His hands and arms are strong. He knows this. They're strong enough to spike a volleyball all the way across a gym, strong enough to lift heavy boxes and pots, strong enough to even lift Satori a couple centimeters up off the ground. But he's never—he's never punched anyone before, and so he's surprised as the rest of the boys when a loud crack! emmanates from his fists. 

At first, he thinks that he's broken his fingers—then he realizes that, no, something within the other boy's face has broken. There's blood dripping from the boy's mouth, and for a second, Wakatoshi thinks that he's knocked his tooth out. His heart briefly stops at the thought of knocking another person's tooth out—as if knocking out Satori's tooth when they were eight wasn't enough—but quickly realizes that the blood is not coming from the boy's mouth.

It's coming from the boy's nose. 

"What the fuck?!" the boy screams, holding his hands to his nose in a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding. All of his cronies have turned their full attention to Wakatoshi. "He just—he just fucking broke my nose! What the—" 

Wakatoshi wastes no more time in grabbing Satori's wrist and dragging him away, then running away as fast as he can. Satori's breaths are uneven, and Wakatoshi knows that he should give him a couple minutes to rest, but he can't —

Safe. Safe. 

Make sure Satori is safe.

"Wakatoshi?" Satori breathlessly asks as he's dragged along. His voice drags Wakatoshi back to reality, and he realizes that they've reached the front of the school, where the buses are. Thankfully, he had the foresight to grab both his and Satori's bags, so they could quite literally go on the bus now. 

"Move," Wakatoshi says, and Satori does exactly that, sprinting for the bus's entrance and not stopping until he reaches the very back of the bus's seats. Wakatoshi follows him, both their bags slamming against his legs with every movement he makes.

He barely notices the pain. The look of utter horror on Satori's face, coupled with the dark purple bruise forming around his eye, is infinitely more painful. 

"What is..." he begins to ask, and then he trails off, because he has absolutely no idea what to say. That kid called him Satori , and nobody besides Wakatoshi ever calls Satori by his given name, so they must have known each other for a while, but that makes no sense, because Wakatoshi has never seen that kid before in his life, and Satori doesn't hang out with anybody but him—

"Thank you," Satori says, so softly that Wakatoshi might've missed it if they weren't mere inches from each other. "You didn't—you didn't have to punch—"

"I would do it again," Wakatoshi says as he flexes his fingers, and he finds that he means it. "He gave you a black eye. I was acting in your defense. If anyone is going to get in trouble, it will be him."

Satori's gaze drops to his lap as he fidgets with the hem of his shirt. He takes in a long, shuddering breath, then looks up at Wakatoshi as if he's about to say something, but the look of fear—of shame —in Satori's eyes compels Wakatoshi to speak first.

"You do not have to tell me how you know that boy if you do not want to," Wakatoshi says. "You do not have to tell me anything right now if you do not want to. I can—I will wait however long you need."

The words are barely out of his mouth when he realizes that he's coming off as presumptuous—he doesn't know if Satori was going to tell him how he knew that boy, or if he was going to tell him something important. He's pushing Satori's boundaries when he never meant to, and—

All at once, Satori wraps his arms around Wakatoshi's shoulders, his grip like a vice. He might be crying, his face buried in Wakatoshi's shirt, but Wakatoshi doesn't acknowledge it, not here, not as the bus begins to move. Wakatoshi slowly wraps his arms around Satori's back, patting it a couple times as he does. 

"Thank you," Satori says, his voice as soft as it's ever been. It's breaking at the edges. He sounds so fragile. Wakatoshi's not sure he can trust his hands—the hands that broke a kid's nose, the hands that inadvertently knocked his best friend’s tooth out—to hold him together. 

But Satori trusts him.

So he'll trust himself too. 

He holds Satori like this all the way back to the school.

" Thank you ." 

—

"You should come over," Satori says as the bus pulls into the parking lot. "It's Friday. Your mom'll let you, right?"

Wakatoshi nods. His mother is on a business trip for the weekend, and while most mothers would be nervous about leaving their thirteen year olds at home by themselves, Wakatoshi is a very good and responsible thirteen year old. She trusts him wholeheartedly.

"I will call her and get her approval, though I'm almost certain she will say yes." He gets his phone out as he speaks, pulling up his mother's number. "Mother, I'd like to ask if I could stay over at Satori's for the night."

Silence from the other end. Well—no, not silence. He can distantly hear cars honking and the whooshing of the wind. His mother must be driving.

"Mother?" Wakatoshi prompts again.

"Ah sorry, Wakkun," his mother says after a while. "I hope you're doing well while I'm away. Yes, of course. But first, did you finish the high school applications we talked about?"

She didn't even ask how your game went. 

"Yes."

"That's good to hear. Which one are you the most excited for?"

"Shiratorizawa." He had been approached by numerous schools for a volleyball scholarship—he briefly considered Aoba Johsai, solely because their mascot was a tree, and then he found out that their volleyball team is not really up to par—but Shiratorizawa would always be his first choice.

That silence from his mother returns. He's sure that he's told his mother repeatedly why he wants to attend Shiratorizawa as a high schooler. She couldn't have forgotten about it, right—?

The pit in his stomach is forming again.

"Wakkun, when I get home...we'll need to have a chat about some things, alright?"

"Understood."

"You're not in trouble, or anything of the sort. We just need to talk. That's all."

"Yes. Thank you, mother."

"Love you, Wakkun."

"Me too."

Wakatoshi flips his phone shut. "She said yes."

"Yay!" Satori claps his hands together, and from any other person's perspective, it would appear that he's returned to his usual chipper self. But Wakatoshi knows better—this is his best friend, the one he's known since seven years old. 

He knows that the smallest hint of fear still lingers in Satori's eyes. 

It makes him scared too. Satori is one of the bravest people he knows. 

What on earth could make the Tendou Satori scared?

—

“So. Uh. Sit.” Satori’s nervousness seems to have reached a peak as he gestures towards his bed. Wakatoshi sits. Satori paces back and forth in front of him. 

“Um. Those guys—those guys that were at the match.” Satori twists his fingers together. “They’re my mom’s friends’ kids. When my mom’s friends come over, they bring their kids. And we—I guess we hang out. We’ve been doing this since we were little.”

Wakatoshi nods. This makes sense as to why they knew Satori, but why Wakatoshi had no idea who they were. This does not explain why they were beating Satori like he owes them money. Actually—there’s a possibility that Satori could owe them money, but that’s a possibility Wakatoshi doesn’t want to consider. They’re fifteen—what could Satori even have done to owe money? Steal from them? 

“They are not your friends,” Wakatoshi says, like it’s a fact and not a question. Guessing has never been his strong suit—that, of course, is Satori’s skillset—but he has a gut feeling he’s right. His guess is confirmed when Satori slowly nods his head. 

“I never really liked them. They all just…liked making fun of me. The last time I saw them was eight months ago. They…they…”

And here Satori looks like he’s about to break down into tears. Wakatoshi hasn’t the faintest idea what to do—his only frame of reference for what to do when somebody is crying is earlier this day on the bus and that one time he cried after accidentally knocking out Satori’s tooth. He settles on handing Satori the box of tissues and allowing him as much time as he needs to compose himself. 

Satori’s chest heaves in and out. Tiny tears begin to leak out of his eyes. 

“They took my laptop…and they saw that…they saw that…” Satori can’t even bring himself to look at Wakatoshi for this part. “They saw I was looking at pictures of guys.”

This declaration thoroughly confuses Wakatoshi. “What type of guys? Volleyball players?” Why would they beat up Satori for that? 

Satori’s face seems to soften at that, mouth coming close to forming a smile. “I—no, no, ‘Toshi. They were…” He murmurs a long string of swears, splaying a hand over his face. “Anime guys.”

This confuses Wakatoshi slightly less. Satori had been made fun of before for being so into anime and manga, but he had always let the comments roll off him like water. 

“I see. Is that all?”

“No. No, there was a…” Satori groans, flushing bright red. “God, fuck it. Ushijima.”

This is the strangest thing out of all the strange things Satori’s done today. He hasn’t called Wakatoshi by his family name since they were kids. “Yes?”

“I’m gay.”

A beat of silence passes before Satori follows it up with: “Or something. I don’t—I don’t really know yet. ‘Cause I think girls are cute, and I think some guys are cute, and I guess that means I’m kinda gay—”

“Oh, is that what it means?” Wakatoshi asks, dumbfounded. He had heard the phrase used before, usually between other boys as an insult. He never paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Satori laughs—finally, finally —and slaps Wakatoshi on the shoulder. “What did you think it meant?”

“I thought it was just…another insult.” 

“No! No, no, ‘Toshi, it means…” Satori shrugs. “I dunno. I’m still figuring it all out. I just…all I know is that I really wanna kiss Kurapika from Hunter Hunter.”

“Is Kurapika a guy?” Wakatoshi asks, trying to recall which anime guy Satori was talking about. He comes up blank, as he normally does. 

“You’d remember who he was if you watched Hunter Hunter like I told you to!”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, he’s a guy. But he—hang on.” Satori hurriedly opens his laptop, furiously typing with one hand. “He looks like a girl. That’s—that’s what’s got me confused.”

The laptop screen displays a very effeminate man with shoulder-length blonde hair. He does look like a girl—Wakatoshi would have guessed as much.

“And I thought more about it, and I also really wanna kiss Tenoh Haruka. From Sailor Moon. But she looks like a guy!”

Another tab. Another anime character—this one a very masculine woman with short, sandy hair. Once again, Wakatoshi would have assumed that she was a man if he weren’t told otherwise. 

“It seems that you have a type,” Wakatoshi remarks. “Blonde individuals that look like both men and women.”

“Wha—“ Satori clicks between the two tabs, jaw slowly falling open in horror. “Shoot, I do have a type! Blonde people!”

“I don’t think being attracted to solely blonde individuals is a bad thing.” Wakatoshi squints at the characters, trying to see what exactly Satori finds attractive about them. He, unfortunately, comes up empty.

Satori laughs again, and it’s fully Satori this time—unrestrained, full-bodied. He slumps against Wakatoshi, crossing his arms over his chest. “You really don’t care, Wakatoshi?”

Wakatoshi simply shrugs. “How long have you known? Eight months, at least?”

Satori turns almost as red as his hair. “Uh. Probably longer than that, if I’m being honest. Like...I dunno...a year? Year and a half?”

Wakatoshi nods. “You have been...gay for all that time. You have not changed. You are still Satori. You still block the same way. You still talk about anime. You are still…”

He puts a hand on Satori’s head, ruffling the red strands of hair. Satori’s staring up at him, that look on his face—like Wakatoshi is something incredible, something amazing—

A goddamn miracle.

“You are still my best friend. That will not change.”

—

"Shiratorizawa?" is the first his mother asks when she comes back from her work trip. "Wakkun, Shiratorizawa is—it's very far away. I don't know how I feel about you going there."

“I will call you every night,” Wakatoshi says, his voice weary. “They have already extended a scholarship to me. A volleyball scholarship.”

His mother’s lips purse into a thin line, the same way they always do when she’s about to shut him down. “Wakkun, I’m just not sure that…well, you have your whole future ahead of you! You shouldn’t waste it on a hobby.”

A…hobby?

“Shiratorizawa is known for being a prestigious school in academia as well,” Wakatoshi says, reading and re-reading the school’s brochure, as if the characters will somehow rearrange themselves into a cohesive argument against his mother. “My grades are still exemplary.”

“Which means that you could go to any other high school, Wakkun! Why would you go to a school that’s as far away as Shiratorizawa? You’ll—you’ll have to stay in a dorm, with other boys. You’ve always been particular about your personal space, I think that—“

“Father went there. Their volleyball team is the best in the prefecture,” Wakatoshi says in the barest whisper. “I want to play on a team as great as theirs.”

That stuns his mother into silence. Then her face shifts into a smile, one that shows far too much teeth, one that strains her lips far too much. The kind she hates.

Wakatoshi distantly remembers, from a nature documentary, that animals bare their teeth in a smile not to show good intent, but to show aggression .

“Wakkun,” his mother says, slowly, deliberately. “I’m—I’m sure that you’re very good at volleyball, but Shiratorizawa will surely have many other very good players. I’m just not sure you’ll be able to keep up with them—after all, this is just a hobby to you—“

This is just a hobby to you.

An unfamiliar rage courses through Wakatoshi’s veins like never before.  

His father, when he was very young, made a joke about the entire Ushijima clan being as stubborn as bulls—bullheaded. His mother, his aunts, his grandmother—

He supposes he can be stubborn as well, when he wants to be.

“It is not just a hobby to me.” He forces his words to sharpen like knives, in the hopes they will pierce through his mother’s hardened skin. “I am the captain and ace of my team. I received a scholarship from Shiratorizawa. I am one of the best volleyball players in Miyagi prefecture. It has never been just a hobby to me. It—it is my passion, my very soul. Have you ever come to one of my games? Have you ever seen how seriously I take this sport?”

His mother stares at him in horror, and he knows that both of them are realizing that she hasn’t attended any of his games throughout his junior high career. 

In that moment, Wakatoshi knows that his mother knew he could be good at volleyball, but she never had any faith in him that he could be great at volleyball.

“Let me attend Shiratorizawa,” Wakatoshi says, more quietly this time. “Let me play volleyball. I will do whatever I need to do to keep my grades up. I will not ask for anything else.”

They stare at each other, mother and son, two bullheaded, stubborn Ushijimas daring the other to be the one to back down first.

“Very well,” his mother finally concedes, her tone hard as rocks. “Attend Shiratorizawa. Leave your poor mother here alone, wondering about your well being every day. See if I care.” She whips her head towards Wakatoshi. “You best make good on your promises. This is the most difficult path you could have set yourself upon. Don’t fail.”

She stands up, slams her chair back into place, and turns on her heel to storm out of the kitchen. She does not run. She merely walks with purpose—her purpose being, Wakatoshi supposes, to unnerve her only son as much as possible. 

Wakatoshi continues to stare ahead at the place where his mother was just sitting. He can feel tears pricking up at the back of his eyes—why is he crying? Stop crying, it shows weakness. Shouldn’t he be happy? He’s going to Shiratorizawa, just like he always wanted.

It’s a victory.

But the victory feels so, so hollow. 

—

"You decided where you're going to school?" Satori asks a couple days later as they're walking through the school hallways. It's a shock to realize that, soon, they'll never see this place again. Wakatoshi has—well, loved would be a bit of a stretch, but he did enjoy his time in junior high. For the very first time, he had a volleyball team. He was the captain. He was the ace. He did enjoy his time here, even if all his teammates avoided him because he was so socially inept—well, except for Satori. 

"Yes."

"Ooh, me too!" Satori turns to face him, now walking backwards and paying no heed to whatever unfortunate souls end up behind him. "Lemme see if I can guess!"

"Locker door—" Wakatoshi begins to say as someone opens their locker, but Satori is already skillfully stepping out of the way and into safety. Wakatoshi takes a moment to marvel at his friend’s insane instincts.

Satori closes his eyes, pressing two fingers to his temples. "Hmm...is this school's colors purple and white?" 

"Yes."

"Is this school's mascot an eagle?"

"Yes." At this point, Wakatoshi thinks it would be extremely easy for Satori to guess, but he keeps on going. 

"Does this school have three characters in its name?”

“Yes.”

“Does the school’s name begin with ‘shira’ and end with ‘zawa’?”

“Yes.”

And here, Satori slaps his hands against his thighs rhythmically before spreading his hands wide. “SHIIIIIIII-RA-TO-RI-ZA-WAAAAAAAA!!!” he screams in delight. Wakatoshi can feel the corners of his mouth quirking up in the ghost of a smile.

“That’s correct,” he says, and Satori pumps his fist into the air in triumph. 

“Let’s GOOOOOO!!” Satori screeches, drawing the attention of several other students, who all look at him strangely. 

He will miss Satori when he goes to Shiratorizawa. There’s a slim—a very slim chance that Satori could have gotten into Shiratorizawa on a sports scholarship like himself. His skills are certainly up to par. But Shiratorizawa is extraordinarily picky about what players they select. It would take a miracle for the two of them to both be chosen. 

It’s better to automatically consider the worst case scenario as fact. This way, the blows will be softened when Wakatoshi has to say goodbye. 

Satori and him will be parting ways after junior high. The one constant he has had in his school life since he was seven years old will be abandoning him soon. 

Satori opens his mouth to say something when someone interrupts him. “Ushijima!” A boy that Wakatoshi recognizes is from the soccer team—Yoshida Ryosuke, if he remembers correctly—waves at him. “I heard you’re going to Shiratorizawa! Congratulations!”

Satori’s extraordinarily loud declaration must’ve made the news spread quickly, as people are now gathering to watch Yoshida shove his way towards Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi just nods towards him in response. He has never spoken to Yoshida before in his life, and he doesn’t particularly feel like starting now.

“They scouted me out as well,” Yoshida says proudly. “But I’m still deciding if I want to go there or if I want to go to Matsukaze. But if I do go to Shiratorizawa, we might be playing for the same school, yeah?”

Yoshida sounds remarkably arrogant as he says this, like it’s some great honor to go to the same school as him. Yoshida will not be playing with him on the volleyball team, so Wakatoshi doesn’t really care. He does not say this.

But Satori does.

“He’s on the volleyball team, idiot!” Satori snaps, stepping in front of Wakatoshi almost protectively. “You won’t even be playing together!”

Yoshida’s eyes narrow. “Just who the hell are you, braces? One of Ushijima’s fanboys?”

The nickname is incredibly unoriginal, but Satori bristles when he’s called it. His discomfort only lasts a moment before it melts away to show an arrogance on par with Yoshida’s. “I’m on the volleyball team. I actually play with him.” 

Satori waves his fingers in a taunting motion. “But hey, you’d know that if you ever bothered to show up to a volleyball game, right? Don’t go acting all buddy-buddy with Ushiwaka here.” The redhead leers, showing off every piece of metal on his teeth. Wakatoshi feels a strange sense of pride , that Satori is saying all of this. "He can't be bothered to talk to scum like you."

Yoshida laughs, with no humor behind it. “You talk like you’re all that as well. I’ll believe it when I see you go to Shiratorizawa. You're the only scum I see—“

“Ha! I’m going to Shiratorizawa too.” Satori’s grin is as smug as ever as he digs around in his backpack and slaps a piece of paper against Yoshida’s chest. Wakatoshi can faintly make out the words: SHIRATORIZAWA VOLLEYBALL SCHOLARSHIP: ACCEPTED . “ I’m gonna be playing with Ushiwaka. And you can suck it.”

Yoshida has no response to this, only staring at Satori is what Wakatoshi is pleased to see is sheer, utter embarrassment. 

“Did you think you could replace Satori as my best friend?” Wakatoshi asks, trying to imitate Yoshida’s own arrogance as best as he can. He bares his teeth at the boy, nodding his chin in a clear order to go away . “You’re very much mistaken.”

Yoshida raises his hands in a gesture of surrender and turns to walk away in shame. Satori turns to him, holding up both his palms for a double high-five. Wakatoshi gladly slaps his hands against Satori’s. 

“We’re gonna be eagles together, Ushiwaka!” Satori screams for everyone else to hear. 

The only thing that Wakatoshi can think about as Satori throws his arm around his shoulders and pulls him out of the hallway is this:

He’s not abandoning me.

We’ll be in the same high school.

Together.

We'll get to play volleyball together.

Three more years. 

Over a thousand more days with Tendou Satori. 

Maybe he’s starting to believe in miracles a little bit more. 

—

His mother is bragging about him. This in itself is not unusual; his mother always boasts about him every chance she gets. It's strange, really, how she'll criticize him so much in the privacy of their own home, then turn around and speak about how she's been blessed with such an amazing child. It's her way of bragging about herself— look at my child , she seems to say. Look at how amazing my child is, look at how good of a job I've done raising him . 

He doesn't feel particularly amazing. Not when his mother is asking him why he didn't do this, didn't do that, didn't do—what? Is he supposed to read his mother's mind, pick out exactly what she wants? He’s not Satori—he doesn’t have mind-reading skills.

"I wish you would've looked a bit harder," she says that night as she comes back from their grandmother's house. "If you had looked on the refrigerator's second shelf when you were getting dinner, you would've seen the bag I set aside for your grandmother. You should've called me and asked me about it."

"Mm." This makes absolutely no sense to him. How was he supposed to know that his mother was taking something to his grandmother? She didn't tell him about it. She doesn't tell him anything nowadays. It's like she's distancing herself from her son, before he got an opportunity to do it first. 'Shiratorizawa' has become as good as a curse word, by the way his mother snaps at him every time he brings it up.

He leaves in a month. Part of him is glad for it. Part of him is guilty to even think about leaving his mother.

"I'm going to Satori's," he says as he stands up, putting his shoes on as quickly and efficiently as he can. He told his mother about this earlier, but her eyes still narrow in suspicion. 

"You shouldn't hang out with him so much," she says. "There's been talk that...he's been following a lifestyle that I'm not too sure that I approve of."

What? What does she even mean by that?

His confusion must show on his face, because his mother follows up with: "He's gay, Wakkun. You shouldn't hang around with him when you go to high school. You're already far too close to him...rumors are going to spread about you. You should find some more friends. Better friends."

Gay .

It's different now, when Wakatoshi knows just what that word means.

He doesn't turn to look his mother in the eye. He doesn't think he can stop himself from coming to Satori's defense. Doing so would only deepen his mother's suspicion.

So he nods, and his mother smiles, because that's all he can do. 

Just another careful dance of mother and son, trying to pretend like nothing is wrong. 

Wakatoshi knows that some day, the tension will build, to a point where it can't be hidden anymore. Everything will come spilling out, hot and angry. They will hurt each other, possibly so badly that they can never recover. 

That day is not today. 

Wakatoshi can only hope that day will never come. 

—

"Ushiwaka, I don't like this game anymore."

Satori stares down at the cards in his hands, furiously sorting through them. Wakatoshi also stares down at the cards in his hands—which is not many, he's down to two. During the course of this Uno game, he's somehow managed to procure an alarming amount of plus two and plus four cards. Neither he nor Satori have any idea how he managed to do this.

"It's 'cause you're miracle boy Wakatoshi," Satori mutters, finally coming up with a red six card, slapping it down on the pile. "I swear it is."

"Mm." Wakatoshi places down a red plus two card, causing Satori to grumble and swear under his breath. "Uno."

"This is unfair," Satori whines as he takes two more cards, placing a red eight card down in front of him. "So unfair." 

"Indeed." Wakatoshi places his final card down, a plus four. "And now I win."

"I hate this game!" Satori screeches, throwing his hands—and his cards—into the air. It seems that Satori's guessing powers do not extend to card games. Or—perhaps they do, and Satori just went easy on him to let him win. Then again, Satori is as competitive as he is. He wouldn't go easy on him, even if they were best friends. "Uno's stupid! It's in Spanish! We don't even speak Spanish!" 

"You've made a mess," Wakatoshi remarks, standing up to scoop up all the cards. Satori blows a raspberry towards him, but crawls around to help as well. 

Wakatoshi gathers all the cards in a neat pile, expertly stacking them so they're all in order. Satori grabs for one of the cards, but misjudges the distance, and so his hand lands directly on—

It lands directly on Wakatoshi's own hand.

And it stays there.

Wakatoshi stares at their hands, one on top of the other. He's never really gotten the opportunity to compare their hands properly—though now he can see that they're roughly the same size, he supposes, in terms of total mass. His own palms are bigger, his fingers slightly shorter and wider. Satori's palms are small, but his fingers are long, thin, and spindly. They balance each other out. 

Wakatoshi shifts his hand around so that their fingers are intertwined. He just wants to see how they would look compared to each other. It's interesting, really, to see how their physical attributes shaped their roles as volleyball players—he can't imagine Satori hitting spikes with hands like his—

"Ushiwaka...?" 

And Wakatoshi looks up, to see Satori staring at him, then at their intertwined hands, then back to his face—

Ah.

They're holding hands. 

Neither of them make any move to let the other go, though. They stay there, for what feels like years but is probably only seconds. 

Wakatoshi is keenly aware of his heart beginning to beat faster, and faster, and faster. He's not quite sure why, though. 

"Uh—" It's Satori who pulls away first, but his hand is slow, shaky, unsure. "Ushiwaka, what...what was that?"

"I was comparing our fingers," Wakatoshi says simply. 

"Ah!" Satori says as he quickly scoops up all the cards and deposits them into the box, ruining all the hard work that Wakatoshi put into making sure they were neat and orderly. "That's—yep, yep, that's something you—you'd do..."

Wakatoshi misses Satori's next words, but he thinks they sound like 'with your best friend'. Is this not what best friends did? He faintly remembers girls from Satori's shoujo manga holding hands—then again, they are both boys and in the real world. 

"He's gay, Wakkun."

Oh no. What if he's made Satori uncomfortable by doing this? What if Satori thinks he's mocking him? What if Satori no longer wants to be best friends? What if Satori—

"Hey, don't look so stressed out!" Satori shouts, clapping both his hands to Wakatoshi's cheeks. "Don't worry, I was just surprised. That's all."

Oh. Wakatoshi relaxes slightly, and he can see Satori's smile spread across his face as he does. His teeth have gotten a lot straighter with the braces—he bears less of a resemblance to the lizard monster everyone said he was when they were younger. Even so, Wakatoshi finds himself missing the presence of Satori's snaggletooth. There was just something so distinctly Satori about it.

"I'm hungry, you wanna see if we got any snacks?" Satori asks, standing up and offering his hand to Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi takes it, but this time, he's the first one to let go. He thinks he sees a faint flicker of disappointment across Satori's face, but he's sure he's mistaken. Satori settles for grabbing and tugging at his shirt sleeve. Wakatoshi does nothing to stop this.

"Okay," Wakatoshi says, and allows Satori to lead him down the stairs.

—

"Ooh, we got mochi!" Satori shouts in glee as he digs a package out of the freezer. "The ones with ice cream in them!" 

The mochi seems to be matcha-flavored, a flavor that Wakatoshi is not particularly adverse to. He eats most things. Satori will eat anything if he feels so inclined—that is, he barely eats anything at all and will only eat whenever something is put directly in front of him. 

“I have rarely ever eaten mochi,” Wakatoshi says as Satori rips the bright green package open. Satori gasps, immediately moving to shove one of the small confections into his hands. 

“What a sad, sad life you live, ‘Toshi,” Satori says, sounding personally offended. "Why have you never eaten these beautiful works of art before?" 

"The last time I ate mochi was when I was seven," Wakatoshi says. "During New Year's. My mother never bought mochi for me. She said it was a choking hazard. She also rarely ever buys sweets."

Satori makes a face, shoving an entire mochi ball into his mouth. He speaks while he chews, holding a finger into the air. "Your mother is very wrong about many, many things. Eat it, 'Toshi."

Wakatoshi does not opt for shoving an entire mochi into his mouth like his best friend, instead biting the dessert in half. The matcha ice cream itself is nice, it stops the dessert from being too sweet, but the mochi is—

The mochi is sticking to his braces in a most uncomfortable way. Even as he chews and chews, it still remains. He runs his tongue over his teeth in a desperate attempt to get any of it out. It's sticking to Satori's as well, but he doesn't seem to mind it. 

"See? Told ya, you're perfectly— ACK! " 

Wakatoshi's mother was right about something—mochi does pose a choking hazard. Although Wakatoshi supposes that it's not about the stickiness of the mochi, moreso the fact that his best friend decided to shove an entire mochi into his mouth without thinking about the consequences. 

Wait, his best friend is choking.

Wakatoshi immediately moves to slap Satori on the back as the redhead clutches at his throat and doubles over to hack and cough. Then he realizes this might not be helping at all, and races over to the sink to get him a glass of water. 

"Ack—ugh—thanks—thank you, 'Toshi—" Satori chugs the water like his life depends on it—there's a possibility that it does, but Wakatoshi doesn't want to think about that—and slams the cup on the kitchen counter. 

"Well," Satori mutters, wiping at the spit that's gathering at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe your mom was right about some things."

Wakatoshi takes another bite of mochi, and feels it settle in his stomach like a rock. He doesn't want his mother to be right about anything. His mother said that he should find better friends, but Satori is the best and only friend he's ever had. He doesn't want his mother to be right—he doesn't want Satori of all people to be saying his mother is right. 

He wants his mother to be wrong, even just once. Because it's an unspoken law in their household that his mother is automatically right, and he is automatically wrong, no matter how hard he tries. 

"No, she said it was a choking hazard because it was sticky," Wakatoshi says, pointing to Satori's face. "It was a choking hazard for you because you ate the entire thing whole."

"Ehh." Satori waves Wakatoshi off. "Technicalities. How're you liking them?"

"I am remembering why I do not eat mochi," Wakatoshi says, eating the last of his mochi and feeling the rice cake stick in globs around his braces. This feels awful. He feels like he needs to brush his teeth and rid his mouth of this feeling immediately. "It's sticky."

"Yes, 'Toshi, that's the whole point of the mochi."

"I do not like sticky foods." Wakatoshi wonders if he could pick out the mochi with his fingers, if the relief of getting the mochi out of his mouth outweighs the unhygienic-ness of it. He decides that it would be okay if he was alone, but he does not want to disgust Satori. "It sticks in my teeth and in my throat." 

"Oh." The redhead looks slightly crestfallen. "Why'd you eat it, then?"

"You offered it to me." Wakatoshi shrugs. "So I ate it. The flavor is nice. I would eat the matcha ice cream by itself."

Satori smiles, but it's different this time. It's happy, but it seems more...calm? Tranquil? Peaceful? Wakatoshi is no author, and he is not the best at picking up on social cues. Satori doesn't seem to mind, punching Wakatoshi in the shoulder, still smiling that small smile.

"You're a really good friend, 'Toshi, you know that?"

—

He gets his braces off today.

He still can’t quite believe it. He is excited, of course, to get them off—nobody in their right mind actually wants metal to be stuck to their teeth. And it’s just in time for high school, so he can—

“So you can make new friends more easily,” his mother chirps as she takes a right. “This will—this will be the start of a new chapter of your life, Wakkun. A brand new you.”

He doesn’t really feel like getting his braces off will change anything significantly. His smile will look the exact same, just without metal. Still, that should be an improvement, right?

The helpers inside his orthodontist’s office smile at him and congratulate him for finally being able to get his braces off. They’ve even written his name on the whiteboard meant for the kids getting their braces off. There is only one other name written next to his—Natsuki Fuyumi, whoever that is.

He shuts his eyes tightly the second he’s leaned back in the chair. He wishes he could plug his ears, but he can’t, so he has to endure forty five minutes of drilling and scraping noises as his brackets are taken off, one by one. If he tastes blood, he tells himself that he doesn’t. 

It's a very agonizing forty five minutes. 

“And we’re done!” Dr. Tatsumi says cheerfully as she leans Wakatoshi up in the chair. “Take a look, Ushijima-kun.”

A mirror is shoved into his face, and Wakatoshi blinks once, twice, before squinting at the figure before him.

His smile…well, it’s certainly there. Dr. Tatsumi helpfully pulls up a picture of himself three years ago, just before he got his braces put on him for the first time.

He very feebly attempts to smile again. Truthfully, he’s not sure if he’s even improved in smiling in the past three years at all. All that’s changed is that he’s lost his baby fat, so he no longer looks stupidly endearing—he just looks stupid.

“So handsome,” his mother coos, pinching his cheek. “All grown up, aren’t you, Wakkun?”

Wakatoshi can do nothing but grunt and nod stiffly. His head feels like it’s spinning. He doesn’t want to look at his face a second longer than he has to. 

But they’re leading him up and to another room, because apparently, his torture still isn’t done.

“Even though you’re fully done with braces, you will still need to wear a retainer, to make sure that your teeth don’t shift out of place again. You need to make sure you’re wearing it 24/7—even a week of not wearing it will cause problems.” At this, Dr. Tatsumi snorts. “My daughter once forgot to wear hers for a week straight. Set her treatment back years.”

The door to the room opens, and in walks a girl who very much looks like she does not want to be here. She’s wearing the same black scrubs and the same blue medical mask. She looks about two years older than Wakatoshi, so seventeen.

“Speak of the devil.” Dr. Tatsumi pats the girl’s back. “This is Riko, my daughter. She’ll be taking your impressions today, so we’ll be able to make your retainer, if that’s alright?”

No . Wakatoshi wants to say. I don’t trust someone barely older than me with this. But his mother is nodding her head, and the girl is preparing something with some trays, so he supposes he can’t really do anything about it. 

“Open,” Riko says in the most monotone voice he’s ever heard—and that’s including his own voice—before shoving a tray of some strange purple goop into his mouth. “Bite down.”

Now, Wakatoshi has a very open-minded palate. He tolerates the taste of most foods, and things tasting bad in general doesn’t really bother him. If they do, he will simply swallow the foul taste down and not say anything, lest he offend whoever gave him the food. He does it for his mother. He does it for Satori. He does it for when his aunt gives him her abysmally awful oden. 

That being said, Wakatoshi can say with a hundred percent confidence that this is the most disgusting thing that’s ever been in his mouth. The texture is gloopy, the taste is somehow reminiscent of food—Wakatoshi thinks it's flavored peppermint in an attempt to make it taste better—and yet distinctly not food, with its chemically chalky taste. He distantly thinks that it was an awful idea to have breakfast before he came here. He feels like he might throw up. 

And then Riko is taking out the tray, staring at the indents his teeth have left in the now solid purple mass, and furrowing her brow. She elbows her mother, whispering something. Dr. Tatsumi scrutinizes the impression and then shakes her head.

Oh no.

“I’ll have to take it again,” Riko says, already filling up another tray. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem at all,” his mother says for him. All Wakatoshi can do is grit his teeth and get through this.

This ends up being the girl taking five more impressions of his teeth, because Riko can’t do any of it right the first time. To her credit, she is trying, mumbling under her breath in concentration as she tries to position Wakatoshi’s teeth correctly so they hit just right against the tray. 

The final time she does this, she wiggles the tray a little bit too hard, knocking the tray into the back of Wakatoshi’s throat. She gasps, then manages to pull it free.

She’s barely gotten the tray out of his mouth when Wakatoshi feels a building pressure in the back of his throat, and a certain acidic heat, and the taste of lingering chemicals on his tongue, and he has barely any time to register the singular thought of uh oh before—

He projectile vomits all over Riko’s clean, stark white shoes.

Everyone in the room is stunned silent.

Wakatoshi, through the tears beginning to form in his eyes and running down his cheeks, distantly thinks, I just want to go home .

—

"What on earth was that?" his mother demands furiously as they're sitting at their kitchen table, an hour later. They had spent a long time apologizing to Dr. Tatsumi, apologizing to Riko, apologizing to the staff, offering to pay for new shoes for Riko, offering to buy gifts for the poor employee who had to clean up the mess. Dr. Tatsumi very politely declined the offers—she seemed more angry at her daughter for making a patient throw up than she was about Wakatoshi throwing up on her daughter's shoes. 

His mother, on the other hand, was livid at him for making such a scene. 

"Ushijima Wakatoshi, what was—"

"She triggered my gag reflex, mother," Wakatoshi mutters miserably as he nibbles at a saltine cracker to soothe his stomach. "I am sorry."

His mother lets out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing her temple. "And you couldn't have done anything to prevent it?"

"If I could have, I would have." Wakatoshi keeps his gaze levelled towards the floor, trying to keep the bitter taste of resentment out of his mouth. Did his mother honestly believe he wanted to puke all over Tatsumi Riko's clean white shoes?

"Don't you sass me, young man." His mother slides a glass of water and a pill over to him. "Take that. For your stomach."

"Mother," Wakatoshi says, trying to prevent his own exasperation from seeping out. "I am fine. As I said, all she did was trigger my gag reflex. My stomach is perfectly fine."

"Take it anyway." She's scowling, Wakatoshi can tell even when staring at her turned back. "Quickly, now."

Wakatoshi inwardly groans. "Mother, you know I have trouble with pills."

"And I'm telling you that you need to get over that," she says, tapping the counter with one perfectly manicured nail. "For heaven's sake, you're fifteen, Wakatoshi. You should be able to do things like this without me telling you to. Now swallow it."

He gulps. The last time he had to take pills was three years ago, and that was for a particularly nasty cold. He doubts he's gotten any better in that time. 

He very carefully takes the pill. Puts it into his mouth. Resists the urge to chew on it, because it was hard and chewing on it would just make it taste even worse in his mouth. Drinks some water. Tries very hard to not immediately swallow the water. Swishes everything his mouth around. 

Three...two...one...

And swallows every last drop of the water without the pill. 

His gag reflex truly is awful. The second the pill hits the back of his throat, he's coughing, spewing water all over the countertop. His mother grumbles, and he resists the urge to break down crying again. He tells himself that the wetness across his cheeks is the water, not his tears.

"You are about to be a high schooler!" His mother whirls around, slamming her palm on the counter. "You need to pull yourself together and stop breaking down over all of this—these trivial things! How are you meant to survive in the real world if you can't even do this?"

Wakatoshi says nothing, does nothing. Only watches as wetness drips down his cheeks and onto the counter. 

Speak up. Defend yourself. A voice that sounds eerily like Satori's echoes in his mind.

I can't.

She's right.

"I told you that hanging around that Satori boy was bad news! He's half foreigner—I wouldn't be surprised if he picked up some inane Western ways of thinking from his no-good father. And his hair is so long, and so red —for heaven's sake, he's named Satori, his name is a bad omen, I should have never—"

His mother has become increasingly even more superstitious in the months since his grandmother died. As if faith will be able to fill the void her mother left with her. 

Stop, he wants to say. Satori didn't do anything wrong. 

This is a problem that involves me and me alone.

It's not Satori's fault I'm not brave enough to do anything.

He doesn't say any of this. He bites the pill in two, drinks some water, and swallows the bitterness down. 

It stops his mother from complaining, at least. 

—

He goes off to Shiratorizawa soon.

He’s been procrastinating packing—which for him, means he only starts packing when there’s a week until he goes off to his new school. He’s normally very good about preparing well in advance. But there’s a certain kind of melancholy in the air as Wakatoshi takes down his volleyball posters, pulls out all of his books, folds all of his blankets. He’s not moving away forever. He doesn’t even need all of this stuff at Shiratorizawa. He just…wants there to be some semblance of sameness when he’s away from home.

It’s been two hours, and he’s nearly done. He just needs to pack up all of his clothes, but he’s very efficient at that. He curls up on his bed—ah, there’s a book that he forgot to pack up.

The Metamorphosis by Kafka. It’s a short story Wakatoshi has read before, for English, and enjoyed greatly. Satori did not enjoy it as much as him, but he did manage to very aptly sum up the entire story’s plot with the phrase, “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

The story’s theme was not very positive on that front—the main character turned into a bug, was vehemently rejected by his family, and eventually died of starvation. No wonder Satori hated the book. Wakatoshi has tried to get him to consider the philosophical implications of the story, but to no avail. 

He stares at the book’s cover. He thinks back to his mother’s scathing comments about Satori’s potential gayness—her guesses are all true, but she doesn’t need to know that—and he wonders—

He wonders what his mother would say to him if he were gay as well. Would she treat him like the family of Gregor Samsa? Would she try to throw him out, inevitably fail, and then turn a blind eye while he withered away in his own bedroom?

Wakatoshi blinks suddenly—where on earth had that thought come from? He decides it’s best to not linger on it, and quickly moves to his bathroom to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

He’ll have to pack up all of his toiletries as well. That might be a problem—the bathrooms at Shiratorizawa are communal. He likes having his toiletries in one place every day, but that’s likely not going to be possible. His mother was right—he is very particular about his belongings. 

Wakatoshi ponders what he will do with his skincare products when he moves to Shiratorizawa. His five-step skincare regimen—wet face, rub in soap, rinse, put on lotion, put on sunscreen, if it’s the morning—is vital to his morning and evening routine. It is how he has managed to rarely ever get acne. He has attempted to suggest a similar, simplified, routine to Satori, but Satori's memory is unfortunately that of a goldfish. Not that Wakatoshi particularly cares or minds. His best friend is still his best friend, acne and goldfish memory and all. 

No , he muses as he brushes his teeth, up and down, left and right. His memory isn't like a goldfish's. It's just extremely selective. If he thinks it's important, he keeps it. If he doesn't, it's lost to the void of his mind. 

Satori doesn't remember any of Wakatoshi's book recommendations, or his suggestions on hygiene, or his mother's 'terrible' advice. But he does remember Wakatoshi's birthday, Wakatoshi's favorite food, Wakatoshi's dreams and aspirations. 

Wakatoshi distantly thinks that, at the very least, Satori wouldn't treat him like an insect to be squashed if he also turned out to be gay. 

He has retainers now, two pieces of clear plastic molded to fit his teeth perfectly. This is another new part of his life he must get used to. He has developed the unfortunate habit of flicking the bottom retainer up with his tongue and then grinding against it with his upper teeth. 

Satori would probably take a vested interest in his retainers once they saw each other again, in the same way he curiously poked and prodded at his brace brackets when Wakatoshi first got them. Wakatoshi snorts a bit as he remembers Satori demanding that he take his retainers out so that he could ‘observe his teeth from every angle’, as the redhead said over the phone. Satori says the strangest things about him sometimes—Wakatoshi doesn’t know much about the nuances of friendship, but he’s pretty sure friends don’t ask to look at each others’ teeth.

A sudden thought strikes him, just as he leans over to spit into the sink. 

Does Satori like me in a romantic way?

No. No, that’s impossible. And yet—it would make sense as to why Satori seemed to get so flustered when they held hands, when he had never been before. But—well—Wakatoshi has never had any other friend besides Satori. For all he knows, all best friends do this. Aren’t couples supposed to do things like—like holding hands, and hugging, and kissing, and…other stuff?

He looks up to look at his reflection, when his traitorous mind inflicts yet another traitorous thought upon him.

You’ve done two of those things with Satori already.

How would you feel if he kissed you?

And he can—he can see his own cheeks flush a faint pink the second he registers the thought.

What does this mean?

He suddenly can’t stand to look at his own face. 

You want to kiss Satori, you want to kiss your best friend, you want to ruin the friendship you’ve had for almost ten years—

He stumbles out of the bathroom, barely noticing as his legs collide with the back of his bed, barely noticing as his head hits the pillow. 

I want to…kiss Satori?

No. No, that’s impossible. Satori may want to kiss guys, but he wants to kiss guys that look like girls—something that definitely does not apply to Wakatoshi. And he—he does not want to kiss guys. He does not look at anime characters or volleyball players or classmates or anyone , really, and feels the want to kiss them.

But Satori…

He grabs his pillow and shoves it against his face, startling at the sudden wetness. He’s crying? No—no, he can’t be crying over something like this. He just—he just needs to—

He forgot to put his retainers in.

If you deviate from your routine, everything could come crumbling down. 

So he quickly drags himself out of his bed, shoves the plastic pieces into his mouth, and returns to shoving his pillow into his face, silently crying.

It’s fine. This is fine. His retainers have slowly become a part of his new daily routine. Cleaning them and taking them in and out when he eats. Flossing. Brushing. This is routine. 

Learning to ignore the slowly growing feeling of wanting to kiss his best friend can be part of his new daily routine as well.

—

Shiratorizawa is bigger than he expected.

That was a given, of course, it's the best private school in all of Miyagi prefecture. He has seen it before, when he toured it a month before school started. He has seen its gymnasium, on TV, he has seen pictures of its insides on the school's website.

None of this prepares him for how small he feels when he finally steps into his new school.

He feels like an ant, or perhaps something smaller—a particle of dust on an ant's leg. Everyone around him is scurrying about, so sure about where they're going, not even bothering to throw a second glance at him. He's so used to those second glances, so used to people saying wow, you're tall! or wow, you're the best middle school spiker in all of Japan! or wow, your spike nearly killed me!

Nobody here gives him a second glance. 

He breathes in. Out. He glances down at his paper map. He can do this. He can navigate his way to the auditorium for the first years' orientation. He will put all his focus into achieving this one goal. One step at a time. 

"UUUUUUU-SHIIIIIIIII-WAAAAAAAA-KAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" 

On second thought.

"Satori," he says as the redhead comes running up to him, nearly tripping over the two luggages he's dragging behind him. His enormous backpack slams against his back with every step he takes. 

"This is so cool!" Satori screams in delight, throwing his arms out and spinning around. "There's—there's a fucking skylight in this school, look, Ushiwaka, look—!"

Wakatoshi looks up, squinting as the sun lands directly into his eyes. "Mm. Yes."

"I can't believe we're gonna be doing this together!" Satori says, grabbing Wakatoshi and shaking him by the shoulders. " Ohmygosh , we can have sleepovers every night if we room together!" 

"That is only if we are roommates," Wakatoshi says. "The probability of which is, unfortunately, low."

Wakatoshi is sure that he used up all of his luck when both he and Satori got into Shiratorizawa on a sports scholarship. If there are gods somewhere up there, he's sure that they're going to do something else to mess up his life. Something like put him and Satori with different roommates, put him and Satori in different classes, put him and Satori in different divisions on the volleyball team—

He shakes his head. No, that last one isn't possible. Satori is a phenomenal player. He's sure that they are both at the same level, with slight variations depending on the day. They will both either be put on the starting lineup, or the B team. No in-between. 

"You best make good on your promises. This is the most difficult path you could have set yourself upon. Don’t fail." 

His mother's voice echoes in his head. He clenches his fist around his luggage handle. 

He has to get onto the starting lineup. He has to prove his mother wrong. 

Satori keeps talking his ear off about the new issue of Shounen Jump, and Wakatoshi is only half-listening. Satori, at some point, has also taken to leading Wakatoshi through the school. This is probably a bad idea, considering that Wakatoshi hasn't seen Satori look at a map even once. 

"We're here!"

Or perhaps Satori's guessing skills are better than he thought.

"How did you know how to get here?” 

Satori gestures vaguely at the masses of students crowding around them. “Follow the crowd, ‘Toshi. Hey, these are gonna be our new classmates. We should try to make friends with them.”

There’s a sharp pang of what Wakatoshi belatedly recognizes as jealousy . He’s never once considered the idea that Satori might want more friends besides him. The two of them were always ostracized by their peers, so they really only had each other.

But now—Wakatoshi can admit, in a completely objective way—Satori has gotten rather handsome. He’s grown into his gangly limbs, his hair has gotten longer—Satori’s taken to styling it into spikes with hair gel—and he’s gotten better at smiling. So much so that now he only looks mildly scary. 

Wakatoshi is sure that he hasn’t gotten any better at smiling. He’s sure that Satori will be able to make many new, wonderful friends, and he will be—

He will be left behind.

“Hey, hey!” Satori’s head snaps around in that familiar way, like the way he does when he’s about to block a spike. “Don’t be getting jealous on me now, Ushiwaka! You know you’re my ride or die, yeah?” He throws an arm around Wakatoshi as they sit down in the auditorium. “It’s miracle boys Wakatoshi and Satori against the world! I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Wakatoshi has to stifle a laugh. The principal is making his way out onto the stage, about to give a speech.

“I know, Satori.”

-

Half of his predictions come true. He and Satori are assigned the same class, much to both of their delight. They are assigned different roommates.

“Nice to meet you,” Wakatoshi’s roommate—Oohira Reon, according to the file he received at orientation—says as Wakatoshi opens the door. He gets up to shake his hand, a friendly smile upon his face. “I’m Oohira.”

“Ushijima,” Wakatoshi says curtly as he shakes Oohira’s hand with his right hand. It’s a reflex that’s been drilled into him, despite his natural tendency to use his left hand. Oohira clasps his hand firmly, and Wakatoshi decides that he likes him already. 

“I was just about to head down to the cafeteria for dinner,” Oohira says, and Wakatoshi takes note of his accent. It sounds…almost American, but it’s subtle enough that he knows that Oohira has probably been living in Japan for most of his life. Still. It sticks out. “Would you like to join me?”

Judging him for speaking with an American accent? When people have done the same, with you being left-handed? Hypocrite.

Oohira is about to say something else when Wakatoshi remembers he hasn’t responded to his question. “Yes. Thank you.”

If the other boy is annoyed at Wakatoshi’s inability to be a functioning member of society, he does an exceptional job at not showing it. He merely nods and smiles, gesturing for Wakatoshi to follow him.

He distantly thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll be easier to make friends in high school. 

“Are you in any clubs?” Oohira asks as they make their way down the stairs. There are a lot of them—oh well, it will be good exercise. 

“Yes. I came here on a volleyball scholarship.”

“Ah, me too!” Oohira looks Wakatoshi up and down. “So when you say your name is Ushijima, do you mean you’re…”

“WAKATOSHI!”

Both his and Oohira’s heads whip around to see Satori rushing towards them, dragging a boy with platinum blonde hair behind him. He stumbles up to them with a wide grin, one that Wakatoshi recognizes as Satori’s mischief grin.

“Satori.” He nods his head towards Satori, then towards Oohira. “Meet my roommate. We were just going to go to the cafeteria for dinner. Oohira-san, this is Tendou Satori.”

“Oohira Reon,” Oohira says, sticking his right hand out for Satori to shake. Satori cocks his head to the side, smiles, and sticks out his left hand. Oohira blinks in confusion before putting his right hand down and putting his left hand up. “Very nice to meet you. Have you and Ushijima-san been friends for a while?”

“Likewise. And we’ve been besties since we were seven.” Satori glances over Oohira’s shoulder, watching for Wakatoshi’s reaction. Wakatoshi has to look away, lest he burst out laughing.

At some point during junior high, whenever he noticed Wakatoshi only shook hands with his right hand, Satori had decided that he would only shake people’s hands with his left hand. Wakatoshi has no idea why he does this—perhaps it’s a way for Satori to show solidarity with him. He would appreciate the show of solidarity more if Satori didn’t also pull this stunt on him every time they were split up for practice games and had to shake hands across the net.

"You are not the one that is left-handed," Wakatoshi remembers saying in junior high. "I am the one who is left-handed. Stop this." He remembers Satori shooting him an innocent little smile, one that said, whatever do you mean? Then he remembers the two of them holding hands under the net, and nothing more.

“Are you left-handed?” the boy with dyed hair asks, staring at Satori. “You didn’t even try to shake my hand, you just jumped straight to screaming at me.”

“Ah! Well, I’m not, but my good buddy Ushiwaka here is.” Satori waves wildly towards him. “Ushiwaka, meet Semi-Semi. Semi-Semi, meet Ushiwaka.”

Wakatoshi extends his right hand, and ‘Semi-Semi’ begrudgingly shakes it. “Semi Eita. You’ve been friends with this guy since you were seven? Tell me where his off switch is, so I can shut him off.”

“Many have tried,” Wakatoshi says. Semi’s grip is extremely slack—he feels more like he’s just moving Semi’s hand up and down, so he lets go after a couple of seconds. Semi’s hair is long and unkempt, and Wakatoshi can see three piercings on each ear whenever they’re exposed. Semi Eita is, for lack of a better word, cool .

“All have failed!” Satori says cheerfully, slapping Semi on the back. Semi looks like he’s losing years off his lifespan, but he does not shy away from Satori’s touches. 

Oohira laughs—he actually laughs. “You guys really are close, huh? You played volleyball together?”

Satori opens his mouth to answer, but Semi interrupts him. “Sorry about this, but can we like…walk and talk? My stomach feels like it’s eating itself.”

“We did!” Satori ignores Semi’s complaints, opting instead to grab at Wakatoshi’s wrist, swinging it back and forth as they walk. “Didja know Ushiwaka was the number one middle school spiker in Miyagi prefecture?”

“Duh, everyone who plays school volleyball knows that,” Semi mutters. “He’s built like a brick shithouse. Of course he’s the number one spiker.”

“You play volleyball as well?” Wakatoshi asks. Semi nods. He’s surprised. People here actually do know who he is. Well—people who are involved in volleyball. He’s also surprised at the fact that he’s already met two people involved in volleyball. Actually—they’re his and Satori’s roommates, and he’s certain that the counselors would have taken extracurricular activities into account when creating room assignments. Of course they would be on the volleyball team.

And yet, as Oohira asks Satori question after question, and Satori answers them with far too much vigor, and Semi gripes about all of Satori’s noise and commotion, and Wakatoshi occasionally interjects to correct Satori, he can’t help but feel that, once again, he got extraordinarily lucky. 

Another small miracle, he thinks, that he has one very good best friend, and the possibility of two more on the horizon. 

—

It’s been two weeks since he joined Shiratorizawa. His predictions about the members of the starting lineup are…half-true. 

He gets on the starting lineup as a wing spiker. That much he expected. 

He is the only first year to get on the starting lineup. 

“Every year, we pick a first year that we think shows promise,” Coach Washijo announces to the gymnasium that is stunned silent. “To be on the starting lineup.” He nods towards Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi feels like he can’t breathe—this is everything he had hoped for, and nothing like he had wanted. He has seen his other first year teammates’ abilities. Oohira’s spikes are excellent, Semi’s sets pack an insane amount of chaotic power behind them, Satori’s blocking is as phenomenal as ever. The other two first years are nothing to sneeze at either; Yamagata Hayato’s receives are solid, and Soekawa Jin may be the fastest one out of all of them.

And yet, he is the sole first year on the starting lineup.

“Ushijima here is set to be our ace,” Coach Washijo announces, and Wakatoshi sits up straighter at the mention of his name. Washijo nods towards the rest of the first years. “You lot will get there eventually, if you put in the effort to catch up with him. Are we clear on that? Good. Now, split up for…”

Wakatoshi can hardly register his coach’s words, he's far more focused on the look on Satori’s face. 

There’s a smile, the one that Satori never seems to let drop. It’s as wide as ever. But Wakatoshi—Wakatoshi can tell that there’s nothing behind it. It’s empty. Hollow.

Wakatoshi is reminded of the thunk of a water bottle against the floor of a vending machine, of a small boy saying, "Lucky miracle boy Wakatoshi.”

Satori is jealous of him.

He wants to head over to him and tell him that he’s sorry , that if it were up to him, they’d both be put on the starting lineup, easily. But Shiratorizawa is selective with who they allow into their school halls, even more so with who they allow to stand on the court and represent their school.

If he were a braver man, he’d tell Coach Washijo that, to this day, Tendou Satori is the only person who is able to completely and successfully and purposefully block his spikes. He’d beg Washijo to make an exception this year, have a third of the starting lineup be first years, or take him out of the lineup entirely, replace him with the boy whose intuition is second to none, who has the reflexes and the agility and the instincts of a monster, who has a smile that could power the entirety of Miyagi with how bright it is.

He’s not brave. Not in the slightest.

That is why he cannot bring himself to meet Satori’s gaze when they split up for practice drills.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Please forgive me, Satori.

-

“Woo!” Satori says later that evening as they head back from the showers. “That was a rough time. I feel like my fingers are about to fall off.”

“Mm.” Wakatoshi feels the sentiment—he pushed himself doubly as hard today, a way for him to atone for the sin of making Satori upset. His wrists hurt, his hands hurt, his feet hurt. “Satori.”

“Mhm?” Satori says distractedly as he runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. 

“Are you mad at me?”

Satori stops in the middle of the hallway, like a deer caught in headlights.

“I am—“ Wakatoshi swallows. It’s easier this way, with Satori in front of him. He can look at the back of Satori’s head, he doesn’t have to face the harsh reality of Satori’s facial expressions. “I am sorry if you were upset by Coach’s decision to put me on the starting lineup. I—you are an amazing player. It should have been you practicing with the second and third years today. It should have been—“

“‘Toshi,” Satori says, and his voice is weary. “Please. Stop.”

This is it again. 

This is the beginning of the end.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Satori turns around, shaking water droplets from his hair as he does. Wakatoshi tries very hard to not follow the drops' trajectory as they roll down his cheeks, trickling down his neck, getting absorbed into his shirt. “You were the number one middle school spiker in Miyagi. You deserve this more than any of us.”

“But—“ Wakatoshi starts, and Satori silences him by slapping his hand over his mouth.

“No.” Satori’s voice is still hollow, still holding envy, but Wakatoshi can hear a hint of pride as he speaks. “You’re my best friend. I’m—I am over the moon for you, I really am. Am I jealous of you? Fuck, of course I am. You’re on the Shiratorizawa starting lineup! You’re gonna become the ace when that big third year’s gone! So don’t—don’t sell yourself short. If Coach thinks you’re the best player out of all of us first years, then by god, you’re the best player. So don’t keep talking about what would’ve or could’ve or should’ve happened. Coach made his decision.” Satori takes his hand off from Wakatoshi’s mouth, slapping it against his shoulder. “So prove him right.”

“I’ll make you proud,” Wakatoshi says in a hoarse whisper. “I’ll do—whatever it takes for me to live up to the title of ace. I’ll spike until I get blisters. I’ll run laps until I throw up. Whatever I need to do.”

Something shines through Satori’s hollow smile. 

“Silly Ushiwaka. You don’t need to do any of that. I’ll always be proud of you. I’ve always been.”

And then Satori stands up on tip-toe, pats Wakatoshi’s damp hair, and grabs his hand. “Now c’mon! The latest episode of One Piece just dropped, I wanna watch it with you!”

“Satori,” Wakatoshi says, fighting to keep the exasperated fondness out of his voice. “We are more than four hundred episodes into One Piece. I am not sure this is the anime for me.”

“But Wakatoshi!” Satori whines. “It’s just about to get good! I promise!”

Satori has said these exact words, verbatim, hundreds of times before. Yet, Wakatoshi can’t find it in him to refuse Satori, not when the sunken darkness in his smile has been fully replaced by light. 

“You can stay in my dorm! Semi-Semi doesn’t mind you! Please? Pleaseeeee? “

“Where would I sleep?”

“In my bed! We’ve done that before!”

Wakatoshi considers it for all of five seconds. Technically, they aren’t allowed to have sleepovers—but he thinks that if he rushes, he’ll be able to make it into Satori’s dorm before curfew. 

“Okay, Satori,” he says as he allows himself to be pulled along. “Okay.”

—

That’s how, thirty minutes later, Wakatoshi finds himself fighting over the blanket with Satori. 

"You're hogging it," Satori whispers as he tries and fails to tug the blanket out of Wakatoshi's grasp. They're trying to be as quiet as possible—they think there's a fifty-fifty chance that Semi's asleep, but they're not sure—so their argument has devolved to hushed whispering. The ending credits of the latest One Piece episode plays through their shared earbuds. 

"You do that thing where you roll yourself in the blanket and then there's nothing left for me," Wakatoshi says as he pulls the blanket back. "You've done it since we were children."

"I do not!" 

"You do it in your sleep."

"Liar!" 

"Are you two done yet?" Semi suddenly asks, sitting up and causing his own blanket to tumble off his bed. "I'm trying to read." 

"I didn't know you could do that, Semi-Semi," Satori says cheerfully, and if looks could kill, Wakatoshi would have to start planning his best friend's funeral. Semi scowls and tries to untangle himself from his sheets, ripping his earbuds out of his iPod in the process. Loud music in English blares from the speakers.

"Ooh, is that the new song I recommended to you?" Satori asks, getting out of bed to help him. Semi makes a noise of 'yes'. Wakatoshi suddenly feels several degrees colder. He didn't know Satori and Semi exchanged music. 

He feels like he should look away as Satori tugs at Semi's shirt sleeve, as Satori leans over to grab at Semi's iPod, as Satori ruffles Semi's hair. It feels like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. Wakatoshi has never seen Satori so affectionate with somebody else, but Semi is turning out to be one of the few people that is able to tolerate Satori's energy. 

Wakatoshi distantly remembers Satori saying, "Shoot, I do have a type! Blonde people!"

Oh no. 

Semi is tall, has many piercings, draws intricate designs on his wrists and fingers when he's bored, dyes his hair platinum blonde. He's cool , much cooler than Wakatoshi. And he’s certainly androgynous enough that, if Wakatoshi remembers correctly (he does), there’s a possibility Satori would want to…kiss him?

What if… The thought starts abruptly in Wakatoshi’s head, and ends just as abruptly as Satori makes his way back over to him. Satori plants a hand in Wakatoshi’s hair and combs his fingers through it. The green eyed monster living in Wakatoshi’s chest is abated. Semi grumbles, rolls over, and presumably goes to sleep. Satori grins, grabs Wakatoshi by the shoulders, and forces him to lie down.

“Goodnight, Wakatoshi,” Satori says, facing him. He smiles, and it’s sleepy, and soft, and Wakatoshi opens his mouth to try and say, “ Your smile is beautiful.” but what comes out instead is:

“Your lips are chapped.”

Satori has had a long-suffering habit of picking at loose skin; the skin peeling around his fingernails, his acne, his chapped lips. It’s been a habit ever since they were children. Wakatoshi has told him an uncountable number of times that picking at his skin will only exacerbate the problem. Satori has ignored him every time.

“Eh?” Satori asks, his teeth immediately moving to bite at the skin peeling off his lips. Wakatoshi sits up, fumbling for his bag that’s somewhere on Satori’s nightstand. He pulls out the tiny tin of medicated lip balm he keeps on him, dipping his finger into the paste and smearing it over Satori’s lips. “Hey—hey, ugh—!”

“You are dehydrated,” Wakatoshi states as he rubs the balm into every crack of Satori's lips, the other squawking like a particularly angry parrot. He snaps the lid back on, grateful that Satori can't see the way his face is burning . “Take care in drinking more water.”

Satori smacks his lips together, pouting. “It’s not even the good-tasting lip balm. I like it when it’s cherry flavored.”

“Those lip balms do not do anything to medicate your skin. They are useless. My mother said so.”

His best friend sighs, closing his eyes and—there it is again, that sweet, soft, sleepy smile. Wakatoshi wants to stare at it for hours upon hours. That’s not weird, is it? It’s not his fault that his best friend has such a nice smile. He most definitely doesn’t want to kiss his best friend’s smile.

What did all of Satori’s shoujo manga say about kissable lips? That girls had soft, plump, cherry red lips? There was never any description for how boys’ lips should be when you kissed them. But Satori’s lips are—well, Satori’s lips are thin, and flesh-colored, but they are at least soft. It’s because of the lip balm. 

“Goodnight, Satori,” Wakatoshi whispers as he closes his eyes, trying to clear away all thoughts of Satori’s soft, potentially kissable lips. 

-

Semi Eita wears eyeliner and nail polish.

It’s a fact that Wakatoshi has observed over these last few months of school. Sometimes Semi takes more care in them. Sometimes, he paints intricate and colorful designs on his nails, and sometimes he leaves them a solid black. Sometimes, he dusts his eyelids with glitter and shadow, and sometimes it looks like all he did was take a sharpie to his face. But those two things are always, always there. Regardless of whatever anyone else says, regardless of whatever the circumstances are, those two things always remain. 

He is brave. He is so very, very brave. Semi Eita is brave and Semi Eita doesn't take shit from anybody. 

Wakatoshi is very, very, very scared that he will lose Satori to Semi Eita. 

It's an irrational fear. Satori has gotten more comfortable with their friend group. Satori gives out touches and hugs and handshakes like it's second nature to him. He high-fives Yamagata and fist-bumps Oohira and punches Semi. His hand-holding and his hair-ruffling is still reserved for only Wakatoshi. 

And yet, Wakatoshi can't keep the envy out of his chest, can't keep it from crawling up his throat, can't keep it from resting behind his gums when he asks Semi Eita:

"Why do you wear makeup?"

“Huh?” Semi asks, yanking his earbuds out of his ears. He squints at Wakatoshi. They are not—well, Wakatoshi supposes that they are friends, but they are merely friends by proxy. They are both part of the volleyball team. They both hang around Satori all day, every day. He supposes that Semi has become Satori’s second best friend. 

“Why do you wear makeup?” Wakatoshi asks, repeating his question. He remembers his mother complaining about how “feminine” Satori looked, solely because his hair was long. He decides that his mother would have a heart attack if she ever saw Semi Eita. “Are you not worried about other people judging you?”

Semi arches an eyebrow. “If people are judging me, that’s on them. I don’t give a shit.”

“You don’t?”

“Nah. I mean, if they’re judging me for wearing this—“ Semi gestures around his face aggressively. “Then they probably don’t deserve to be my friend anyway. The only opinions I care about are my friends’ opinions. Like Tendou’s. And half the time, his opinions are stupid, so I don’t listen to them anyway.”

“Who cares about what they think? I don't care about their opinions! I told ya, I only care about your opinion."

Semi Eita and Tendou Satori are more similar to each other than Wakatoshi wants to admit. This worries him. He knows that he and Satori work well because they balance each other out, and that opposites attract, and whatnot. But Semi and Satori have the same taste in music, clothes, manga, anime. Both have the same crooked smile, the kind that suggests that they don’t care what the world thinks of them. 

What if Satori decides that he doesn’t want to hang around someone that listens solely to classical music, someone who has seven basic outfits for every day of the week, someone who has no idea what Satori is talking about when he rambles on about the newest issue of Shounen Jump? What if Satori decides that Semi Eita is objectively the better person to hang around?

“Hey, you good?” Semi asks, waving a hand in front of Wakatoshi’s face. “Your face got really tight when I mentioned Tendou.”

“I—“

“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to steal Satori away from you,” Semi huffs. “Because that’s really dumb. He talks about you so much. Literally never shuts up about you.”

Wakatoshi snaps his mouth closed.

He talks about me?

“Every goddamn hour of the goddamn day, he’s talking about miracle boy Ushiwaka.” Semi rolls his eyes, waving his pen in the air. “He tells me that he thinks I’m cool and all, but he wishes he was rooming with you. His best friend’s always been you. Not me.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Wakatoshi feels like a complete and utter fool. “And you are…fine with it?”

“I mean, yeah. I’ve barely ever had any close friends, so it’s whatever. I’m fine just hanging out with you two whenever I can.”

Now Wakatoshi feels like a complete and utter jerk. Here is another person who has probably experienced the same level of ostracization as him and Satori, and yet he’s feeling jealous of him. 

A sudden buzzing sounds off from Wakatoshi’s phone. He flips it open with one hand, barely looking at the message. 

It’s his mother.

Wakatoshi, you forgot to call me.

Right, he’s supposed to call his mother at noon. He checks the time. It’s 12:05. 

I would have remembered to call you eventually. It’s not like I’m going hours at a time without keeping in contact with you. I text you every day, already.

Is my life not my own to live?

“Excuse me. I have to make a phone call.” Wakatoshi moves to stand up, but Semi shakes his head. “My mother wants me to call her.” 

Did Semi ever call his mother? Did Satori? Not all mothers were like his own, he knows that much. Not all mothers made their sons call them every Saturday, at noon, on the dot.

Not all mothers threw a fit and went radio silent for days on end when their sons forgot to call them. 

“You can stay here. I’m not gonna judge you for talking to your mom.” Semi shrugs. “Unless it’s something really personal. You can do whatever.”

Wakatoshi hesitates, then sits back down. “Please do not make any noise.” Satori had tried that once—he had screamed at the top of his lungs—during their first week of school, to generally bad results. His mother had gotten furious that he was still breathing the same air as Satori. Wakatoshi had to play it off as though Satori was a particularly rowdy classmate, one that he did not know. 

Satori never did it again.

Semi nods, miming a ‘zipping his lips’ motion. Wakatoshi punches in his mother’s phone number, holding it up to his ear with bated breath. 

“Wakkun!” Oh good, she doesn’t sound too angry. “How are you?”

“I am doing well, mother.”

“What have you been up to?”

“Homework.” That’s not a lie. He was doing math homework with Satori and Semi, up until Satori decided that it was a better use of his time to see if he could pull a prank on Yamagata, and Wakatoshi decided it was a better use of his time to ask Semi about his makeup habits. 

A tongue click. Disapproval. “Are you lying to me, Wakkun? You answered far too quickly.”

Why wouldn’t I answer quickly if it wasn’t the truth? Wouldn’t it take me more time to come up with a lie? “Homework keeps me very busy, mother.”

“Too busy to call your poor mother, I see.”

Oh, god. “Mother, it was five minutes past noon.”

“We had a deal, Wakkun. Noon, every Saturday, on the dot. That was our deal.”

Wakatoshi must be looking as exasperated as he feels, if the way Semi’s brows draw together in concern is any indicator. “Yes. I apologize.”

“How have you been? Made any new friends?“

“Made any new friends?” Wakatoshi echoes as he glances towards Semi. Would Semi technically count as a new friend? They did have a very nice one-sided conversation just now. Semi’s eyes go comically wide, and he starts making various aggressive hand gestures towards himself. The message is clear: do not mention me to your mother.

“No. I already told you about Oohira,” Wakatoshi says, and Semi deflates in relief. "He is the only new friend I've made so far this year, besides the rest of the volleyball team."

“Hm. Tell him to come over someday, I’d like to meet him.”

“Of course.” Wakatoshi has not mentioned that Oohira is half black, as he does not trust his mother to not be backhandingly racist towards him upon first glance.

He wonders when he started losing so much trust in his own mother.

“Can I get back to my homework now?” Wakatoshi finally asks after a couple seconds of silence. 

“May I, Wakkun. Or has living away from me caused you to forget your manners?”

The ‘can I’ was a completely intentional move on Wakatoshi’s part, but he regrets it now. “ May I get back to my homework now?”

“You may. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Wakatoshi says with as much love as he can muster before quickly flipping his phone shut. 

“You don’t really like your mother, huh?” Semi asks as soon as he’s sure the phone’s shut. He stretches out against his chair, bending backward over his chair's back to crack his back. Wakatoshi's mother hates it when he does that. It's eerie to see so many of Wakatoshi's habits reflected back at him. Perhaps Semi and him are not so different after all. 

“I like my mother,” Wakatoshi says bluntly. “She is just concerned for my well-being. This is the first time I have ever lived away from her. That is all.” 

He doesn’t understand the rising need to defend his mother, just that he knows it’s there. Semi nods in understanding, raising his hands in surrender.

“Sorry. I don’t have the best relationship with my mom, so I don’t think I can talk. At all.” He smoothes a hand through his hair and resumes writing. “But, y’know. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

“You?” Wakatoshi doesn’t mean to sound so derisive, but he does. What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?

Semi remains completely unfazed. “Yeah. I mean, Tendou’s mentioned how shitty your mom apparently is. And Tendou’s great, but he doesn’t have a shitty mom. So…” At this, he vaguely waves his hand between them. “You can talk to me. As a fellow shitty mom haver. Or you can not. Your choice.”

“I…” And this moment here, with Semi Eita’s hand outstretched towards him, feels like an olive branch. Wakatoshi isn’t sure if he wants to take it or not. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

Semi sighs. “Tendou said you were dense, but he didn’t say you were this dense." He taps his pen against the table rhythmically. Wakatoshi does this as well. "Let me rephrase this. Please talk to me about any problems you have. I want to talk to you. You are...really cool and really good at volleyball. Also, I need you to keep Tendou in check, because I can’t for the life of me. I would appreciate it if we could become friends, Ushijima."

He says all of this in the most monotone voice he can muster, and Wakatoshi realizes that Semi may also be emotionally constipated, just like him. 

And Wakatoshi knows, in his heart, that he needs to take the next step forward. He needs to stop relying solely on Satori, lest it poisons his potential friendships with other people.

And it’ll make Satori happy, with his two best friends finally making the effort to get along. 

“Alright.” Wakatoshi nods. “Eita-san. I will suffer through Tendou’s antics with you...and talk to you about any problems that may arise with my mother. Thank you.”

Eita smiles, cocking his head to the side. It’s like Satori’s, except sharper around the edges, more of a threat than anything else. Wakatoshi has seen this look on Satori before, when he’s jeering at an opposing team, or scaring off cruel kids. 

Wakatoshi distantly thinks that, maybe with time, he’ll be able to see what Eita’s smile looks like when it’s worn down into something softer, something smoother.

He finds that he’s looking forward to that day. 

“Cool. Thanks, Wakatoshi-san.”

Chapter Text

Ushijima Wakatoshi is seventeen years old when he gets his wisdom teeth taken out.

He doesn't particularly want to get his wisdom teeth out. He supposes that nobody ever truly wants to get their wisdom teeth out, but his wisdom teeth are hurting . He went to the dentist, took a lot of very uncomfortable x-rays, and one of them is coming in sideways . His retainer no longer fits properly. It is a problem. 

He's normally extremely punctual about making appointments, but he has been skating around the issue every time his mother brings it up. Up until this point, he's gotten away with it by claiming that he had a test on that very day the dental office had an opening. It wasn't technically a lie—his teachers were fond of giving their students weekly tests. If he didn't have a test that day, he was probably studying for a test. So he wasn't ever technically lying.

But this time, he can't escape it. His mother has just gone ahead and scheduled his wisdom teeth appointment with the oral surgeon for him. He supposes that he deserves this for putting it off this long, and it's on a date during his winter break.

The problem about this is that his wisdom teeth appointment is on the first day of Shiratorizawa's volleyball training camp.

"Mother," Wakatoshi says, entirely in vain. He and his mother know how this conversation is about to go. This is a battle he’s lost before he’s even started fighting. “Please consider rescheduling it. The first day of training camp is—“

“Wakkun, this takes precedence over your silly volleyball. You finally have a day off, and you know that it’s very hard to reschedule an appointment with the surgeon once it’s already made.”

Wakatoshi thinks, you should have asked me first, and I would have told you a date after the training camp , before realizing that no, he wouldn’t have done that. He would have just figured out a way to keep running and running away.

Because he really, really doesn’t want to go back to the dentist. 

He’s done some more research about the various dental ailments that can be gained. Surely, if he learns more about his fear, learns more about how teeth work, he will be able to rationalize his fear. That is how all fear is defeated: with facts and with knowledge. He will be able to put this decade-long fear to rest.

This does not happen. In fact, the exact opposite happens. It seems there is a near endless list of things that can happen to your teeth, even if you take perfect care of them. Your teeth crack. Your teeth rot. Your teeth wear down. This seems counterintuitive. Your teeth are made out of the hardest substance in your body, and yet they can be worn down to nothing if you don’t brush them. 

So Wakatoshi is still scared of the dentist. This is nothing new. So Wakatoshi is still not brave enough to face his fears. This is also nothing new.

But he still needs to try. 

“Alright,” he says, gritting his teeth together. “When should I meet you?”

He can see his mother’s simpering smile through the phone. “As soon as possible, Wakkun.”

—

“What do you mean, you’ll be missing the first two days of training camp?!” Satori shakes Wakatoshi vigorously, back and forth. Wakatoshi feels like one of those bobbleheads Satori keeps on his desk. “You have to get your wisdom teeth out?!”

“They are causing me great pain,” Wakatoshi says, his voice deliberately monotone as ever so he doesn’t give off the impression he is suffering from this great pain. “One of them is coming in sideways. I had meaning to get them removed for a while now, but could not find the time to do so.”

Satori slumps back into his seat, crossing his arms. “Boooo.”

“That’s a problem.” One of their first years, Shirabu Kenjirou, speaks up, looking mildly disinterested as he looks through his book. “How are the other ones erupting?”

Everyone looks at Shirabu like he’s grown a second head. Wakatoshi included. Nothing is erupting. 

“They’re not volcanoes, idiot,” Eita says, rolling his eyes. His hair has gotten longer, his dark roots beginning to grow out enough that he’s now sporting a half-black, half-white hairstyle. Shirabu scowls, looking up from his book for the first time in half an hour.

“You’re the idiot,” Shirabu says irritably, poking his finger into Eita’s chest. “Erupting is the term dentists use for when your teeth are coming out of your gums.“

“And how do you know that?”

“My mom is a dentist , jackass. When I ask Ushijima how his teeth are erupting, I mean how are they coming in? Are the rest of them coming in straight? Are more of them coming in crooked? There’s a lot of factors—”

“You are the biggest fucking nerd I know—“

The two of them grumble at each other, inching slightly closer as they do. Wakatoshi will be the first to admit that he’s socially inept, but he’s not socially inept enough to not realize that these two are…are they flirting? Is this flirting? They seem to be staring at each other’s lips an awful lot, even though they seem angry. 

“Wait, so like, how do you get new teeth?” Yamagata asks as he looks up from the newest issue of Shounen Jump—he stole it from Satori. “Do your teeth fall out and then new ones start growing in?”

“Why do we even have baby teeth in the first place?” Satori asks as he very subtly tries to sneak his Shounen Jump into his lap. Yamagata tugs it back. 

“What even are teeth?”

“They’re bones, aren’t they? They’re, like, the only bones that are socially acceptable to show off.”

“Oh my god, I’m surrounded by idiots,” Shirabu mumbles as he puts his face in his hands.

“Your baby teeth fall out because your adult teeth are pushing them out of place. Your adult teeth and your baby teeth exist at the same time.” All eyes suddenly snap to Wakatoshi. “Your baby teeth exist because they are meant to be placeholders as your skull shape develops throughout puberty. If you were born with your permanent teeth, it would be detrimental to your health. And teeth are made up of enamel, not bone.”

There’s a moment of silence as everyone stares at him. Everyone except Oohira, sitting at the end of the table, who has long since checked out of the conversation.

“That’s…all correct,” Shirabu says in shock. “Do you want to become a dentist or something, Ushijima?”

“Become a dentist?” Wakatoshi’s brows draw together. “No. I hate the dentist. Well, not specifically my own dentist, I merely just hate going to the dentist.”

“Then why do you know all of that?” Eita asks, completely confused. 

Wakatoshi glances down at his watch. “Ah, would you look at the time. I have to go pack now.”

—

“How will I survive without you around, ‘Toshi?” Satori whines as he splays out on Oohira’s bed, watching Wakatoshi pack for the two days he will be gone: tomorrow and the day after. “A whole two days without you!”

“I have faith in you,” Wakatoshi says as he folds his shirt perfectly in half. He looks down at the shirt he’s currently wearing. It’s stained a bit, dirty from when he went outside for his horticulture class. They were learning about how different types of fertilizer affected the plants. He should change out of this shirt; he’s been meaning to do laundry, anyway.

So he hucks off his shirt and rummages around in his closet for another one.

He turns around, fully intending to put his new shirt on, when something stops him.

Namely, Satori, and the way he’s staring at Wakatoshi’s chest. 

“Satori? Is something wrong?” Wakatoshi looks down at his chest. Perhaps there’s a severe bruise that he somehow didn’t notice—he did land rather hard on the floor today during practice. Nope—no bruises.

“I—uh—“ Satori runs his tongue over his lips. “Wow, when did you get so muscular, Ushiwaka?”

“I am one of the candidates for captain next year,” Wakatoshi says, wondering how Satori didn’t notice his change in physique sooner. They share a locker room. Then again—Satori has been rather flighty recently. It always seems that just as Wakatoshi is entering the locker room, Satori is leaving it. 

It is then that Oohira Reon decides to enter his—and he will come to emphasize this very adamantly in the coming months, his —dorm room.

He spends a total of ten seconds gaping at Wakatoshi, still shirtless, and Satori, still staring.

“Nope!” he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “Nope, I don’t even want to know what’s going on here.”

And then he slams the door shut, leaving Wakatoshi very much confused. He puts his new shirt on, sitting down on his own bed.

“Satori,” he says, and he feels that though the distance between them is only a couple meters, it might as well be a thousand of them, with how far away Satori feels. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Satori squeaks. “It’s just that…you’re so handsome now.”

Wakatoshi blinks. “Thank you—?”

“No, it’s a bad thing!” Satori shouts, flinging his hands up into the air. “Or, it might be a good thing. I don’t know! It’s just that—“ He sighs, pressing his palms against his face and falling backwards. “You get a lot of confessions now, right, Ushiwaka? From girls?”

Wakatoshi has no idea where this conversation is about to go, but he says, “Yes.”

“You’re really popular now,” his best friend says from where he’s staring at the ceiling. “People really like you, Ushiwaka.”

Wakatoshi thinks about this. It is true that lately, in the past few months, there have been more and more girls leaving love confessions at his desk and in his locker. He has rejected every single one of them. And it is true that the amount of girls wanting to ask him out correlates with the period of time where he began gaining more muscle. This was solely for the volleyball team. 

He has no understanding of why these two things should impact his friendship with Satori.

“Is there a point you are trying to make?” Wakatoshi asks as delicately as he can. Satori just smiles. Slow. Sad.

“You’re too cool for me now, Ushiwaka. Why do you still hang around me?”

Wakatoshi stares at him, dumbfounded. It’s as though Satori just asked him why his favorite food is hayashi rice, or why he plays volleyball.

“I like you,” Wakatoshi says bluntly, and he can see Satori flinch infinitesimally at his phrasing. “You have been my best friend since we were seven years old. Why would I not continue to spend time with you?”

He can see the irony in this situation, how several months ago, he was the one wondering why Satori was hanging around him.

“They still call me a freak,” Satori mumbles, pressing Oohira’s pillow into his face. “When you’re not looking. Nobody likes me except you and Semi-Semi and Oohira, and maybe Shirabu. Yamagata only likes me for my Shounen Jump, so he doesn’t count.”

“What happened to not caring about anybody’s opinion but my own?” Wakatoshi asks, puzzled.

“Dude, that was when we were kids.” Satori runs a hand through his hair. It falls around his shoulders. Perhaps Satori has been cutting it himself when Wakatoshi wasn’t looking. “I think that now, I care about what people say about me. But I think I care more about what people say about you .”

“Me?”

And Wakatoshi is suddenly reminded of an event that happened yesterday. A girl was bold enough to walk up to him, compliment his muscled arms, and say that he should try picking her up sometime. Wakatoshi had brushed her off. He definitely knew that he was socially skilled enough to know that she was flirting with him. Her voice was shrill, and loud, and Wakatoshi had spent the entirety of the interaction trying to get her to simply stop talking .

However, Wakatoshi was also raised to be polite, and this girl seemed to be raised to be the exact opposite. So the conversation just kept going around and around in circles. 

Until Wakatoshi had felt a sudden weight on his back, saw the girl’s face pale, and heard a very familiar voice:

“Hey, I’m sure you’re a nice girl and all, but you don’t seem to be able to read! So lemme spell it out for you: Wa-ka-to-shi isn't interested!”

At the time, all Wakatoshi felt was gratitude that Satori had managed to scare the girl off, and that he no longer had to listen to her grating voice. He had felt a thumping in his head, like a thousand bees buzzing around and trying to get out. All the areas around his neck where Satori had grabbed at and hung onto him felt like they were burning. He attributed all of that to the aforementioned gratitude. Just gratitude.

Satori's been physically affectionate before, of course, but never like this. It felt nice. But too distracting to focus on anything.

And yet, now that he’s looking back on it, he remembers a hint of jealousy coloring Satori’s words. 

Jealousy?

And he realizes now, that unlike the previous few times, Satori wasn’t jealous of him .

Satori was jealous of the people wanting to be around him . 

Wakatoshi wonders what else he’s been missing when he wasn’t looking.

“You’re so insanely popular now. You can take your pick out of anyone in this school. Why me?”

“Satori,” Wakatoshi says as he moves to stand up and sit next to Satori. “I would like to assure you that out of the roughly five hundred people in this school, I will always, always want to spend time with you. You will always be my first choice. You were here with me before I ever got…so insanely popular, as you put it. You have never judged me based on superficial traits, unlike all these people queuing up to spend time with me.”

Satori stares up at him with that same stare. The one that means that he thinks Wakatoshi is amazing, incredible, a goddamn miracle .

“You sure about that?” Satori wrings his fingers. “I know I’ve spent the better part of my life scaring people away from me, but…I dunno. It feels different now.”

Wakatoshi brushes an errant strand of hair out of Satori’s face. “You could never scare me away. In fact, I would like to see you try.”

“You promise?” Satori asks, and there’s a hint of a smile playing around his lips as he holds up his pinky finger. "Pinky promise?" 

Wakatoshi can't even remember the last time he made a promise like this to Satori—perhaps it was when they were children, and Satori had broken something he shouldn't have, and Wakatoshi saw, and they had promised each other to not tell a single soul—but he lifts his pinky up and links it with Satori's. They shake their hands, once. 

"When I promise something," Wakatoshi says. "I mean it." 

Satori smiles brightly, and they stay like that for a couple minutes more, pinkies intertwined. Wakatoshi wants to smile at him as well, but lately, doing anything with his mouth causes it to flare up in pain. So they just sit there, in comfortable silence.

This is enough time for Oohira to open the door again, look at them, sigh, say "oh my fucking god" and walk back out again. What his problem is, Wakatoshi has no idea. 

—

"Wakkun!" his mother says joyfully as he gets off the train. She's quick to grab him by the shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Or, well, it's more like Wakatoshi stumbles into the hug, caught off guard. She tuts as she pulls away from him, hands on his shoulders. "Now, is that any way to hug your mother?"

Ah, yes. Physical affection has never been Wakatoshi's strong suit. He's been told, throughout his entire life, that hugging him was like hugging a wooden board. He kept his hands stiffly to his sides and let the other person hug him. Satori was never deterred by this, but his mother always was.

So Wakatoshi very reluctantly brings his arms up to his mother's back and hugs her. She smiles up at him, and Wakatoshi realizes that he's gotten much taller since they last saw each other.

"How has my darling boy been?" his mother asks as she gives her bag for him to hold. He takes it, shifting his own luggage to his other hand so he can hike it up his shoulder. "Have you been eating well? They can't be feeding you anything good at that school."

"The food is sufficient," Wakatoshi says. 

"I'll send you back there with some of my food," his mother says cheerfully. "Give you a break from all of that processed stuff."

Wakatoshi nods, not willing to argue that his mother's food is only a smidge better than Shiratorizawa's food. He does go to a private school; the food is excellent. They don't serve hayashi rice though, so that's a bit unfortunate.

His mother keeps talking, talking about everything and nothing at all. Wakatoshi hears none of it. All he can think about is how, right this moment, his clubmates were probably beginning their training camp without him. As one of the candidates for next year's captaincy, he should be there. 

But he follows his mother to her car, and he stares out the window as she talks and talks, and—

"Wakatoshi, are you listening to me?"

Ah, shoot.

"Yes, mother," he replies, as easily as reflex. "You were just talking about how Kiyora-san's daughter has recently gotten into Kyoto University."

"Yes, and she's majoring in public health! Kiyora-san must feel so lucky." Wakatoshi's mother sighs happily. "You'll be going off to college soon as well, Wakkun, what do you want to major in?"

I want to keep playing volleyball. Coach Washijo has told him multiple times that he has the makings of an Olympic athlete, or at the very least, a D1 volleyball player for a team in Japan. He knows he's good enough to become a professional athlete, but he knows that his mother will never approve of it. 

So instead he says, "I'm not quite sure yet."

"Well, you have to start deciding soon! What's your favorite class right now?"

"Horticulture."

The car goes silent as his mother takes that bit of information in. 

"Wakkun...I'm not quite sure if that will be useful in your future. Why not go into business? Or finance? Like me?"

"Horticulture interests me." He knows that it's strange—the vast majority of his class is made up of girls, and one person that looks like a girl, but he thinks may actually be a guy—but it does genuinely interest him. There are many factors that contribute to a plant being able to grow: the type of plant, the soil it's planted in, the amount of light and water it gets, the climate it's meant for. 

"Yes, I know, but...I think you should leave the flower planting to your female classmates. I think they all joined just to grow pretty flowers, anyway."

"You were the one who taught me to garden," Wakatoshi says, slightly annoyed now. His mother's being a hypocrite. Again. Since taking Eita up on his offer, he's found that this is a behavior that his mother and Eita’s mother share. Shirabu's mother as well, apparently. 

"I know, but that was when you were a kid , Wakkun! It's time to grow up...leave behind all those childish interests. Start thinking about your future ."

His future. What did he want his future to look like? He didn't want to work in business or finance like his mother did—days upon days of doing the exact same thing, over and over again. That's...boring. Whenever his mother brings up the stock market, and the economy, Wakatoshi can feel his eyes glazing over. It's all too complicated. And not in the good way, like when he pores over volleyball plays, analyzing every subtle movement that delivers a team to success. 

He wants a future that will make him happy. But he knows that what makes him happy today might not make him happy in a year, or five years, or ten years. Deciding just what he wants to do for his career feels like the next big, defining step in his life. 

He's so very scared to take the next step, as though when he puts his foot down, the ground will give way. And he will be free-falling, through an infinite void of uncertainty and unknown possibilities, and he will be helpless to stop it. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi does not know what his future will bring. 

He is not brave enough to face the unknown by himself. But he supposes that eventually, he will have to learn to. 

"We're here," his mother says as she pulls into the parking lot, in front of the oral surgeon's office. 

Speaking of being brave enough to face the unknown. 

—

“Alright,” the oral surgeon, Dr. Hoshino, says as she snaps her gloves onto her hands. “How are you, Ushijima-kun?”

Wakatoshi gives her a noncommittal shrug. He feels horrible right now. He’s about to get his teeth pulled out. 

“I know, I know.” Dr. Hoshino rummages around, wheeling two large cans of…something. Gas? Two large cans of gas are rolled up to the dental chair. “We’re gonna have you on laughing gas during the surgery, all right? This is gonna help you feel numb, and kind of sleepy. It’ll help with the procedure.” And without further ado, she unlatches a mask attached to the cans, placing it over his nose. “So just feel free to take a nap, alright?”

Wakatoshi has a sinking feeling he will not be able to take a nap, but he still thinks there’s no harm in trying.

So he closes his eyes and allows the doctor to do…whatever she needs to do with his teeth. He’s not sure if the laughing gas is doing anything for him. He feels…about the same as usual.

Then he opens his eyes and finds a needle making its way out of his mouth. 

“That’s all the shots you’ll need,” Dr. Hoshino says in a deadpan manner. “Don’t worry, the hardest part’s already done.”

Excellent, Wakatoshi thinks as he closes his eyes again. I didn’t even feel any of the shots. Maybe it really will be different this time. All that researching paid off. 

So he closes his eyes again, and tries to ignore the sound of drilling and sawing and squelching. It’s fine. This is fine. He’s just getting four of his teeth removed, and they’re all at least partially lodged into his jaw bone. This is completely fine.

He wonders what he might be doing right now if he weren’t getting his teeth pulled out. Maybe he’d be running laps with Oohira. Maybe he’d be chatting with Semi as they picked up stray volleyballs. Maybe he’d be hitting Shirabu's sets, feeling the ball rebounding off of his palm. 

He’s come to realize that sometimes, pain feels pleasant. Like the burn in his arms and legs when he finishes a set of reps, or when he finishes a five mile jog. Like the ache in his hands he feels when he hits a well-aimed spike.

Like the burning in his face when Satori slaps his hands against his cheeks.

Ah, Wakatoshi thinks as he files that thought away for later. That’s something I should not be thinking about right now.

And yet, when will he finally think about that? He’s been going these past few months pretending like these thoughts about his best friend do not exist. He can’t keep ignoring them forever. 

So now, while he’s rendered immobilized in this godforsaken chair, is as good a time as any to ponder these thoughts.

He thinks. He goes down the list of things that couples typically do with each other. Yes. This is the best way to figure out if he has romantic feelings for his best friend.

Would he like to hold Satori’s hand? He’s already done that, on numerous occasions. It's a frequent occurrence. 

Would he like to hug Satori? He already does that as well—well, it’s more like Satori hugs him and he gives Satori a pat on the head or the shoulder, but he supposes that still counts.

Would he like to go on dates with Satori? What exactly constituted a date? He already spends the vast majority of his time with Satori, he doesn’t really think he has the need to go on dates to spend attentional time with him.

Would he like to kiss Satori? Well…

He thinks about this some more. He’s never really thought much about kissing before. He’s never really seen the appeal. He supposes that if Satori wanted it, then he would…consider it?

Does this mean I’m gay?

He can feel his heart rate increasing at the thought. This is not good. This is not good at all.

If he wants to kiss Satori—or at the very least, he's not opposed to the thought of kissing Satori—then that means…he is gay, right? He is a male, Satori is a male, and that means…

He can hear the sounds of his mother shifting around in her chair next to him, and he suddenly feels terrified. There is a building pressure in his chest, slowly making its way to a sob, and he—

Wakatoshi opens his eyes, just in time to see Dr. Hoshino removing a piece of his tooth. It’s split in half, and Wakatoshi can see the enamel, the dentin, the pulp, the nerves, his blood shining on the tooth’s pristine white surface, and-

He lets out a guttural scream.

“Ah, okay, okay!” Dr. Hoshino says, evidently not noticing him open his eyes until then. She goes to deposit the tooth shard on her tray, reaching up to readjust the light. “Done! You’re all done!”

Wakatoshi can’t stop the tears from falling down his cheeks. He feels like his entire being is quaking, and not just from the shock of seeing the insides of his own tooth. His chest is heaving, up and down, his fingers digging into the squeaky material of the dentist's chair.

You’re gay, you’re gay, you’re gay, his traitorous mind echoes as he lies there, trying to catch one good breath of air even though he hasn’t even done anything strenuous. 

“Wakkun, breathe,” his mother orders, and he can’t even look at her right now. She hates it when his emotions act up. She hates gay people. The possibility of her coming to hate him is too much. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

Well, his oh-so-traitorous mind says to him. You faced your fears.

What are you going to do about them now?

—

His mouth is in pain. Everything hurts. Everything is red. Everything is horrible. 

"That went well, up until the end," his mother says stiffly. "Really, you must get over this...this silly fear of the dentist, Wakkun, it's getting embarrassing at this point. What do you think people will think of you? They'll think you haven't grown up! You're seventeen! And what will they think about me? They'll think I haven't raised you properly!"

Wakatoshi is very much not in the mood to listen, so he just stares straight out the car window. The pain is starting to subside, but he's still numb, he's painfully paranoid about biting his tongue off, or something like that. 

He tries not to think much about anything. Not the fact that his fear of the dentist is not going away any time soon, not the fact that he figured out that he wants to kiss his best friend, not the fact that everything in his future is still left up in the air.

So he doesn't think. He just stares out the window. His mother sighs.

"I'll make you hayashi rice before you go back," she says. Wakatoshi's posture relaxes slightly. "You've been working very hard, Wakkun. You need your strength if you want to keep working this hard."

It's moments like these where Wakatoshi can't bring himself to fully hate his mother. Not like Eita hates his mother. 

"She's such a bitch," Eita had said, punching his pillow into a blob. "God, I can't wait until the day I graduate and I'll never have to see her damn face again."

He gravitates more to the way Shirabu hates his mother, in the way that he understands that this is just the way she is, and he can't do anything about it. She still loves him, just in her own way.

"Why can't you do anything about it?!" Eita had yelled, grabbing Shirabu's shoulders in a way that made Wakatoshi feel like he had missed something terribly important to the conversation. It had felt all too invasive, to look at the way Eita shook Shirabu by the shoulders, the way Shirabu had stared at Eita in resignation as he did so. They have had conversations about this before, he's certain of that. "Why don't you want to do anything about it?!"

"She's my fucking mom! What the hell do you want me to do about it?!" Shirabu had shouted back, shoving Eita off of him. "Not all of us are you! Not all of us are...brave enough to shout at our own moms!" 

Wakatoshi is inclined to agree with Shirabu. His mother may do some awful things, say some awful things, but she is still his mother. He owes her, for giving birth to him, for taking care of him for his entire life. He cannot ever picture himself yelling at his mother. 

He remembers bringing this up to Eita one time, and the silver-haired boy had rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"You don't owe your mom jackshit. You didn't ask to be born."

And that felt entirely too pessimistic for Wakatoshi to think about at the time, so he hadn't said anything back to Eita. 

He and his mother have arguments about his future, or his hobbies, or his irrational fears. He apologizes. His mother makes him food or cleans his room. They return back to normal. That is just how it's always been. 

He has the sinking feeling that is how it always will be. Always his mother and him, circling each other, never fully being able to understand each other.

Wakatoshi falls asleep, against the car's window, to the sound of his mother's droning voice.

—

He's back at Shiratorizawa, and he's never felt happier.

"USHIWAKA!" Satori screams in glee, jumping onto his back. He pinches Wakatoshi's cheeks, whooping and laughing. Eita distantly shouts at him to "get off of him, what are you, five years old?!" but Wakatoshi doesn't complain.

"Good to have you back," Oohira says, slapping Wakatoshi's shoulder. Shirabu nods towards him before tossing a ball at him. Wakatoshi catches it with one hand. 

"Welcome back," the sandy-haired boy says. "Ace."

"Thank you," Wakatoshi says, finally realizing how much he has missed this—missed these people, missed his family .

He feels guilty for even thinking of them as his family, considering how his family is already so large. But none of his aunts and uncles and cousins had ever felt like family. He was one of the youngest family members, always held at arm's length. 

These people hold him close. As if he is something valuable, something to be treasured.

As if he's a miracle .

"Miracle boy Wakatoshi's back~!" Satori sings as he leaps around, swinging his hands. "Our miracle ace is back~!"

"Oi!" Coach Washijo shouts, and all of them immediately snap back to attention. "Line up, you idiots! Practice match with Seijoh is in five minutes, or have you lost your minds?!" 

"Made it just in time," Yamagata says, slapping Wakatoshi on the back. "We really need you for this."

"We need you to beat that kid's ass," Eita says, nodding his head towards a boy with tousled brown hair, with very familiar eyes—

Ah. Oikawa Tooru from Kitagawa Daiichi, now a second year at Aoba Johsai. Wakatoshi remembers him. 

He's just as incredible as Wakatoshi remembers. Every one of his moves packs power behind it. He exudes an aura of confidence that seems to rub off on his teammates—he makes them better just by playing with them. The majority of Aoba Johsai's team could be removed, and Oikawa would be more than enough to make up for it. 

"The Great King," Satori says as he makes a face. He nudges Wakatoshi with an elbow. "We gotta knock him down a peg, right, Ushiwaka? Us miracle boys?"

Wakatoshi wordlessly holds up his fist, and Satori bumps his fingers against it with glee. "We shall."

The teams line up. Bow. Oikawa smiles at him from across the net, with that perfect, pearly white smile of his.

I see you. His eyes seem to say. They have never had a full conversation before. Wakatoshi doesn't even know what Oikawa Tooru's voice sounds like, but it rings clear through his skull. We're gonna beat you, this time. 

The game starts. And Wakatoshi falls into the familiar rhythm he's learned over the past few months. Oohira receives. Shirabu sets. Wakatoshi spikes.

Satori blocks. And Satori blocks so well .

He seems so alive and in his element, like he always does when he plays. But now, finally standing at Wakatoshi's side after two years, after fighting one of their third year blockers tooth and nail for the position, he seems like he's on fire . Absolutely radiant . 

Tendou Satori blocks and jeers and laughs on the court like the monster everyone said he was back when they were little. He wears the opponents down, not just with his insanely accurate blocks and guesses, but with cutting comment after comment, jab after jab. His crimson hair is spiked up, his maroon eyes are wide, his smile is as bright as ever. 

Aoba Johsai has no chance. 

They win after three sets. It's by no means a close three sets—every time, Aoba Johsai nearly catches up to them. Shiratorizawa wins the final match point by the skin of their teeth. 

They all line up to shake hands across the net, say "good game" to each other. 

Oikawa Tooru's hands are small, and smooth. He grasps Wakatoshi's proffered hand with both of his own. It wouldn't have even mattered if Wakatoshi had offered his left or his right hand. The reverence that OIkawa Tooru looks at him with is...certainly something. 

"Ushijima Wakatoshi, huh?" he asks, his smile never faltering. "You've stayed the exact same ever since junior high. Still as good as ever."

"Yes," Wakatoshi says. "And you as well, Oikawa Tooru." The boy had made a couple mistakes while on the court, in the heat of the moment, mistakes that could have easily been avoided had he not been so arrogant, so cocky. He does not say any of this to Oikawa. 

OIkawa's smile widens even more, if such a thing is possible. "I'm honored. Such great praise coming from the one and only Ushiwaka."

"Only Satori is allowed to call me that," Wakatoshi says flatly, letting go of Oikawa's hand at last. He turns his head, and he is suddenly face-to-face with Satori. How long had he been there? How long had he been listening? 

"I heard my name!" Satori says cheerfully, grabbing the hand that just held Oikawa's. He narrows his eyes at Oikawa, smiling just as brightly to match the other boy's smile. "We sure kicked your ass out there, huh?"

"That you sure did." Oikawa's smile tightens. He turns away, nodding his head towards the two of them. "I hope to play against you again, Ushijima-san."

Wakatoshi nods. Satori sneers. 

He still has not let go of Wakatoshi's hand. 

"He is an excellent player," Wakatoshi says as they retreat to the locker rooms. "He should have come to Shiratorizawa with us."

"Ewww," Satori says, sticking out his tongue. "Playing with the Great King? No thanks. Can you even imagine him in purple?"

Wakatoshi finds that he cannot imagine Oikawa Tooru in purple. Purple is the color of kings, and Oikawa may be called the Great King, but he clings to his worthless, senseless pride far too much to ever be one. 

He cannot imagine Oikawa Tooru ever finding his way into his family. 

—

"Truth or dare?" Eita asks later that night, while they're all crowding into his and Satori's room. This is the benefit to Shiratorizawa hosting this training camp. Wakatoshi is glad; he doesn't have to sleep on an uncomfortable futon. "Ushiwaka."

"Truth," Wakatoshi says, just like he's been saying for the past five rounds. He suspects his teammates are getting bored of his answers, but he would rather not participate in any risky dares, not at this late hour. 

“What is your biggest fear?”

“Ushiwaka doesn’t have any fears,” Shirabu says in the same tone one might use when saying, "the sky is blue," or "it's raining outside," or any other factual statement. 

“The dentist,” Wakatoshi says at the exact same time, a sudden burst of bravery overtaking him. Perhaps it's the late hour, perhaps it's one of his kouhai saying something so abjectly wrong , with so much confidence . 

It had not felt like lying before, when his classmates asked him his greatest fear, and he shrugged and replied, "I don't fear anything." But it does now, when Shirabu Kenjirou, one of the most logical people Wakatoshi knows, says with complete and utter certainty, like it's a well-known fact, "Ushiwaka doesn't have any fears." 

And only now does it feel like lying. 

All of his teammates stare at him.

“The dentist?” Eita asks in what Wakatoshi thinks might be disdain but may also be abject confusion. 

“I mean, that makes sense,” Oohira says, shrugging. “Going to the dentist is pretty terrifying.”

“No, yeah, I know, I hate the dentist,” Eita says, waving him off. Wakatoshi resists the urge to interject that he does not hate his dentist, he merely just hates going to the dentist. "I just—huh. I never thought you would ever have any fears, Ushiwaka. I guess what you said a couple days ago makes more sense."

"It is a fear I have been trying to get rid of for a very long time now," Wakatoshi says, valiantly staring down at the floor. "I have had it ever since my cousin forcibly took one of my teeth out when I was seven."

Everyone continues to stare at him, but this time, Wakatoshi can definitely tell that it's out of concern. 

"It was exacerbated when I was ten years old, when I had to have two teeth extracted," Wakatoshi says in the ensuing silence. "It felt like I was having a heart attack." More silence. "I realize that was a rather silly thought to have—"

"Oh, yeah, that's the epinephrine," Shirabu says, and Wakatoshi is very grateful that Shirabu said such a big and confusing word—everyone's eyes immediately go to him. "Uh. Well. Okay, when you get your teeth taken out, you get injected with something called lidocaine. That makes your gums numb. Most lidocaine contains epinephrine—better known as adrenaline, I guess—which makes the blood vessels in your mouth tighten up—"

"There's blood vessels in your mouth?" Eita and Yamagata ask, almost perfectly in sync. Satori snickers. Oohira sighs. Shirabu looks like he's about to make both of their mouths bleed. 

"Epinephrine makes the blood vessels in your mouth tighten up, which keeps the lidocaine in one place for longer, which makes your gums numb for longer," Shirabu says. "Also, epinephrine increases heart rate, which is probably why Ushiwaka felt like he was having a heart attack."

This is all very good information. Wakatoshi wishes he had it when he was ten years old. 

Shirabu then curls into himself, pressing the pillow he's holding to his face. Perhaps he feels embarrassed for making his senpai admit one of his greatest fears. Perhaps that is why he went on a very long tangent about lidocaine, in order to make his senpai feel less stupid for having such a dumb fear.

Or perhaps Wakatoshi is reading entirely too much into his kouhai's actions, so he should just stop thinking now.

"Tendou, truth or dare?" Eita asks, diverting the conversation entirely. 

"Dare!" Satori says enthusiastically, just like he has been saying for the past five rounds, in complete opposition to Wakatoshi. 

So far, he has been dared to prank call the captain of the Shiratorizawa girl's volleyball team (he was screamed at for a solid five minutes), chug an entire Ramune in less than a minute (he did it in fifty-seven seconds, but promptly went into a choking fit after), slap Eita across the face (he was slapped back, which is why they are both sporting handprint-shaped marks on their face), sing along to his favorite anime opening (it was We Are! from One Piece, and he wasn't actually too terrible at it), and speak in a foreign language for the remainder of the round (unbeknownst to all of them besides Wakatoshi, Satori is half French, and so he can speak a decent amount of French and a passable amount of English). 

"Sit in Ushiwaka’s lap," Eita says, immediately. 

"For until the game ends," Shirabu says, immediately after Semi.

"Not just for the rest of the round," Yamagata says, immediately after Semi and Shirabu. 

Wakatoshi has never considered himself a violent person—in fact, he's always been staunchly against violence, especially after coming to Shiratorizawa and training under Coach Washijo—but he thinks he may be reconsidering his stance on it. He wonders if Eita's face could possibly take another face slap. 

Satori cocks his head, staring at Wakatoshi. They've always been physically affectionate—they've been leaning on each other this entire time, after all—but this feels like it is...crossing a line. Satori has always been one to push boundaries, toe the line between what is allowed and what is not, but this seems like one line he's not about to cross.

He slowly turns his head to look at Wakatoshi's face, shrugs in a what can ya do gesture, and jerks his head to one side to ask is this okay? He mostly just looks as panicked as Wakatoshi feels. 

Wakatoshi can feel his head nodding of its own free will, imperceptibly. Satori waits, for a couple seconds more, and then Wakatoshi can feel the weight of Satori's body slide onto his crossed legs. He wants—he wants —so very badly to wrap his arms around Satori's chest, hold him close to his own, bury his nose in Satori's hair or the crook of his neck, maybe even—maybe even press a kiss to Satori's cheek, or the back of his neck, or the front of his hand. But all of that is pushing it. 

Wakatoshi does not push. That is Satori's job. Wakatoshi sits, and he stands, and he just is , and he is an immovable object, while Satori pushes, and pulls, and does , and he is an unstoppable force.

It is not an uncomfortable feeling, Satori sitting in his lap—Satori wriggles around a bit before settling down in the space in front of his chest made by his legs, Satori's lanky legs curled up over his chest—but Wakatoshi fears that it may become very awkward very quickly.

Satori, to his eternal credit, puts on the peppiest face he can muster. "Comfy! Semi-Semi, truth or dare?"

"Dare," Eita says.

"Lick Shirabu's neck."

The sound of Eita retching, Shirabu shrieking, and everyone else hollering and shouting is enough for Wakatoshi to forget anything was ever awkward at all. 

—

“Oohira,” Wakatoshi says one night, weeks after the training camp. He’s doing calculus homework—which Wakatoshi hates, it's barely understandable. Oohira is struggling with literature, and Wakatoshi would give up many things to be doing that instead.

“What do I care if the curtains were blue?” Oohira mutters as he flicks through the pages. “Maybe the author wasn’t sad, maybe the curtains were just blue. Yeah, Ushijima?”

Wakatoshi would now like to point out that metaphors and symbolism are very important and often very significant tenets of literature, but he sticks with his original topic of conversation. “How do you know if you like someone? Romantically.”

There’s a choking noise, and Wakatoshi fears he has killed his roommate with how utterly ridiculous his question is. “Huh?” Is the strangled reply he gets back from Oohira.

He opens his mouth to repeat his question, but Oohira is already turning around, flapping his hand. “Uh. Great question. Why are you asking me?”

“You are dating someone, are you not?” The second-years had already met Oohira’s girlfriend of a little over a year, a small second year cheerleader by the name of Kanade Ai. “You are knowledgeable about most things. I was hoping you could help me with this, considering you are the only person on our team with romantic experience.”

“Yeah. Uh—but just so you know, Ai asked me out, not the other way around. I’m not gonna be helpful with, like, confessions or something.”

“That is fine.” Confessing feels like a very long way off, anyway. He needs to sort this out first. “Could you just tell me how to know if you like someone? Or if someone likes you? Romanti—“

“Yeah, romantically, I know,” Oohira huffs, spinning around in his swivel chair to face Wakatoshi. “Is this…uh, is this about…Tendou?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. He supposes he hasn’t been very subtle about this. “Lately, I have been plagued by the intense feeling of wanting to kiss him.”

“Oh, god.” Oohira rubs his temple, looking between his literature homework and Wakatoshi, as if silently deciding which one he’d rather deal with more. “Uh. That seems like a pretty big indicator of wanting to date someone, if you ask me.”

“Mm.” Wakatoshi nods. Oohira has confirmed that what he very much wants and what he very much fears is true. “I see. So I do like Satori. Romantically.”

“Did you really need me for that?” Oohira asks, now turning around to return to his literature homework. 

“Well, Satori and I are both men. I was not sure if it was any different or any similar to heterosexual relationships.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“So do you know if Satori likes me?”

This question elicits a scoff and an eye roll from Oohira. “Is that even a question? Obviously, yeah, he likes you.”

“No, you do not understand.” Wakatoshi aimlessly waves his hand around. “He is very physically affectionate with everyone. And while Google has told me that physical affection is a sign of someone being romantically attracted to you, it would be foolish of me to assume that Satori has a crush on every member of our team—“

“Ushijima,” Oohira says, very, very patiently. “Do you know what Tendou does whenever you’re around him?”

“He smiles. He hugs me. He holds my hand. But as I have said, it would be—“

“No. No, no, no. Tendou does do all of those things, that’s true, but he literally lights up whenever you’re near him. You didn’t see him those two days you weren’t at training camp. It was like his soul was sucked out of him. Like all the light went out of him. He was miserable , Ushijima. And then when you came back—poof! Back to goofy Tendou. You make him…you make him happy , Ushijima. He adores you. And he gives you this look, I dunno if you notice, but he like…stares at you like you’re the best thing to ever exist.”

Something amazing. Something incredible.

A goddamn miracle.

“Oh,” Wakatoshi says simply. “Oh.”

Falling in love is not some grand moment in the rain, crying out a confession as tears run down your face, declaring that you’d rather die than live without them. 

Falling in love is sitting in your dorm room on a Tuesday night, your calculus homework in front of you, realizing that you have been in love for so long, you cannot tell when it started. 

“There you go, big guy,” Oohira says—when did he get over to Wakatoshi’s side of the room?—as he pats Wakatoshi’s arm. “You got there eventually.”

“I am in love with Satori.”

“Yes.”

“Satori is in love with me.”

“Yes.”

Wakatoshi stands up so abruptly, he startles Oohira into stumbling back. “I must tell him now.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Immediately. I—I have already wasted so much time, I cannot waste any more—“

“Ushijima, it’s—” Oohira checks his watch. “Nearly midnight. I’m sure he’s already asleep—“

“No, he’s binge-watching an anime and completely disregarding his sleep schedule,” Wakatoshi says with absolute certainty. “He is still awake. I know he is.”

“At least sleep on what you’ll do next.” Oohira gestures wildly to his bed. “Do you even know how you’re going to confess to him?”

“I—“ And Wakatoshi finds that, no, he has absolutely no idea how to tell Satori that he’s loved him for—for however long he has loved him. He’s not even completely sure. Since the beginning of high school? Since junior high? Since the moment they first met?

“Write him a note,” Oohira says. “Put down all your thoughts on paper. That’s—at least, that’s what Ai did for me. Granted, she also threw her note at my face and then ran off, so maybe don’t do that—“

“Thank you,” Wakatoshi interrupts. Yes, that's a good idea. He will finish his calculus homework. He will sleep. He will write Satori a heartfelt note and give him the confession he deserves. “Reon. For helping me.”

And the smile that Reon gives him is very tired, and very weary, and very exasperated, but it is a smile of, above all, pride.

“You’re welcome,” Reon says, clapping a hand on Wakatoshi’s back. “Wakatoshi.”

—

Dear Satori To: Tendou Satori

I am in love with you I have a crush on you I have feelings for you.

Wakatoshi stares down at the rapidly blurring paper and grumbles to himself. This is going to take a lot longer than he thought. Perhaps he should do this at a more reasonable hour.

No. You've kept Satori waiting long enough. And when you wake up in the morning, you will have forgotten everything you wanted to tell him.

Do it now. Do it now, before it's too late.

—

He has a plan. A plan cobbled together at five in the morning, fueled by a single hour of sleep, but he has a plan nonetheless. It’s an excellent plan. It’s a flawless plan. It’s a—

“It’s a horrible plan,” Eita says the next day in class. “This is the most cliche plan I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s what Satori deserves,” Wakatoshi says, mildly offended. Google had told him that everybody confessed during hanami season, and he was inclined to agree. There is a park near Shiratorizawa’s campus that has cherry trees, a mere ten minute walk away. He would take Satori there, he would confess, and hopefully Satori would accept. He was still working out what would happen if Satori didn’t accept. Perhaps he’d throw himself into the river and let himself drown. Save himself the embarrassment.

“ Everybody confesses during hanami season,” Eita grumbles, exasperated. “There’s gonna be so many other couples there. You really wanna confess to Satori in such a public place?”

“Hm.” That was true. Wakatoshi hadn’t considered that while coming up with his five AM plan. Google had also recommended that a classic locker confession was a good way to convey his feelings. “Perhaps I should just slip the note into his locker?”

“Even more cliche,” Yamagata says, his cheeks bulging with potato chips. He was trying to finish the whole bag before their teacher arrived. “I would know. I tried it last week.”

Reon sighs, patting Wakatoshi’s shoulder. “You got this. You’re planning to confess to him in two days, aren’t you? You have plenty of time.”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says, running his thumb over his handwritten note. “But I’m afraid my feelings for him are growing stronger by the day, and—“

“Ushiwaka has feelings for someone?!”

Oh no.

Wakatoshi snaps his head around so quickly, he’s surprised that his neck doesn’t break. His friends do the same.

Standing behind them is one Tendou Satori, his expression torn between amusement and horror. 

In the next moment, several things happen:

1: Semi Eita shouts, “Ushiwaka didn’t say anything!”

2: Oohira Reon screeches, “Go back outside!”

3: Yamagata Hayato blurts out, “He wasn’t talking about anyone!”

Satori tsks, tilting his head. “Lying isn’t very nice! ‘Specially to me!” He glances over at Wakatoshi, scanning his table, his backpack, his—

His hand.

“Oh ho! Ushiwaka’s hiding something from me!” He bends down, trying to catch a glimpse of the note crumpled inside his fist. “C’mon, Ushiwaka, who’s the lucky lady?”

Satori’s back is to all of their friends. The teasing look he has plastered across his face just barely hides the hurt lying under it is reserved for Wakatoshi and Wakatoshi alone. 

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hide this from you. I have to hide it from you because it’s for you.

Satori reaches his hand out, fingers outstretched. “Lemme see what the great Ushiwaka wrote for his one true love! C’mon!”

In the next moment, many more things happen.

1: Tendou Satori lunges for the piece of paper clutched in Wakatoshi’s hand.

2: Ushijima Wakatoshi hurriedly leans back.

3: Ushijima Wakatoshi is not fast enough.

4: Tendou Satori pinches a corner of the paper between his fingers.

5: Ushijima Wakatoshi tugs at the piece of paper, trying to maintain his grip on it, and failing.

6: Yamagata Hayato slams his palm on Satori’s hand in an attempt to force it away.

7: The note rips in two.

8: Semi Eita attempts to grab at the remains of the note. 

9: Semi Eita tips Oohira Reon's open water bottle over. 

10: The note is wet. 

All of the Shiratorizawa men’s VBC second year members (except for Soekawa) are now staring at the mess of ripped and wet paper in front of them.

“Well!” Satori sings. “Now I’ll never know! How mean of you, Ushiwaka!”

The look in his eyes betrays his cheerful tone.

What are you hiding from me? Why are you hiding this from me? Since when did we hide things from each other? Aren’t we supposed to be best friends?

That’s what I’m afraid of. Wakatoshi thinks through his panic. That with my careless words, we will stop being best friends, that once I have disrupted this delicate song and dance we have been doing, I will have nothing left.

“There goes all your five AM ramblings,” Eita mutters, and Satori’s head immediately snaps up. The silver-haired boy’s eyes go wide, almost comically.

“You knew what was in that note?!” Satori screams, and now everybody in their class is staring at them. One of the other kids loudly and awkwardly starts up a conversation with the people around them, which Wakatoshi will be eternally grateful for. “Semi-Semi, Semi-Semi, and you didn’t tell me?! Your roommate?!”

The facade that Satori is putting on is slowly starting to crack. Judging by the looks on his friends’ faces, they are also beginning to hear just how hurt Satori feels. 

Satori has now progressed to clamping his hands on Eita’s shoulders and shaking him back and forth like a rattle, demanding for him to “Tell me everything you know! Who does Wakatoshi like?!”

Reon and Yamagata hurry to pull Satori away from poor Eita, who looks like he’s torn between keeping Wakatoshi’s secret and blurting it out to save himself. “I—uh—fuck, fuck—Ushiwaka, I don't think you can wait for two more days!“

"TWO MORE DAYS?!" Satori screams, shaking him even harder. "What can't wait for two more days?!" 

And then the warning bell rings, and Wakatoshi knows he has less than a minute to de-escalate this situation before it gets entirely out of hand.

In the next moment, several more things happen.

1: Ushijima Wakatoshi pushes Oohira Reon and Yamagata Hayato off of Tendou Satori.

2: Ushijima Wakatoshi yanks Tendou Satori off of Semi Eita.

3: Tendou Satori spins around to stare Ushijima Wakatoshi with all the spite and rage and pain he can muster. It hurts Ushijima Wakatoshi to the bone.

4: Ushijima Wakatoshi says, “I have feelings for you.”

5: Tendou Satori screams, “Eh?!”

6: Their literature teacher walks in and says, “Let’s begin class.”

And then all of Wakatoshi’s friends quickly disperse—except for Yamagata, he sits next to him. Eita shakes his head, Reon groans, Yamagata puts his head in his hands, and Satori—

Satori just stands there, mouth gaping open. Though Satori’s guessing skills are superb, Wakatoshi doubts there’s any way for Satori to have guessed this .

“Tendou! Your seat!”

“Ah—uh, sorry!” Satori squeaks, stumbling over his feet in his haste to cross the room and sit down. The perpetually shocked look on his face remains.

The full gravity of what Wakatoshi has just done is starting to hit him.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Wakatoshi feels like he’s about to vomit. 

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Their teacher is speaking now, but Wakatoshi can barely hear any of her words. Satori is lying his head down on his desk, and Wakatoshi is tempted to join him. He has messed everything up. He will have to skip straight to jumping into the river and letting himself drown. 

“Psst.” He glances over at Yamagata, who is sliding him a soda can across their shared desk. A note is placed under the can. Yamagata is staring straight ahead at the teacher, looking like, for all intents and purposes, he’s paying full attention to the lesson.

Wakatoshi lifts up the can, unfolding the note under it.

Sorry about messing up your confession.

Wakatoshi wrinkles his brow. What do you mean? he writes back. He folds up the piece of paper and flicks it back to Yamagata, without ever taking his eyes off the teacher. A minute passes, and Wakatoshi looks down to find the piece of paper has made its way back to him.

I grabbed Tendou’s hand and made him rip the note in half.

That was not your fault. If anything, it was my fault for speaking so loudly and getting Satori’s attention. And Eita's fault as well, for spilling water on it. And possibly Reon's, for leaving his water bottle uncapped. 

Yeah, but still. I know you worked hard on that.

I could have worked harder. I wrote all of it this morning.

This morning?? Holy shit, how did you do that???

I was struck by divine inspiration.

At this point, Yamagata lets out a snort of laughter, but manages to disguise it as a particularly awful cough. Wakatoshi chuckles. Satori’s head shoots up from where it was lying down. After a couple moments, he puts his head back down.

Still. If you ever need somebody to talk to about the woes of love, I got you. I’ve been rejected more times than I can count.

You are a perfectly fine person. I imagine you will find the right person for you eventually.

Maybe. Don’t hold out hope for me, though.

Don’t hold out hope for me either, then.

Wakatoshi pauses in his note-writing, wonders if he’s overstepping with his next words, then decides that he’s screwed up enough today and he has nothing to lose.

Thank you, Hayato.

Hayato glances over at the note, his pencil frozen in midair. Then he smiles, quickly writes something, and slides it back over to Wakatoshi.

No problem, Wakatoshi.

—

The next fifty minutes feel like an eternity. The slowest eternity Wakatoshi has ever suffered through. He thinks that perhaps he's already died, and this is his eternal punishment. He has been staring at the clock for a very long time. The hands on the clock have been ticking by so very slowly.

When class is finally up, when Wakatoshi finally tears his eyes away from the clock, Satori is gone.

Where could he have gone so quickly?

He turns back around to find his friends violently pointing to the right. Wakatoshi cranes his head around the doorway to find Satori’s red head very rapidly making its way down the hallway.

Wakatoshi nearly overturns his desk in his haste to gather his belongings and get out the door. As his feet hit the ground, he can distantly hear the sound of Eita wolf-whistling and Hayato shouting, “GO GET YOUR MAN, USHIWAKA!!!” 

He catches up to Satori in no time at all. Wakatoshi is the fastest second-year, barring Soekawa, and he follows Satori all the way to the opposite side of the school. It’s lunch now; all of the other students have gone towards the cafeteria. The hallways are empty.

Satori stops at the top of the staircase leading down to the first floor of the school, hands on his thighs and gasping for breath. Wakatoshi has no such problems—he told Satori to work harder on his stamina training. 

“Satori—” Wakatoshi begins, and Satori snaps to attention. He turns around, tripping over his own feet in his haste, and then he—

And then he’s falling down the stairs.

An extraordinarily vivid image of Tendou Satori falling down the stairs fills Wakatoshi’s mind, his bones and teeth cracking to reveal crimson red, his mouth open in shock with the knowledge that his best friend caused this—

Wakatoshi’s feet and hands move faster than his mind. He lunges forward, catching the collar of Satori’s shirt in his left fist and pulling him back to stability. His right hand clutches at the hem of Satori's jacket. Satori’s arms windmill around wildly as he tries to regain his balance. They stay like that for a couple seconds.

Satori is terrifyingly close. 

“That’s not how you catch a damsel falling down the stairs,” are the first words out of Satori’s mouth. “You’re supposed to…grab me around the waist and ask me if I’m alright.”

“Be more careful,” Wakatoshi says instead, but he does follow it up with, “Are you alright?”

“Ah, yeah, y’know—“ Satori stares down at Wakatoshi’s hands, where they're still curled firmly around Satori’s uniform shirt and jacket. At this rate, his articles of clothing will get wrinkled, so Wakatoshi lets go of them. “Never better.”

They stand there. Awkwardly. 

“So,” Wakatoshi begins, because he’s really not sure how else he should begin. “I—“

“Did you mean what you said?” Satori cuts him off, staring at a spot directly above Wakatoshi’s head. “That you…like-like me?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. “The note that was destroyed was meant for you. Seeing as it’s now in the trash, I did not see it fit to give to you. I should have…” He sighs, trying to avoid Satori’s intense stare. “I should have planned this out better, but I realized my feelings just last night, and so I thought it prudent to tell you as soon as possible.”

“Last night? You wrote that note last night? That looked—that looked really long, Ushiwaka, and you have really tiny handwriting, so it—”

“This morning, actually, at five in the morning.” 

Satori stares at him before choking out a laugh and punching him in the shoulder. “Man, you really are full of miracles, aren’t you? Do you…” And here, Satori’s fist flattens out, so that his palm is pressing against Wakatoshi’s chest. Wakatoshi is acutely aware of his heart rate beginning to speed up. He wonders if Satori can feel it beneath his fingertips, feel how his heart is pounding against his skin. “Do you remember anything that you wrote down?”

“I remember the general gist. I apologized for not realizing you were in love with me for so long. I said that I have never felt this way for anyone before, but it makes sense that my first love would be you. It couldn’t be anybody else but you.”

“I dunno about love, but yeah. I've liked you. Since we were…I dunno, thirteen?”

“Ah.” Wakatoshi’s heart begins to sink. Maybe he overestimated the extent of Satori’s feelings for him. Maybe he is guessing too much, when it is not his specialty, jumping to all the wrong conclusions. “Perhaps I should take this back, if you do not feel the same for me, I shall—“

“No!” Satori shrieks, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. “No—wha—what the fuck?! No, I literally just said I’ve liked you since we were thirteen! Of course I feel the same way about you!”

“You do?” 

Satori grumbles something, and Wakatoshi is about to ask him to speak up, when Satori slams his hands on Wakatoshi’s shoulders and sighs. His head drifts closer and closer, until it comes to rest just below Wakatoshi’s chin.

“You’re so damn insufferable,” Satori mumbles. “I know that you’re not even joking, because you never joke, and you’d never joke about something like this. I have feelings for you too. Please be my boyfriend. Aw—wait, fuck, you’re supposed to say that line.”

They stay like that for a couple more seconds. Slowly— very slowly —Wakatoshi’s hands move to wrap around Satori’s waist. Satori moves in closer, pressing his chest flush against Wakatoshi’s. His arms find their way around Wakatoshi’s neck.

“I’ll be a really bad boyfriend, you know,” Satori whispers. “I’m too…loud. Too annoying. Too much. And I know you didn’t care about that when we were friends, but you might start caring when we’re boyfriends. You probably will. I'll be embarrassing to be around. I'll want attention and affection, like, all of the time. I'll be too high maintenance for you.”

“Never,” Wakatoshi says. “And you do not know if you will be a bad boyfriend. You have never been one before. And I…I am no good at this sort of thing, either. I may…I may forget to give you chocolates on Valentine’s Day, gifts on our anniversary. I do not know how to properly hold hands. And I…do not know how to kiss.”

Satori snorts, looking up, nearly slamming the top of his head into Wakatoshi’s face. “Slow down there, Ushiwaka. You haven’t even asked me to be your boyfriend yet.”

“Alright. Will you be my boyfriend, Tendou Satori?”

The smile that Satori gives him is enough to power the entirety of Japan.

“Yeah,” Satori says softly, leaning his head back in. One of his hands makes its way from Wakatoshi’s neck, to his hand. Satori interlocks every one of his fingers with Wakatoshi’s own. "Yeah, okay."

Wakatoshi may be lying to himself, but he swears he can feel his heartbeat and Satori’s beating in sync. He closes his eyes, letting the sound ground him back to reality.

He distantly thinks that this may have been the greatest guess he has ever made.

“Oh my god, oh my god , oh my god —“ 

Wakatoshi’s eyes snap open, head slowly turning towards the new voices. He glances at the clock. Ten minutes left of lunch. Who on earth is interrupting their tender moment?

Shirabu Kenjirou and one of the other volleyball club first years—Kawanishi Taichi—are standing at the end of the hallway, mouths gaping at them. Satori mumbles something that sounds like, “Ah, fuck.”

“Fifteen hundred yen,” Wakatoshi can hear Kawanishi say as the two first years turn tail and run away. “You owe me fifteen hundred yen.”

Wakatoshi distantly wonders if his teammates had a betting ring on the status of his and Satori’s relationship, but he decides that’s a matter for another day. Satori laughs, finally pulling away from him. 

“We should tell everybody!” he says cheerfully. “Rub it in their faces that we got hitched and they’re still single.” Realization seems to hit him a second after he says this. Wakatoshi’s fear must have shown on his face, ever so minutely. “Right. Your mom. Well, we don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to.”

“I fear Semi and Oohira and Yamagata already know,” Wakatoshi says. “They were panicking with me earlier, remember?”

Satori brightens. “Oh yeah! They’re the only ones we care about, anyway!” He tugs at Wakatoshi’s hand—their hands are still intertwined. “Come on! I wanna rub it into Semi-Semi’s face that we got together before him and Shirabu did!”

“Are they not already together?” Wakatoshi asks, perplexed. 

Satori’s only response is to laugh, brightly, loudly, as he pulls him in the direction of the cafeteria. All Wakatoshi can do is to follow him.

Some things will change. But this will always remain the same.

—

"Oh my fucking god," Eita says, three weeks later. "The two of you are insufferable ."

"Whatever do you mean?" Satori chirps as he readjusts himself on his seat—Wakatoshi's lap. "I can't think of a single insufferable thing we're doing. Can you, 'Toshi?"

"Not a single thing," Wakatoshi says in a deadpan as he continues working through his chemistry homework. The three of them had cooped up in Eita's and Satori's dorm to crack down on all the homework they had left untouched over the weekend—Wakatoshi was normally very punctual with these sort of things, but it had all been hard to concentrate when all that was filling his brain was the knowledge that he loved Tendou Satori and that, somehow , Tendou Satori loved him right back. It was an infectious feeling. Though he enjoys it very much, he wishes that it might die down a bit, or else he may accomplish nothing. 

Eita groans, flinging a colorful eraser in the shape of a monkey at Satori. Satori dodges it. It hits Wakatoshi on the thigh. Wakatoshi cannot see Satori's face, but from the spitting sounds he hears, he's sure that Satori is blowing a raspberry at his roommate. Childish, yes, but Wakatoshi finds it endearing. Just like everything else that Satori does. 

"Out," Eita declares, grabbing Satori by the shoulders and attempting to lift him off of Wakatoshi's lap. He mostly succeeds in dragging Satori halfway to the floor. "Out! I'm not gonna sit here and—"

There's a knock at the door. "Eita?" It's Shirabu's voice, and it sounds—it sounds much more different than usual. Wakatoshi can't tell exactly what is wrong, but there's no doubt that there is something wrong. Shirabu has never once addressed any of his senpais by their given name.

Eita's face tightens. He turns back to Wakatoshi and Satori, pointing to the door with a shaky finger. Satori's eyes dart back and forth between Eita and the door, back and forth, quicker and quicker. He's connecting the dots. 

"Out," he says. "I mean it this time. Get the fuck out."

Wakatoshi and Satori make eye contact, and then they get up to leave.

—

"No," is the first thing they hear as they open the door to Wakatoshi's and Reon's dorm room. "No, no. Go away."

"What? Come on!" Satori whines from where he's in Wakatoshi's arms. In the hallway, he suggested that Wakatoshi try to pick him up in a bridal carry. Wakatoshi obliged. It had worked at the beginning, but now Satori is beginning to slowly slide out of Wakatoshi's arms with how much he's wriggling. 

Reon sighs and attempts to close the door in their faces. Wakatoshi catches it with a hand, finally causing Satori to tumble out of his embrace and to the ground with a dull thump . "Is this going to be a repeat of the last few times you tried to do this?"

"Please," Wakatoshi says. "We need to finish our homework."

"Not my problem if you decided to spend all your time making out and not doing your work!"

Satori looks up from where he's now sprawled out on the ground. "For your information, we haven't even kissed yet!"

"You haven't even—" Reon's face is contorting in ways Wakatoshi never thought possible for the human body. "You haven't even kissed yet? It's been almost a month."

"We're waiting for the perfect moment~" Satori says sing-songingly as he leaps to his feet. It occurs to Wakatoshi, just then, that he should have helped Satori up the second he fell, instead of talking to Reon. "You can't rush these things, y'know?"

And then Satori stares up with him with the most adoring look in his eyes, with the sweetest smile he has ever seen, and Wakatoshi is immediately overcome with the urge to kiss him right then and there, and—

And then Reon groans and slams the door in both their faces. 

—

They end up taking refuge in Hayato’s dorm room, who doesn’t mind their gross displays of physical affection. He somehow just manages to tune it out completely.

“This is boring,” Satori says once they’ve reached the halfway point of their work. Really, none of his work was so difficult—Wakatoshi should have done this sooner. 

“The answer is D,” Wakatoshi says, poking Satori in the elbow with his pencil. “We will have more time to…fool around when you finish.”

Satori makes a face, leaning in close to Wakatoshi’s own face. Wakatoshi puts a hand over Satori’s mouth and pushes him back, writing the last of his notes with his left hand. “No. Stop this. I will—“

“You’ll what, ‘Toshi?” Satori asks in what Wakatoshi thinks is supposed to be a sultry voice, but mainly just sounds strained. “Make me shut up? With your lips?”

This is accompanied by Satori making a large amount of kissy noises against Wakatoshi’s palm. When it’s clear that this will also not get any response from his boyfriend, Satori resorts to licking his palm.

“Unhygienic,” Wakatoshi scolds as he wipes his hand on Satori’s shorts. “And disgusting.”

“My own boyfriend thinks I’m disgusting?!” Satori flops across Wakatoshi’s lap, gasping in faux horror. “How could you?! After everything I—“

“Satori, darling,” Wakatoshi says, the words flying out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Please allow me to finish my work. Then I will give you all the attention you desire.”

Satori freezes completely, a small eep sound being the only thing out of his mouth.

“I…you…”

“Hm?” Wakatoshi highlights the final sentence of the night and slams his textbook shut. Good riddance. “Yes?”

“You…called me…” Satori’s face breaks out into a wide smile, the kind that requires him to squint his eyes shut and let his toothy grin overtake his entire face. “You called me darling . Ushiwaka, you gentleman, you.”

“Do you like it?” Wakatoshi was never the one to nickname anyone or anything—that was always Satori’s job—but he thinks he may start doing it more often if Satori responds like this. 

“Call me it more often,” Satori says, now sitting up and back on Wakatoshi’s lap. “Call me it every day. Please. Pretty please.”

“Not every day,” Wakatoshi whispers, cupping Satori’s face with both his hands, in the same way Satori did so many times before. Satori’s face falls. In a cute way.

“Why not?” He whines and pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Because if I say it too much, it will begin to lose its meaning. The scarcity of it is what makes it special.”

“That’s not how pet names work, ‘Toshi.”

“I think I understand why Semi and Oohira kicked you two out,” Hayato says—when did he creep up behind them? He makes an exaggerated ‘get out’ gesture, pointing towards the door. “Out. Out. You’re done with your homework anyway.”

—

“Man, all our friends hate us!” Satori whines as they take a walk outside. It is raining, but as long as they walk underneath the awnings, they should remain dry. It is eight PM, an hour before curfew. “Nobody will let us crash at their place!”

“Hm.” This was a consequence that Wakatoshi had not foreseen; he didn’t take into account the fact that their friends may feel left out now that he and Satori had entered a relationship. “Perhaps we should minimize the physical affection when we are around them.”

Satori tilts his head. “I mean, I don’t think they’re too bothered with it. They just…y’know, they just like messing with us.”

“All three of our friends kicked us out of their rooms because we were too annoying,” Wakatoshi says bluntly. “Including our own roommates.”

Satori’s face falls. “I mean…I guess that’s true…”

Wrong thing to say. Wrong thing to say. Completely wrong thing to say to your boyfriend, of all people.

“Oh, look! A worm!” Satori shouts, running out into the rain and squatting down to stare at the small, pink critter making its way across the wet concrete. Wakatoshi follows him, because what else can he do? Leave his boyfriend out in the rain alone? He does not squat down next to Satori, but he does lean forward to watch the worm crawl. 

“Rainworm, rainworm,” Satori sings, the rain absolutely drenching his hair and making it cling to his face. “Y’know, if you cut a worm in half, the two halves will become their own worms!”

“Please do not step on the worm to split it in half,” Wakatoshi says. “Murder is not good.”

“Yeah, but like, at what point does killing an animal become morally wrong? If you kill a spider, you don’t feel guilty. But if you kill, like, a cat, you feel guilty. And then with fish, you kill them for sport.”

Wakatoshi takes a minute to ponder this. “I believe that if an animal can make noises of pain, the more guilty we feel when we kill it. Cats can scream, but fish and bugs cannot.”

Satori nods, his wet hair flopping back and forth. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

They stand in the rain for a couple moments more. Wakatoshi barely feels the rain as it pounds against his scalp.

“For what it’s worth,” Wakatoshi begins as Satori cranes his head to look at him. “I would not mind cutting off all of my friendships to be with you. You are my first and best friend. I would…I would be able to be happy for the rest of my life with only your company.”

Satori blinks. Satori stands up. Satori folds his hands behind his back.

Satori asks, “Wakatoshi, can I—“

The rest of his sentence is cut off by a very loud crack of thunder, followed by a very bright streak of lightning illuminating the dark gray sky. It is then that Wakatoshi notices that he is very wet; and it is starting to feel uncomfortable. They should probably go inside. 

“What?” Wakatoshi shouts over a second, slightly less loud crack of thunder. “Satori, you need to—“

“CAN I KISS YOU?!” Satori screams, and Wakatoshi can most definitely hear him now.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says softly, and he’s not sure if Satori can even hear him over the whistling winds. Satori leans in, making direct eye contact with him. The height difference between them is negligible, and so neither of them needs to bend their head down at all.

Wakatoshi has never kissed or been kissed ever before in his life. So he trusts Satori, and allows him to wrap his hands around his neck and draw him close. He closes his eyes, and so Wakatoshi does the same. 

Wakatoshi is not kind nor gentle. That was— is —always Satori. And yet, he knows that is all Satori deserves for his first kiss. But Wakatoshi does his best to cradle Satori’s face like it’s something precious. Satori’s hands are at the nape of his neck, soft, comforting. 

And then Satori leans in, and Wakatoshi meets him halfway, and finally, finally , this is something he understands without being told.

The kiss is messy. Wet. There’s rain pummeling them as they move their heads, trying to figure out the best angle. At some point, their teeth bump up against each other and Satori giggles. But it is gentle, it is kind, and it is so indescribably them .

Wakatoshi wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Well,” Satori says as another distant lightning bolt lights up the sky. Wakatoshi brushes Satori’s wet clumps of red hair out of his eyes, if only to touch his face one more time. “That was nice. I don’t think kisses in the rain should be this wet, though.”

“What did you think they would be?” Wakatoshi asks, confused. “Dry?”

Satori throws his head back and laughs, and Wakatoshi can feel a pounding in his heart, resonating through his bones, a truth he cannot deny.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

My god, I love you.

—

“Wakkun! How have you been?”

“Very well, mother,” Wakatoshi says as he stares at the sight in front of him. Namely, the sight of a sleeping Tendou Satori clinging to his body as he takes an afternoon nap. Exams are over, it’s the first day of their summer break—there is nothing else to do. Reon has gone out for a date with his own girlfriend. He has been blessed with an empty dorm room and hours upon hours of free time.

“You know, it’s your summer break now, isn’t it? You should come back home—one of my friends is coming to visit this weekend, and she’s bringing her daughter, and—“

“Mother,” Wakatoshi interrupts. “Please stop trying to set me up with the daughters of your friends.”

His mother tuts from the other end. “I’m not trying to set you up! You just need to learn how to interact with girls if you want to attract them during college.”

Attract? What, is he a flower? Are girls bees? “I can assure you that will not be necessary, I already know how to talk to girls.” Granted, the only times he ever talked to girls were when they came up to him to confess to him—nobody besides his very small friend group knew that he and Satori were dating—and when the club manager called him over to discuss club matters. “And anyway, I am already busy. I have been named the club’s captain for next year.”

There’s a moment of silence before his mother says, in a noticeably strained voice, “That’s…that’s great, Wakkun! Very good…uh…”

“If you are worried about my friendship prospects, I can assure you that I have befriended the majority of the club,” Wakatoshi reassures his mother. He neglects to mention the fact that his friends are most definitely individuals his mother would not approve of. Earlier this day, Eita had started up a conversation about whether or not it was morally better to—and Wakatoshi is directly quoting his friend here: “Fuck a goat with the guarantee that nobody finds out, or not fuck a goat but everybody thinks you did.”

Wakatoshi couldn’t make this up if he tried. 

The result of this profound moral conundrum was that Shirabu had boldly claimed he would fuck the goat, Eita had screamed that he was disgusting, Reon promptly removed himself from the situation, Hayato plugged his ears and said, la-la-la, and Satori had put a definite end to the conversation by saying the only correct answer was to have the goat fuck you. 

Wakatoshi was still divided on what the correct answer should be.

“Wakatoshi, you haven’t been hanging around that…what was his name, the red-haired boy?”

Immediately, Wakatoshi feels an unfamiliar rage course through his veins. 

You know his name. I have been this boy’s friend ever since I was seven years old. Do not dare pretend like he means nothing to me. He is everything to me.

“No,” Wakatoshi lies, gritting his teeth. He drops his gaze to the sleeping redhead, brings a hand to brush against his cheek. “I have not been hanging out with him.”

“Good, good…I’ve just been worried about you so much, Wakkun. When you were little, he was the only person you would hang around. I’m very glad that you’re putting yourself out there, making new friends.”

Wakatoshi hums, glancing over at the jersey he had acquired at today’s meet. The bold number one, with the line underneath it, in dark purple against pure white, stares back at him.

He wishes his mother would be prouder for the achievement he himself is actually proud of. But this is fine too. It’s hard to hate his mother when she says stuff like this. Everything she wants him to do, he wants to not do. And yet, when he does do them, she praises him. And that praise feels so good.

Satori stirs next to him, and Wakatoshi knows that he must end this call soon. “I must go now. Have a good day, mother.”

“Goodbye!” his mother chirps, and Wakatoshi is relieved to finally throw his phone across the bed, lie down, and cuddle his boyfriend to his heart’s content.

“Hot,” Satori grumbles, batting him away. “It’s too hot.”

This is indeed true—the air conditioning in this wing of the school has been broken for the past few days. Every student in the upstairs boys’ dormitories has been roasting in the heat. Regardless, Wakatoshi would be lying if he said he didn’t feel hurt by his boyfriend pushing him away. 

“No, come back,” Satori says a couple seconds later, making grabby hands to beckon Wakatoshi back to him. “I miss you. I lied. Come back, O' great boyfriend, and suffocate me with your massive amounts of muscle mass.”

Wakatoshi obliges. It feels good to feel Satori wriggling around in his arms, Satori brushing his hair from his face, Satori taking his shirt off— Satori taking his shirt off???

“It’s too hot,” Satori whines, tugging at Wakatoshi’s T-shirt. “Take this off. I’ll take mine off if you take yours off.”

“I—“ Wakatoshi considers this. They have seen each other shirtless numerous times before. This is nothing new. And yet, the situation Satori is proposing they enter is entirely new—lying shirtless in bed, while making physical contact. 

Wakatoshi makes his decision very quickly. “Okay.”

Satori sits up, immediately shucking his shirt off and tossing it towards Wakatoshi’s closet. Wakatoshi’s own shirt soon follows. 

Now they are lying in Wakatoshi’s bed. Half naked. While extremely hot and sweaty.

Ushijima Wakatoshi, aged seventeen, is about to find out just how powerful teenage hormones can be.

“You’re…” Wakatoshi does not miss the way Satori licks his lips, eyes darting all across his chest. “Really hot.”

“Thank you,” Wakatoshi says, because he has no idea how to respond to such a compliment. “You…as well.”

Satori hums happily, pressing his face into Wakatoshi’s chest. “I like this part of you the best.”

“My heart?” Wakatoshi asks, though he knows full well what Satori’s talking about.

“Yeah, sure, that too.” Satori nuzzles his face against Wakatoshi’s exposed skin. “‘Toshi, what would you want to be in your next life?”

Wakatoshi turns his head towards the ceiling, considering it. Satori had been making him read the Hunter X Hunter manga recently, and there had been a line that particularly resonated with him.

“In my next life,” Wakatoshi says, quoting shounen protagonist Gon Freecs . “I want to be me, and meet you again.”

Satori lets out a surprised laugh. “You remembered that line! Aw, that’s so nice! Now I’m gonna sound really dumb.”

“What would you want to be?”

“A tiger.”

“I see. Why?”

“So I can eat babies.”

Wakatoshi pulls back, alarmed, so he can look his boyfriend in the eyes. “Please do not eat children.”

“I’m not gonna eat children now!” Satori giggles, pressing his head to the crook of Wakatoshi’s neck. “Only when I get reborn as a tiger.”

“How will I meet you again, then? Will you eat me as an infant? Is that how we will meet in our next life?”

“Ah, no, you got a point.” Satori shifts around, putting his leg in between Wakatoshi’s thighs and curling his arm underneath Wakatoshi’s arm. “Well. I suppose that being reborn as ourselves and meeting again and playing volleyball again wouldn’t be too bad either.”

And Wakatoshi, staring down at his beautiful specimen of a boyfriend, red hair, crooked smile, and apparently cannibalistic tendencies and all, finds that he agrees whole-heartedly.

“Hey, wait, gimme your fingers,” Satori says all of a sudden. Wakatoshi obliges, offering him his index finger.

Satori takes his finger and bites down on it. Wakatoshi blinks, appalled.

“Please do not start cannibalizing me,” he says. Satori just gives him a laugh.

—

He has to get permanent retainers now. He’s starting to wonder what was even the point of having teeth. Surely, humanity would benefit from an evolution where they just absorb nutrients through their skin.

So that’s how he finds himself, three days before his first day of his last year as a high schooler, in the car with his mother.

He’s going to a different orthodontist today—apparently, this one is better than his old one. They had a much more efficient schedule, and they were able to accommodate much more patients, or something along those lines.

Thirty minutes later, Wakatoshi finds himself lying in the orthodontist’s chair, with absolutely no orthodontist in sight. One of the assistants had laid him back in the chair, told him the orthodontist would be with him shortly, and then promptly left. All around him, he can hear the noises of drills and buzzing, and they only serve to compound his anxiety.

He lies there for so long, eyes closed, he actually begins to drift off to sleep. He’s only awoken by the assistant coming back to tilt his head up to the ceiling, her monotone voice saying that the orthodontist will be with him.

A few minutes is all Wakatoshi needs to decide that he likes his old orthodontist much better. 

His old orthodontist offered Vaseline for his lips and sunglasses so that the light of the dental lamp didn’t shine directly into his eyes. This office has neither of those. The orthodontist pokes and prods at his mouth with a violent efficiency. His mother was right—this office is terribly efficient, but also just straight up terrible .

"You're done," the orthodontist announces thirty minutes later as she sits him upright. Wakatoshi runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. Permanent retainers feel remarkably like braces on the back of his teeth. Except this time, they will remain there, forever. 

Life really is tedious. 

"Your last year of high school, Wakkun," his mother sings as they walk out of the orthodontist's office. "Aren't you excited?"

"Sure." He's not particularly excited or fearful about it—it's just the conclusion of another chapter of his life. Soon, he'll be an adult, with more and more new adult responsibilities and less and less old child restrictions. 

"Oh, I forgot," his mother says as they walk back to the car. "Got a letter addressed for you. I think it was from...ah, they said they were the JVA?"

Wakatoshi swears that his heart stops at that moment. But he knows that his heart doesn't stop, because in the next second, a car is whooshing past him, his feet are moving, and his mother is screaming at him to pay attention. 

"The JVA?" he asks, and he can hear his voice shake. "Are you certain?"

"Brought it along with me, because I knew you weren't going to come home." She rummages around in her bag, and Wakatoshi's too distracted by the words JVA to pay attention to the fact that his mother finally stopped trying to make him come back home during his breaks. She hands him an envelope that's already ripped open, slightly creased. Wakatoshi takes the envelope, takes a seat in the car, breath hitching in his throat as he opens it with shaky hands. He doesn't even pay attention as his mother berates him for using his left hand with her. 

It can only be good news. It can only be good news if he's getting a letter from the Japanese Volleyball Association . His eyes swim over the characters, barely comprehending anything besides Ushijima Wakatoshi , formal invitation , and U19 national team.

Under nineteen national team. 

National, as in all of Japan.

All of Japan.

Representing all of Japan.

"I've been chosen," he says, as they turn onto the main road. He can hear his voice steadying itself, like a reflex. "To participate in the Youth World Championship as an under 19 representative for Japan."

The car screeches to an abrupt stop. Wakatoshi looks up to find that his mother has stopped at a traffic light, hands white as she clenches the steering wheel. 

The look on her face is one akin to horror.

"Are you not proud of me?" he asks, as blunt as he can be.

"No, no, no," his mother says, more to herself than to him. "It's just that..." She sighs, rubbing her hand against her face. "You're just...growing up so fast, Wakkun. It feels like I've blinked and suddenly, you're an adult already. Honestly—” Here she laughs. “I wish you could stay a child forever.”

Wakatoshi does not share her sentiments. He has been waiting— yearning —for the day where he spreads his wings and flies far away from his mother’s overbearing reach. And besides, if he was still a child, he couldn’t make half of the plays he can make now.

You wouldn't feel like that if you saw my achievements, the ones that I am proud of. You would  be proud to see me grow up, to see me accomplish so much. Does it take me getting onto the national team for you to finally acknowledge the amount of hard work and effort I have put into my passion?

What would it take for the both of us to be proud of me?

"I will be going," Wakatoshi says, and the firmness in his voice makes it clear that this is not something up for debate. "It will be sometime during the middle of this year. I will—I will do whatever I need to do ahead of time. You do not need to worry."

"I'm not worried, Wakkun," his mother says in a tone that makes it extremely clear that she's worried. "I just—"

"I turn eighteen this August." Wakatoshi taps his fingernails against his thigh. "You used to trust me home alone at age thirteen. I will be gone for a single weekend. I will be fine."

"You'll be going on a plane—"

"A train, mother. To Tokyo."

"A—a train, then, but—"

"Do you think I'm so inept that I cannot take the train without getting lost?"

His poor mother looks—she looks tired . And more than that, she looks scared. 

Wakatoshi has made his own mother scared. 

Shame. Shame. Shame. 

No.

How long has she been making me feel like this? Shouldn’t what goes around come around?

"I..."

"I'm going to the championship," Wakatoshi says, turning away. The rest of his sentence— what are you going to do to stop me? —is left unsaid. 

—

To say his teammates are excited for him is a grave, grave understatement.

“OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOD!” Satori screeches, jumping onto him and nearly causing him to fall and break his tailbone. Eita is, for once, not telling him to get off him—he’s screaming as well. Shirabu is asking him a thousand questions—when is it? Will he be on television? Is he scared? No, Ushiwaka is never scared, unless it’s the dentist, right? Hayato is already pooling his money to buy the team snacks to celebrate. Reon claps Wakatoshi on the shoulder and says proudly, “That’s our ace for you!”

It’s an incredible feeling. An incredible, indescribable feeling.

Coach Washijo introduces him to the first years as this: “This is your captain and ace, Ushijima Wakatoshi. Ushijima here has been chosen to represent Japan in the Youth World Championship as an under 19 representative. Do what he says, and you might be able to do the same. I wouldn’t hold out hope, though.” Here, Coach Washijo flashes a toothy grin at him. “He’s truly one of a kind. The greatest player Shiratorizawa’s ever seen.”

“I don’t believe that’s true, Coach,” Wakatoshi says as he thinks about his father. Surely, Coach Washijo must have trained his father as well—he’s certainly old enough for that. Surely, his father was better than him. He’s heard what his mother has said about him, however resentful. 

Coach Washijo merely just waves his hand. He barks to the first years to “Line up!”

Wakatoshi meets that year’s first year starter. A boy named Goshiki Tsutomu, a promising boy who was the ace of his junior high team. That startles him—it feels like it was barely any time ago that he was a first year as well, the only first year on the starting lineup, the first year that showed the most potential out of any of his peers.

“I’ll work hard!” Goshiki shouts, bowing his head. He seems conflicted on whether to give Wakatoshi a salute, like they’re in the military, but thankfully doesn’t. Wakatoshi isn’t sure what he would have done if the boy did. “I’ll become the next ace! I promise!”

Wakatoshi says nothing, just nodding towards the boy. Only time would tell how much of Goshiki’s potential would be used. 

“We’re third years now, huh?” Satori asks, ambling up to him and leaning an elbow on his shoulder. “Man, time sure flies!”

“Stop rubbing it in our faces,” Reon says, sighing.

“I feel old,” Eita says, rubbing his face. 

Shirabu snorts. “You certainly look like it, with that hair.” Eita makes an offended expression and cards a hand through his hair—he’s touched up the roots, so now his hair is all completely platinum blonde. Actually—perhaps he’s changed the dye he uses, because if Wakatoshi squints at it in the right light, it looks gray.

“They look so young and sprightly,” Satori sighs as they watch all of the first years doing diving drills. Wakatoshi’s knees hurt in sympathy. “Don’t you remember when we were like that, ‘Toshi?”

They’re standing so closely together, their shoulders are touching. Slowly, deliberately, Wakatoshi shifts his hand to brush against Satori’s. Satori responds by stretching out his pinky and wrapping it around Wakatoshi’s. From this angle, none of the other people around them should be able to tell anything is amiss.

They’re not—well, they might be trying to hide their relationship just a little . Neither of them know what the protocol for teammates dating teammates is, or if there is any at all. But if there is a protocol, if there is a punishment, neither of them are going to risk it. 

“Of course,” Wakatoshi says simply. He’s team captain now, he should know better, he should be mindful of himself, but he can’t stop himself from being selfish. He shifts his fingers so that his thumb can brush against Satori’s. “I remember everything.”

Satori laughs, and it rings out clear as day through the dingy gymnasium. He bumps his shoulder into Wakatoshi's, this time on purpose. "O captain, my captain, where to next?"

Wakatoshi takes in a deep breath. He thinks of the responsibilities entrusted to him by their previous captain, thinks of how much is now weighing on his shoulders. 

He is Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

He is the captain of the Shiratorizawa men's volleyball club.

He is the ace for the Shiratorizawa men's volleyball club.

He is a representative for the under nineteen team for Japan. 

He is one of the top three high school aces in Japan. 

He is the son of Ushijima Noriko. 

Somehow, that last one feels like the most important one of all. All of those accomplishments, and yet they pale in comparison to it.

When will you be proud of me? When will you finally be proud of me for me? When will you finally be able to see me on that court, clap for me, cheer for me, see me at my best? My name is your name; it's your family name on the back of my jersey. All of Japan could be cheering me on, and yet it would mean nothing if your voice was not among them.

Please, mother. I am trying. I am trying so hard. I am trying so hard for you, always for you, always, always for you.  

"Next," he says, and it feels like the world is holding its breath around him. "We go to Nationals." 

—

He plays for Japan for the first time in his life. 

The stadium is massive, likely a hundred times bigger than the gym at Shiratorizawa, at least ten times bigger than any stadium he's played at for Nationals. The shouts of the audience echo, amplifying the noise. 

He's nervous. Of course he's nervous.

But he's never been so excited in his life. 

He's trained with the U19 team for a while now, every day for the past two months. They are all good, of course they are, but they are not Shiratorizawa. They do not come with the added benefit of having relationships forged over three years. Wakatoshi resolves to see if he fares any better on this team in contrast to Shiratorizawa. It is one thing to have good individual players; it is another thing entirely for each player to have good synergy with one another.

They play volleyball. They win, game after game after game. The Japanese crowd roars every time they snatch a point away from their opponents. America has strong blocks, Finland has complex plays, China has solid receives, but they all pale in comparison to his left-handed spikes. He sends a silent thank-you to his father. His left-handedness has carried him a long way. He hopes it will continue to carry him further.

He wonders if his father is watching him now, all the way in America. 

Through the shouts of "JAPAN! JAPAN! JAPAN!", he hears something else. Something familiar. It sounds something like...

"UUUUUUUU-SHI-JI-MA! HEY! HEY! UUUUUUU-SHI-JI-MA! HEY! HEY!"

He scans the crowd, eyes seeking out something familiar—bright red hair, silver hair with black at the roots, tawny brown with bangs, anything at all. He can't find any of it. There's simply too many people. And his team is buzzing around him, jostling him around, getting him to the places where he can spike and score. 

But he hears their voices, loud and clear as day. The words rise above the incoherent shouts, a mantra digging its way into his arms, legs, hands, feet. When he spikes, the voices cheer like their lives depend on it. Ushijima. Ushijima. Ushijima. 

His mother's name is his as well. 

There are people screaming our name in the biggest stadium in Tokyo. Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

He strains his ears to figure out if he can hear his mother's voice among the crowd's. If there is anybody that should be cheering the loudest for him, it should be his own mother.

She's not here. She would never be here, of all places. 

She doesn't want to see you like this. 

He spikes. Spain receives. The ball soars over the net and drops to the ground. 

Japan comes in fifth place. 

It's not his fault, Wakatoshi knows this. The ball landed on the left side of the court—he is all the way on the right, there is no feasible way he could have dashed all the way across the court to save it. Still, he feels an odd sense of karma , that Japan would lose the second he began thinking about the one person who he did not have at his side. 

But the voices start up again.

"U-SHI-JI-MA! U-SHI-JI-MA! U-SHI-JI-MA!" 

They still chant his name, even when the game has been lost. Keep going , they seem to say. You'll get it next time. 

His team is at his back now. 

He finds that is all he needs. 

—

“Satori,” Wakatoshi says, and he can see his boyfriend’s back tense up. Now that he’s spotted the bright red of Satori’s hair, he can see everybody else beside him: Eita, Reon, Hayato, Shirabu, Kawanishi—even Soekawa and Goshiki. “Did you really convince our entire team to come here to watch me play?”

Satori laughs, high-pitched and almost frightened. He slowly turns around, looking sheepish. Wakatoshi supposes this was meant to be a surprise he wouldn’t know about until Monday. “‘Toshi! How did you know it was me?”

“I heard you,” Wakatoshi says simply. “Screaming my name. All of you were very loud. I could hear you all the way down on the court.”

“We all wanted to come!” Reon says, clapping a hand on Wakatoshi’s shoulder. “We’ve all been saving and planning this for the past few months. Thought it would be a fun surprise.”

“I recorded every match,” Soekawa says, holding up what looks like a legitimate camera and a tripod. His vice-captain has always been thorough. “We can review the footage later, if you’d like.” Wakatoshi gives him a curt nod. Shirabu and Goshiki are looking up at him with stars in their eyes.

“Um—Ushijima-san!” Goshiki yelps, standing to attention. “You were—oh my god, you were amazing out there! Just—absolutely amazing!”

Shirabu looks like he’s torn between expressing these same sentiments and saving face in front of his senpai. He gives Wakatoshi two quick nods, then resolves to stare at Eita.

“Give me one of those,” Eita says, grabbing a chip bag from Hayato. Hayato complains, but lets him have it. The silver-haired boy rips it open and shoves it towards Shirabu. Shirabu mutters something, pushing it back towards him. Eita shoves it back. They continue this for a while before Shirabu relents and takes the chip bag. Strange. There is definitely something between them, but Wakatoshi will not intervene. Satori was right. 

Speaking of Satori.

“Maaaaan!” Satori says, jumping on Wakatoshi’s back. Wakatoshi chuckles, bending his back a bit so Satori’s more secure. “Takes me back to first year, when all of us were benchwarmers and you were the only starter! I forgot how cool it is to watch you play!”

“Thank you.” Wakatoshi looks at his team— his team. “Thank you all for coming here to give me your support. I greatly appreciate it.” He rummages around in his bag for his wallet. “While we are all here in Tokyo, I believe it is appropriate for me to treat all of you to a celebratory dinner.”

“Oh no, you don’t—“ Reon begins, but Wakatoshi cuts his vice-captain off with a raised hand and a head shake.

“I believe it’s my duty as team captain. After all, you came all this way. Allow me to repay the favor.”

Satori slides off his back, looping an arm through his. He beams up at Wakatoshi, with that same look he’s given him since they were eight, twelve, sixteen, eighteen, the one that says, you’re amazing, incredible, a goddamn miracle.

Miracle boy.

My miracle boy.

“Lead the way, captain!” Satori says, and so Wakatoshi does.

They end up at an okonomiyaki place, one that thankfully has enough seats at a table to accommodate the—Wakatoshi does a mental head count—nine loud and hungry teenage boys. He has enough money for this—his mother does not give him an allowance, but she does give him emergency money for trips and whatnot. 

They all sit down. Satori sits next to him, on his right, with Shirabu and Goshiki fighting over who gets to sit on his other side. Goshiki wins after Eita drags Shirabu to the opposite end of the table. Reon calls for drinks—all soda, Wakatoshi would never, ever allow his team to be seen underage drinking in public. Reon insists on paying for them himself. Hayato and Satori begin seeing if they can defeat each other in an arm-wrestling contest before Soekawa puts a stop to it. Kawanishi has stolen Soekawa’s camera and has begun recording everything.

“For the memories,” he says when Wakatoshi shoots him a curious glance. 

Yes, Wakatoshi thinks as he looks all around at his teammates, the team he is responsible for, and will be for the remainder of his high school career. For the memories.

His mother once told him that if someone loved him, he should hold them closely and never let go, because he may not get another chance. He’s old enough to realize now that her words came with the implication that he was difficult to love. 

But he sees that she’s wrong now. All of these people followed him here. All of these people respect him, admire him, love him .

Under the table, Satori wraps his pinky around his, and Wakatoshi thinks that he’s never felt so loved. 

“Ushijima.”

The entire team glances up at the newcomer—who would know Ushijima Wakatoshi here, all the way out in Tokyo? Wakatoshi turns to look at him as well and finds—

“Sakusa,” Wakatoshi says, nodding towards the curly-haired boy. A second-year at Itachiyama Institute. Shiratorizawa played Itachiyama last year, during Nationals, and they lost to them. Sometimes, he saw Sakusa at training camps and youth intensives. He played alongside him mere hours ago, and he’s one of the top three aces in Japan. Just like him. 

Do you think your mother would have been proud of you if you accomplished this during your second year?

Would a year have made any difference? 

She's still not proud of you.

“It was a pleasure to play with you on the court today,” Sakusa says from behind his disposable black face mask. Wakatoshi remembers that Sakusa is an extreme germaphobe, but he’s extending his hand for Wakatoshi to shake now. Wakatoshi takes it. “You did incredibly well.”

“You as well.”

“This is your team?” Sakusa asks, glancing around at all of his teammates. All of them are watching Sakusa with rapt attention—all of them must know who Sakusa Kiyoomi is.

“Yes. Everyone, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi, one of my teammates for the youth championship.” Sakusa gives them a small finger wave. 

“Holy shit,” Shirabu breathes before clapping a hand over his mouth. 

“Aren’t you the freaky wrist guy?” Satori asks, and Wakatoshi can feel Satori clench his fingers more tightly around his. Satori smiles at Sakusa, the one that seems more like a leer, a warning. “Show us!”

Sakusa’s eyes narrow. Wakatoshi can’t tell what kind of facial expression he’s making behind that mask. But he holds up his hand, flicking his wrist and demonstrating his hypermobility. The entire Shiratorizawa volleyball team lets out a collective ‘oooh’ at the sight.

“I have to go now,” Sakusa says, glancing behind him. He nods once towards Wakatoshi. “It was nice seeing you again, Ushijima. I hope we can play again together sometime. Ah—but before I forget, would you like to exchange numbers? I'd like to keep in touch with you.”

"Of course." Wakatoshi hands over his phone, Sakusa gives him his, and they efficiently exchange phone numbers. Satori's fingers tighten around his thigh, as Wakatoshi is using both his hands to use his phone. 

“Thank you.” Wakatoshi nods towards Sakusa, and then the boy disappears into the crowd of the restaurant. 

Their food comes, and their group erupts back into loud shouts and conversations about anything and everything. Hayato tries to eat his okonomiyaki in five minutes and the entire team has to talk him down from it. Goshiki chokes on his okonomiyaki because he immediately tries to copy his senpai, but he also immediately stops. Eita and Shirabu are having a whispered conversation behind their hands. Reon, Kawanishi, and Soekawa are talking about homework. Wakatoshi admires their diligence.

Satori is not talking at all.

"Is something on your mind?" Wakatoshi whispers as he leans closer to Satori. This is as far as he dares to go; they are in public, and they cannot risk anything. He has a persistent, irrational fear that his mother will suddenly pop up out of nowhere, catch him red-handed in the act of loving his boyfriend.

"That Sakusa guy was hitting on you," Satori grumbles back. Satori wraps both his arms around Wakatoshi's arm, scooting closer and closer to him, as close as his chair will allow. "Freaky guy with freaky wrists. I don't like him."

"He asked for my number," Wakatoshi says, after swallowing his mouthful of food. "I do not believe that constitutes hitting on me."

"He was checking you out. I could tell." Satori pinches his lips together, undeniably grumpy now. "Looking you up and down with his eyes. I do the same thing."

"Well, I am not dating Sakusa Kiyoomi," Wakatoshi murmurs. Cautiously, ever so cautiously, he moves his hand from Satori's hand and puts it around Satori's waist. He drops his voice significantly. "I am dating you. Tendou Satori." 

Satori's face goes taut, then softens. "Oh, yeah!“

And he forces his way back into the table's conversation as easily as breathing. But Wakatoshi can see the subtle way his boyfriend droops as he withdraws his hand from his waist. It must be difficult for Satori, to be loved only behind closed doors. 

He’s reminded of his mother, her words sharp like a knife, and the plain fact that he is difficult to love. 

I can’t give you what you want or what you need. I told you that I would be bad at this. You said you would be bad as well, but it seems you are so much better at this than me. You have always been better at these things; you have always been too good to me, for me.

And then Satori’s hand comes to rest on his, and Wakatoshi’s never been so grateful that he’s left-handed, because now he and Satori can hold hands under the table while they eat, and nobody will be none the wiser. 

And then he looks up, and he finds Soekawa staring at him. The boy’s eyes dart down, and Wakatoshi knows, with a sickening swoop of his stomach, that Soekawa knows .

He has never been very close with Soekawa; Wakatoshi did agree to him becoming a vice-captain, but that’s more so because Soekawa is quick, on the court and with his mind. He’s a tactical genius. Not like Satori—Satori’s genius comes from instinct, from guesswork, from sheer, pure luck.

Everything Soekawa does is deliberate. The look he’s sending Wakatoshi right now is no exception.

The noises around them seem to quiet as he meets his vice captain’s gaze. He’s not quite sure what the expression on Soekawa’s face is—disgust? Disdain? Granted, his face is impassive as always, so he doesn’t know what to think.

And then an imperceptible head nod. Okay. Soekawa doesn’t seem to be disgusted by the fact that he and Satori are holding hands underneath the table. And now Soekawa is…what on earth is Soekawa doing?

Soekawa Jin holds up Kawanishi Taichi’s hand, at an angle that allows for only Wakatoshi to see. Only Wakatoshi can see the way the two boys’ fingers are interlocked, just like how his and Satori’s are right now.

You’re not alone, he seems to say with a noncommittal shrug. As quick as it happened, it’s over. Jin drops his hand, and Taichi looks over at him with a confused but content glance. It's over, just like that. Jin and Wakatoshi run in different social circles—they will likely return to barely speaking after this. But that little spark of connection was there. It was there. He wasn't alone. 

“Oh ho,” Satori says softly—he must have picked up on it as well, of course he did. “More freaks like us.” His tone is joking, but there’s some melancholy underlying it. No matter how hard any of them try, they will never be able to escape the scorn they face. They have doomed themselves to a life of scrutiny simply for—for what? Love? Something that is entirely out of their control?

Even if you will be scorned by the rest of the world, do not let this boy go. There will never be another person who understands you so well as Tendou Satori. Cling to him. Never let him go. You will never meet anyone like him ever again. You will never meet someone that will be so willing to put up with you ever again. 

You are so, so difficult to love.

No, Wakatoshi decides as the group clears their plates, stands up, tries to find a train station to take them back to Miyagi. His teammates crowd around him, herding him onto a train. They talk over each other, saying a thousand different things—can you teach me that cross, Ushijima-san? Do you think you’ll ever play for Japan again, Ushijima? You’ll take us to nationals, I know you will, right, Ushiwaka, right?

Mother was—is—wrong.

It is not so difficult to love me.

—

“You could've waited five minutes,” Wakatoshi tells his extremely impatient boyfriend. “Five minutes, until we get back to my dorm room.”

"Nahhhhh," is what he thinks Satori says, but it sounds more like "mlehhhhhh," because he's currently burying his face in the crook of Wakatoshi's neck and chomping away at it like he's a shark. Wakatoshi does not know how he got here.

Actually, no, Wakatoshi can back up in his mind and logically and methodically retrace all the steps he took to end up here: with his boyfriend doing his best to press him up against the locker room lockers, wearing his stolen captain's jersey, biting down on his skin like it personally offended him. 

"Teenage hormones," Satori says happily as he pulls back to admire his work. There's a handful of angry red marks littering his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, courtesy of one Tendou Satori. "They strike at the most peculiar of times, y'know, and who am I to deny them?"

"Hmm," Wakatoshi mumbles in response. He had taken off his jersey to change into his T-shirt, and Satori had promptly decided it was a good idea to steal it and wear it. He likes how Wakatoshi's clothes smell, hence the clothes stealing. The biting—Wakatoshi's not sure where the biting came from. Perhaps it's related to the time where Satori bit his fingers. Perhaps his boyfriend came down with a severe case of cuteness aggression. Perhaps it's both. "Do I taste good, at the very least?" 

Satori licks his lips exaggeratedly. "Hmm. Like sweat."

"Is that good?"

"'Course it’s good," Satori says, his hair slick with sweat, sticking to his face. Wakatoshi pushes them out of his face. "It’s you."

There’s nobody else in the locker room—it was their turn to stay after practice to clean the gym, and the rest of the team had already left. Coach Washijo had left an hour ago, and so Wakatoshi isn't as worried as he normally is. And besides, he feels that he owes Satori this much—it is hard for Satori to love him behind closed doors, when they both know that all he wants is to shout from the rooftops about how in love he is. 

He hopes this is enough to make up for it. 

“Are you having fun?” Wakatoshi asks, because he's just standing here while his boyfriend bites at all the skin he can get his hands on, and he’s not entirely sure what he should be doing. Should he be biting Satori back? He doesn’t particularly want to do that—what if he hurts Satori? Then again, he supposes that Satori is currently hurting him , but it’s the good kind of pain. The kind that makes his heart beat faster, the kind that makes his blood run hotter.

God, if it made Satori happy, he’d let Satori rip his heart out with nothing but his teeth. He loves him so much. 

He’s named after a cannibalistic monster, Wakkun. A bad omen. He’s just going to use you until there’s nothing of you left. Stay away from him, Wakkun, please.

Wakatoshi is no stranger to pain. Pain has always been intertwined with love—he knows it like he knows his mother will slap him after he messes up, then cradle his face after. He knows it like he knows Coach Washijo will hit him for failing as team captain and then slap him on the back for making him proud. Love follows pain, and pain follows love. He knows this much.

But Satori is different. The pain that Satori brings is his love. Everything he does—every punch, every hit, every bite—they are all expressions of his love. Not just pain trying to be covered up by love. And it’s funny, and deeply and sadly ironic, that Satori makes him feel more loved than anyone else in his life.

Satori has never used him. Satori has only ever loved him, for the awkward, monotonous, difficult person he is. Satori has only ever loved him, in the only way he knows how. 

“You went all quiet,” Satori murmurs, his breath hot against Wakatoshi’s skin. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“You,” Wakatoshi says honestly. 

And Satori leans back, gives him a soft smile, then leans forward to give him a chaste peck on the lips. And then he lingers there, and Wakatoshi can feel him opening his mouth slightly, and—

“Tell me if I do this wrong,” Satori whispers, and then Wakatoshi can feel Satori’s teeth click against his, and a warm weight sliding into his mouth, and then—

“Oh, god—“ Satori’s tongue is withdrawing itself, and Wakatoshi is gagging. "Ah—oh no, sorry, sorry—'Toshi—"

"Please never do that again," Wakatoshi says, coughing. 

"Yeah—yeah, I won't." Satori looks like he's close to gagging himself. "Why do people like doing that?"

"People like doing that? I thought this was something specific to you."

"No, they call it French kissing."

"Did it originate in France? You're half-French, you would know, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to do it again."

Wakatoshi laughs softly, pressing his boyfriend's forehead against his. It takes barely any effort; they're almost the same height. "You're so very strange."

"You're smiling," Satori notes, and he smiles as well. Now that Satori mentions it, Wakatoshi can feel himself smiling. He can feel it falter, just the tiniest bit. "Y'know, you've been doing that more and more lately."

"Have I?" 

Satori 'mhms' and nods. "I still like your smile, y'know." 

Wakatoshi distantly feels as though his heart is about to burst with the amount of love he has for his boyfriend. "I still like yours as well."

And they stand there and hold each other for—they could stay there forever, for all Wakatoshi cares, but then there's a creeeaak of the locker room door, and then there's—

"I can't believe Shirabu made me get his water bottle." Goshiki is grumbling, nudging the door open with his shoulder, and Wakatoshi knows that there is no time for the two of them to break apart fast enough, and so now he is stuck in a rather compromising position. He chooses to blame this on Satori.

Goshiki looks up, and Wakatoshi can catch the exact moment when the light leaves his kouhai's eyes.

"Ah!" Goshiki yelps, dropping the bag he was carrying. "I—uh—um—uh, ah —"

"Please forget you ever saw this," Wakatoshi instructs the boy, because there's truly nothing else he can do. Satori—the second Satori heard the door creak, he ducked his head behind Wakatoshi's neck, so his face is currently not visible. Wakatoshi is now in the worst possible position, because he is shirtless and Satori's arms are still looped around his waist, and the angry red bruises on his collarbone are now starting to purple, and Goshiki's brain is almost certainly already connecting the dots. 

"Ye—yes, of course, I'm sorry!" Goshiki nearly screeches, throwing his arm over his eyes and trying to back out of the locker room with his eyes closed. He bumps into the wall on his way out, and he squeaks, and then he's out the door. "I didn't see anything! Sorry!"

Satori raises his head, smirking. "Oopsies. We might've traumatized Goshiki permanently."

Wakatoshi nods in agreement. Satori finally breaks away from him, allowing him to put his plain white T-shirt on. "You are a menace."

"Yeah, but—" Satori still has not changed out of his jersey. Wakatoshi finds it weirdly endearing. He wonders if, if he ever becomes a professional player, Satori would still wear his jersey. The thought of Satori wearing a jersey with USHIJIMA emblazoned across the back makes his head go all fuzzy. "You're still with me, aren't you?"

Wakatoshi links his pinkie with Satori's. A silent promise. 

"Of course. Always." 

—

He meets two extremely peculiar children while on a run.

"Hey, isn't that the school where Ushiwaka goes?"

"Someone say my name?"

He stops at the mention of his name, turns around to find two children. Well—children are a stretch. They look like they're first years in high school. One of them has raven-black hair, blue eyes, and the other has bright orange hair. He looks like a tangerine. He's noticeably very small. 

"Whoa! It's you!" the orange one screams. "You're—that guy!"

The two children gape at him. 

"Yeah. I'd better go. See you." And with that, Wakatoshi turns around and continues running, because what is he supposed to say to that? How do they even know him?

"We're from the Karasuno volleyball team!" the black-haired one shouts. Wakatoshi stops at those words. So they're volleyball players as well. That would explain why they knew who he was—he didn't realize knowledge of himself stretched all the way to Karasuno. "And we want to go to your school and spy on you!" 

These are a very peculiar bunch of children. The orange child gapes at his partner with a startled shout. 

"Karasuno. You're the team with that lightning-fast quick attack." The pieces are starting to click together in Wakatoshi's mind. These two must be Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio, the two first-years that have been slowly rebuilding Karasuno from the ground up, unclipping the crows' wings. 

Both of the boys startle to attention at the fact that he knows who they are. 

That being said...

"Do what you want. Letting you watch won't change anything." They might be bringing something new to the table, but their foundation is still uncertain. It would take a long time for Karasuno to fully get used to and incorporate their freak quick attack into their play style, time that Karasuno simply does not have. "Won't make you any better, and it certainly won't make our team worse."

The two kids continue gawking at him. He's standing in the middle of the crosswalk. He needs to do something , instead of standing here and rambling like an idiot.

"Feel free to come take a look. I'll even let you follow me back." Why did you say that? You're team captain, you shouldn't be allowing your opponents to look at your own team. You're being irresponsible. But he sees the glimmer of admiration in the kids' eyes as the words leave his mouth, and something within him just...can't resist. "If you can keep up, that is." 

The two of them make a couple of weird noises. Then they begin stretching.

They're actually serious about this.

"Yeah, let's go," the black-haired one—Kageyama Tobio—says. "I'd like a peak at the team we'll be defeating at nationals."

"Mhm!" the orange one—Hinata Shoyo—says. Wakatoshi turns around to glance at him, and Hinata asks him a question. "Are you out here running by yourself?" 

"The rest of the team is out too. They're just laggin' behind." And with that, Wakatoshi takes off. Kageyama is hot on his heels. Hinata follows behind, shouting about how "Ah! Kageyama! You got a head start!" 

"Yeah, not my fault you're slow!" 

—

The children keep pace with him remarkably well. In fact, he can hear Hinata Shoyo skipping behind him and shouting, "OH BOY! I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE SHIRATORIZAWA!" 

"AHHHHH, WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?!" Kageyama screams back. "YOU'RE LIKE A LITTLE PUPPY OUT FOR HIS FIRST WALK!" 

Hinata's laughs are punctuated by Kageyama's emphatic shouts of, "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" Wakatoshi keeps glancing behind him as he runs, even though it's slowing him down. These children are weird. And that's coming from him.

They reach the school grounds soon enough. The kids are running around, screaming at everything in sight, no longer following him as he heads to the volleyball gymnasium. Wakatoshi can distantly hear Hinata shouting, "HORSES! THERE'S HORSES!"

These children are so very strange.

Eventually, they find their way to the volleyball gymnasium. They're crouching down, trying to peek inside the gym. He vaguely thinks that they're talking about how Shiratorizawa needs to go up against college teams to practice, because none of the other high schools can compare to them.

"Took you a while," Wakatoshi says as he steps up the stairs and approaches the gym's entrance. The two children immediately spring to attention.

"Uh—my name is Kageyama Tobio from Karasuno!" Kageyama leaps up, running towards him. "Would you mind if we watch you guys play?" 

"Kageyama, huh?" That name is becoming familiar to him now. He played this boy once, when they were in junior high. "From Kitagawa first?" 

Kageyama manages to stammer out a response. "Uh—yeah. I applied here, but..."

"No surprise." Both Kageyama and Hinata are taken aback by his words. "I saw you play once, when you were in junior high." He turns to look back at Kageyama, gauging his reaction. "What good is a setter who won't devote himself to his team's ace?" 

Kageyama looks shocked, but Hinata is laughing at him. "He's right! You're not really the devoted type, Kageyama!" 

"HEY!"

"But the Great King is, like, the best setter in the whole prefecture," Hinata continues. "And he's not a devoted type of guy either."

Kageyama grumbles angrily. "What does this have to do with Oikawa, you turdlicker?!" 

Ah, yes. Oikawa. He didn't realize that the 'Great King' nickname had spread from Satori all the way to Karasuno.

"Oikawa," Wakatoshi says, lost in thought. He did always wonder what it would be like, to be playing on the same side of the court as Oikawa Tooru. But it's too late now; they made their decisions, and those decisions have cemented them into the people they are today. "I wish he could have come here with us. He is an excellent player." 

He means absolutely no offense to Shirabu Kenjirou or Semi Eita as he says this. Simply objectively, he knows that his presence on the court would improve Shiratorizawa 's performance tenfold. However, would he be willing to trade his setters for Oikawa, and deal with Satori griping with him every practice? No. No, he would not. 

Hinata is making a face similar to a shocked goldfish. Kageyama speaks up again. "Well, you're the ace here. So that means he'd be devoted to you."

The phrasing is not one Wakatoshi would have used—he distantly thinks that Satori would be quite mad at the implication of Oikawa being devoted to him—but the point still stands. "Regardless of where he is, and who he's playing with," he says as he makes his way back down the stairs. "Oikawa can bring out the best in his entire team. A weak team will become a powerful one, and a stronger team will become unstoppable."

Hinata's eyes narrow as he continues speaking. "That's Oikawa's talent. Even the most healthy sapling is only as strong as the soil in which it grows. If the soil is barren, it will never bear any fruit."

Gardening metaphors? Satori must be rubbing off on you. Stop speaking. I don't think they'll understand.

His suspicions are immediately confirmed when Hinata asks, "Barren soil? What does that mean?"

Stop speaking. Stop talking. Stop. Just stop. 

Wakatoshi instead decides to default to terms the children can understand. "Outside of Oikawa, Aoba Johsai is weak. That's all there is to it."

"Think so, huh?" Hinata asks, staring up at him. The boy takes a couple of steps towards him. "Well, if you think Seijoh is barren soil...that makes us a concrete parking lot, doesn't it?"

Ah, so maybe the children do understand his gardening metaphors after all. Wakatoshi hadn't thought of that—hadn't thought of the implications he was making by calling Seijoh weak. He had heard that Karasuno had just recently lost to them. He does suppose this would make Karasuno concrete, a place where growth is nigh impossible. His eyes narrow as he stares down at the ginger-haired boy.

Hinata Shoyo seems to be staring into his very soul, questioning everything he is saying. It's slightly unnerving. 

"Sorry if this offends you," Wakatoshi says, matching the boy's stare. "But I don't have time for a team that couldn't beat Aoba Johsai in the prelims. You can talk all you want, but I'm not listening."

A volleyball bounces out of the gymnasium's entrance, bouncing up in a perfect arc. Wakatoshi jumps up, hand outstretched at the perfect angle to catch the ball with one hand. He'll feel the ball hit his palm and see it bounce it back, as simple as breathing. 

And then—and then—

Out of nowhere, Hinata Shoyo comes flying past him, jumping up to catch the ball with both of his hands. It all happens so quickly—in the blink of an eye, Hinata has appeared and stolen the ball from him. He's almost surprised he doesn't see pitch-black wings sprout from the boy's shoulders, like the trademark crows of his school—he runs that quick and jumps that high. They both land on the ground, the ball securely in Hinata's hands, Wakatoshi's hand still outstretched to catch it. 

Wakatoshi can do nothing but gape at him. He glances back over at Kageyama Tobio, who's smiling a horrible little smile. It's one that says, yeah, you doubted us? We're gonna prove you wrong at every turn. It's similar to Oikawa's, but not—it's less polished, less refined and somehow entirely more menacing. 

"I'm Hinata Shoyo," Hinata announces as he rises from the ground. "From the concrete." He walks over and shoves the volleyball against Wakatoshi's chest. All Wakatoshi can do is bring his hands up to hold it. "And I'm going to Nationals...after I kick your ass!" 

He talks a big game, but he puts his money where his mouth is. His speed and jumping height, despite his small stature, are unlike anything I've ever seen. He's...

He could make a worthy adversary, if he put the time and energy into proper training. 

There's a teacher shouting at the two kids that they can't be here without permission, but none of them pay him any mind.

"Anyway," Hinata continues, bowing respectfully. "Thank you for showing us around the school. See ya."

Hinata turns away, running off. Kageyama speaks up. "Look. If Oikawa is supposedly the best setter in the prefecture...I will be even better. Just watch me!" The whistling wind is the only sound as Kageyama huffs and bows to him as well, running off to join his partner. 

Stamina. Speed. Swiftness. Jumping...power. And spirit. 

Hinata Shoyo. And Kageyama Tobio. 

He can feel his lips parting to reveal a rare smile. He supposes he has been smiling more and more lately. His blood is pumping hot and fast under his skin. He feels mildly insane—he’s sure that he looks it as well. He finds that he's excited at the prospect of facing down new adversaries. He can give credit to the way they spoke with such candor. They have the skills to back it up. Now it's just a question of whether or not they have the technique to support themselves. 

We'll see just who is the best, soon enough. 

—

He sees Oikawa Tooru again, at the last game of the latter’s high school career. Karasuno did seem to put their money where their mouth is; Aoba Johsai fell at their hands at the semifinals. Wakatoshi saw, and he is impressed, but not impressed enough.

"I've got words for you, Oikawa," he begins as the setter stares at him, then stalks past him. Oikawa stops as soon as he hears his voice. "In the heat of the moment, you get lost. The outcome of your performance reflected that. There were places where you could have utilized your skills a lot more."

Oikawa takes in a sharp inhale of breath. Wakatoshi is saying all the words he could have said, all those matches before, but didn't.

"It's a real shame. But you have only your worthless pride to blame."

If the best setter in Miyagi prefecture is ruffled by his words, he doesn't show it. He fires back immediately, saying, "Guess you think I should've chosen differently, and gone to Shiratorizawa, instead of going to Aoba Johsai." He plants his hands on his hips. He sounds tired. Weary. He did just play the last game of his high school career. "Sorry, but there aren't any teams that are guaranteed success."

This is true. "Perhaps, but you have to agree." Oikawa turns around, eyes sharp, hanging onto his every word. "We have a clear advantage. In strength, skill, and experience."

His words stun Oikawa into silence, and for a second he wonders if he went too far, pushed too much, but then the boy is back to his normal self. 

"Well, well! Still have an amusing amount of confidence, don't you?!" 

Oikawa closes his eyes. His picture-perfect smile is plastered across his face. "What was it you said about worthless pride? I can't recall."

This is a ploy to get him to repeat what he just said, he knows this much. Wakatoshi does not dignify Oikawa with a response. 

"Listen up, Ushiwaka. I've never thought that my choice was a mistake. And my volleyball career is just getting started...this worthless pride you speak of?"

And Oikawa is staring at him with wide eyes, almost in the exact same way Hinata Shoyo did, weeks ago. Staring him straight in his soul, questioning the very foundation of morals Wakatoshi has built. 

"Make sure you never forget it," the boy says in a bare whisper. Then Wakatoshi blinks, and Oikawa's stare is gone, he's closing his eyes, he's raising his hands nonchalantly. 

"Oh, and one more thing. If you spend too much time worrying about me, then you're going to get taken in a direction you're not expecting."

"What do you mean by that?" Wakatoshi asks, and even he can tell there's an undercurrent of worry to his words. What other competitors am I supposed to worry about? What other schools have ever come close to beating us?

Karasuno? Surely not. Mistakes happen in games. That much is guaranteed. 

You just simply made too many of them. You let your opponents slip through the cracks and tear you to pieces.

"My old friend may be a bit of an oaf," Oikawa says, and Wakatoshi assumes he's talking about Kageyama Tobio. "And he's still totally no comparison to me or my skill level...but now that he's no longer alone, he's a much stronger player." 

Wakatoshi considers this. The bonds that he has with his own team took years to develop, years that Karasuno simply does not have. How much could Kageyama Tobio have changed, in a couple weeks, a couple months? How much could Hinata Shoyo have changed? How much could Karasuno have changed?

Evidently, enough to defeat Aoba Johsai. But Wakatoshi is sure—a bit less sure now, but still sure—it wouldn't be enough to defeat Shiratorizawa.

Oikawa shoots him one final smug look before turning around and walking away. The boy's parting words are haunting.

"Even a great white eagle can be bested by a murder of crows." 

Mobbing. The term is familiar to Wakatoshi—when a group of smaller birds collectively gang up on a bigger predator to take it down. But Wakatoshi is sure—still sure, but now less sure—that such a thing would not happen to Shiratorizawa.

"Hey, 'Toshi!" Satori screams, and Wakatoshi hears rather than feels the thump against his back. He can hear the chatter of his teammates behind him, shouting at him to get on the bus before it leaves. He thinks he can distantly hear Shirabu whining about why does Ushiwaka have to talk to Aoba Johsai's setter, he already has a setter, what does he need with that one, and Eita shouting over him to shut the fuck up, and Reon unsuccessfully telling all of them to quiet down. 

He is not a lone eagle. He has his team at his back. 

Their convocation of great eagles will not be brought so low by a murder of lowly crows.

—

Days later, on the day of the finals, he goes to greet them personally. He stands at the entrance of the gymnasium, seeking out the black tracksuits of Karasuno. Satori had asked if he wanted him to come with him, but Wakatoshi declined. 

He may not have shown it then, but Oikawa's words unnerved him. The Great King—Satori's nicknames are getting to him, he shouldn't even refer to him as the Great King in his head—never acknowledges anyone who isn't good.

"Ushiwaka," he hears someone from their team murmur—their captain, Sawamura. The team looks amongst themselves, as if trying to decide how to approach him.

Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio march forward, their eyes set on him, despite the shouts of, "Uh—hey!" 

"Kageyama Tobio. And Hinata Shoyo." Everyone behind them seems stunned that he's addressing them directly. They seem even more stunned when the two first-years start addressing him back.

"We made it to the finals," Kageyama starts, his eyes narrowed.

"No matter what you think of us," Hinata finishes. "We are going to defeat you! And go to the nationals!" 

The orange-haired boy's words send a ripple throughout his team. Their faces slowly shift from fear into determination, as easy as that. Even the managers and coaches look more resolute.

"I'm looking forward to it," Wakatoshi says, and he finds that he means it. He wants to see just how good Karasuno is, just how many mistakes Aoba Johsai had to make in order to be bested by them. He turns around, his footsteps steady and sure.

"See you on the court."

—

Hours later, Ushijima Wakatoshi plays the last ever game of his high school career. 

"Farewell, my paradise," he hears Satori whisper softly as they all stare across the net, at the crows that brought them down to the ground. He wants to ask what on earth Satori means, but he can't find it in himself to speak. 

He hears the sound of his teammates asking each other if they're okay, if they're alright. Everyone is crying as they make their way towards the coaches. 

Wakatoshi doesn't allow himself to cry. 

"After the ceremony, load the bus," Coach Washijo tells them all. "We'll have our team huddle after we get back home."

"Right," Wakatoshi says, and the rest of his team follows. Coach Washijo is turning his back on them, walking away. There will be a punishment awaiting them. Such a failure deserves nothing less.

"Then, one hundred serves for each of you." 

Of course.

Go above one hundred. Two hundred. Five hundred. One thousand.

As many as it takes until every single one of them is untouchable. As many as it takes until your palms are blistering, burnt red.

As many serves as it takes until you know that you won't lose anymore.

This is your punishment for failing as your team's captain. 

This is your punishment for not being good enough.

They go to a neighboring gym to do their stretches. Wakatoshi lies down on the floor, and after a couple seconds, Satori joins him. Like clockwork. Like routine.

"Ushiwaka," Satori says softly. "I saw you got pissed off at the very end."

He did, didn't he? He made one too many mistakes, allowed his enemies to slip through the cracks and tear him to pieces. Satori's intuition is as good as ever. 

"Normally, you would've either regrouped or let someone else go after it.” Even after so long, Satori is able to read him like an open book. “Gave me the chills, watching your reaction."

"I wanted to tell him personally that I was stronger than he is." Wakatoshi stares up at the ceiling, reliving the moment his spike hit Hinata Shoyo with so much force that he was knocked over. He doesn't want to admit that he felt a dark satisfaction at the sight of the younger boy being toppled over.

It felt like when he talked back to his mother. Bad, but good. 

"Whoa,” Satori’s words are breathless as he turns over to look at him. There’s that gaze again.

Amazing. Incredible. A goddamn miracle. 

"I wanted to rub it in.” There’s a voice inside his head, one that sounds so much like his mother. It’s telling him that he’s being a child . Petty and stupid and childish. “Pretty immature of me."

"Aren't most people's motivations pretty childish, anyways?" Satori’s words drown out the voice in his head, despite how quiet they are. "That was a badass straight. Felt like I met a new Ushiwaka today." 

Twelve years of knowing each other, and there’s still things that change. Change is one thing that Wakatoshi used to fear, but he’s since gotten past it. 

This time around, he’s not so sure he wants to face it.

"I'm going to quit volleyball after high school.” Satori’s next words hit like a knife to his heart. He feels it again, a dull, throbbing ache in his chest.

The beginning of the end.

He knows this was always a possibility. Over the course of high school, he has seen the strictness of Washijo’s regimen hammer the joy out of his volleyball paradise. He has seen Satori beginning to slack off, more and more, realizing that the paradise he once knew was slipping through his fingers. And though his blocks are phenomenal, they are not enough to contain what semblance of joy he once had. 

He supposes that, at some point, Tendou Satori’s paradise turned into hell.

“But when I see you playing professionally on television, I'm going to brag to everyone that we were BFFs back in the day. So make me proud, okay?"

A conversation from when they were first years, when they were just beginning to adapt to the harshness of Shiratorizawa, resurfaces from the depths of his mind.

“I’ll make you proud. I’ll do—whatever it takes for me to live up to the title of ace. I’ll spike until I get blisters. I’ll run laps until I throw up. Whatever I need to do.”

“Silly Ushiwaka. You don’t need to do any of that. I’ll always be proud of you. I’ve always been.”

"Sure,” Wakatoshi says, because he doesn’t trust himself to say what he’s really thinking.

Why are you leaving me?

I am not brave enough to move forward without you. You have been with me for more of my life than not. You have been a constant.

That is going to change.

You told me just today that I am scared of what I do not know. This is true. It has been true all this time. I have not been brave enough to admit it. 

Satori. I am not brave enough—I will never be brave enough—to tell you this.

I love you.

Please do not leave me.

I do not know what I will do without you.

"And when they make a documentary about you,” Satori continues on, cheerfully. His smile is hollow again, the one that has no light, no energy, behind it. He speaks so brazenly about his accomplishments—as if Wakatoshi hadn’t just made the biggest failure of his life thus far. As if Satori himself does not have accomplishments in his own life that warrant their own documentaries, because everything that Satori does is bright and brilliant and demands attention. “They can totally interview me as one of your old volleyball buddies."

"M'kay." He feels a heaviness in the back of his throat. 

He chokes, swallows it down. 

He sits up, the scoreboard of the game burning behind the back of his eyelids. He gets up. He walks out of the gymnasium. 

Satori doesn’t follow him. 

Change begins now.

He finds them. Number nine and number ten of Karasuno. Their hands are raised in victory, their voices raised in celebration.

He waits until they’re done to speak around the heaviness in his throat. 

"Hinata Shoyo. And Kageyama Tobio. From the concrete,” he says, and the two first-years startle to attention. Even now, after they’ve brought him so low, they still look up to him with admiration, respect, awe. He does not deserve any of it. “We'll beat you next time." 

"Next time we go head to head, we'll still win!" Hinata Shoyo screams, stepping forward. 

"And I'm gonna make you admit that I'm even better than Oikawa!" Kageyama Tobio shouts, shoving him aside.

Wakatoshi doesn’t have anything to say to that. He finds that he can’t speak at all. 

So he bows his head, clenches his teeth, and turns his back on the biggest failure of his life thus far.

—

He does not cry when he gets onto the bus. He does not cry when he gives one last speech to his teammates to prepare them for the year ahead—Goshiki cries, though, when Wakatoshi tells him that he’s counting on him. He does not cry when he does serves until he physically cannot breathe. He does not cry when he steps out of the gym and nearly keels over from exhaustion. He does not cry when he walks through the hallways of Shiratorizawa, head hung in shame.

It’s only when he finally manages to collapse into his empty dorm room, onto his bed, head in his hands, that the tears begin dripping down. Not all at once—just two, maybe three. Not a river, more like a trickle. 

His last year of high school volleyball, and he’s somehow managed to ruin it. 

He’s being illogical, he knows this much. He has already been scouted by a fair amount of professional volleyball teams for after his high school career. He will win and lose many more games to come. Shiratorizawa not going to Nationals for one year would not be the end of the world. 

So why does it feel that way?

His phone rings. He doesn’t even have to look at the caller ID to know that it’s his mother, calling to express her condolences for their loss. He does, anyway, because his mother always taught him to double check things. It is indeed her. He doesn’t pick up. He doesn’t have to. He already knows what she’s going to say.

She would tell him that it’s okay, that it’s alright that he gave his best and still failed, and she would finish her little speech by saying that, maybe this is a sign for you to quit volleyball.

He’s not going to quit. He’s not going to give up. Someday, he’s going to recover from this devastating loss. Someday, and someday soon, he’s going to pick himself off the ground and continue running forward.

That day is not today. 

The door creaks open. He can hear Reon, whispering to someone. Footsteps. The door closing.

“‘Toshi?”

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

He looks up, and Tendou Satori is there.

“Hey,” Satori says, smiling that soft, gentle smile of his. “Can I sit?”

Wakatoshi doesn’t say anything, only moving to make space so that Satori can sit next to him. Satori doesn’t sit next to him—he moves to sit on Wakatoshi’s lap, locking his legs around his torso and wrapping his arms around his neck. His hair is wet—Wakatoshi’s just now noticing how long his hair has gotten. His cheeks are wet, and his eyes are red—was he crying in the shower?

“You good?” Satori asks, pressing his head to the crook of Wakatoshi’s neck. Wakatoshi’s hands come up to rest on Satori’s back as he does the same. Satori’s sweater is thick and warm.

“I failed you,” Wakatoshi says, and his voice feels heavy, as though every single word is weighing him down. “As a captain. As an ace. I failed our entire team.”

Satori is silent. Everything is silent.

“I think we all failed,” he says at last. “Nobody is playing volleyball all by themselves, ‘Toshi. You understand that better than anyone.”

He does. He understands that a volleyball team is a team of six, and that each teammate pulls their weight equally. There is nobody who can serve, block, receive, set, and spike all by themselves. Wakatoshi knows this.

But Wakatoshi also knows that he is the captain, and he is the ace. He is supposed to lead his team by example, be a beacon of strength for the rest of his teammates. His teammates look to him for guidance. He may not shoulder all of the blame for their loss, but he bears a significantly bigger part of the burden than the rest of the team.

“I never thought…” He sniffles. Breathes. Tries again. “I always thought that, with my team at my side, we would be near unstoppable.”

He clutches at Satori tighter. Satori’s thumb comes to the corner of his eye, wiping a drop of wetness away.

“It’s okay, ‘Toshi,” Satori says. “You can cry. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

And so Wakatoshi cries. The trickling turns into a stream, turns into a river, turns into a waterfall. He can’t remember the last time he cried this hard—can’t remember if he’s ever cried this hard. And he can hear Satori crying as well, can feel the wetness of his best friend’s tears soaking into his back. 

“Fucking hell,” Satori says after a while. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. It was just…the last ever game we’ll play as teammates, ever, and—“

“Why are you quitting?” Wakatoshi manages to choke out through his sobs. That gets Satori to pull back, stare at him with wide eyes. “Why are you quitting?” he asks again.

Why are you leaving me? is what he doesn’t ask. He doesn't know if Satori's intuition is good enough to read in between the lines, guess exactly what he's thinking. He hopes he is. 

Satori hums, taking a strand of Wakatoshi’s hair and rubbing it in between his fingers. “Volleyball was the only thing that made me feel…good. For a long time. But now I don’t really need volleyball to make me feel good.”

He boops Wakatoshi’s nose with a single finger, and grins.

“I have you, miracle boy.”

It is a sentiment that Wakatoshi understands fully and yet does not at all. 

“How will you have me if you are not by my side on the court?” Wakatoshi asks, and he finds that he cannot fully look into Satori’s eyes as he speaks. 

“I’ll have your back,” Satori says, his hand reaching down to grasp at Wakatoshi’s. “I’ll be watching you from the stands. I’ll be cheering louder than anyone. I’ll be your biggest fan, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

He lifts their hands up. Their pinkies are locked together. “And that’s a promise. So go do great things out there, okay?”

“I’ll do them for you,” Wakatoshi says, because who else would he be doing them for? His mother, who has scorned him for walking this path, every chance she gets? His father, who abandoned him before he could even see the accomplishments he would do? There is no other choice than Tendou Satori, the boy who has stuck by his side through thick and thin, the boy who has hair like roses and smiles like sunshine, the boy who saw him all those years ago and declared that he was the coolest person to ever walk this planet. 

It is indeed somewhat of a miracle that Wakatoshi has found someone who is willing to stay by his side for so long, someone who is willing to love him despite all of his difficulties. 

Yes, he’d win games and medals and trophies for Tendou Satori. He would do that, and do that with ease. That much, he’s certain of.

But Satori shakes his head, curls his hand into a fist, and presses it against Wakatoshi’s chest, right over his heart. “Not for me, ‘Toshi. Do it for you.”

Do it for you.

This entire time, who has he been playing for? Has it ever been himself? Has it always been himself?

He supposes there is only one way to find out.

Face change, and face change head-on.

“Okay,” Wakatoshi whispers, and Satori hums contentedly, pressing into him. “Okay.”

He will allow himself a couple days to grieve. Someday, and someday soon, he’s going to pick himself off the ground and continue running forward.

And one day, one day in the near or distant future, he is going to fly .

—

"What are you going to do?" Wakatoshi asks, days later, during lunch. 

“Hm?” Satori asks, looking up from his uneaten food. As expected, he’s far too immersed in his newest issue of Shounen Jump. “What am I going to do about what, Ushiwaka?”

“After school,” Wakatoshi clarifies. “What are you going to do?”

Satori hums, propping his head onto his hand as he thinks. The rest of their team comes to sit down around them, their voices overlapping.

“I’ve been considering doing something in the culinary world,” Satori finally says.

“You have the smallest appetite out of any of us,” Wakatoshi points out, pushing Satori’s uneaten lunch towards him. Satori makes a noise of assent as he takes his karaage and shoves a huge piece of it into his mouth.

“No, no,” he says while he chews. Wakatoshi almost tells him to cover his mouth—he’s long since given up on telling Satori to not talk while he chews—but Satori cuts him off before he can. “I don’t want to become a chef because I want to eat all the food. I want to become a chef because I wanna make people happy with my food. Or maybe a baker. I’m pretty shit at actual cooking. Maybe I’ll go to France for culinary school, after college. I dunno. We’ll see.”

This makes sense to Wakatoshi. Satori has always loved baking and making sweet things. It’s a facet of Satori’s personality that often goes overlooked by many people—unfortunately, Wakatoshi included. Satori no longer has the time to make sweet things. And Satori has always been adventurous—it would make sense for him to want to travel the world. France, though—France feels farther than Wakatoshi wants to admit. 

“Ushijima-san, Tendou-san,” Goshiki says, collapsing into the seat in front of them. “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone soon.”

His kouhai’s words send a shock through his spine. There are a couple months of school left, enough that he feels like he still has time to remain a child, but not enough to stave off the looming threat of adulthood. 

“Yep!” Satori says, leaning forward and patting and ruffling Goshiki’s hair with a vengeance. “So enjoy our company while you still can, ‘kay?”

“I’m gonna miss you guys!” Goshiki bursts out, all at once. He is the only first year sitting among them—now that he thinks about it, Wakatoshi has never seen Goshiki with any friends his own age. “I’m gonna be sitting alone by myself during lunch next year!”

Shirabu coughs, nudging Taichi. “What are we, chopped liver?”

“And I’m gonna see you guys even less now, now that we’re not going to—“ Goshiki cuts himself off with a strangled yelp and him slapping his own palm to his mouth. 

Ah. Right.

Eita coughs loudly, shoving his phone across the table. “Tendou, your mom sent me some of your baby photos.”

“Why are you exchanging texts with my mother?!” Satori nearly screams, scandalized. “You freak! My mother is in a happy marriage, don’t you dare try ruining it, you homewrecker—“

“I was asking her for tips on how to start getting my music out to the general public,” Eita says flatly. “Because she's in marketing. And I asked for baby pictures of you to see if I could use any of them for an album cover.”

“Why me?!”

“You were a freaky baby,” the blonde says, and nobody even attempts to debate him. “It would’ve been cool. And you would have said yes, don’t even try to deny it.”

Wakatoshi leans over to look at Satori’s baby photos—perhaps baby is an overstatement, Satori is at least four or five years old in all of them. He is also, in every single photo, still sporting that hideous bowl cut. He looks older in some of the later photos, seven, eight, nine. Wakatoshi recognizes that Satori even more. 

He almost misses those days. Life was simpler back in those days.

But then Satori laughs at a photo where he’s trying to blow bubbles, slams his shoulder against Wakatoshi’s, and Wakatoshi is reminded that just because something is simpler, it does not mean it was better. He was happy then, with Satori by his side. He is happy now, with Satori by his side.

“Y’know,” Shirabu says, having walked all the way around the table to look over Satori’s shoulder. He looks back and forth between Wakatoshi, Satori, and Goshiki. “Goshiki looks like little Tendou, just with Ushijima’s hair color.”

“Huh.” Hayato takes the phone, holding it up to Goshiki's face and comparing the bowl cut that Satori had with the bowl cut that Goshiki has. “Goshiki, you could be…like, you could be Ushiwaka’s and Tendou’s kid.”

Wakatoshi squints at the photo of Satori, then at the real-life Goshiki sitting across from him. Goshiki’s face looks—it looks like a mixture of wonder and horror. He is inclined to disagree slightly with Hayato’s statement. Goshiki’s bowl cut is—well, whether or not Goshiki’s haircut is any better than Satori’s at seven years old is irrelevant. All that’s important is that it’s in a different style than seven-year-old-Satori’s. And Goshiki’s hair color is dark like his own, but it’s missing those slight green undertones. 

Satori, however, does not care about any of those irrefutable facts. Satori immediately squeals at the idea and lunges forward to pinch at Goshiki’s cheeks.

“Goshiki-kun!” he coos, Goshiki yelping in surprise. “Do you see me and Ushiwaka as your parental figures? Wait, who would be the mother and who would be the father in this situation?”

“Ushiwaka’s the mother,” everyone else says, almost in perfect harmony. 

“What?” Wakatoshi asks, failing to see how he has any semblance of a maternal instinct. “I do not believe—”

“Wait, no,” Shirabu says. “Goshiki, you accidentally called Ushiwaka dad that one time—“

“I thought we agreed to never talk about that again!” Goshiki hisses, his ears turning bright red. Wakatoshi has absolutely no idea what they’re talking about.

“Why aren’t I the mother?” Satori asks, slumping back into his seat, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a faux pout. “I’m very motherly! I have lots of mother hen instincts!”

“Maybe you look like a mother hen,” Eita snickers behind his hand. “I dunno. Between the two of you, Ushiwaka has more nurturing instincts. Of course, we all know the person with the true mother hen instincts is Reon, he's definitely motherly —“

“ Huh ?!” Reon’s voice suddenly appears out of nowhere as he passes by them with his girlfriend on his arm. Kanade Ai lets out a gunshot bark of laughter before nudging him in the side.

“You wanna tell me something?” she asks, and Reon splutters and hurriedly pushes her past his team. 

The conversation’s topic switches after that, to who has or had the worst bowl cut: Satori, Shirabu, or Goshiki. But Wakatoshi’s mind lingers. 

What will come after high school, after college, after he is employed? He wants to marry Satori, he knows that much. It is not yet legal in Japan, but legality doesn’t matter much to him. He doesn’t need a piece of paper to tell him that he’s devoting his entire life to the love of his life. But what then? His mother will be expecting him to settle down with a nice girl, have two children, live in the suburbs of Miyagi until he grows old and gray. She is expecting him to find a stable job, one that is out of the limelight and one that doesn’t strain his body.

Ushijima Noriko is expecting her son to live a normal life.

Ushijima Wakatoshi does not want a normal life.

He looks over at Satori as he animatedly defends his seven-year-old-self’s haircut. He wants to spend the rest of his life with this man. He is not sure if he wants children, he does not know if he is capable of taking care of and raising another human being. What if he turns out like his mother, raising a child that does not want anything to do with him, a child that yearns to escape from his grasp as soon as possible? 

And then—the realization hits him all at once.

His mother will surely disown him if he goes through with the life he wants to live with Tendou Satori.

Tendou Satori wants to become a chef. Tendou Satori wants to go to France. Tendou Satori wants to live a life filled with excitement and vibrancy and life . 

The exact opposite of what his mother wants.

Ushijima Wakatoshi wants a life with Tendou Satori. 

The exact opposite of what his mother wants.

And as he stares down at his food that's long gone cold, Ushijima Wakatoshi realizes that he no longer knows what he wants out of his life. 

—

So life continues on. Except it doesn’t, not really, because Wakatoshi’s days are filled with a distinct lack of purpose. Yes, there’s training camps. Yes, there’s people wanting to get into contact with him for his future career in volleyball. But there’s no Nationals. The one thing that everybody was looking forward to. Everybody .

There’s a pressure building inside Wakatoshi’s chest, like a spring coiling tight. He told himself that he would move on, look forward, get better, and it’s been a couple months—it’s January now—and he’s been trying, but—

But as nationals approach, and they go to training camp, and the players there start making one too many comments about Shiratorizawa failing to make nationals, Wakatoshi’s patience begins to stretch thin. It gets pulled, tighter and tighter, until it threatens to snap.

It all comes to a head on the last day of training camp, where Wakatoshi takes a wrong turn in the school and finds himself overwhelmed with a sense of Deja vu.

Because standing before him, almost in the exact same position as he was years ago, is Satori, getting accosted by five other boys. 

Satori’s got his threatening smile on, the one that looks like a leer, a snarl, a warning. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asks, but his hands are already curled into fists. It’s a far cry from the middle school boy that Wakatoshi had to save, but he still feels that urge to come to his aid.

The boys all talk over each other in their haste to insult Satori, their voices all blending into one incoherent cacophony. Judging from Satori’s bored face, it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. Wakatoshi forces himself to keep lurking out of sight; he’s frankly amazed none of the boys have noticed him.

And then one of the boys says, “Little freak, I bet you fucked around too much during the game, that’s why you lost—“ And another boy grabs Satori by the arm, and—

Satori twists his arm to get away, and Wakatoshi hears the quietest noise of genuine pain escape his lips. 

Wakatoshi sees red .

Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s running forward, grabbing the boy’s hand, forcing him to let go of Satori and slamming his fist into the boy’s face.

"Do not ," he manages to say through his sheer fury. "Do not speak to him like that." 

There's white-hot pain shooting through his wrist, up his arm, but he pays no mind to it. 

Satori's covering his mouth with his hands, shocked eyes darting back and forth between Wakatoshi and the boy on the ground. The boy's nose is bleeding, and Wakatoshi distantly thinks that, unlike the last time, he would not care if he knocked this boy's teeth out. He tries to drag up any sort of shame or empathy for what he's just done. His fist is bruised, black and blue. Some of the boy's blood is on his hand. 

He finds that he truly, in the wise words of Semi Eita, does not give a fuck.

"What the fuck?!" the boy screams, and his friends immediately start backing away. "Hey—aren't you his captain?! What the fuck was that for?!" 

"You are not," Wakatoshi seethes, his hand already curling into a fist, ready to hit this boy's face in, again and again and again. "Allowed to speak to him like that."

There's adrenaline and rage and a thousand other things flowing through his blood, making it boil. Wakatoshi raises his fist again, but—

Satori's hand is there, digging his nails into Wakatoshi's wrist. The pain jolts him back to reality, and Wakatoshi stares down at the angry, terrified kid below him. 

"Don't," Satori says through his teeth. "Stop."

"I—"

" Ushijima ," Satori's teeth are clenched, and Wakatoshi realizes with a shock that Satori is angry at him . "Just—just stop."

His voice sounds so broken. So tired. So hollow. 

And as the kid curses and crawls away, and as he hears the sound of a teacher running towards them, Wakatoshi is hit with the sudden realization that he was the one that caused this.

—

"What," Satori says, days later, after practice. "The fuck were you thinking?!"

Wakatoshi has been suspended for a week from all club activities. The day after they came back from camp, he had been pulled into the principal's office to apologize to the kid he punched and his apoplectic mother. Wakatoshi had refused. It was the principle of the thing: if he apologized to this boy, that would indicate that the boy was not in the wrong. This boy was in the wrong. 

He had been suspended for a day. Called back into the principal's office again. Refused to apologize. Suspended for a week.

Everybody is mad at him. It is not a feeling he is used to. 

He has a vague feeling of what does it matter? rattling around in his skull. They’re not going to Nationals. He’s graduating in a couple of months. He, along with all of the third years, have slowly been missing more and more practices in favor of focusing on their academics. We’re not going to Nationals, we’re graduating in a couple of months, so what does it matter? There is nothing next for me. 

"What's next?" Satori snarls, his hands coming up to grab at his shirt collar. "What the fuck is next, Ushijima ? You don't apologize again? You get suspended from the club for—for a month? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was acting in your defense," Wakatoshi says slowly. He did this for Satori—why was he so angry? He doesn't miss how Satori has defaulted to calling him Ushijima , something he has not done since they were children.

Satori scoffs, once, and it feels like a knife being stabbed into his heart. "You think I need defending, Ushijima? You think I'm so weak that I need you to save me? We're not in middle school anymore, you don't need to go around punching kids for me, I had that shit under control, I—"

"He hurt you," Wakatoshi says. Satori’s face contorts in rage, and that feels like he’s taking the knife stuck in his heart and twisting it.

"And that's nothing new!" Satori screams, pulling on Wakatoshi's shirt and then shoving him away. Wakatoshi stumbles, but does not fall. "That shit happened when we were younger, didn't it?! If you just let me handle it, nobody would be hurt, nobody would be—fucking—you wouldn't be suspended! "

"He hurt you, and I cannot allow that to be okay!" Wakatoshi shouts back, his voice echoing throughout the empty gym. Suspension was awful, detention was awful, but he would go through it as many times as he needed to in order to get Satori to see this, see how much he means to him. "I cannot—in what world is it okay for you to be accosted by players from a completely different school, and they blamed you for our team's loss, and—"

"Is this what this is about?" Satori asks, and his voice has gone deadly quiet. "The match? Us losing? This is what this is about?"

"What are you—"

"I know we talked about Oikawa having too much pride." Satori continues on, eyes never meeting Wakatoshi's. He presses a single finger against Wakatoshi's chest. "But you're just as bad. You think it's all your fault that the team lost, and that it's unfair that I was the only one getting made fun of for it. You think you're the only one that's down about this? The entire fucking team is down about this. There's nothing we can do about the match, but you—you're ruining your reputation, and your future, for fucking nothing , Ushijima."

Nothing?

Wakatoshi is reminded of their days in elementary school, in middle school, when both of them were teased, but Satori was teased so much more. And Wakatoshi was never brave enough to stand up for the boy he called his best friend, never brave enough to put himself in between him and the cruel words of their classmates. But he was brave, once, and now he's going to be it again. 

"You are not nothing," Wakatoshi says, forcing his voice to quiet down to the same volume as Satori's. What he really wants to do is scream at Satori, scream until his message finally gets across. "You are—Satori, you are everything to me."

"Yeah? Then apologize to the fucking kid," Satori snaps, curling his fingers into a fist and slamming it against Wakatoshi's chest. "Find any other reason to hate the guy. But I will not be the reason you ruin your entire goddamn life."

"I understand what I am doing," Wakatoshi says slowly, his voice a low growl. "I understand the consequences of my actions, and I accept them–"

"And I don't ," Satori snarls back. "I don't understand why the fuck you're doing this. You love me, sure. You want to protect me, sure. But this is all getting to be too much, and you're blowing it way out of proportion, and I—I don't accept the consequences. I refuse to be the reason why your life goes to shit. So—so—" This is the first point in their conversation where Satori looks like he's visibly breaking. 

And then he opens his mouth, and the next words that he says almost make Wakatoshi break.

"Apologize to the kid, or I break up with you. I'll stop talking to you. I'll stop being around you. We won't be—I won't be your best friend or your boyfriend anymore. It’ll be over. We’ll be done."

"You wouldn't," Wakatoshi says, because in all their years of one-sided bickering and squabbling, they have never fought like this. "Satori—Satori, you wouldn't ."

Satori only laughs, a hollow, empty sound. "Fucking watch me, Ushijima. Your mother would be happy, wouldn't she? She hates me. And I...I should've known that nothing this good can last forever. So if—Ushijima, if you really love me, apologize to that goddamn kid. We...I guess we can figure the rest out later."

Wakatoshi puts his hands up in an act of surrender, slowly backing away from Satori, his Satori, the boy with hair like roses and smiles like sunshine, and everything he wants but cannot ever have.

"Okay, Tendou," he says, slowly, deliberately, and sadly. "Okay."

—

His relationship with his boyfriend-slash-best friend is slowly crumbling apart, he runs the risk of being kicked off the volleyball team, in turn leading to his expulsion out of Shiratorizawa, because he’s here on a sports scholarship, in turn leading to the probable rescinding of all of the offers D1 volleyball teams have been giving him. His mother is furious, calling and texting every night. He does not respond. 

All that to say, he is now sitting in the boys’ locker room, unable to go to practice, staring at the whitewashed walls in anger. He should not be here. He should be in his room, doing homework, preparing for college, doing a thousand other things that are more productive. But he doesn't. 

Satori told him to apologize to the boy, or else he would be breaking up with him, romantically and platonically. He does not want to be broken up with. At all. If he apologizes to the boy, he will have to acknowledge the fact that he is sorry for his actions. He is not, in fact, sorry for his actions. He would punch that boy again if given the opportunity. 

Blaming him, the team’s captain, the team’s ace, for Shiratorizawa’s loss is one thing. Blaming Tendou Satori, the best middle blocker on their team, the only one who still manages to consistently block his spikes, someone who is not even a vice-captain and does not bear an iota of responsibility, is unforgivable. 

He’s at a crossroads. Logically, he knows the best option is to apologize to the boy, and lie through his teeth. But he knows it would kill him inside to admit that, yes, he was in the wrong for punching the goddamn kid . 

And Satori means too much to him for him to do that. His first friendship, his first relationship, his first everything , all at risk because he won't apologize to this kid. 

He holds his head in his hands. It feels like it's splitting in two.

A loud screech of the gym door startles him into looking up. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the harsh gym lights, is Shirabu Kenjirou.

"Ushiwaka," Shirabu says quietly, walking over to him. "Can I sit down?"

Wakatoshi mutters out assent, and so Shirabu sits down next to him. The only sound in the locker room is the sound of their breathing, slow, in and out. 

"The entire team," Shirabu begins. "They've been...really shaken up, Ushiwaka. For a while now, but—when you got suspended, even more. And—and I overheard some of what Tendou said to you. He was right about some things—it's not just you that's...depressed about not going to nationals."

"I think you put too much pressure on yourself," the tawny-haired boy continues. "More pressure than anyone else. Y'know—no matter what you might tell yourself, or what other people might tell you—everyone on this team thinks you're amazing."

"They sent you in here to talk to me?" Wakatoshi asks, irritation beginning to creep into his voice. 

"No. I just came here by myself. Semi's covering for me."

"Satori tells me that the two of you are infatuated with each other," Wakatoshi says, and it's almost funny how fast Shirabu's face turns red. He's sure that Satori would have laughed.

"That's...not important," Shirabu mutters. "But—I know how much Tendou means to you. And you mean a lot to him. It's so fucking obvious. He's gone insane for the last couple of days out there."

As Shirabu says this, Wakatoshi can distantly hear the sound of Satori screaming. Sounds right enough.

"You guys need each other. We need you guys. None of us realized how important the two of you were to the team's synergy, until you were gone and Tendou lost his utter shit. But—and I know this'll sound wrong, but you gotta apologize to that asshole. Even if it feels wrong. Because you're not wrong, not in any way—I know I'd punch that guy too. But this is—fuck." 

Shirabu stares down at his hands like they will give him the answers to all his questions. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I—I don't know why I thought I could give you a pep talk. That's—that's normally your job. As captain. But we just—" Shirabu takes another deep breath, burying his head in his hands and screaming for a second, before resurfacing for air. "We need our captain back. Ushiwaka, please. Please come back."

Wakatoshi stares at Shirabu for a moment. 

He's being selfish. He's allowing his pride to take over him. He's letting his entire life fall apart around him, while he does nothing .

He's no better than Oikawa. 

"It feels so wrong," Wakatoshi says in a bare whisper. "I don't—I don’t want to make it seem okay to have Satori get hurt and then the perpetrator gets off unpunished."

"We all know it's not okay, Ushiwaka. Everyone that's important knows that it's not okay, and that's what matters, right? But you—you already punished that kid. You broke his nose, for fuck's sake. Isn't that punishment enough?"

Wakatoshi mulls this over. "I do not want to—"

"I know you don't want to lie," Shirabu interrupts him. "Because you never lie. If...if you really can't lie to the guy's face, just...cross your fingers behind your back. Like this." He holds up his crossed fingers as a demonstration. 

"Why would I do that?"

Shirabu blinks. "I dunno. Like, if you cross your fingers when you lie, the lie...doesn't count?"

"How does that work?"

His teammate throws his hands up into the air. "I dunno! Like—like, it doesn't count, to, like, God."

"Hmm." Wakatoshi mulls this over as well. "I see."

He takes in a deep breath. Inhales. Exhales. "Very well. I will apologize."

Shirabu's eyes light up. "You will?!" 

"Yes." Wakatoshi nods his head, and it feels like an enormous weight has been lifted off his chest. "Though I do not understand your...crossing fingers, if it makes the lie not count, I will do it."

"Just make sure nobody sees it." Shirabu's smile brings a sense of further relief to him. " Thank you , Ushiwaka."

Yes, that boy hurt Satori. Yes, it was wrong for the boy to get off without any sort of punishment. Yes, Wakatoshi is a hundred percent willing to drag his life down for Satori. 

But there are things that are far more important than any of those. 

"Kenjirou," Wakatoshi says, quietly, in the silence that follows. "You will make a good captain next year."

The tawny-haired boy's head shoots up. "Me?! You're—you're gonna be giving the captaincy to me?!"

"Yes.” Wakatoshi has been considering Kenjirou as a potential candidate for captaincy for the last few weeks. His presence on the court is a good one—he is able to keep a cool head during the heat of a match, he commands respect, he is probably the smartest person out of the entire team. After all, he is the only team member who took the entrance exam and passed. “Who else?"

"Taichi?" Kenjirou asks in confusion. "I just—I—thank you, Ushiwaka, I'm grateful, I really am, but—why...me?"

"You are reliable. Trustworthy. Steady on the court." Wakatoshi stares at the setter, the boy's eyes fixed firmly onto the ground. "You will make an excellent captain. I have no doubts of that. I—ah."

Kenjirou has grabbed Wakatoshi's torso in his best approximation of a sideways hug, with what looks like tears threatening to drip out his eyes. That's not good.

"I—I apologize if I made you cry," he begins, but Kenjirou furiously shakes his head back and forth.

"No!" Kenjirou sobs out. "It's just—I really needed that. Thank you, Ushiwaka. For—for everything."

Wakatoshi's arm slowly comes to rest on Kenjirou's shoulders. He doesn't know what Kenjirou is going through—his crying may come from an issue he has no idea about. He slowly pats Kenjirou's back, the boy crying as he does.

"It's...nothing at all, Kenjirou."

—

"I apologized," Wakatoshi says the next day, to Satori. "To the boy."

Satori doesn't even look up from his Shounen Jump, he just gives him a stiff nod. 

"I owe you an apology as well."

That does cause Satori to look up, eyebrow quirked in confusion. 

"I am sorry. I...acted without thinking. And I allowed...I allowed my emotions to get the better of me." This sounds remarkably familiar to every other time when Wakatoshi was out of line, during his childhood, and had to deliver an apology to his mother. "I hurt you."

Satori slides out of his seat, standing up. There are boxes scattered around his room—there is a month before they have to pack away all of their belongings, leave Shiratorizawa for good. Wakatoshi's throat begins to close up—he doesn't want to think about leaving so soon. 

"It's okay," Satori says softly. He leans his body into Wakatoshi's chest, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "I forgive you. For...everything, I guess. I don't really know if there's anything to forgive you for."

"I will apologize regardless."

And as Wakatoshi wraps his arms around Satori's waist, hiding his small smile in Satori's sweater, he slowly begins to feel like he can breathe again.

—

Graduation comes faster than he wants. It feels as though the last few weeks of his high school career pass by in a flurry of exams and papers and college applications and offers from D1 volleyball teams. 

He's made a couple of decisions about his life already. His college major: horticulture. His D1 volleyball team, the very first professional volleyball team he would be playing for: the Schweiden Adlers. 

There are decisions about his life that he has not yet made. The biggest one involves the boy standing across from him, tugging his suit over his arms and talking about how much time they're going to be spending in the hot sun for the ceremony. 

"How do I look?" Satori asks, spinning around in a circle. His hair is gelled to perfection, his suit is neat, for the most part, and he's smiling brighter than ever. 

"Your tie is crooked," Wakatoshi says, reaching his hands up to straighten it. "And the ceremony will last for no more than three hours."

"'Toshi," Satori says in exasperation. "That's three whole hours of standing out in the sun ."

"Yes, I know."

Wakatoshi doesn't know a lot of things about the future Satori's envisioning. But he does know that Satori—by some miraculous stroke of luck—is going to the college that he was accepted to, that he plans to major in food science, that he wants to travel to France at some point after he is finished with college. 

Knowing that he will have Satori by his side for four more years brings him a sense of comfort, at the very least. Perhaps they will find a small apartment together, or they will dorm together, and they will make the transition from childhood to adulthood together. 

And then his phone rings, and he sighs, and braces himself for what's about to come.

"Wakkun! I'm almost at the school!"

"That's great, mother," Wakatoshi says as he tries to not sigh. "I am almost ready. I believe my class is about to head out soon."

"I'll be watching you! I—"

"Ah, I believe we are about to leave," Wakatoshi says as he watches Satori creep closer and closer to him. "I am very excited to see you, Mother. Goodbye, I will see you in a couple of hours."

And then he snaps his phone shut before his mother can say anything else. Satori grins.

"Y'know, I think the crossing fingers thing was dangerous to teach to you," he teases as Wakatoshi uncrosses his right hand. "My innocent Ushiwaka, corrupted by deceit and deception."

"You are a horrible influence," Wakatoshi deadpans. He lifts his hand, bringing it to rest around Satori's waist. "A horrible, horrible influence."

Satori opens his mouth to laugh out a retort, but there's an aggressive knocking at Satori's door, before Semi Eita stomps in. He's gone all out with his makeup today—a vibrant dusting of blue and purple decorate his eyelids, and his lips are stained black. "Are you done sucking face, or can we go now?"

"We didn't even get a chance to suck face," Satori says, and faster than Wakatoshi can blink, he has swung himself around, digging his nails into his neck and pressing their lips together. Semi's black lips curl in disgust. Behind him, Hayato and Reon poke their heads in, both already dressed as well.

"Ai wants to take a photo of everyone," Reon says, as Kanade Ai pops her head up from behind all of them, cheerfully waving her camera. There's another girl standing behind her, one that's tall and muscular, with dark hair that reaches her waist even while tied in two braids. "Rena as well."

"Oh?" Satori asks in interest, raising an eyebrow. "Takahashi Rena, captain and ace of the women's volleyball team? What's a beauty like her doing here?"

Hayato perks up in triumph, interlocking his fingers with her own and holding them up. There are satisfactory smiles on both their faces as the boy announces, "This is my girlfriend, bitches!"

There's cheering and whistling and shoving all around as they make their way through the school hallways, and Wakatoshi can feel his heart begin to rise .

This feels right. This feels right. 

There is nowhere he'd rather be in this moment than with his team at his side. 

—

Satori is right. The next three hours of standing out in the March sun starts out pleasant at first, but quickly becomes uncomfortable. The smell of sweat permeates the air. Wakatoshi supposes that global warming is to blame for this.  

There are hundreds of people sitting on hardbacked chairs—Wakatoshi can pick out a couple people he recognizes, along with a couple members from the volleyball team.

Kenjirou. Taichi. Goshiki. He's honored that the three of them decided to attend, even though it wasn't necessary. He doesn’t see Jin, but he supposes that Jin is somewhere among the chaos of third years, like the rest of them.

His mother isn't here yet. 

Reon walks by him, Ai on his arm, as they talk about the horrors that will soon await them: very long speeches, cliché banalities about how this class is like no other class, endless repetitions of the exact same traditional melody, played over tinny speakers, complaints about feet hurting as the graduating class stands and walks the stage. 

"Hey," Satori nudges him as he passes. They all now have to arrange themselves in alphabetical order—something that will take, at the very least, thirty minutes. "You ready, miracle boy?"

Wakatoshi, more than ever, wants to grab him by the shoulders and kiss his smile. But he cannot do that, not with so many around, every eye upon them, so he settles for a quick nod. Satori punches him in the shoulder, the closest they can get to physical affection, and runs off. 

"Yo," Hayato says as he scoots past him. "I forgot the lyrics to the song we're supposed to sing. I'm just gonna lip-sync." Eita, trailing in Satori's wake, snickers.

And then they're all in place, and Wakatoshi is standing in front of and behind people he does not know. The principal gives a speech, the superintendent gives a speech, the valedictorian gives a speech, the class president gives a speech—Wakatoshi remembers, earlier, how Satori said that it would be funny if they made every sports team captain give a speech. Wakatoshi is inclined to disagree—he's not quite sure what he would even give a speech about.

He thinks about his potential speech as he listens to all the speeches given. He had already given somewhat of a speech a week ago, on their last practice meet. He had passed his captaincy down to Kenjirou, and Jin and Reon had collectively agreed to pass down vice-captaincy to Taichi. He had talked about the importance of teamwork, of discipline, of a hundred other generic things that he picked up from the captains before him. 

He wishes he was given another opportunity to do it over. That speech—Wakatoshi has never known the correct words for any situation, but especially that situation. The speech he had given had felt too mechanical, like he was reading off a script. He wants to do better. He knows he can do better.

And then everyone stands to sing the national anthem, and the names are called one by one. 

When each student's name is called, the student answers with a hai , followed by raucous applause on the part of the audience. He stares out at his kouhai in the audience, Kenjirou, Taichi, Goshiki, and he wonders if they are able to pick out their senpais' voices from among the rest. He wonders what they would hear. Reon, low and warm? Eita, biting and proud? Hayato, quiet and sure? Satori, loud and ringing? 

"Ushijima Wakatoshi!"

Himself, deep and steady?

He takes a deep breath, his movements steady as he walks across the stage to receive his diploma. There are hundreds of people cheering for him—he wonders if they have heard he was accepted into a D1 volleyball team straight out of high school. He scans the crowd, searching for one very familiar face...

"Wakkun! Smile!"

And there she is, in the very front row. Ushijima Noriko waves with one hand and films with her other. It's all happening so fast—Wakatoshi stretches his face into what he hopes is a passable smile before he runs off the stage and joins the rest of the class of 2012. 

And then there's more speeches—the class president comes back onstage to receive a diploma on behalf of the rest of her class—and even more speeches, and then they're all being called back onstage to sing the traditional song they're supposed to have memorized.

They're all supposed to be in alphabetical order, but, somehow, his teammates make their way towards him. Satori and Eita stay on his far right, far away enough that Wakatoshi will be able to deny any closeness to them. Reon and Hayato act as a buffer between them, with Wakatoshi on the far left. 

And then they all sing. Wakatoshi cannot hear his own voice above everybody else's, but he supposes it does not matter if he sounds bad. Nobody can hear him, anyway.

He picks out his kouhai in the crowd. Goshiki is wiping away honest to god tears with his shirt sleeve, with Kenjirou and Taichi patting his shoulders, trying to console him. His mother is not crying—she is watching him with the same stoic look as ever. Wakatoshi is sure his face looks exactly the same. He inherited his father’s face, but his mother’s expressions. 

And then the song stops, and every single one of the third years—no, not third years, graduates now—descend from the stage in a cacophony of ecstatic screaming, seeking out their family and friends and loved ones. 

Satori makes eye contact with him, nodding once before running off to see his mother and father and triplet sisters. They can't be seen together, not now. 

"Wakkun!" And Wakatoshi turns around to find his mother staring up at him, a small smile playing around her lips. He has not seen her in—in a very long time. 

Wakatoshi breathes. Inhale. Exhale.

"Hello, mother," he says.

—

"I'm so very proud of you," his mother says as they take a walk across the campus grounds. The air is filled with the cheers of newly-graduated students, running around, celebrating. "Very, very proud, Wakkun."

"Thank you, Mother." Wakatoshi says quietly. 

He wonders what would happen if he just told her now, ripped the band-aid right off. Told her everything, how he is dating Tendou Satori, how he does not want a conventional life for himself, how everything she wants, he wants nothing to do with.   

And then she is holding her camera up, and Wakatoshi pushes all of those thoughts out of his mind.

"Your smile still hasn't changed," his mother coos. "You're still my baby boy, aren't you?"

He loathes how he's still just a child in his mother's eyes, and nothing he does will be able to change it. How his mother will never respect him as his own person, only as her son. 

"I must go," Wakatoshi says. "I must finish up my packing. And I promised my volleyball team that I would be taking them all out to celebrate once the ceremony was over."

Her face tightens, ever so slightly. "Wakkun, you haven't seen me in months—"

"I know," Wakatoshi says. He's already walking away. "Sorry. I will—I will call you later tonight, I told my team that I would see them in fifteen minutes."

His mother's complaints float away on the wind. 

—

They go to the konbini shop they've been going to every day after practice for the entirety of this year, and the year before that, and the year before that. There's a hollow pang in Wakatoshi's chest at the fact that this will be his last time ever coming here, with this group of people.

It could just be any other day. It's the same cramped aisles, with the same varieties of cup ramen, rice crackers, melon bread. It's the same cashier, the old man that likes to grumble about how much noise the team makes every time they come here. It's the same buttery golden sunshine pouring through the glass windows.

All of the third years pool their money, insisting that none of their kouhai pay. Goshiki pushes some cash into Wakatoshi's hand anyway, saying that it was the least he could do. Kenjirou and Taichi do no such thing, and Satori teases them for it.

The team—can they be called a team anymore? More than half of them are leaving—get what seems like one of everything in the shop: pork buns, yakisoba, chips, pocky, sponge cakes. And then they all head back to the gym, sit down in the yellowing grass. One of them brought an enormous blanket, which they spread out and then dump their feast on. 

"Man," Satori says, spreading his hands to the sky before flopping on the blanket. "I'm actually gonna miss this hellhole of a school."

Eita scoffs, ripping open a bag of pocky and shoving three sticks into his mouth at a time. Reon scolds him, and Kenjirou snickers. "Good for you. I won’t."

"You'll miss me, Semi-Semi!"

"Like hell I will!"

The conversation flows easily. Everything under the sun gets discussed: old training camp stories, how Wakatoshi got lost in Tokyo Stadium during the U19 competition, how Eita once got locked inside the storage closet for three hours, how Satori forgot he set up a prank for Hayato and it ended up backfiring on him and Hayato spent fifteen minutes laughing at him, how Reon and Ai are going to get married straight out of high school—

"You're getting married to Ai?!" Satori squawks in disbelief. 

Reon nods proudly. "Not immediately. Maybe in one or two years. But we both got our parents' blessings, and we're both really in love, and we started planning out our future together, so—why not?"

"Holy shit!" Kenjirou's jaw drops, and then Eita scowls and forcibly closes his mouth. "Sorry. I just...wow."

Wakatoshi tries to tamp down the small, quiet voice in his head that says I want to marry Tendou Satori .

He cannot make a decision so soon. In the future, if—not if, when —he is financially independent, and if—not if, when —he's wise enough to know what the rest of his life will look like, and if— not if, when —he can free himself from his mother's grasp, he will marry Tendou Satori. Sometime, in the distant future. 

"I wish you the best of luck," Wakatoshi says instead, clapping Reon on the back. "And I wish you a long and happy marriage."

Reon smiles, and Wakatoshi distantly thinks that he's never seen his friend so happy. He tries to not think about how Satori is watching him out of the corner of his eye, probably wondering the same thing he is.

Will we ever be able to get married?

And then Satori's head turns back around, watching as Eita eats his way through an entire box of pocky, and then he says, "Semi, a thousand yen if you do the pocky game with Shirabu."

Eita's head snaps up, as does Kenjirou's. The two of them stare at each other, for a very, very long time, before Kenjirou says: "Sure."

It's comical how the third year's face immediately goes red. "Huh?!"

"You heard me." Kenjirou's eyes stare Eita down, glancing between his eyes and his lips. "What, you scared?"

"Fuck you," Eita says, immediately snatching up the box of pocky and holding a single stick out. "You're not even gonna get anything out of it. Here. You idiot."

"A thousand yen to Shirabu-bu as well if he actually kisses Semi-Semi!" Satori says cheerfully. Taichi is not-so-subtly taking out a camera to film what will almost certainly become a trainwreck.

As it turns out, neither Eita nor Kenjirou are willing to back down. They actually do end up kissing—kissing for a very long time—much to the enjoyment of all of the other members. When they finally pull away, Eita's lipstick is smudged, and there's a dark streak of black on Kenjirou's lips. Satori whoops, gleefully handing over a thousand yen to both boys. 

Hayato wolf-whistles. "I guess this is the time of year where we're all getting hitched, huh? I mean, we got you two, Oohira's getting fucking married , Ushijima and Tendou have been sucking face and other things for the past two years—"

"Please do not put it like that," Wakatoshi says, while Satori cackles from behind him. "Anything but that."

"I somehow managed to pull the hottest girl in this entire school, Kawanishi's been dating Soekawa for who knows how long," Hayato continues. "So now all that leaves is..."

Everyone turns to look at Goshiki, who immediately squeaks. "Uh—um, well—I—"

His cheeks flush pink. He has the same look on his face that he did when Wakatoshi looked at him after Nationals and said, "I'm counting on you."

"There's...someone..." Goshiki mutters, resolutely staring down at the grass below him. "From...erm...uh, Date Tech..." There's a smattering of snickers, and Goshiki flushes even more. 

The afternoon sun shines golden, and the sight before Wakatoshi looks picture perfect. Eita and Kenjirou, bickering as they wipe crumbs off each others' faces. Reon and Hayato, playing rock-paper-scissors for the last yakisoba. Taichi, waving at Jin as he passes by with his other group of friends. Goshiki, staring up at all of them with awe in his eyes. 

Satori, leaning against him, arm looped around his, smiling up at him like he's the coolest person to ever walk this planet. 

It's time to say goodbye. 

Wakatoshi's throat feels dry, and he suddenly feels the urge to say something.

"Everyone," he says, standing up and nearly tripping as the blanket crumples underneath his feet. "It has been...the greatest honor of my life thus far to have you all by my side on the court."

"'Toshi," Satori snorts. "You make it sound like we're heading off to war."

Everyone laughs at his expense—no, they're not laughing at him. They're laughing with him. He's laughing as well. Granted, it's more of a soft chuckle, but it's something—he's not sure if he's ever laughed in his team's presence at all. 

"It's been the greatest honor of my life," he repeats. "I could not have asked for more...dedicated, and disciplined, and amazing teammates than the ones standing before me. All of you have shaped and strengthened my love for the sport. I want to thank every one of you for the opportunity to play with you. Wherever we go from here, I wish you nothing but the best in your endeavors."

They all stare up at him in silence. Wakatoshi almost thinks he can see tears glistening at the corners of their eyes. 

And then Satori jumps up, a spring in his step as he gets up to stand in front of Wakatoshi. Somehow, possibly by instinct, Wakatoshi lifts his arms, and wraps them around Satori's shoulders. They fit together like two puzzle pieces clicking together, and it feels so right . They stay like that for so long, Eita and Hayato begin whistling. 

"Miracle boy," Satori whispers, trailing his fingers across Wakatoshi's cheek before he pulls away. "Love you."

Wakatoshi nods. And then he turns to the rest of his team.

"Are we all getting hugs from Ushijima now?" Eita asks sardonically, standing up and walking towards Wakatoshi. His lipstick is fully gone now, and his eyeshadow is slightly smudged. But Wakatoshi pulls him into a hug as well, and Eita lets out a small gasp. It's strange to think that during their first year, Wakatoshi was jealous of this boy. And now—who else will understand the troubles he goes through because of his mother than Semi Eita?

"Thank you for everything," he whispers as they pull away. Eita nods, quickly, wiping at his eyes and smudging his makeup even further. 

He hugs Reon next, the boy who he's roomed with for the past three years. Reon hugs him so tightly, like he's trying to break his spine, and Wakatoshi reciprocates. He truly doesn't know where he would be without this boy, the one who gave him reliable advice and wise words time and time again. 

"Best of luck with your marriage," he says, and Reon laughs out loud. 

And his final fellow third-year is Hayato, who immediately slaps him on the back. Wakatoshi does the same. He's glad that Hayato finally found someone to love him, like he wanted all those years ago.

"Take care of Takahashi," he says, because Takahashi Rena is someone who he greatly admires, as a fellow captain and ace. Hayato chokes out an agreement before he lets go. 

And then he turns to his kouhai, all of whom look very eager to be hugged by him, but are trying to look like they're not. Goshiki is doing the worst job of it, which Satori thinks is hilarious.

Taichi is the first to step forward, his posture as stiff as a board. It reminds Wakatoshi of himself, when he was younger, and not yet beginning to step out of his shell. Shirabu is next, and his face turns bright red as soon as he wraps his arms around him. That also reminds Wakatoshi of himself, and how he always felt as though he had no idea how to return others' love for him.

And then he turns to Goshiki, and the first-year is trying not to cry as Wakatoshi approaches him. Wakatoshi himself was never invited to any of these events when he was a first year, the soon-to-be ace, but he would guess that Goshiki is overwhelmed with happiness currently. So he supposes that’s good. The first year melts into Wakatoshi's embrace, and Wakatoshi ruffles his hair as he tells the boy, "Tsutomu. Stay strong."

"I will!" Tsutomu wails as he finally steps away from him. He's sobbing now, and Satori's giggling, chopping the back of his neck as he tells him to stop crying. Hayato joins in on it. Wakatoshi is reminded of the moments after they came back to Shiratorizawa, after the worst failure of his life. 

He couldn't care less about that now. He has an amazing team he's entrusting Shiratorizawa's future to, and he has a future of his own to look forward to. 

And Wakatoshi steps back, gazing down at his kouhai, and a flicker of pride begins to flare up in his chest.

"The three of you," he says, addressing Taichi, Kenjirou, and Tsutomu altogether. Satori and Hayato finally stop noogieing Tsutomu to turn back and stand with the rest of the third years. The three kouhai stand to attention, like they're doing drills during practice. He addresses his next words to the new leaders of Shiratorizawa Academy. 

"Take us to Nationals."

The response he gets is instantaneous, and completely in unison. 

"Yes, sir!"

Chapter Text

Ushijima Wakatoshi is twenty years old when he gets his tonsils removed. 

He is in his second year of college, and his life is—well, his life is very much the same. He is still studying for exams, he is still playing volleyball, he is still completely and utterly infatuated with Tendou Satori.

He works the best while under pressure, and he absolutely thrives in this new environment. His schedule is packed to the brim—wake up at five AM, eat breakfast, go to morning practice, go to morning classes, eat lunch, go to afternoon classes, go to afternoon practice, eat dinner, do homework, sleep. It’s a schedule that requires meticulous upkeep, with no room for error.

Unfortunately, that error comes one day when Wakatoshi wakes up with a raging fever.

“Sick!” Satori pronounces him that morning, because he is Wakatoshi’s roommate, and they have somehow managed to procure a tiny apartment within walking distance of their college. Nothing short of a miracle, because rent in Tokyo is anything but cheap, but Satori works a part-time job, and Wakatoshi is a D1 volleyball player. So they manage. 

Wakatoshi coughs, tries to get up, but finds that he can’t. His every limb feels heavy, his head stuffed with cotton. This is horrible. 

“Ah-ah!” Satori sings as he brings breakfast in bed for him. Hot rice porridge. “No moving around for you today! You’re gonna lie in bed all day today and watch One Piece with me!”

“I am the one who is sick,” Wakatoshi rasps out. “I believe I am the one who should choose what we watch.”

Satori makes a face, but he smiles, holds out a spoonful of porridge and goes, “Say ahhh!”

They spend that entire day in bed, because it is a weekend and, blessedly, neither of them have any classes. Satori talks through the entire documentary, which annoys Wakatoshi somewhat, but he is much too sick to provide any argument.

“I do not understand why I got sick,” Wakatoshi says as the documentary ends. “My immune system is in top health. And I was perfectly fine yesterday.”

“It’s probably the stress,” Satori says idly, curling into Wakatoshi’s side. “You’ve been doing a lot with the team, haven’t you?” 

That was indeed true—after a year and some, Wakatoshi had finally assimilated into the team. Playing with the Adlers had finally begun to feel as natural as playing with Shiratorizawa.

“I work best under stress,” Wakatoshi says as Satori stands up to put the dishes into the sink. “Wash the dishes, Satori.”

“I’ll get to it later,” Satori sings as he crawls back into bed with him. “I got bigger priorities right now. Like making sure my darling boyfriend is feeling alright.”

And at that moment, all of Wakatoshi’s comments about how the dirty dishes will attract flies die on his tongue. Satori really is sweet.

So he says nothing, only moving an arm to nudge Satori closer to him.

—

“Tonsillitis,” his doctor declares a couple days later. His fever abated after the day ended, but he still had trouble swallowing, and his voice had become raspy. “You should start making plans to have them removed as soon as possible.”

Wakatoshi sighs. He’ll have to go to a surgeon, be put under anesthesia, and a hundred other horrible things. He’ll have to find a day where he doesn’t have classes or practice, or he’ll have to find a day where he’s able to miss a class or practice. And until he does, he’ll have to suffer through this. And he’s not sure he has the funds for it—he may need to grovel to his mother. 

She’s been displeased with him ever since she found out he moved to Tokyo, in order to play with the Adlers and go to the school he was accepted to. She may not lend him the money. Or she might give it to him, but it will come with strings attached, he knows it will. 

That's how it's always been with his mother. 

“Alright," he says, getting up to do all the requisite paperwork he must do. His head hurts, and his throat hurts.  

“Poor ‘Toshi,” Satori says later, ruffling his hair. "I'm sorry you gotta suffer through this."

"It is no problem," Wakatoshi says. That's a lie. It's a big problem. Swallowing has become harder. It seems the fog in his head remains, though he's not sure if that's from the fact his tonsils are swelling up. 

Satori tilts his head, and Wakatoshi knows he's about to make a scarily accurate guess. "Don't lie to me, Ushiwaka~"

He clocked it exactly. "I indeed am in pain," Wakatoshi says flatly. 

His boyfriend makes another cooing sound, grabbing him by the cheeks and pinching them together. Wakatoshi sighs. He loves his boyfriend, he really does, but he does have work to catch up on—he cannot lounge around all day. 

"I must get back to work," he says as he turns the key to their apartment. He sighs again at the sight before him. "Satori, didn't I tell you to take out the trash while I was at my appointment?"

"Oh yeah!" Satori says cheerfully, quickly walking forward to tie up the nearly-full trash bag and take it out. "Sorry, got distracted."

Satori has never known the meaning of routine, but it becomes even more evident when they're living together, by themselves, with no authority figures looming over him. Satori forgets to take the trash out. Satori leaves dirty dishes in the sink. Satori leaves his shoes in the doorway, and then Wakatoshi trips over them when he comes back home.

It started out as endearing, how Satori forgot these details, but remembered to do small romantic things. He'd forget to take out the trash, but pick flowers for him whenever he saw them growing out of the cracks of the concrete. He'd leave dirty dishes in the sink, but make him a sweet treat for after dinner. He'd leave his shoes in the doorway, but he was always there in the doorway to greet Wakatoshi when he came back home. 

So Wakatoshi never corrects Satori's behavior. Because he knew what he was getting into when he got into a relationship with Tendou Satori. He knew he had to take the good and the bad, all in one. 

So he swallows his bitterness down.

—

He gets his tonsils removed three weeks later.

"We're going to count down from ten," the doctor says as she stands over him. He's lying down in a hospital bed, fists still clenched despite the fact that he knows that he will be asleep and will not feel any pain during the entire procedure. "Close your eyes. Take a deep breath for me. Ten...nine..."

He counts backward from ten. Eight. Seven. Six.

His thoughts fade away before he can even get down to five.

—

He dreams. He dreams that he's standing at a beach, the sky and sea so dark of a blue, they blend into each other. There's a calm breeze drifting through the air. The sand is soft underneath him. The moon is full, shining bright white above him. 

He sits down, feeling the tiny grains shift underneath him. He watches the waves ebb and flow. There's a sense of calm overtaking him. Peace. 

His mind, for the first time in months, feels completely empty. 

—

It seems like no time at all has passed before he opens his eyes. He's immediately assaulted by a flash of bright white light, and he grumbles in irritation. Everything is blurry, and his limbs feel heavy and numb. Exhaustion seems to permeate every inch of his body—he can't even keep his eyes open for more than a couple seconds at a time. The last thing he remembers is counting down from ten and having a vague wisp of a dream about the ocean. There's—there's a—

There's an angel staring down at him.

"Wa-ka-to-shi~" the angel sings as Wakatoshi blinks his eyes. He has beautiful red hair, the color of maple leaves, framing his face, and a smile that would make good men go to war just to see it. "How're you feeling?"

"Am I dead?" Wakatoshi asks immediately. "Have I gone to heaven?"

A look of shock crosses the angel's face, and then he laughs. "No! No, no, you haven't died yet, why would you think that?"

"Are you an angel?" Wakatoshi asks. The angel's eyes widen, and his smile somehow gets even brighter. "That would...why else would there be an angel visiting me?"

"Your family doesn't even believe in angels," the angel manages to choke out through his laughter. "Do you really think I'm an angel?"

"Yes. Are you not? Are you...I...cannot think of any reason for why a model would be in my..." Wakatoshi sluggishly turns his head to the side, taking in his surroundings. He's in a hospital room. Why is he in a hospital room? Oh, yes, surgery. For...something. "Hospital room. Are you sure I am not dead?"

"Oh my god," the angel says, hiding his laughter behind his hands. "This is amazing. You really think I'm hot enough to be a model?"

"Yes," Wakatoshi says simply. A sudden thought crosses his mind—this man, or angel, or model—a man as gorgeous as him would not be single. There is no way. "I—I apologize. You are—probably taken, it would be rude of me to keep...making advances towards you."

This sends the angel-slash-model-slash-man into a fit of laughter so hysterical, he doubles over and coughs into his hands. He still looks beautiful while he does it. "Oh my—oh my god—Ushiwaka—I can't—"

"Please do not die," Wakatoshi says, in an attempt to get the man to stop laughing. This causes him to laugh even more.

"'Toshi," the man says. "I'm taken by you . We're dating. We've been dating since we were sixteen."

"Oh." Wakatoshi's mind goes blank with happiness. "How...how long is that? How old am I?"

The man—his boyfriend —goes into another fit of hysterical laughter. "Oh, god. You're twenty, Ushiwaka. That's four years."

"Are you sure?" Confusion flutters through Wakatoshi's hazy mind. He has been dating such a beautiful and kind man for four years? How is such a thing possible? "If you are not...lying to me...I must be...the luckiest man alive. To be dating someone like you."

His boyfriend smiles once more, leaning forward to smooth out a chunk of his hair. Wakatoshi can feel his eyelids fluttering closed again. He's so very sleepy. 

"No, 'Toshi," the man says as Wakatoshi closes his eyes again. "That's me. I'm the luckiest man alive, 'cause I have you."

—

"Hey," Satori says softly the next day, as he wakes up. Wakatoshi is still out of it, and he mumbles as Satori wraps his arms around him. "Wa-ka-to-shi~"

"Good morning," Wakatoshi mutters as he rolls over to face Satori. Normally, he's the first one out of bed. It's rare that they get to have moments like these, where all they do is lie next to each other in their bed, with nothing else to do. Wakatoshi is the first to get up, and Satori is the last to go to sleep. 

With a start, he realizes that over the course of their time in college, he can count the amount of times they've been able to just hang out on one hand. They used to have dinner together every night, but even those have been getting farther and further in between.

Satori hasn't said anything about any of it. Wakatoshi suddenly feels very guilty.

"What time is it?" Wakatoshi asks. Satori leans over to check his phone, humming softly as he does. He presses a small kiss to Wakatoshi's temple as he does.

"Nine in the morning!" Satori says, rolling back over to wrap his arms around Wakatoshi's torso. "No classes, no practice, no nothing~! We got the entire day to ourselves, 'Toshi. Whaddaya wanna do?"

"Hmm." Wakatoshi thinks. He thinks he owes Satori a nice night out, but he's not sure he has any money to spare. He needs to pay off his medical bill first. "We should take a walk tonight. Around town."

"Ooh, and go shopping?" Satori asks, and Wakatoshi has never been one to say no to Satori, but he forces himself to say it now. 

"I am sorry, but I do not think I have the budget for any shopping," Wakatoshi mutters as he gets out of bed. He's lazed around long enough. He should, at the very least, get something productive done today, if he's going out tonight. 

"Window-shopping's fine," Satori says cheerfully. "I can get Semi-Semi to buy stuff for us, he's been asking to hang out for a while now." 

"Ah." He hadn't realized Eita and Satori were still talking. Actually—as much as he loved his teammates, he hadn't thought about them for a very long time now. "That would be nice."

"We could make it a group thing!" Satori says cheerfully, fingers tapping at his phone screen rapidly. Wakatoshi's heart begins to sink. He had wanted a night out, with just the two of them. But then again, it has been a very long time since he has seen anybody besides his teammates, his classmates, and Satori. He supposes this could be good for him.

"Alright," Wakatoshi says, and Satori smiles, brighter than the sun. 

—

As it turns out, Eita is living in an apartment fifteen minutes away from their apartment.

"You didn't tell us you moved near us!" Satori whines as Eita opens his door, already ready to go out. Eita has seemingly only gotten more cool since the last time Wakatoshi saw him. He's got a nose ring now, even more dangly earrings, and what looks like a tattoo on the back of his shoulder. He supposes that his freedom from his parents was a contributing factor to them. 

He's reminded of his nineteen-year-old—now twenty seven—loser of a cousin, Saito, and how his mother said that he was only that way because his good parents were too soft and raised a horrible child. But Wakatoshi doesn't think that applies to Eita. No, perhaps Eita was raised by horrible parents that were too hard, and he ended up being a good child. Semi Eita is not horrible. Far from it.

But he is in a rock band, which Kenjirou seems to think is horrible.

"Your music is shit," Kenjirou says over Eita's phone—they must have interrupted a phone call between the two. "It's all noise. All just shitty noise."

"Now, now, Shirabu-bu," Satori says, staring straight into Eita's phone. "It's not your boytoy's fault that your music taste is horrible! We've been trying to convert you!"

"HE'S NOT MY—"

Eita hangs up before Kenjirou can continue his statement, cheeks flushing red. "Reon's in town as well. Surprised you were able to get any time off at all, Ushiwaka. Normally it's just Tendou and me."

"Circumstances beyond my control," Wakatoshi says idly. He tries not to think about how he's had so little time to spend with Satori that his boyfriend's been spending his free nights with Eita. He feels like he's back in his first year of high school, feeling jealous over how similar and close Eita and Satori are. 

Jealousy is an ugly, ugly thing. A green-eyed monster, living inside his chest. Wakatoshi grabs Satori's hand, and it settles somewhat. But it's still there.

"Hi!" Wakatoshi can hear the voice of Reon's girlfriend—no, fiancee—no, wife—behind him. Kanade Ai, or maybe Oohira Ai now, runs up to them, waving cheerfully. Reon comes up behind her, setting a hand on her waist.

Wakatoshi feels another pang of jealousy flare up inside of him as well. Reon's and Ai's parents were all too happy to give them their blessings when they got married. Satori had told him that they were already legally married—they were waiting until they were more financially stable to have an actual ceremony. Their parents were happy to see them happy. 

Wakatoshi will never have that. Even if he married a girl, he's sure that his mother will be able to find some fault within her. 

He clutches Satori's hand tighter.

"Well," he says. He supposes he should smile at his old friends, but his mouth is still sore. Even if it wasn't, he's not sure he would be able to find it in himself to smile. Not when jealousy is eating away at him, bit by bit. "Shall we go?"

—

They end up eating dinner at a local izakaya, and then taking a walk around the streets, talking and reminiscing, catching up on how their lives have changed since high school. Wakatoshi does not have much to contribute to the conversation—his life has barely changed since high school. Studying, volleyball, eating, sleeping. Nothing has changed.

He used to fear change, but now he wonders if anything will ever change. 

Oohira Ai moves her hands around a lot when she talks. Wakatoshi can see the bright glimmer of a diamond engagement ring glittering on her ring finger. It shines as she wiggles her fingers, cups her hand around her husband's cheek, intertwines their fingers together. The May flowers are in bloom, Wakatoshi sees it as the group walks into a park, and they only serve to make the Oohiras an even more idyllic looking couple. 

Wakatoshi looks up from his friend's wife's fingers, only to find— Satori is staring at her ring as well. He quickly looks to the side, praying that Satori won't look up and guess what he had been thinking, but that leads him straight into making eye contact with—

Eita. Eita, who saw the entire thing. 

He tilts his head to the side, ever so slightly. It's a silent question. Are you okay?

Wakatoshi lets go of Satori's hand, and he tries to not let it hurt when Satori walks away so easily to pester Reon. No, not pester—why did he think of the word pester? Satori never pesters anybody. He may be slightly annoying at times, but he does not pester his friends—

When did Wakatoshi begin thinking so lowly of the love of his life?

He slowly shakes his head.

No. No.

Nothing is okay.

"Hey, Ushiwaka," Satori says as he falls back. He grabs for Wakatoshi's hand again, and his touch does not feel comforting—it feels stifling. When did that start happening? He tilts his head towards Reon and Ai, smiling. "When're you gonna get me a pretty ring like that?"

Eita sucks in a sharp breath from beside them. He speeds up to join Reon and Ai, correct in his assumption that they would need some privacy. Wakatoshi takes a deep breath, and then turns around to face Satori.

He needs to face Satori when he says this.

"I am not sure," he says, and he can see Satori's face fall slightly. He could have answered anything else: soon, in a year, in two years, right now. But that would be lying. He can't lie about this.

He wants to get married to Satori. He wants it more than anything. But marriage is a lifelong commitment, and it is an undeniable fact that he has slowly been drifting away from Satori over the past two years. If they are only madly in love when they are in high school, and if they are drifting away while they are in college, what will happen when they are adults? What will happen when Wakatoshi finishes his education and throws himself full-time into his work? Marriage is not an automatic solution to all of his minute problems with Satori. There is no guarantee that it will work. And it is not yet legal in Japan—they would have to go somewhere else to get married. Where would they go?

And his mother. He knows that he will have to bite the bullet at some point. Either stand with Satori, and completely disown his mother, or stand with his mother, and completely let go of Satori. He does not want either option. 

He can't keep delaying this any longer. 

"Ah," Satori says softly. Wakatoshi can feel his hold on his hand loosening. "I mean—that's fine! We're still young, we're not—we're not all Reon, we can't—we're also, like, gonna be drowning in college debt soon, and—"

"I'm sorry," Wakatoshi says softly. "I...would like to marry you. You know I do."

"Of course," Satori says. His voice sounds so subdued. You did that. You did that. "It's fine, 'Toshi."

It's not fine.

I don't know what I want. 

I want to marry you.

I want to make my mother happy.

I can't have both of those at the same time, no matter how much I want to.

A distant thought makes itself known in the back of his mind.

You can never let your mother go. She is your mother. She is your blood. You owe everything to her. 

What if it's time to let Satori go?

—

"Wakkun!" his mother says cheerfully as he walks into the coffee shop. He had to meet her, because she kept insisting to meet him in person in order for her to give him money for his hospital bills. 

He nods his head in greeting. His mother chose a spot near the window. Just like always. He’s about to make his way towards the table, when-

“Holy shit!” someone shouts, drawing his eye towards the noise. “Holy shit, you’re—you’re Ushijima !”

The person who’s shouting is a young woman who looks around his age. She’s wearing a sweater for his university, so Wakatoshi supposes that she’s a fellow student. 

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says to the stranger. His mother is staring at him. Everyone is staring at him. He has no idea who this girl is. “Do I know you?”

“No! You don’t! I mean, ah—“ The young woman rummages around in her backpack for a pen and a piece of paper. “Sorry! Just—huge fan of the Adlers! Can I get your autograph, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Wakatoshi blinks, slowly. “Alright.”

He keeps forgetting that he’s some degree of famous now, and that more and more people are going to become familiar with his name. He’s slowly gotten more and more used to these types of encounters, but it still surprises him every time. 

So he signs the girl’s paper—Satori helped him come up with a signature, he’s very creative like that—and the girl snaps a quick picture with him, and then she’s on her way. 

His mother gives him a knowing smile as he sits down. "Who was that girl?"

"Merely a fan," Wakatoshi says stiffly. "I do not know her."

"She's cute," she says, and Wakatoshi feels his heart descend straight down into his stomach. They were having this conversation again. Well, he can't weasel his way out of this one—he needs the money. "Maybe you should try to get to know her. She goes to your school."

"That is not an indicator of compatibility," Wakatoshi says. "You and Father met in college, after all."

He knows it's a low blow, but he gains a sick sense of satisfaction at the way his mother's face crumples ever so slightly. 

Do you think you and Satori will last even half as long as them?

"Very true," she concedes as she takes a sip of her drink. "But Wakkun, do you not get lonely? You're twenty years old now. This is the prime of your life. You should be, at the very least, searching for someone suitable to settle down with. Your other half, Wakkun."

"I am very happy," Wakatoshi says. He has volleyball. He has Satori. "I do not feel like I am incomplete in any way."

His mother clicks her tongue. "You'll feel like that until you find the one, Wakkun. Then you'll wonder how you ever managed to survive without them."

He supposes his mother's words hold a kernel of truth. Satori is his other half, his better half. All this time, he does not know how he would live without him by his side. He has never had to. 

"Consider my words carefully, Wakkun," his mother says. "If you wait too long to get married, you'll begin to be...isolated. I would know. When your father...when he left us, I faced so much scorn, Wakkun. It was...extremely hard. I would not wish it on my worst enemy."

Her gaze is soft as she leans forward to put a hand on his. Wakatoshi is struck by the realization that his mother looks so old now. It must have been lonely these past few years, with him away at boarding school and then at college. His mother has made so many mistakes in her life, mistakes that steered her down the wrong path. 

"I certainly would not wish it on you, my son. So think about it, alright? I do not want you to make the mistakes I made. I want you to be better than me."

Wakatoshi feels bitterness rising in his throat. He swallows it down.

If you follow the path of least resistance, you may be less happy, but your life will be easier. If you go down the path you want to go down, if you marry Tendou Satori, if you disobey your mother's wishes, you will face infinitely more scorn. From the world, and from her. 

Are you brave enough to do that?

Wakatoshi doesn't know. 

Wakatoshi doesn't know. 

—

Luck has never been on Wakatoshi's side. He has built everything he has on hard work, and discipline, and determination. He fights for what he wants, and he fights to keep what he has. 

He holds onto the things he loves so tightly, he ends up breaking them by his own hand.

That is all he can think about as the situation unfolds before him.

It starts out normal. It starts out with him coming back from his practice, exhausted—one of his teammates showed up thirty minutes late, and as punishment, their coach made every single member do suicides for thirty minutes. Thirty straight minutes. By the end of it, Hoshiumi had cried out that he'd rather commit suicide, and Wakatoshi was inclined to agree.

So he comes back to his apartment, and every step feels heavy and like he's about to pass out. The only thing that's on his mind is that he has a test that he needs to study for, and that he needs to sacrifice an hour or two of sleep for it. It will not be a fun night for him, but he accepted that fact when he stepped onto the bus after practice and nearly keeled over in front of all of the passengers. 

He inserts his key into the lock, turns it, and nearly lets out a scream of frustration at the sight he sees.

The sight in question is a pile of dirty dishes left in the sink, a computer blasting some anime at full volume, and Satori screaming his head off at the screen.

"YES! YES—GO, GO, YOU HAVE TO— OHHHHH MY GOD, YOU LITTLE—!"

"Satori," Wakatoshi says, once. His duffel bag is sliding down his shoulder, and he grumbles as he hikes it back up. His boyfriend pays no attention to him, far too absorbed in his anime.

"Satori!" He tries again. No response. A dish from the pile in the sink slides down with a dull clunk . 

“SATORI!” And that gets his boyfriend’s attention.

“Huh? Oh! Hi, ‘Toshi!” And something about Satori turning towards him with a bright smile on his face, like nothing at all is wrong with the world, makes Wakatoshi break.

Everything is wrong.

“Why aren’t the dishes washed?” Wakatoshi asks, actively fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice. 

This is just how Satori is. You have known this. You have known him for your entire life.

It is too late for him to change.

It is too late for anything to change.

“Oh!” Satori cranes his head to look past his boyfriend, to the pile of dirty dishes sitting in the sink. "Yeah, I'll get to it when I finish this episode."

Wakatoshi sighs, inwardly and outwardly, because he knows how this will go: Satori will forget to wash the dishes, because he will get too absorbed into his anime. Wakatoshi will end up doing the dishes for him. Nothing will change. Nothing will change.

There's a tension building in his chest, like a rope being stretched too tightly. It seems like he's been waiting, for a long time, for the rope to finally snap in twain.

Distantly, he hears a snapping sound. 

The beginning of the end. 

"I'm so glad to see that your show takes precedence over your boyfriend," Wakatoshi snaps, and his duffel bag drops to the ground with a loud THUMP . Satori looks over at him, startled.

"I—" And then Satori shuts his laptop closed, jumping up to go over to him. "'Toshi, I'm sorry, was practice really rough today, or—"

"Coach made us run suicides," Wakatoshi mutters, feeling the beginnings of a migraine starting to form in the back of his head. "So forgive me if I'm irritated when I come home and I see my boyfriend neglecting to do basic household chores, like always."

Satori raises an eyebrow. "Hoo, boy. Someone's grumpy tonight, huh?" He's teasing. 

"Not tonight, Satori," Wakatoshi grumbles, brushing his boyfriend's hand away. Satori stares at his back after he leaves for his room. 

He pretends like he can't envision Satori's downturned frown, clear as day, as he shuts the door behind him. 

—

"Hey," Satori says, hours later. Wakatoshi blinks blearily—he's been staring at his textbook for so long, the characters have begun all bleeding together. Satori sets a cup of what smells like hot chocolate down next to him. "You good?"

"No," Wakatoshi mutters. There's a pounding in his skull that will not cease. "I...saw my mother a couple days ago, so she could lend me the money for my medical bills. I am...so tired of having to see her."

Satori makes a face as he sits down on the floor next to Wakatoshi's desk. "Why don't you just...cut her off, 'Toshi? If she's giving you this much headache, just...stop talking to her. You're an adult now. You don't...have to put up with her bullshit any longer."

"She is my mother," Wakatoshi says, mouth moving to repeat the same words he's been using to defend his mother over and over and over again. "I cannot just leave her."

"She's been a bitch to you your whole life, 'Toshi," Satori says with a bite in his voice, and that is the thing that pushes him over the edge.

"I am sorry that not all of us had a childhood as easy as you," he says, and he sees Satori's eyes widen in shock and anger.

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. He knows, better than anyone, just how hard Satori's childhood was. He may not have had a mother like his, but he had bullies and mean children and he had to face it all by himself .

"What the fuck , Wakatoshi," Satori hisses, his hands curling into fists. "Look, I get that you've been having a bad day, but that doesn't—that doesn't give you the right to take it all out on me. Just—just talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Everything is wrong," Wakatoshi shouts back. "My—my mother is expecting me to marry a nice girl, she thinks that I’m an idiot for dismissing her and that I’ll understand when I find my other half and I’ll finally feel complete, and I told her that I already feel complete, and—"

"That's nothing new," Satori snarks back. "Tell her that you're just fine, with your volleyball."

"I tried that! I have—I have been doing that for years now, and I am—" 

"Try harder, because I don't think your fucking mother's getting the memo—"

"I don't know what you want from me!" Wakatoshi bursts out, all at once, and that's enough to get Satori to stop talking. "I—want a life with you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, but I don't know if I can do it with my mother being like this, and you—you forget to do the simplest of household chores, and you try to make up for it with these—these romantic gestures, and I thought it would be enough, but it is not enough, I cannot manage everything by myself, and I—"

"Then tell me what I should do! Then cut her the fuck off!" Satori's shouting as well now. "I've been saying this since we were in high school, you don't have to keep—keep suffering because you feel the need to be civil with your mother—"

"She is my mother! I owe everything to her!"

"You don't owe your mother anything, because she's never accepted you for your job or for anything, and I wish your mother never existed, if she's making you feel like this—!"

"If my mother didn't exist, I wouldn't exist either," Wakatoshi says, and his breath hitches in his throat. "Is that what you want? For me to never have existed?" 

"Of course not," Satori says, and he sounds genuine, but Wakatoshi cannot tell what is true and what is false anymore. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” 

"I certainly would not wish it on you, my son. So think about it, alright? I do not want you to make the mistakes I made. I want you to be better than me."

His mother sounded genuine as well. 

"What the fuck happened, 'Toshi?" Satori asks, vaguely gesturing between them. "What happened to us? I know you were...fuck, I don't know, you've been pushing yourself away from me these past few months, and I thought you needed space, and I gave you space, but you don't tell me shit . I can't help you if you never ask."

I don’t know. I don’t know. It started small. A thousand small things, all of which were too small to ever be mad about by themselves, all coming together to form one big, heavy weight that sits on my chest, day after day. 

I thought you would have been able to guess what’s wrong with me. I never asked you for help because I never thought I needed it.

I thought it was never a problem, but it is. 

All of Wakatoshi's life, he has been taught to swallow his bitterness. There was a solution to his problems, and he had to be the one to find it. 

And right now, as he weighs all of his options to find a solution to the problem that faces him, there is only one solution he can see that has the least amount of consequences. 

"What if we broke up?" he asks, and he feels the world holding its breath around him. Satori's face is—

Hollow. Empty.

"What the fuck? " Satori asks, for what feels like the hundredth time. "You think that just because we had one fight, we should break up? You think that just because we're—hitting the first ever rough patch in our relationship, we should call it quits?"

"No, I don't mean like that," Wakatoshi mumbles, feeling all the fight drain out of him. "I don't...I didn't mean—"

"Then fucking enlighten me on what the hell you mean!" 

"The life we have chosen is going to be a hard one," Wakatoshi says, low, tired, because he's so, so tired. "We are—we are going to be faced with an unimaginable amount of scorn, and we will never be able to have a normal life. I—when we were young, I thought I would have been able to face all of it with you by my side, but now...I am...sorry, but I'm not so sure."

Satori laughs, and it's a pitiful sound. "How long have you been thinking about this? A month? Two months? Longer?"

"A long time, Satori. Years."

The betrayal on Satori's face is clear as day. 

"I gave you everything," Satori snarls, and Wakatoshi realizes that his voice is laced with hate . Good. He deserves it. "You were my first everything , Ushijima. You were my first crush, my first boyfriend, my first kiss—matter of fact, I gave you my fucking virginity too." He reaches a hand out to fist at Wakatoshi's shirt, stepping forward so that he's stepping on Wakatoshi's foot. "I have known you since we were kids. You can't—you can't just get rid of me whenever you want to start living a normal life. I've been with you too long."

He lets go of Wakatoshi's shirt, shoving him back. "I can't believe you. I thought..." And here, Satori's voice breaks, and Wakatoshi distantly thinks he can hear the sound of his own heart breaking. "I thought you loved me."

"I am doing this because I love you," Wakatoshi says, and Satori lets out a scream at his words.

"In what fucking way are you doing this because you love me?!" he shrieks, throwing his hands into the air. "Why the fuck are you leaving me if you love me?!"

"I am not...leaving you."

"You just said we should break up!"

"I just posed the question of what if we broke up."

Satori stops, as if realizing the full weight of Wakatoshi's words. He lets his hands flop pathetically to his side.

"I love you too much to condemn you to a life of even more scorn," Wakatoshi says bitterly. "Tendou, if we broke up, it would...this would be better for…"

"Better for who? Not better for you! Certainly not better for me!" Satori's teeth are bared, and he begins taking tiny steps backwards. "Look, I don't want to be involved in...in something that might end. You said that when you promised something, you'd mean it, but I guess...fuck, I guess you've been lying this whole time. So...if you really want me gone, I'll go."

Wakatoshi can do nothing as Satori picks up his backpack, his shoes, and disappears out the door. He barely remembers himself collapsing onto their bed— his bed, now —head in his hands, tears beginning to leak out of his eyes with nobody to brush them away.

This is what you wanted. This is what you wanted.

You just let go of the one person who loved you of their own free will. Tendou Satori, the boy with hair like roses and smiles like sunshine.

You are so, so difficult to love.

And now, Tendou Satori realizes that as well. 

—

He tries to figure out how to live by himself. 

It's easier to live by himself. Cheaper as well, now that there's one less person using the shower, one less person using the lights, one less person using the stove. 

It's quieter.

It's emptier .

There are no full trash bags left in the bin. There is no pile of dirty dishes left in the sink. There are no shoes left out in the middle of the doorway. There is no smell of baked goods greeting him whenever he opens the door. There is no sound of anime playing in the background while he studies. 

There is nobody to warm his bed while he sleeps.

So he goes through the motions of life, as best as he can remember. He is a creature of habit, he knows how to live life as a former husk of himself. His grades drop, ever so slightly. Not enough for his mother to notice, but just enough for him to notice. His texts with Reon and Eita become less and less, fewer and further between.

Everything drops, except for volleyball.

"Whoa!" One of his teammates whistles as he spikes a ball clear across the length of the gym. "Ushijima's on fire today!"

"Yeah, I don't think I've ever seen you play so well!" Hoshiumi pipes up, slapping him on the back. "What happened, man? Tell me what, so I can do it too!"

Wakatoshi gives a noncommittal shrug, and just says, "Personal matters." And everyone lets him leave it at that. 

Nobody realizes that there is something wrong with him. He is overcompensating for all the misery he is experiencing. If he is failing in one area of his life, the least he can do is succeed immensely at another one. 

He doesn't cry. He never cries. He made his decision, Satori made his—he ignores the voice in the back of his head that they never actually did break up, Satori just left and Wakatoshi did not follow.

He swallows his bitterness.

The rope in his chest was pulled so tightly, it snapped. Now he doesn't know what to do with the leftover pieces. 

How could I ever let it get this bad?

—

One day after classes, Wakatoshi opens his door to the sound of somebody saying, "So when are you and Tendou going to make up?"

He freezes, a deer caught in headlights, at the voice. It's not Satori's, it's Eita's . 

"What are you doing in my home?" he asks as Eita climbs off his kitchen counter. "How did you get into my home?"

Eita holds up a keychain that Wakatoshi recognizes as Satori's. "Stole Tendou’s keys while he was sleeping and came here."

"I believe you should give that back—"

"Not important right now," Eita says, holding up his hand. It's been two months since he last saw Eita in person—that was in May, and it's July now. "Look. We gotta talk. Tendou has been freeloading off me for the past two months, and—look, I'm always happy to provide for him, but—"

"I am sorry," Wakatoshi says, cutting him off. " I...if it is inconveniencing you, I will talk to Satori, and we will...figure something out—"

"No," Eita says, cutting him off. "I know...I know that you two are taking...a break from each other."

"We broke up," Wakatoshi says, to which Eita vehemently shakes his head. 

"You guys didn't break up. If you did break up, Satori wouldn't be crying every night about how much he misses you."

"Is that not what people normally do after a breakup?"

"You are—" Eita puts his face into his hands, rubbing at his eyes. "Insufferable. The both of you. Absolutely insufferable ever since our first year. Idiots. You—fucking idiots. Oh my god."

Eita grabs him by the shoulders, but he can't quite reach, so he climbs back onto the kitchen counter to make eye contact with Wakatoshi. "I can't...look, I don't really have the best relationship advice. I'm not really sure I can give you any, given how my own is going."

"Something is happening with Shirabu?" Wakatoshi asks. "Perhaps you should worry about him before you worry about me."

He watches Eita's face twist, and he realizes that he may have said something he didn't mean again. He only meant that Eita should put his own relationships first, instead of worrying about him and Satori. Eita must have taken it to mean that he's not qualified enough to give him relationship advice. That would be a lie—Wakatoshi does trust his friend's words wholeheartedly. 

His friend grumbles, shaking his head. "He can—Shirabu can wait. The point I'm trying to make, Ushiwaka, is that you mean the world to Tendou. And I know it's hard for you to see, but this is only hurting both of you. You need to talk to him. If you don't, you're only gonna let the rift between you two grow wider and wider."

"This is for the better," Wakatoshi says, but even before the words leave his lips, he can tell it's a baldfaced lie. Eita shakes his head, even more violently than before.

"I've seen how you two have been acting, and it is not for the better!" the man screeches, tugging at strands of his silver-blonde hair. "You're destroying your lives and insisting it's okay, but it is not fucking okay! You make each other happy, I know you do. So—so get your heads out of your asses and have an adult conversation and just talk . I know you're a rational person, and I know you've thought about this a lot, but Wakatoshi, please ." 

There's a look in Eita's eyes that suggests that he's not just saying it for Wakatoshi's sake, he's saying it for his own sake. 

But if people are beginning to notice his descent into madness, then he supposes that he should begin to do something about it. 

"Okay," Wakatoshi says. How he's supposed to talk to Satori when he's blocked him through text and every other social media he has, he's not sure. "Okay, Eita."

—

He does not know how to talk to Satori. He does not know how to talk to people. That was always what Satori was for. He tells Eita as much.

Eita's idea of helping him makes itself known three weeks later, with a knock on the door as he's studying. 

"Reon?" Wakatoshi asks as he cracks open the door. He's grateful for the distraction—his skin feels like it's crawling with a thousand bees. "What are you doing here?"

Oohira Reon gives him a kind smile as he lets himself into Wakatoshi's apartment. He sits down on the couch. The late July sun streams through the window, allowing for Wakatoshi to see every particle of dust fly into the air. The couch hasn't been used in a very long time. 

"I am sorry the apartment is in disarray," he says, by which he means that he hasn't yet put up the dishes drying in the sink, and that he hasn't yet put up his duffel bag. "Would you like..." He looks through the refrigerator. There's nothing there but iced tea. He no longer has loose-leaf tea. Satori took that as well.

"It's fine," Reon says for him before he can embarrass himself further. In any other situation, Wakatoshi would be mildly irritated that Reon showed up on such short notice, but he has a feeling he knows what's about to happen.

"So," his friend says as he sits down next to him. Reon offers him a comforting smile, and normally it would do its intended purpose, but not today. He's not sure it would have worked in the weeks and months leading up to this moment. "Eita tells me you've been having relationship trouble."

"We broke up," Wakatoshi says, and unlike Eita, Reon nods his head thoughtfully.

"I see. Did you officially break up?"

"Well, I put forth the idea that we could break up, and then Satori left immediately after. The only reasonable conclusion is that we are now broken up."

Reon hums. "Did you want to break up with him?"

Wakatoshi slumps over. "It is not a matter of whether I want to, it is a matter of whether or not it will make our lives easier in the future. As much as it pains me, this is for the better."

"Does it feel like it's for the better?"

"It is for the better."

"Not what I asked. Does it feel like it's for the better?"

Wakatoshi thinks. He thinks about how his life is so much quieter. He thinks about how he has gotten so much less done in Satori's absence. He thinks about how he has felt so much less without Satori.

"It feels," Wakatoshi says in a bare whisper. "Like the best part of me is missing. And I want it back, but I don't know if I deserve it."

Reon is silent for a moment after he says these words. 

"Then you earn it back," Reon says. "You work to earn him back. And I know that you're capable of working hard to regain somebody's trust. Especially when that somebody is Tendou."

"I hurt him."

"And he hurt you too." Reon closes his eyes. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but you both are at blame here. This entire situation isn't completely your fault. Tendou—I know that he hates your mother. And all of us know that your mother hasn't been the greatest to you. But...he went the wrong way about it. Your family is important to you, and—"

"Satori is my family," Wakatoshi says softly. "All of you are my family. And...because of the way my mother is, I will eventually have to choose between the family I was born into and the family I have found. I...do not know how to choose. And I feel like...I must choose, and I must choose soon."

The silence that stretches between his words and Reon's next words is immense. 

"Ai's parents didn't always like me at first," Reon says quietly. "Because...y'know. I'm a foreigner, I grew up in America, even though I grew up speaking more Japanese than English. They didn't want their daughter to be dating someone like that, much less marry someone like that."

Wakatoshi is stunned. He had always been under the impression that Reon's and Ai's relationship was idyllic, picture-perfect. He supposes that no relationship is ever truly smooth sailing, always. 

"I won't pretend like my relationship with Ai was perfect. We all have ups and downs. That's a given. What's important is...if the two of you are willing to keep trying despite all of it. And I know the two of you are more than capable of trying again and again and again." 

"I..." Wakatoshi thinks. He's been trying. He's been trying for so long to figure out a way to make this work. He knows that what he did with Satori feels more akin to just giving up , but he also knows that there are situations when it is important to give up rather than keep trying. He tells Reon this.

"Is this a situation where I should give up, or is it one where I keep trying?" Wakatoshi mutters to himself. "I don't know."

Reon sighs. "I...can't answer that. The choice between giving up and fighting was never mine—it was Ai's. And...I'll always be grateful for Ai. She gave her parents an ultimatum. Let her date me, or she'd walk away from them as soon as she was able to. It was...one of the biggest risks she's ever done, but it paid off. They opened up to me. And...over time, they grew to like me." 

He looks over at Wakatoshi. "And—I know that your situation is way worse than mine. I know it's completely different. And I know that your mom isn't willing to change her opinion about Tendou. But...if you give her an ultimatum, you'll see where her priorities really lie. If she really does love you, then she'll understand."

"And if she doesn't understand?" Wakatoshi can feel the weight on his chest growing. "And if she...casts me out?"

The smile that Reon gives him is so, so sad. 

"Then you may have to start considering the idea that she never really loved you at all. She only loved the image of you that she saw in her head."

—

Wakatoshi has never been one for alcohol, but he supposes that since he is legally able to drink it now, he figures there is no better time than now.

He also finds that he doesn't particularly like the taste of alcohol. So he has a single drink, on the bartender's recommendation, and then he just stares out into the crowd of people. 

One of those people looks mildly familiar. He's wearing a black hoodie with the hood and strings drawn tightly, his hair is tawny brown, and his eyes are...

"Shirabu?" Wakatoshi asks in shock, and the man nearly jumps out of his seat.

"Ushiwaka?!" Kenjirou squeaks, eyes darting around wildly. "What—what are—uh, what are you doing here?!"

"I..." Wakatoshi takes stock of Kenjirou's disheveled appearance, from the way his hair looks greasy, the way his eyes look red, the way his movements are lethargic. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Aw, shit..." Kenjirou buries his head in his arms. "Great. Just great. Nobody was supposed to see me like this."

"Are you alright?" Wakatoshi asks, and Kenjirou begins shaking his head before he even finishes the question.

"It's Eita," Kenjirou sobs out. "I fucking hate him. I fucking hate him so much."

"Ah." Wakatoshi has never been good at comforting people. This is absolutely no exception. Him comforting one of his graduated kouhais in the middle of Tokyo while he's drunk and crying is...certainly a new experience. Not one that he's eager to experience, either. 

He feels bad, that he wishes he could escape this situation. But he knows Kenjirou, so he feels obligated. And the man looks so miserable . 

At the very least, he should feel happy that his resentment towards Satori has never progressed to hate. 

Kenjirou then spends the next five minutes talking about how much he hates Eita, how much he loves Eita, how much he wishes Eita would go away, how much he wishes Eita would just come back. He feels a sense of Deja vu, and he imagines that this must be what Eita and Reon felt like when they talked with him. 

"Satori and I are going through something similar," he says at some point, cutting off Kenjirou's tangent about how Eita left his stupid black lipstick at his apartment and hasn't come to get it back yet. Kenjirou's head immediately shoots up.

"You? And Tendou?!" he screeches, and Wakatoshi would be concerned, but the bar is loud enough that he can barely hear him through all the noise. "Aw, fuck, is it like that one time you got suspended and you got into a fight?"

"It's..." Wakatoshi stares into his glass. He thinks he should have another drink. "Much more complicated than that."

"Did you dump him or did he dump you?"

"We..." He's going to say that they broke up, but he's been thinking too much over the past two weeks since Reon's visit, and with every passing day he realizes that, no, they were not broken up. They were just...

What were they?

"I don't know. He left, though. He's been...crashing at Eita's apartment."

Kenjirou lets out a crazed laugh, slamming his drink down onto the table. He seems so...different. Wakatoshi does suppose that the two of them have graduated high school, and even though there's a year's difference between them, it feels way less significant than when they were in high school. "God. That's who Eita's been hiding from me this whole time? Fucking Tendou ? He's been fucking Tendou? "

"What do you mean by that?" Wakatoshi asks, feeling his heart descending straight down to hell. "Shirabu. What do you mean by that?"

"Eita said that he was taking care of someone and that's why he's been hanging around me less and less and then he wouldn't tell me who it was, so then I snapped and accused him of fucking someone else, and we're not technically together, so it wouldn't technically be cheating, and then I threw his nail polish at his face and broke the bottle before he could say anything, so I guess I'll never know if he was fucking someone else, but it still hurts, y'know, and now I find out it was just fucking Tendou all along, and that he's with Eita because he dumped you, and I just—" The man slams his palm down onto the counter, turning towards the bartender. "Can I get another drink?"

It's frankly incredible how Kenjirou said all of that in a single breath. Wakatoshi would be impressed if not for the fact that he now feels infinitely more guilty about this entire situation. 

"Aren't you underage?" he whispers as the bartender heads away. 

Kenjirou just shrugs. "Bribed the bartender." He takes another sip.

None of this makes anyone at fault. If Satori decided to...fuck Eita, well, you did say that it would be better if you broke up, and part of breaking up does entail the two of you seeing other people, and…

He tries not to think about the things he thought when he was in his first year of high school, and how Semi Eita ticked all the boxes for what Tendou Satori was attracted to. How Semi Eita is infinitely cooler than him. How Semi Eita would probably not give up Tendou Satori just because his mother disliked him. 

"Y'know, Ushiwaka," Kenjirou mutters. "Anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyone. Tendou doesn’t know how he left a good thing behind."

"Thank...you?"

"I had the biggest fucking crush on you when we were in high school," Kenjirou mutters, learning forward, and Wakatoshi thinks for a second that he's misheard his kouhai, but then he keeps going. "I thought you were amazing. Incredible. Our very own goddamn miracle boy, right in front of me. Like...like a god or something, I don't know. Someone that seemed larger than life."

Wakatoshi does not know what to say to that. He thinks that Kenjirou has had one too many drinks. 

"You do not know what you're saying," he says as he reaches a hand out to Kenjirou to push him back. It scares him how easily Kenjirou leans into his touch. "You are drunk."

"Yeah, but..." Kenjirou lets out a tiny giggle. He leans closer to Wakatoshi, and he can see how the man's cheeks are flushed. Whether from the alcohol, or something else, Wakatoshi doesn't want to know. "It'd be funny if Tendou and Eita were hooking up, so we hooked up."

"Please," Wakatoshi says, and he can feel the pit in his stomach growing. He can’t fathom the idea of kissing anyone other than Satori, let alone one of his former underclassmen. Even if a year’s age difference is not that big of a deal anymore, he still loves Satori. He still loves Satori. "Don't. Kenjirou."

Kenjirou shrugs, leaning back and continuing to drink. Then he waves the bartender over to them. "A drink for my friend here."

Another drink of something dark brown gets set in front of him, and despite his better judgement, he picks it up and drinks it. It numbs all of his thoughts. Good. He doesn't particularly want to think right now. 

"Holy shit," a new voice says from his left. "Ushiwaka? Shirabu?"

Excellent. Another person who recognizes him in public. Both him and Kenjirou turn around to find Yamagata Hayato staring at them, holding his phone up to his ear.

"I'll call you back," he says to the person he's calling before he sits down. "Uh...nice seeing you two here?"

"Hello," Wakatoshi says, and Kenjirou garbles out a similar response. "We are..." He looks between him and Kenjirou, taking stock of the amount of alcohol the two of them have consumed. Kenjirou: a lot. Himself: barely any. "Drinking our woes away."

"Oh?" Hayato asks as he sits down and raises his hand for a drink. "What kind of woes?" 

"The woes of love," Kenjirou whines. 

Hayato nods in understanding. "Ah. Yeah, I'll join you in that department as well. I...well, it was a couple of weeks ago, but I guess it still counts. I broke up with Rena."

"What? Why?" Kenjirou demands. "Why is every single one of us going through a breakup? What are they putting into the fucking water? Oh, wait, maybe Oohira’s sucking all of our relationship luck up and putting it towards his great marriage."

"Ignore him," Wakatoshi says. "You do not have to tell us if you do not want to."

"Nah, nah. I'm...over it." There's a look in Hayato's eyes that suggests otherwise, but Wakatoshi doesn't comment on it. "Y'know she's playing on a D1 team now? She's just...I feel like she's destined for greatness, y'know? And I’m only on a D2 team, I...just didn't want to hold her back."

"Did you ask her if that was what she wanted?" Wakatoshi asks, and Hayato raises an eyebrow. 

"Uh..." Hayato looks sheepishly into his glass. " No...no , I didn't."

"You broke up with her without explaining yourself?"

Hayato mumbles under his breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did."

Wakatoshi feels even more for Reon. He sends him a silent thank-you for being able to put up with his foolishness for so many years.

Everything seems so clear now.

This entire time, he's been an idiot. 

"Wow, we’re all idiots." Kenjirou pipes up, voicing his exact opinion. He raises his drink glass with a shaky hand. “Just a bunch of fucking idiots.”

"Hey, I'll drink to that," Hayato says, raising his glass as well. "Here's to being heartbroken idiots." 

Wakatoshi raises his glass as well, clinking it against his friends'. He drinks the last of it, feeling adrenaline run through his veins. 

He knows what he must do now. 

"This is the saddest Shiratorizawa alumni reunion I've ever seen," a voice says in front of them, and all of them nearly snap their necks in their haste to look up.

Kawanishi Taichi is cleaning a glass with a towel, staring down at them with a disapproving glance. "Ushiwaka, Shirabu, I did not expect two normally very logical people to end up here."

"Hey!" Hayato protests, but Taichi ignores him. 

"Ohmygod, you work here, I forgot," Kenjirou says, holding out his glass for another refill. Taichi pushes it back. 

"Yeah, I do work here. Who do you think has been letting you underage drink this whole night?"

"You should drink with us too."

Taichi shakes his head. "Sorry, but Jin and I are going pretty good right now. I don't think you want to hear about how good of a relationship I'm in."

"You're right, I don't," Kenjirou shoots back. 

"You want my advice though," Taichi says, setting his glass aside. "Fucking talk. All of you. Talk it out. My god. All of you really are idiots."

That sounds exactly like what Eita and Reon have been telling him this entire time.

"I need to go," Wakatoshi says, standing up suddenly. His head spins a bit, but he's only had two or so drinks—he should be fine and mostly sober. 

"Where?" Taichi asks, not-so-subtly sliding the bill towards him. 

"Eita's apartment. Satori is there. I—I need to apologize. And talk. To him."

"I'm coming too!" Kenjirou declares, standing up and almost immediately stumbling back down. "I'm gonna...fucking...ugh, I just...need to see Eita's face again."

The two of them glance towards Hayato, who sighs and holds up his car keys, spinning them around his finger.

"Get in the car. I'll get you there in fifteen."

—

The rate at which they get to Eita’s apartment should be enough to set a new world record. 

“Oh my god,” Kenjirou gasps out as they climb flight after flight of stairs and approach Eita’s door. “Not all of us are athletes anymore. Would it kill you to slow down?”

“Sorry,” Wakatoshi says as Hayato already begins knocking on Eita’s door. It’s—he checks his phone—nearly midnight. But he knows that Satori’s sleeping habits have barely changed since high school, and he’s willing to bet that Eita’s been the same way. 

Please. Please. Please.

I do not believe in miracles, but just this once…

The door swings open, revealing Semi Eita in an oversized T-shirt saying, women love me, fish fear me . He looks genuinely surprised at the sight before him—to be fair, the sight is Wakatoshi and Hayato holding up Kenjirou by his arms like a rag doll with cut strings.

“Uh—“ he begins, but he can barely get a word out before Kenjirou is barreling towards him, wrapping his arms around Eita’s shoulders.

“Eitaaaaa,” the tawny-haired man whines. “Fuuuuuck. I’m sorry. For. All the things.”

“What the fuck, man?” Eita asks, directing his glare towards Hayato. “When Tendou called you earlier, that wasn’t an invitation to bring Ushijima to my doorstep!”

Hayato holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, wasn’t my idea!” He points between Wakatoshi and Kenjirou. “They were the ones who seemed so insistent on it!”

Eita’s arms slowly come up to support Kenjirou’s body weight, and he glances between Wakatoshi and Hayato. “Either of you want to explain why my…why Shirabu is drunk, or…?”

“I need to talk to Satori,” Wakatoshi says instead, and Eita’s brows draw together at his words.

“He’s asleep right now,” Eita says flatly. “But glad to see you finally got your head out of your ass and you’re ready to talk. I’ll…I’ll let him know, but you’re going to talk to him on his terms, you got that?”

“Of course,” Wakatoshi agrees readily. “Tell him…tell him that I’ll wait for however long I need to.”

“Great. And I guess I’ll…” Eita shifts Kenjirou around in his arms. He looks exhausted. “Deal with this in the morning.”

And so Wakatoshi and Hayato turn around. Wakatoshi tries to not feel a pang of jealousy at the way Hayato easily opens his phone and says, “Hey…hey, Rena, I know you’re probably tired right now, but…”

He swallows his bitterness down. He tries to not throw it all back up. 

—

A week passes until Wakatoshi receives a text that simply just says, hey. im free tonight. And though Wakatoshi made plans to go out with his team that very night, he cancels them immediately.

The feeling of a thousand bees underneath his skin resurfaces. 

Whatever happens after this, whatever happens between you and Satori, you will suck it up and you will deal with it. If Satori says he wants to break up, you will leave him alone. If Satori says he wants to get back together, you will hold him close and never let him go again. If Satori tells you to die, you will kill—hmm, maybe not that one.

It is with these thoughts that he texts back: Is Eita’s apartment okay?

The singular minute it takes for Satori to respond may be the most stressful minute in Wakatoshi’s life.

Okay.

—

Wakatoshi has been standing outside of Eita’s door, hand raised to knock, for the past three minutes, his thoughts warring with each other the longer he drags it on. He’s only saved from his internal torment when Eita opens the door, scoffs, and says, “He was right, you did stand out here like an idiot.”

He vaguely gestures into his apartment. “He’s waiting for you.”

Wakatoshi forces his feet to move forward. Step by step by step.

Satori is sitting on the couch, sipping idly at a cup of tea. His hair has gotten longer, more unkempt. His eyes have gotten more tired. His mouth is drawn into a thin line. It doesn’t fit him. It’s such a stark contrast from the smiling boy Wakatoshi holds in his memories.

"Then you may have to start considering the idea that she never really loved you at all. She only loved the image of you that she saw in her head."

If he is to spend the rest of his life with Satori, he must be able to love every single facet of him, take the good with the bad. If he doesn’t, if he holds Satori to the pristine image he has of him in his head, he will be no better than his mother.

“Hey,” Satori whispers, slowly. His mouth remains in a thin line, like he’s forgotten how to smile.

Wakatoshi’s not sure if he remembers how to smile either.

“I am sorry,” Wakatoshi says immediately. “I should never have put forth the idea of us breaking up. Please…please know that for the past two years, I have not been thinking clearly at all about my future. I do not know what I want for my future. And I was wrong to take it all out on you.”

Satori nods, closing his eyes and taking another sip of his tea. “I heard what happened last week. Or, well, I heard Shirabu talking to Semi about what happened. Heard him talking about how he had a crush on you when we were kids. And I…I kinda realized the reason why Semi kept pushing for Shirabu to not come around here while I was around.”

He takes a deep breath, staring down at the table. “It’s 'cause Shirabu built up this great image of the two of us in his head. Like we were untouchable and our life was perfect. Semi didn’t want to ruin that, so he kept Shirabu away, and then he fucked up his own relationship as well. And…I think in the same way, we did that too. We didn’t want to…ruin the illusion of our relationship, so we just ignored all the little problems. You did that. I did that. We were just…lying to each other, to ourselves, for so long. We were bound to come crashing down.”

All his life, Wakatoshi has been taught to swallow his bitterness. He has never realized that doing that would only cause the bitterness to keep coming back to the surface.

He needed to purge it from his body.

“I will not lie to you,” Wakatoshi says. “Not anymore. You did things that annoyed me. I did things that annoyed you. Both of us were at fault. I won’t lie to you about what you did that hurt me. But you were right about some of what you said. And that is why I have decided…”

He takes in a deep breath. This is the hardest part.

“I’ve made my choice. I’ll choose you for the rest of my life. Not my mother. You.”

Satori lets out a small, strangled gasp. “Ushiwaka, are you…are you sure?”

Wakatoshi nods. “It has been…a choice I have been mulling over for the better part of my life. But I finally know the answer now.”

He reaches forward to grasp Satori’s hand. Satori does not pull away. He takes that as his cue to intertwine their fingers together. 

“I could live away from my mother for years. I couldn’t live without you. Satori, I was…miserable. Empty. I missed you. I wanted you to come home.”

“Fuck, ‘Toshi, I wanted to come home so badly.” Satori’s wiping tears away from the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know if you wanted me there anymore. I didn’t know if I was home to you.”

“You have always been home to me,” Wakatoshi murmurs. “Always. I…I want to make a home, a future, with you. I want you to be a part of my life, for the rest of our lives.”

Satori smiles, softly, sadly. “Y’know, you always made me feel like your first choice. It hurt, that night. I thought you were choosing your mom over me, but now that I think about it, it’s obvious. Gun to my head, if I had to choose between you or my mom, I don’t know what I’d choose.”

“I would not mind if you chose your mother over me,” Wakatoshi says. “Your mother is a very kind woman.”

Satori’s laughs, once. It’s barely anything, but barely anything is still something.

“Okay,” Satori says, closing the gap between them and putting his head to the crook of Wakatoshi’s neck. “Okay. Are we…are we good now?”

“We’ve always been good,” Wakatoshi says simply.

Satori closes his eyes and smiles, big and bright and familiar , and Wakatoshi can feel himself smiling as well, small as it is. They press themselves against each other, losing themselves in the other’s warmth. They stay there for so long, the sky begins to darken.

And then Satori’s eyes snap open, and he yells out, “Fuck!”

“What?” Wakatoshi asks hurriedly. Oh no. “What—what is it?”

“I almost forgot!” Satori tumbles off of Wakatoshi’s lap, to the floor, and then he’s scrambling towards Eita’s fridge. “This!”

Wakatoshi makes his way towards the fridge, craning his head to see what Satori’s taking out. It’s a very small cake, or perhaps a very large cupcake, with chocolate frosting and piped chocolate lettering. Happy Birthday! it reads.

“Don’t tell me you forgot what day it was,” Satori says teasingly as he pulls out a pair of candles and a lighter from the drawer. “Sorry. I just needed to do this before I forgot.”

Wakatoshi had, in fact, forgotten what day it was. He checks his phone, finding that it’s—

August 13th.

His twenty-first birthday.

“Happy birthday to you,” Satori sings as he dashes across the room to turn off the lights. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Wa-ka-to-shi! Happy birthday to you! Make a wish!”

Wakatoshi obediently bends over to blow out the candles, closing his eyes and making a wish as Satori instructs him to. He does not believe in wishes, the same way he does not believe in luck, or miracles, but he wishes anyway. 

I wish that everything goes up from here.

I wish that everything I want, I will get, in some capacity.

I wish...

I wish for everything to work out in the end.

“Try it.” Satori holds out a fork to him, and so Wakatoshi scoops up a piece of cake and takes a bite. It’s very good chocolate cake, rich and dense, and the frosting isn’t too sweet.

“It’s very good,” Wakatoshi says, touched. Did Satori make an entire birthday cake for him, knowing that they would make up in the end, so they could celebrate together? His guesswork is as good as ever. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm! I made the little chocolate letters too, took forever. Tempering's a pain.” Satori tilts his head. “Lemme try some too.”

Wakatoshi scoops out another bit of cake for him, holding it up to Satori’s mouth as if to feed him. But Satori bypasses that altogether, twisting his head so that his lips slot perfectly against Wakatoshi’s. Wakatoshi can feel him moving his tongue, licking a stray smear of frosting off of his lips.

“Tastes excellent,” Satori declares. “As always. I made it.”

“Is there anything you cannot do?” Wakatoshi asks as Satori helps himself to his birthday cake. “Truly a miracle.”

Satori stops mid-chew, swallowing his bite of cake down before setting his fork down and smiling. He brings his hand up to cradle Wakatoshi’s cheek.

“That’s not me, ‘Toshi. That’s you.”

And Wakatoshi smiles the tiniest of smiles as Satori wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him again once more. Slowly, carefully.

“Welcome home, miracle boy.”

—

The next two years pass without much incident. They argue. They make up. They come back stronger. Just like how it's always been.

Wakatoshi's never been happier, truly. 

And then the day they graduate from college comes.

Wakatoshi wakes up as the sun rises. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, mumbles to himself, turns over to face Satori. 

A Satori who is very much wide awake and staring at him.

"Good morning," Wakatoshi says, surprised. Satori smiles, giggling. "You're up...earlier than I expected."

"I know, considering we were up later than normal," Satori says cheerfully as he trails a finger across Wakatoshi's bare chest, poking the plethora of purpling bruises and bite marks that decorate his collarbones. "But I couldn't sleep. Too excited."

"Yes, it's a very important day," Wakatoshi says, wrapping his arms around Satori and pulling him close. "How I am meant to go outside and graduate while looking like I have been mauled by a bear, I do not know."

"Hey, I got the worst of it." Satori grins, mischievously. "I couldn't walk for like an hour after you fucked me into the mattress. What if I collapse midway through the ceremony?"

"You wanted me to do that."

Satori hums, closing his eyes in thought. "Yes, yes, I suppose I did."

They stay like that for a couple hours more. They have time until the ceremony in the afternoon. Time until they have to go out and face the world, until Wakatoshi sees his teammates, his old high school friends, his mother. 

"I have something for you," Satori says when they finally crawl out of bed and get dressed. He goes to one of the cabinets in the kitchen, the one that contains all the pots and pans. He pulls out a small dark red box.

For a second, Wakatoshi's heart plummets, before he realizes that, no, that's far too big to be an engagement ring box, it's alright, you still have time, you still have time—

You graduate today. You fully become an adult today. 

You're out of time.

"I'm going to France," Satori says quietly. "In two weeks. I got accepted into a foreign exchange student program. I'm gonna be studying at culinary school for the next...two years. In Paris."

Two years. Two years. Two years.

I couldn't survive without you for two months.

How am I meant to do that for two years?

And the time difference...

"That's amazing, Satori," Wakatoshi says, taking his face in his hands and kissing him on the forehead. "That's incredible. I...I am so proud of you."

Satori smiles, tears shining in his eyes. "Thanks, 'Toshi. But I'm gonna miss you. And I know you're gonna miss me too. So...I made you this. For when I'm away."

Wakatoshi goes to open the box, but Satori quickly slams his hand on the lid. "Ah-ah! Not yet! Only when I'm away, you can open it."

"I see." Wakatoshi takes the box, setting it on the counter. "Very well." He thinks about what he will do when Satori leaves. He will be terribly lonely when he's gone, for two whole years. He will need to find someone else to room with. "The lease for this apartment expires in two weeks as well...one of my teammates has been looking for someone to live with."

"Who?"

"Kageyama Tobio."

Satori laughs. "Oh my god, that monster kid from Karasuno? He's on the Adlers with you?"

"Yes. His debut game is in a couple weeks."

"Ah, well. Have fun." Satori kisses Wakatoshi on the cheek, tugging at his wrist. Wakatoshi tries not to think about how he will miss Satori terribly in the coming days, weeks, months, how he is already starting to miss him. " Now...we gotta graduate, yeah?" 

Wakatoshi nods. "Indeed we do."

Satori smiles. It's brighter than the sun. "Let's go graduate, miracle boy."

—

The next few weeks pass in a blur of Wakatoshi trying to make the most of the time he has left with Satori. They graduate. They celebrate. Satori begins making his rounds, saying goodbye to his friends and family. 

Then it's two weeks later, and Wakatoshi is standing in the airport at six in the morning, Satori with two suitcases and an enormous backpack at his side. 

"It'll be okay," Satori says, wiping the tears away from Wakatoshi's eyes and his own. "You can call me every night. You already figured out the best time to call me, didn't you?"

"Of course." Tokyo is seven hours ahead of Paris. Wakatoshi has already begun restructuring his schedule to allow for nightly calls. It is easier to do, when he no longer has classes to worry about, only daily practices. 

"Have fun," Wakatoshi says, but his voice is beginning to break. "Learn as much as you can. Please..."

"I won't forget about you," Satori promises, already guessing the rest of Wakatoshi's sentence. "I'm gonna have a great time. And you're gonna have a great time in Japan without me. We are both gonna have a great time. You're gonna...become a volleyball star. You're gonna do great things. And I will...probably do great things, I might just eat a lot of chocolate, though."

"You will do great things," Wakatoshi reassures him. "You will...make an incredible chocolate sculpture, I'm not entirely sure what they do in culinary school."

Satori laughs, and it's bright, and loud, and Tendou Satori, I will miss your laugh, your smile, I will miss you more than life itself. 

The intercom above them crackles, and it snaps them both back to reality. 

"Aren't you gonna wish me a good flight?" Satori asks, teasingly, trailing his fingers across Wakatoshi's cheek. 

"That is not up to me." 

The man he loves chuckles, wrapping his arms around him one final time, pressing the quickest of kisses to his lips. "I love you. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Try not to be too sad, 'kay? I won't be sad if you won't be sad."

"I won't. Be sad. I won't be sad," Wakatoshi repeats, trying not to cry. "I'll try not to be sad."

"Good," Satori says, squeezing his hand. The pressure is comforting, but Satori's fingers are already slipping away, too fast, too soon, and—

"Satori," Wakatoshi says, and Satori pauses. His fingers pause in their movements. "Tendou Satori. I love you."

And Tendou Satori smiles, and it's brighter than the sun that's beginning to trickle in through the windows.

"I love you too, 'Toshi," Satori says, and then he's letting go of Wakatoshi's hand, pressing one more kiss to Wakatoshi's lips, forehead, cheek, hand, and he's grabbing his suitcases, and he's stepping away, and—

And then the boy with hair like roses, with smiles like sunshine, the boy he's known all his life disappears into the crowd, gone, and Wakatoshi is left to be truly alone for the first time in his life. 

—

Things change. He moves apartments. He practices volleyball full-time. He moves in with Kageyama Tobio. He changes. He adapts. 

He also comes to realize that, in a phenomenal twist of fate, Kageyama Tobio and himself are cut from the same cloth when it comes to maintaining their apartment.

It's been weeks since he moved in with Kageyama. He has never once needed to wash any dishes that weren't his own. The trash is taken out on time every week. Their shoes are lined up neatly when they enter and leave the house. 

He learns more things about Kageyama Tobio, the boy that managed to beat him in his last year of high school. Kageyama likes pork curry with a soft-boiled egg and rice. Kageyama has an older sister who is a hairdresser and makeup stylist. Kageyama has a best friend in a foreign country that he misses very much, just like him.

Wakatoshi misses Satori terribly, he really does. Every day, when he calls him, he can tell that Satori misses him as well. But, well...

"I bet you miss me a bunch, huh?" Satori asks one night, half a year after he left for France. This is true. Wakatoshi has never not missed Satori, even if the feeling has died down to be tolerable, even unnoticeable at times. The longing never grew any smaller, but his life grew bigger around it. "Bet you wish it was me with you."

"Ah..." Wakatoshi hesitates, because, yes, he misses Satori more than anything. Yes, he misses Satori's energy and vibrancy and general presence. What he does not miss is Satori's general messiness—granted, Satori has been working on it over the past few years. He has gotten better. Kageyama has expressed the same sentiment numerous times; apparently, Hinata Shoyo had a penchant for forgetting basic household chores as well. 

Kageyama's head snaps up when he hears the question. Wakatoshi glances towards him, then the laptop screen, asking the question with his eyes: can I tell him?

Immediately, Kageyama shakes his head vigorously, making a slashing motion across his neck. No. The truth would only hurt their partners. It's mildly funny how this feels like a sordid love affair, only because of how intently they're hiding this from their partners. 

"Oh, yes," Ushijima says, nodding severely as he lies through his teeth. "Living with him is...awful. Absolutely awful. Can't...can't wait until it's just me and you again, Satori, darling."

"Aww," Satori gushes, and Kageyama breathes a sigh of relief as he heads off to his room. "You called me darling again! You've been doing that more and more."

"Have I?"

"Mhm!" Satori nods his head up and down, running a hand over his head. He buzzed his head months ago, because his hair didn't comply with health regulations. And apparently, rather than get a shorter haircut, he decided to completely shave all his hair off. "I miss you. I miss you loads, 'Toshi."

"As do I." Wakatoshi carries his laptop over to the living room, opening the curtains and sitting down on the couch. The bright lights of the Tokyo night illuminate the dark room—Kageyama and he had stopped turning on the overhead lights entirely a while ago. The only other source of light is a lamp in the room's corner. "Did they ever figure out what happened to your neighbor?"

"Oh, no, I think they—ah, un pain au chocolat, s'il vous plaît? Merci, merci. I think she's officially missing now." Satori's face bobs in and out of frame—Wakatoshi thinks he's in a cafe, on his phone. 

"Ah. I hope they find her soon. Hopefully she has not been murdered," Wakatoshi says just as Kageyama emerges from his room, throwing him a bewildered glance. "Any other news?"

"I learned a fun new phrase in French! But I can't say it here, otherwise I'll get kicked out of this nice cafe."

"Please tell me something nice in French," Wakatoshi says. "Please do not say anything that will get you kicked out of any place."

"Je vous aime," Satori coos, and Wakatoshi knows that this means I love you , and that Satori always says it before he logs off for the night. "Mon amour." This means my love . This has become a new nickname for Wakatoshi in the past few months. 

" Il y a un nuage qui ressemble à un canard ," Satori says, and Wakatoshi has no idea what any of that means. But then he points his phone towards the sky, and Wakatoshi sees a very large cloud, so he supposes Satori was commenting on the cloud's shape. " Écoutez, ce morceau ressemble à un bec de canard ."

"Is it in the shape of a duck?" Wakatoshi asks, and the camera flips back around to reveal Satori's beaming face. 

"See? You're learning French too!" 

Wakatoshi chuckles. "I suppose I am."

He leans over, checks his phone. It's nearing ten PM. He needs to sleep soon, but he also always wants to keep talking with Satori. But sleep is important, and so he begins preparing to say goodnight. Another part of the routine he has become used to over these past few months.

"Goodnight, Satori," Wakatoshi says, and Satori's eyes snap back to his screen. "I have to sleep now. I love you."

"Goodbye!" Satori's smiling face fills the entire frame. "Je vous aime!" 

And then the screen turns black, and Wakatoshi is left with only his thoughts and the mutterings of Kageyama as he rummages through cabinets in search of something.

Kageyama Tobio is a very good roommate. But Kageyama Tobio cannot warm his bed at night, warm his heart, in the way only Tendou Satori can. 

—

Sometimes, the longing gets pushed to the back of his mind. Sometimes, he goes for hours at a time without thinking of Satori, only remembering that he has a lover all the way across the globe when his alarm to call him goes off. He feels guilty that he doesn't miss Satori more . But he told Satori this once, and Satori told him this: 

"Yeah, I mean, I don't expect you to be constantly missing me all the time. You got your own life. You're a volleyball star—oh, by the way, I caught your game the other day, you were fuckin' amazing! Anyway—you're busy. I'm busy. So...I get it if you don't have the time to think about me. Doing this every night is enough for me."

But sometimes, the longing becomes too much. It makes itself known during late nights and early mornings, when there is nobody there when he opens and closes his eyes. When Kageyama goes out for an evening, when he leaves the apartment to Wakatoshi and his thoughts. 

It hurts . 

Wakatoshi stares at his phone screen, at the latest Instagram post Satori had made. He's standing next to a tall chocolate sculpture of a swan, with a first place plaque in his hands, the caption proudly proclaiming that he "made this entire goddamned thing himself!" Satori has been gaining notoriety in the Parisian culinary world, with his new takes on Japanese-inspired confections. He is, after all, half French and half Japanese—if anyone could figure out a way to blend the two together, it would be Tendou Satori. He seems to have won a competition. Satori is making a name for himself, halfway across the world. 

It seems like Satori's life is constantly learning something new, making something new, doing something new. In comparison, Wakatoshi's life feels like it's stagnating. Practice after practice, game after game, going over his mistakes, training until he can overcome them. 

It all starts to feel the same.

It's exactly what he feared would happen to his life when he was still in school.

He wishes Satori were here to speak to him in person. He feels like it would be different somehow, if Satori's face were right in front of him, instead of separated by a screen. Satori would say something good, and he would feel better, and he would move on with his life. 

So he does the next best thing. He calls Iwaizumi Hajime. It's midnight right now. It should be eight PM in California. 

"Hello?"

"How do you deal with loneliness during a long-distance relationship?" he asks, and Iwaizumi sputters in surprise. He calls Iwaizumi frequently—ever since they met with his father in California when they were nineteen, they've called at least once a week to discuss workout regimens and volleyball and other sports-related things. 

They have never once called to discuss romance. But Iwaizumi is dating Oikawa Tooru, who is currently playing for Argentina, and so he would probably know something about long-distance relationships. Granted, the time difference between California and Argentina was significantly less than the one between Japan and France, but still. It's something worth trying. 

Iwaizumi’s voice is extremely confused as he asks, "What...makes you think I'm qualified to give advice about this?"

"Are you not dating Oikawa? Is he not in Argentina currently?" 

At this, Iwaizumi completely chokes. "I don't—I'm uh—not dating Oikawa?"

"Ah." That's strange. Wakatoshi could have sworn that they were, the last time he saw them in high school. Satori had thought so too. "I apologize for bothering you. I will hang up now—"

"No, wait—" Iwaizumi says before he can hang up. "Is this about Tendou?"

"Yes."

Iwaizumi makes a humming noise from the other side of the line. "Right, he's in France. How's that going?"

"I am very lonely. And sad."

A dry chuckle. "Yeah, me too. I mean, I don't know if you're in the worse situation, because you're actually dating him, or if I'm in the worse situation, because I've been pining over my best friend for basically my entire life and he still hasn't noticed, and then he fucks off to South America, and then he fucks Hinata—"

"He did what, now?" Wakatoshi asks, thoroughly confused. The conversation is getting very much derailed. He vaguely thinks that he shouldn't mention that last bit to Kageyama, because Kageyama has been pining over that orange boy for a very long time. 

"Sorry, that was a while ago. Allegedly, he did something with Hinata, I don’t really know what, but what happens in Brazil stays in Brazil." Iwaizumi clears his throat. "Anyway."

"Perhaps I should be the one giving relationship advice to you," Wakatoshi says as he opens the door to his balcony. There's a pleasant breeze drifting through his hair as he steps out, looking out across Tokyo. He never once in his life thought he would say those words, but he supposes that there’s a first time for everything. 

Iwaizumi dignifies him with a bark of laughter. "Yeah, maybe you should. I don't know. Sorry, I'm not being very helpful, and you called me for help."

"You are generally much more intelligent than me. I am sure that any lackluster advice you give me would still be helpful."

There's the sound of what sounds like Iwaizumi rummaging through his drawers before he sits down. 

"Here's what I do when I miss him. Oikawa likes scrapbooking, oddly enough. Before he left for Argentina, he gave me a scrapbook, and it was just...filled with pictures. From when we were kids all the way up until high school. I don't...I don't know if you and Tendou have something similar, but...think back on all the good memories you've made with him. Try and relive them in your mind. Remember how happy you felt with him. And...yeah, that's all I got for you."

"I see." Wakatoshi thinks about the conversation that he had with Satori, the day of their graduation. 

The box. 

"Only when I'm away, you can open it."

He hasn't yet opened it. It's been almost a year. He's halfway through the time he has until Satori comes back home. 

"I believe Tendou left me something similar," Wakatoshi says as he walks towards his closet. The top shelf. He had put the box there when he moved to this apartment, and then forgot about it. "Thank you for your help, Hajime."

"I don't think I did much, but you're welcome, Wakatoshi. Have a good night."

"You as well."

He hangs up. He takes the box down from the shelf. 

He opens the box.

There are dozens upon dozens of folded up colorful sticky notes, rattling around in the box. So many of them. Wakatoshi sits down on his bed, takes one of the notes out, unfolds it.

Hi 'Toshi!! Hey, you remember that one time we were eight years old and you knocked one of my teeth out? That was the first time you ever cried in front of me, and it wasn't even because you got hurt, it was because I got hurt! All the kids at our school thought you were really tough and mean, but they didn't know you at all. You were always really kind when we were kids. You're still kind now! Gahhh, I love you. I love you so much.

Wakatoshi sees the tears drip onto his blankets before he feels them. He folds the note again, careful not to crease the paper, and puts it back into the box. He goes through every single one of the notes. Every single one of the notes is about a random memory Satori had about them, something he saw that day that reminded him about them, even just ramblings about what he wants to do when he gets back home from France. Every single one of them says I love you . 

He could tell that they were all written when they were in college—how long had Satori been working on this? How long had he known that he was going to go to France?

He knew that Wakatoshi would miss him. Wakatoshi wishes he could have done something like this for Satori.

He'll call Satori tomorrow. He'll tell him that he finally read the notes he left behind. 

For now, he'll fall asleep with the words I love you burned behind his eyelids. 

—

The Adlers win their last game of the season. Wakatoshi is happy, but he does have to do an awful lot of pictures and interviews in the aftermath. He supposes that the pictures and the interviews would be a necessity regardless of if he won or lost, so he also supposes that he should be grateful that they won this time. 

He looks at the pictures of themselves taken after the game. He’s come to realize that all three of the most recent Schweiden Adlers members are terrible at smiling. Kageyama’s smile is too narrow, too strained, so he looks like a bad videogame villain. Hoshiumi’s is too wide, too manic, so he looks like a bad anime villain. His own is just off. Just off in some way that he can’t put a finger on. He doesn’t think he looks like a villain, but that doesn’t mean he looks good either. Well, at least he’s not alone in the I-have-a-shitty-smile club.

He watches the interview he was forced into. He winces every time he speaks, because he truly does sound dead inside, though his entire fanbase says that his deep voice is very charming. Satori makes fun of his fans every chance he gets, saying that they’re all probably teenage girls that are only watching the sport because he’s hot. 

“And where do you see yourself going after your contract with the Schweiden Adlers expires?”

He watches himself pause to fake-ponder this question—he’s been media trained, he can practically do any interview with his eyes closed, with how he gives out the same three answers to any question. 

“If the opportunity arises, I would like to expand my horizons, possibly with an international team. I do not yet have a team in mind, though, and so I will continue to enjoy my time with the Adlers for the foreseeable future.”

Just generic enough that people would praise his ambition, but not so overeager to leave his current team as to appear disloyal. 

His phone rings, and he sighs internally, and then externally, as he picks up the phone.

“Hello, mother,” he says, already trying to figure out a way to get out of the conversation. 

“Wakkun!” his mother says. “How are you?”

“Very well, mother. We just won our last game of the season.”

“Ah…yes, I did see that. Good job.”

“Thank you.”

“I watched your interview as well, Wakkun…”

Oh, no . Wakatoshi rolls his eyes, staring out his window and wondering if it would be a better use of his time to just throw his phone out of it, get a new phone and phone number, and never have to talk to his mother again.

It would be easier than having to talk to her in person. It would be easier to just cut all contact and vanish. It would be easier than confronting her with the fact that you do not want to call her family any longer.

No. His mother may be the way she is, but she deserves to hear him say this face-to-face.

Not yet, though.

“You really do need to work on your smile, Wakkun, you look like you’re being held there against your will!” This comment is punctuated with a couple of her nervous laughs, and Wakatoshi resists the urge to tell her, you try smiling after you’ve been running around on a court chasing a ball for two hours. I was exhausted. I’m always exhausted.

“And a foreign team, Wakkun? Really, don’t you think staying in Japan is enough? You’ll be all alone if you decide to go on an international team, I think you should—”

“Mother, I say in the interview that I am considering it. I have said the exact same thing for every interview I have given.” Wakatoshi says, now wondering if he should just up and leave to go play for an international team. Put as much space between him and his mother’s stifling grasp as he can. “My contract with the Adlers continues for two more years. I am not making any concrete plans for leaving the country any time soon.”

“Yes, but—”

“Ushijima!” Kageyama shouts as he ambles out of his bedroom, and Wakatoshi silently wishes Kageyama many blessings for his future. He hopes the man is able to work out whatever he has going on with Hinata Shoyo. He really does. “You wanna go out for dinner tonight? I don’t feel like cooking! I already texted Hoshiumi, so I’m going whether you want to or not!”

“Who is that?” his mother asks, her voice already suspicious.

“My roommate, Kageyama Tobio. He plays with me on the Adlers as our setter. I must go now, I believe we are going out for dinner with another team member.”

His mother tuts. Any minute now, he’s going to hang up. “Really, Wakkun, this is what I was talking about! You’re wasting the prime of your life away with your volleyball friends, not even bothering to try and look for stability with a nice girl, and—”

“Much apologies, mother,” Wakatoshi says, doing his best to sound apologetic and failing miserably. “I must go now. Goodbye.”

“Wakkun, we’re not done talking—!”

He takes that as his cue to hang up. He grabs his keys and nods towards Kageyama. “Let’s go.”

“That your mom?” Kageyama asks as he holds the door open. “She kinda sounds like an asshole. No offense.”

Wakatoshi sighs. “None taken.”

—

Satori calls him one day, half a year before he's set to come back to Japan, days after the Adlers win their last game of the season. There's unrestrained glee in his voice. 

"I'MGETTINGMYOWNFUCKINGDOCUMENTARY!" 

"Sorry?" Wakatoshi asks, because Satori said all of that in a single breath, and he himself is currently out of breath from practice. "Would you mind repeating that, please?"

He can hear his boyfriend jumping around on his end, something falling over, and then he hears: "I'M GETTING MY OWN FUCKING DOCUMENTARY!" 

"You are?" Wakatoshi asks, a little stunned, as he puts Satori on speaker so he can change and talk. He remembers the words Satori told him a long time ago: "And when they make a documentary about you, they can totally interview me as one of your old volleyball buddies."

It makes him happy, knowing that Satori is the one getting the documentary made about him. He deserves it, and he deserves every success that he's going to get in the future.

“YEAH! I WON ONE OF THE BIGGEST PATISSERIE COMPETITIONS IN FRANCE AS A COMPLETE ROOKIE, AND NOW THEY WANNA MAKE A FUCKING DOCUMENTARY ABOUT ME! HOLY SHIT, I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE IT, OH MY GOD—”

"That's amazing, Satori," Wakatoshi says, and his teammates are now beginning to crowd around him, looking at him with interest. "Absolutely amazing. I'm very proud of you."

"I want you to come here. To Paris."

The entire locker room goes silent, and Wakatoshi distantly thinks that it might have been a bad idea to put his phone on speaker. 

"To Paris?" he asks, snatching his phone off the bench and putting it to his ear before Hoshiumi can get to it first. Kageyama is trying to mouth questions to him, which is not working very well. 

"Yeah! To Paris! I can show you around, introduce you to all my culinary school friends! You just won a game, you're, like, probably gonna be rolling in money sometime soon, you can afford a trip here!"

"How did you know we just won?" Wakatoshi asks, and he can feel a smile creeping onto his face. He looks around—there's nobody here except for Kageyama and Hoshiumi, and so he allows himself to smile to himself. 

"I was watching you guys, I watch every one of your games, obviously!" 

Wakatoshi laughs into his fist. Hoshiumi and Kageyama are trying to have a silent conversation by waving their hands and exaggeratedly moving their mouths, which is going as well as he expects: not well at all. 

"He's laughing," Hoshiumi whispers to Kageyama, who nods vigorously. "Something is horribly wrong."

"Do you think he'll take us with him?" Kageyama whispers back. "He could stuff you in his suitcase, and I'll follow him around in one of those trenchcoat things."

"Hey, asshole, I'm not that short!" 

"When should I begin making plans?" Wakatoshi asks as Kageyama and Hoshiumi begin wrestling on the locker room floors. 

"Two months!" Satori shouts excitedly. "I'm gonna see if you'll be able to make a cameo in the documentary too! You'll make it blow up, y'know, 'cause you're a volleyball superstar now!"

"Two months," Wakatoshi repeats to himself. "Alright."

Two months. Two months. 

Hang in there for two more months.

—

Two months pass extraordinarily slowly. Wakatoshi swears the days are getting longer just to spite him specifically. But finally, finally , the day comes. Wakatoshi takes his suitcase, hails a taxi, and makes his way to the airport five hours early, because he couldn't sleep at all. How could he? He's a mere—he checks his flight time, and his heart sinks. 

Fourteen hours away from Satori. He sprung for a nonstop flight, so at least he doesn't have to wait two days to see his boyfriend that he hasn't seen in almost two years—oh god , he hasn't seen Satori in almost two years. 

He gets his plane ticket. He gets his passport checked. He sits in the airport terminal for a very long time. He feels like his skeleton is trying to crawl out of his skin. He boards the plane. He tries his best to sleep through the entire flight, but he only succeeds in sleeping for two hours. He hears a child screaming behind him, and an old man snoring in front of him. He reads the book he brought along with him. He eats the airplane food he's given. It tastes bland, but it is better than nothing. Someone to his right is throwing up into one of the paper bags. 

He thinks about what he should get Satori as a gift for when he lands. He already brought along some Japanese convenience store snacks, as he's sure Satori missed Japanese food during his time in Paris. He considers buying a bouquet of flowers—wait, no, airports don't sell flowers. And isn't Satori supposed to be the one buying the flowers? Wakatoshi's the one coming to him. Flowers. Romantic things. Paris is called the city of romance, isn't it? What if Satori was trying to send him a subtle message—what if Satori wants him to propose to him? Should he buy an engagement ring at the airport? Airports have jewelry stores, don't they? No—no, he's sure Satori doesn't want a half-assed proposal. But it would be nice to propose to him in front of the Eiffel Tower. Wait, but they have the Tokyo Tower back in Japan, that works just as well. He needs to stop thinking right now, or he's going to lose his mind. 

He tries to take a nap again. He succeeds this time, and when he opens his eyes, the plane is on the ground. He moves as fast as he can, but he is a very large man in a very cramped space, and there is a family trying to stay together in front of him, and so it takes a while for him to get off the plane, and it takes a while for him to use the restroom, and it takes a while for him to locate his baggage claim and find his luggage, and he's not connected to the French airport Wifi, so it takes a while for him to successfully call Satori, and to try and find Satori's bright red hair within the crowd of people in the airport, and there's so many other people with red hair, and—

He's right there.

"'Wa-ka-to-shi!" Satori screams in delight, and he's here , he's right here, in front of him, real and solid and—

Crushing him in a hug and tackling him to the ground. Wakatoshi's very impressed, because he's a D1 volleyball player, he should not be so easily tackle-able, but none of that matters because he's here, he's here , he's here —

And before Wakatoshi can stop himself, he grabs Satori by the back of his neck and slams their lips together. Satori makes a muffled sound of glee, and then he's kissing back, and Wakatoshi can no longer run his fingers through Satori's hair, because Satori has no hair , but that's fine, he can hold his hand, he can do what he wants, he is halfway across the world, there is no way his mother will be able to see him now, and—

Someone is screaming at them in French. "Hé! Vous ne pouvez pas faire ça ici!" Both of their eyes snap open at the same time.

"Désolé! Désolé!" Satori shouts back, scrambling off of Wakatoshi and pulling him upright in record time. He grabs Wakatoshi's luggages and his hand and begins hurrying towards the airport exit. Wakatoshi allows himself to be pulled along.

"Ah, well," Satori says, glancing up at Wakatoshi. "Sorry about that! I was just—really happy to see you—"

"I am happy to see you as well," Wakatoshi says, intertwining his fingers with Satori's. He squeezes his hand, and Satori squeezes back. 

Satori smiles—and oh , how Wakatoshi has missed that smile—and spreads his arms wide.

"Bienvenue à Paris!"

—

Satori’s apartment in France is small, and homey, and it smells inexplicably like chocolate. 

“I’m a chocolatier, ‘Toshi,” Satori scoffs as Wakatoshi remarks on the aroma. “Honestly, I’ve gotten used to it by now. Y’know, everyone thinks that being a chocolatier is great, ‘cause you get to eat all the chocolate you want, but you can’t, because it violates health codes. And working with chocolate is honestly a pain in the ass, more than anything, ‘cause it seizes up if the temperature’s a degree hotter, and then when I try to pipe it, the consistency is all wrong, and I—oof!”

“I missed you,” Wakatoshi says, trying to burn the feeling of Satori’s skin into his palms. “I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” Satori murmurs against his skin. “ Fuck , I missed you so bad.”

They kiss some more, stumbling their way into Satori’s bedroom. It’s even smaller in there, and it smells like Satori , like chocolate, and the hair gel that he uses, and the cologne he wears.

“Wait,” Satori says just as Wakatoshi goes to take his shirt off. “There’s…something I want to talk to you about.”

“Yes?” Wakatoshi half says, half asks, because he has no idea what more there needs to be said—he has been aching for Satori’s touch for the past two years, dammit, couldn’t it wait for an hour or two?

Satori takes a deep breath, looking to the side, and a sudden rush of fear overtakes Wakatoshi’s stomach.

Satori is scared .

What is going on?

“I’m thinking about…staying here,” Satori says, and it’s as though a boulder has dropped into Wakatoshi’s stomach. “In Paris.”

“Forever?” Wakatoshi asks immediately, and Satori laughs.

“Not—not forever , but…” Satori bites his lip. Old habits die hard, Wakatoshi supposes. “I really like it here. And I…I want to open a chocolate shop here. I’m good at what I do. And I have a plan—don’t worry! Don’t worry! A long term plan!”

He must have seen the worried look on his face, and rushed to reassure him. Wakatoshi closes his hand over Satori’s, breathing in, breathing out. “Okay,” he says slowly. “What is your plan?”

Please. Please. Please do not let this turn out like last time. Please. I do not know what I will do.

“People like my chocolate,” Satori continues. “I got…I got a gut feeling people’ll keep buying it. I got—I’m getting a fucking documentary made about me. I’m not…as famous as you, but I think I’m pretty good at this. So, when I open my chocolate shop, and when I get enough money, I’ll open up a second branch in Japan. I’ll move back and forth during the year. I’ll…it won’t be all the time, but I hope it’ll be enough…”

Wakatoshi could barely survive two years without Satori. The plan that he’s putting forward—it would take a very long and very vague amount of time to come to fruition. 

Could Wakatoshi wait that long? He doesn’t know. And yet…

“Tell him…tell him that I’ll wait for however long I need to.”

“My contract with the Adlers will be over in a few years,” Wakatoshi says quietly. “I…have been thinking about contracting with an international team when it expires. A European one. Possibly…possibly in France.”

Satori’s eyes light up, and his next words are spoken in hushed tones. “‘Toshi, you’d…you’d do that for me?”

“We will have to see if your current business endeavor pans out,” Wakatoshi says, kissing the tops of Satori’s knuckles. “If it doesn’t, well…I suppose you could always open a chocolate shop in Japan. And I could always play for another Japanese team. I can see only a win, from where I stand.”

“What if I go bankrupt?” Satori asks, chuckling. “What if everything just blows up in my face?”

“You are Tendou Satori,” Wakatoshi says with a hundred percent certainty. “There is nothing you cannot do.”

And his boyfriend begins crying at that, small, happy tears. “You have too much faith in me, ‘Toshi,” he manages to say as Wakatoshi wipes his tears away. 

“It is entirely deserved.”

Yes, being without the love of his life was difficult…but he got through it. He found ways to. His world no longer solely revolved around volleyball and Tendou Satori. 

And if the love of his life wanted to start a life in France, and if he let him in, then Wakatoshi was going to come along with him. 

It would be difficult, but nothing about his life thus far has ever been easy.

He would get through this. And he wouldn’t do it alone.

“Now,” Satori says into his ear, his voice low. Wakatoshi’s heart rate begins to ramp up, and Satori’s tiny bedroom suddenly feels entirely too small. “You wanna see if my bed can survive the night?”

—

The bed did, in fact, did survive the night. Whether anything else survived is a different story.

“I can stand perfectly fine,” Satori declares as he attempts to get up out of bed and take a couple of steps, and then immediately proceeds to fall over. “Ow. Or maybe not.”

“Sorry,” Wakatoshi says as Satori climbs back into bed. “At least we do not have the documentary to do today.”

“Which means it’s the perfect opportunity for me to show you around after work!” Satori sings as he cuddles up closer to Wakatoshi’s chest. “Oh my god , it’s gonna be so romantic.”

I will buy you flowers. Wakatoshi thinks. He saw a flower shop across the street. The flowers that grow in France are the same ones that grow in Japan. You deserve flowers. I never gave you flowers when we were younger, even though my mother had a garden. It would have been easy to pick some for you. You deserve everything. 

"I hafta go clock in in an hour." Satori presses his face closer to Wakatoshi's chest, sighing happily. "You'll be okay by yourself?"

"Yes," Wakatoshi says, tracing his fingers across Satori's back, trying to memorize the feel of his skin underneath his fingertips. "I'll be fine." 

He's grown up. He's learned how to wait.

So they get up, they get ready, Wakatoshi kisses Satori goodbye at the door, and then Wakatoshi is by himself. He exchanged his yen for francs at the airport, as soon as he got off of the plane. He walks out of Satori's apartment complex, across the street, to the flower shop. 

The flowers that grow in France are the same ones that grow in Japan. Carnations. Azaleas. Irises. Hydrangeas. Morning glories. Forget-me-nots.

Carnations mean fascination, distinction, and love. Azaleas mean patience and modesty. Irises mean good news, glad tidings, and loyalty. Hydrangeas mean pride. Morning glories mean willful promises. Forget-me-nots mean true love. 

Your mother was the one who taught you what all of those flowers mean. 

Wakatoshi sighs, shakes his head, walks into the shop. His mother still has a tight grip on him, even all the way in France. 

"Voulez-vous acheter quelque chose?" the lady at the counter asks as he comes in. He stares at her, confused, until she switches to heavily-accented English. "Ah—would you...anything to buy?"

"Ah. Yes." His English is also very bad and also heavily-accented, so he just points to each of the flowers that he wants. Four red camellias, for passion. Three yellow tulips, for smiles of sunshine. Two bleeding heart flowers, for true love. And, as an afterthought, a single red rose, separate from the bouquet. He asks for a note to be attached to the rose as well. He has the beginnings of an idea starting to form in his mind. A long overdue surprise that Satori deserves.

He pays for the flowers, wishes the lady a good day—in Japanese, but he thinks she gets the sentiment—and tries his best to figure out if he can walk to Satori's work on foot, because he doesn't want to risk getting scammed by a taxi driver. He can, it's only a twenty-minute walk on foot. So he walks. 

Paris may have the same flowers as Tokyo, but it looks vastly different. He has heard of Paris syndrome, an apparently common syndrome where Japanese people become extremely disappointed when they come to Paris. He has never aspired to come to Paris, so he is just pleasantly surprised all around. The architecture looks old, and classic, and he can see why the city is called the city of love. 

The chocolate shop is small, and it smells sweet, even from the outside. The bell above the door tingles as he walks in. The blonde-haired, brown-eyed man standing behind the counter is not Satori, but he points at him in recognition.

"Ushijima!" he shouts, and Wakatoshi is confused at how a D1 Japanese volleyball player is known all the way in Paris, but then the man follows it up with, "Satori's boyfriend!" 

Wakatoshi bristles at how close the man sounds to Satori for a moment, but then he remembers that people in the west say given name, then surname, and they almost never refer to people by just their surname. "Ah. Yes. That is me," he says, in his very clumsy English. 

He holds out the red rose to the man—Christopher, according to his name tag—and says, "For...Satori."

The man's eyes light up, and he says something in French before turning around and running off with the rose to what Wakatoshi assumes is the kitchen. So he just stands there, in an empty chocolate shop, holding a bouquet of flowers for his chocolatier boyfriend.

"Un admirateur secret? Tu vois, je t'ai dit que j'avais plus de salopes que toi, je—" Satori sounds so much more different while speaking French, his words flow together in a way that's different from Japanese. "Oh! Oh, my—" 

"Hello," Wakatoshi says, holding the bouquet out to Satori. Satori's wearing a chef's jacket and hat, and his eyes are wide as he takes the bouquet from Wakatoshi's hands. "I thought this would be a nice surprise for you."

Satori immediately leans over the counter to press his lips to Wakatoshi's, smiling as he does. From behind him, Christopher makes various noises of amused disgust before leaving. "Thank you, 'Toshi. I love it."

And in an empty chocolate shop in Paris, with the smell of chocolate and flowers filling his nose, Wakatoshi allows himself to smile back. 

—

The next day, they're getting ready for Wakatoshi's cameo in the documentary. 

"I didn't tell them about you," Satori says as they look through Wakatoshi's luggage together to pick out the best outfit. "You're a surprise, 'kay? You gotta pretend that like, wow! You just happened to be in the area, out on a vacation, because you're Ushijima Wakatoshi, and you're cool, and you take vacations to Paris when it's the volleyball off-season. Pretend like it's the first time you've seen me in a while."

"I can do that," Wakatoshi says, because he shows his surprise like every other one of his emotions: not at all. 

Satori picks out a dark red sweater for him, a light brown blazer, and a white collared shirt. "Red, so we both match! Your sweater and my hair!"

"You have little hair to speak of," Wakatoshi says as he changes, and Satori laughs, running a hand over his head. Wakatoshi likes Satori's hair, has always liked it, whether it was very long or very short.

"Hey, I'm growing it out!" Satori laughs as he tugs his jacket on. "It's a slow process, 'Toshi, growing out your hair." 

"Mm." Wakatoshi has never really let his hair get longer than past his ears—his mother always insisted on keeping it short, and he never argued, because long hair was a hindrance in volleyball. Maybe he should have argued back.

"Alrighty," Satori says in satisfaction, smoothing out Wakatoshi's sweater. "You ready, miracle boy?"

Wakatoshi takes a deep breath. In and out. "Of course. Always."

—

Satori has to meet with the camera crew at the spot they agreed on beforehand, chat a bit with the producers, and so Wakatoshi makes his way towards the small French restaurant by himself. The servers speak clumsy English to him, and he speaks clumsy English back, enough to convey that he wants a table for two outside. He'll leave the problem of the camera crew to Satori.

He hears Satori before he sees him, chattering along with the camera crew in French as he makes his way towards the restaurant. And he sees the cameras before he sees Satori, a man holding a camera on his shoulder and walking backwards, while Satori talks to it, as easy as breathing. 

Satori catches sight of him. He waves. Wakatoshi waves back.

"Hey!" Satori says as he makes his way towards him. The cameras are trained on the both of them, scrutinizing his every move. "It's been a while!"

Breathe. You are a Division One volleyball player. This is far easier than scoring points or spiking balls. All you have to do is talk when prompted. 

"Yes," Wakatoshi says, as Satori sits down in front of him, smiling. "It has."

Satori nods, once, and that's how Wakatoshi knows he's done a good job. 

They order, and they make pleasant conversation. One of the producers asks Satori questions periodically. It's all in French, so he understands none of it. He never gets asked any questions either—he supposes this is a very good thing. 

What if mother watches this? What if she sees that you have been running around with the one boy she does not want you hanging around? What if this is how she finds out you've been lying to her for all these years?

A documentary that is produced in France, made for a French audience, about an aspiring chocolatier? Mother is not remotely interested in anything French. And I doubt this documentary will be big in Japan. It is entirely in French. You will appear for, at most, ten minutes in the entire documentary. The documentary is also in no way finished yet. It might be years before it gets released. And who knows what will happen during that time?

There is nothing to worry about.

And then a camera is pointed directly at his face, and he hears his mother's voice saying, smile, Wakkun!

So he smiles, hopes he doesn't mess it up, and then the camera pans back to Satori, who smiles as well and makes a comment about the seafood they're eating.

Under the table, Satori squeezes his hand, and nods towards him encouragingly.

You're doing great.

He's staring at him with that same stare. 

You're amazing. Incredible. A goddamn miracle.

"We were on the same volleyball team together back in high school, y'know," Satori says, in English this time. "We made it to Nationals all the time."

"I see!" the producer says, nodding her head, gesturing for the camera to get a closeup on Satori's and Wakatoshi's faces. "The two of you were teammates, then."

"Hmm..." Satori puts a hand to his chin, pretending to think about it. "Not just that. We're also..."

He glances towards Wakatoshi, and in that split second, a hundred things and guesses fly through Wakatoshi's mind.

He doesn't expect you to admit to the world that you're boyfriends with him. He knows this. Say that you are best friends with him. Go on. Say it.

If I say it, then it will be recorded, and it will be preserved, forever. What if nothing works out in the future? What if I have to swallow my words and my bitterness later? What if I watch this documentary again, and I say this, and it will no longer be true? 

It will have been true at some point. Just because things change does not mean the memories of this truth will be erased.

He's your best friend. He's always been. 

"Best friends," Wakatoshi and Satori say at the exact same time, and Satori's face breaks out into a smile. 

"He was my captain in high school," Satori says proudly. "He was the coolest person to ever walk this planet. And he still is! I mean, look at him! He's a D1 volleyball player in Japan, did you know?"

Under the table, Satori squeezes Wakatoshi's knee as the cameras turn off to let them eat their dinner in peace. He smiles, grinning ear to ear.

Miracle boy. I love you.

—

Satori takes him to the Eiffel Tower later that night, when the camera crew is gone and it's just them, alone together.

"It looks exactly like the Tokyo Tower," Wakatoshi says. He's beginning to understand why the Japanese are disappointed when they come to Paris—it looks exactly the same as the Tokyo Tower. They have this back in Japan. 

"Yeah, but you can go into the Eiffel Tower!"

"You can go into the Tokyo Tower as well, Satori."

"Oh." Satori shrugs. "Welp."

"It is beautiful, though." Wakatoshi brushes his thumb along Satori's, feeling Satori do the same. "Very beautiful."

"More beautiful than me?" Satori asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. 

"No," Wakatoshi answers seriously, and he's absolutely certain of his answer. "Never." 

Satori smiles, softly, and raises his phone. "Let's get a picture!"

Wakatoshi very cleverly avoids having to smile at all in the picture by turning his head, closing his eyes, and kissing Satori's cheek just as the shutter goes off. He wraps his arms around Satori's waist, pulling him closer. 

"Oh!" Satori gasps as his finger clicks the camera button. "Aww, 'Toshi, you're so sweet! And so full of surprises lately!"

"I missed you," Wakatoshi says, and he wonders when he will stop being able to say such a thing. If the plan that Satori has suceeds—which he knows it will—it's likely he'll be saying it a hundred thousand more times. 

He leaves for Japan in a couple days. He tries to imagine a life that's just like the one he's lived for the past two years. Calling Satori every day, visiting him after months without being with him, always seeing him, never truly having him. 

Is it worth it?

And then Wakatoshi looks at Satori's smiling face, how his hands move as he talks about how yesterday, he signed the contract for the building where he's going to build his chocolate shop, how he wanted to wait until he got the ok from Wakatoshi to say yes, how he's so happy that Wakatoshi said yes, how—

Yes. Wakatoshi feels the answer in his bones. As long as it makes Satori happy. Yes. 

They would figure out a way to survive. They could schedule plane trips every month, or every other month. They were miracle boys, Ushijima and Tendou, Wakatoshi and Satori, and as long as they were together, they could figure out a solution to anything .

Even the problem of your mother?

I made my choice. Wakatoshi thinks as Satori pulls him along, to cafes to try pastries and drinks, to talk about everything he's seen and learned and experienced. I made my choice. I chose Satori over my mother.

My mother has never made me this happy. 

—

They settle into a new routine. Calls in the morning and calls in the night. A plane ride every month, whenever they can make space in their schedule. It becomes their new normal. Days become weeks become months become years. They see each other when they can. They enjoy the time they have with each other to the fullest. They bid their farewells until the next time. 

The Schweiden Adlers lose their very first match of the season to the MSBY Black Jackals, in a match well won. Hinata Shoyo has grown exponentially since his time in Brazil, and he has grown into a formidable opponent. Wakatoshi is not at all mad that the Adlers lost to MSBY. In fact—neither is Kageyama, if the very long hug they did after the match was anything to go by. Satori texts him his reactions all throughout the game, and then calls him after, and then laughs for a minute straight that Wakatoshi was defeated by Hinata Shoyo yet again . He assures him that he’ll beat the tangerine’s ass next time. 

Wakatoshi sends Satori merchandise of himself, because his agents always give him something—jerseys, T-shirts, hats—and he has no idea what to do with it all. Satori sends Wakatoshi boxes of chocolates, new flavors from his shop, to the general happiness of his entire team.

“Marry this man,” Hoshiumi says as he tries to take Kageyama’s allotted two chocolates and fails, getting his hand slapped away. “If you don’t, I’ll marry him. This is the shit.”

“I don’t believe Hirugami-san will be too pleased with that,” Wakatoshi says as Kageyama shoves both his pieces into his mouth all at once. “Please do not do that. You will choke.”

“You’re dating Hirugami-san?!” Kageyama shouts through his mouthful of half-chewed chocolate. Hirugami Fukurou—their captain , not Hirugami Sachirou, the veterinary student—walks by them, giving them a thoroughly confused glance. “I didn’t know our captain had such awful taste—”

“Ushijima meant his brother , dipshit!” Hoshiumi screeches, his face turning bright red. “And no, we’re not dating—“

Wakatoshi scoops up the chocolate box and the remaining chocolates before it can fall down and be trampled by his teammates’ rowdiness. As he does, his phone begins to ring. 

“Wakkun!” his mother’s cheerful voice sings as he picks up the call. “When are you going to be home? What time? I’ll set up your old bedroom—“

“I’ll be home in three hours,” Wakatoshi says, packing away his things. They were given two off-days, because their coach had to go to the hospital for the birth of his daughter. “And there is no need. I will not be staying long.”

His mother clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You can’t stay in a hotel, Wakkun, I simply won’t let you. Staying with me is free!”

It’s not that I don’t want to accept your kindness and stay with you. It’s that I don’t think you’ll let me stay with you any longer after I tell you what I need to tell you.

This is it.

This is the beginning of the end.

“I can assure you that won’t be necessary, but thank you,” Wakatoshi says, but he knows it’s not necessary, because his mother will do it anyway. 

He sighs, hanging up and picking up his things. Kageyama and Hoshiumi have stopped their wrestling, and are now lying on the floor looking up at him.

“I’m off,” he says, briefly waving towards them. “I will inform you both on how…my conversation with my mother goes.”

He talked with Satori, and Eita, and Hajime, and Kageyama, and Hoshiumi on the various ways he could come out to his mother and also simultaneously disown her at the same time. Satori’s and Hoshiumi’s parents were overwhelmingly supportive of their children, so he didn’t think that would help. Hajime’s parents were indifferent, and while he did say that Oikawa might be able to help in this situation, Wakatoshi declined. Eita provided a bit more help, but he mostly just ranted about how parents were awful and to not take any bullshit from them. The only remotely helpful person was Kageyama, who came out to his parents when he was sixteen, and then spent three hours shouting at them. Granted, Kageyama’s parents were mainly neglectful, not overprotective like his own mother, so this was also not really helpful for his situation. 

Kageyama fist pumps in determination, and Hoshiumi sends him two thumbs up and a wide smile. Wakatoshi nods resolutely, and then braces himself for what is sure to be the worst three hours of his life.

Face your fears head on.

—

“Wakkun!” His mother flings open the door, immediately going on tiptoe to grab him in a hug. “My, you’ve grown! Come in, come in!”

“Thank you,” Wakatoshi says, carrying his luggage in, until his mother takes his luggage for him. She titters, commenting on how he looks exhausted, how his coaches have surely been working him to the bone, how she’s so glad he finally decided to pay his poor mother a visit.

“I got your room ready for you,” his mother says, handing his luggage back to him, because she only ever really puts the bare minimum effort into helping him with anything. “It’s where it’s always been, of course. Don’t you want to take a look at it while I cook dinner?”

“Alright,” Wakatoshi says, allowing his mother to steer him in the direction of the stairs. She smiles, naturally, and turns away to make dinner.

Every step towards his old childhood bedroom feels like a century. It’s been—it’s been nearly ten years since he’s been back here. 

He stands in front of the door, reaches a shaky hand out, and turns the doorknob. 

It’s as though the room has been preserved in time. There are the same posters, the same books, the same blankets. He sits down heavily on his bed—it seems so small now. Everything seems so small now. All the problems he had at age sixteen seem so small now.

There are trophies and medals and plaques on his shelf, all for volleyball. They’re covered in a thick layer of dust. His mother hasn’t taken care of them like she said she would. The succulents he used to tend to are gone from his windowsill. He supposes his mother moved them to the garden. 

He prepared for this. It’s the reason why he only packed a small change of clothes in his largest suitcase. 

He gets to work, carefully taking down and preserving all the posters from his walls. He looks through all his books, picking out his favorites. He finds his father’s yearbook from Shiratorizawa—he takes that as well. He wipes down all his trophies and medals and plaques and puts them into his suitcase, fitting them together like puzzle pieces.

He will never be able to return home after this, but he can bring a piece of home with him. It is the least he can do.

He’s done. He takes one last look at the room where he grew up in, trying to memorize every tiny detail. 

Remember it well. You won’t get another chance to.

He heads down the stairs. The smell of his favorite food greets him. 

“It is nice to be home,” he says idly, and his mother laughs. She must think he's being sarcastic. “I am being genuine, mother.”

“Ah, but you only come to me when you need something from me, I know you do!” she says, waving a finger in his face as she turns the stove off. “So, what do you need, Wakkun? Out with it, quickly now!”

This is it.

The beginning of the end.

He needs to face his fears head on.

“I am seeing someone,” he says, and the face that his mother makes is one of pure, absolute joy and delight. 

She thinks she’s gotten what she’s wanted.

She is so, so wrong.

“Oh my goodness!” she shouts, hugging Wakatoshi again. Her grasp is tight. Suffocating. “I knew it! I knew it! Who’s the lucky lady, Wakkun, did you come here because you wanted to get my permission, did you—“

“I am not dating a woman,” he says, and those simple words are enough to turn his mother’s delight to horror. 

“W—what?” she asks, but then her smile returns, if a bit more uncertain. “Ah, Wakkun, you’re just joking with me, aren’t you? It’s not a very funny one, I bet you were going to say you were married to your job, like you have been all this time, you never listen to any of my advice—“

“I am dating a man,” Wakatoshi cuts her off, staring her straight in her horrified eyes. “I am dating Tendou Satori. You remember him, don’t you? The boy with red hair. I have been seeing him for the past eight years.”

“Wh—what…” 

“I recognize that lying to you for so long was wrong,” Wakatoshi continues, and his heartbeat is ringing in his ears. He can see tears beginning to form in his mother’s eyes. He must push on. “But I am not sorry for any of it. He makes me happy, more than anyone ever has. He knows me like nobody else does. He is…mother, understand that he is everything to me.”

His mother is silent. 

“Say something,” he says, and it’s a plea for mercy. He knew how to deal with her noise, but never her silence. When she was silent, it was up to him to fill it, and he never knew the right words or the right way to do that. “Mother. Please.”

“Wakkun…” she says, sniffling. “It’s…it’s okay!” And for one wild, heart-leaping moment, he thinks that she might accept him, lies and all, but then she follows it up with, “You’re…you’re still young, there’s still time to…to fix yourself, there’s still time for you to fix your life, turn it around, and—“

“There is nothing about me that needs to be fixed,” Wakatoshi says, and he can hear his voice hardening, and he remembers Eita’s one helpful piece of advice: don’t let your fucking guard down for a second . “Not the fact I am in love with a man. Not my left-handedness. Nothing. I am not wrong, I am not broken, and it is you who has been in the wrong for all my life, for making me feel like this.”

“Ungrateful boy!” his mother bursts out, reaching her hand out to slap him. Wakatoshi lets her. It will be the last time she ever lays a hand on him. “You—I raised you for your whole life, and you just—how could you just lie to me like it’s nothing?! What kind of horrible son have I raised?! You—you’re just like your father! Always thinking about his own happiness, never thinking about how his actions will affect others—!”

“I used to resent Father as much as you did,” Wakatoshi says, remembering the time he spent as a high schooler wondering why his father left him before he could see him do any good. “But I met him in America, years ago. He was happier than when he lived with us in Japan. He took your name when he married you. He did so many things for you and I. And you—you never recognized any of it. That is why he left. That is why I am leaving as well.”

“You’re leaving?!” his mother screams, outraged. She takes the spatula she's holding and throws it across the kitchen. It clatters to the floor with a dull thunk. “Where to, Wakatoshi?! Where are you running off to?! You’re running away from your responsibilities—fine, see if I care! You can vanish off the face of the planet for all I care! But when you come back—because I know you, and you’ll always come back, you better have had a change of heart, you hear me?! Do you hear me, young man—?!”

“Worry not,” Wakatoshi says, and he can hear his voice beginning to catch in his throat. “I will be leaving you for good. You will never have to speak to your disappointment of a son ever again.”

Whatever his mother was expecting for him to say, it certainly wasn’t that .

“I will cut off all contact with you, and you will be able to save face. You can tell all your friends that your disappointing son abandoned you to chase fame and glory, and you can curse my name out for the rest of your life. You will not be guilty of anything. It will be me. It will be all me.”

“No…no, Wakkun, Wakkun—” And his mother is fully crying now, tears flooding her eyes. She reaches her hand out, but then pulls it back, as though she’s conflicted. As though he’s now dirty, unclean, tainted. As if she still thinks she can make him pure again. With enough of her words, she can turn back time and make her son act like the obedient boy she always thought he was. He supposes it must be hard for her, being hit with so many truths at once. Not harder than it’s been for me. “I…I thought I did so well, you were such a good boy, so obedient and well-behaved, and I thought…I thought…”

“You did very well raising me,” Wakatoshi says, and it feels like a truth and a lie all rolled into one. “You…taught me discipline, and you taught me how to reach for perfection, but…you also taught me how to hide my shame and to never prioritize my own happiness. Did you know that during every game, I wished you were there to cheer me on? Did you know that I always kept trying to push myself harder, that I kept chasing your approval? I am still the son you raised. I will be forever grateful you helped to mold me into the person I am today. I used to defend you against Satori, say that you were my mother, and I could never leave you, but…mother, at a certain point, all of the hurt you’ve caused me began to outweigh the happiness you’ve given me.”

His mother is crying, stifling her sobs with her hand, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t…no, I can’t…no…no…this is all that boy’s fault! That—that damn boy, Tendou Satori, all his fault, I always knew it was a bad idea for you to hang out with him when you were younger, he’s—hes twisted you, corrupted my sweet baby boy, with his western ways—“

“Stop,” Wakatoshi says, and with a start, he realizes that he’s speaking in the exact same tone his mother used to use with him whenever he disobeyed.

You are your mother’s son.

Your mother’s name is yours as well.

“Stop. I will not allow you to blame Satori for the decisions I’ve made. I made my choice a long time ago. I chose him. Because Satori—never once has Satori made me feel as miserable as you have. And another thing, mother—never once have you treated me like I am my own person. It has…it has always been me being your son, Ushijima Noriko’s son, and never Ushijima Wakatoshi. I’ve made a name for myself. People…complete strangers see me, and they cheer for me, in the ways you never did. Satori cheers for me. Tell me, was it so hard for you to love me?”

“Wakkun, Wakkun,” his mother bawls, stumbling towards him, wrapping her arms around her son. “I will always love you, you will always be my precious little boy, and we…we can go back to being the way we were, we can go back to happiness, if only you were to just…if you could just listen to me…”

And it’s then that Wakatoshi knows that his mother does not understand him , on a fundamental level.

They are Ushijimas. They are stubborn, bull-headed, and when they have made a choice, they will die on that hill.

“You do not love me, mother,” Wakatoshi says, and he can feel small tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. “You have only ever loved the image of me you had in your mind. You have never truly loved all of me. Only the bits and pieces that you wanted to see.”

He wrenches himself out of his mother’s grip—it is easy, he is very strong, and she is very weak. 

“I have made my choice. You made yours as well. And this…” He clutches his luggage handle, forces his feet to move towards the door. “This is where we part ways.”

“No!” his mother shrieks. “No—no, no—!”

“Goodbye, mother.” He turns the door handle, and he turns around to give his mother one last smile. He hopes it’s natural enough, handsome enough, good enough to make Ushijima Noriko’s last memory of her son a nice one.

“I love you.”

—

He eats at an izakaya that night, for dinner. He orders hayashi rice. 

It tastes good. It doesn't taste nearly as good as his mother's. The sauce is less rich, the rice less fluffy. 

His phone blows up with unread messages and missed calls from his mother. He blocks his mother's number, not even bothering to read or listen to any of it, and then sets his phone to silent. 

He will never eat his mother's hayashi rice again.

He will never hear his mother's voice again.

He will never see his mother again.

The izakaya is mostly empty, save for a couple of drunk patrons in the very corner opposite to him. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi, starting player on the Schweiden Adlers, Olympic representative for Japan, a man who never shows any hint of emotion if he can help it, ducks his head beneath the table and cries .

He cries like a lost child searching for his mother. 

—

He somehow manages to catch a train back to Tokyo and stumble back into his apartment. It's in the early hours of the morning—he couldn't bear to spend another second in Miyagi. He fumbles around in the dark, turns his key in the keyhole, and collapses in the doorway.  

"Oh, shit!" he vaguely hears from Kageyama's room, and he can hear Kageyama's running. He can hear Hoshiumi's voice behind him as well—and another voice—Hinata Shoyo's? And then there's whispering, and all three men are taking him by the arms and directing him towards the couch. More whispering, and then Wakatoshi catches Hinata and his bright orange hair heading out the door. 

"The fuck do we do?" he hears Hoshiumi whisper through his fuzzy thoughts.

"I don't know!" he hears Kageyama whisper back, waving his hands wildly. 

"Do we just—do we just let him cry? Is he having a panic attack? Is the world going to end?"

"Hang on, I'll call—I'll call his—"

And then Kageyama's heading away, furiously typing away at his phone, and Wakatoshi is left with Hoshiumi. The white-haired man gives him a smile that Wakatoshi thinks is supposed to be comforting, but comes off as more frightening thanks to the lack of light.

"Hey, big guy," Hoshiumi says, and Wakatoshi's immediate thought is that Hoshiumi Korai should never, ever take up an occupation in therapy. "How're you doing?"

The only sound Wakatoshi can manage is a very quiet, very pitiful wail.

"Ah—yep, yep, uh—" Hoshiumi sputters out, looking at his hands, the wall, the lamp, everything but Wakatoshi's face. The man, normally overflowing with energy, seems to deflate. 

"Look. I'm not...none of us are the best at talking. With. Anyone," Hoshiumi says. " But...ah , god. I don't think this is what you need to hear right now, but it's the only thing I think of to say. Your mom was an asshole. You were right to cut her off like you did. It's more than she deserves."

"It hurts ," Wakatoshi says, and he sounds so tired , and he can hear Hoshiumi swearing under his breath. Then, he feels the white-haired man's touch, his arms wrapping around his chest in a vague approximation of a hug.

"I'm sorry," Korai whispers. "I'm so sorry, Ushijima. You're—fuck, you're one of the strongest and bravest people I know. I don't know what to even say to you. I kinda always thought you were...untouchable, but of course you're not, you're human, everyone's gotta breaking point somewhere...I'm sorry."

Strong? Brave? Wakatoshi feels like neither of those in this moment, because he is a grown man crying like a child on the floor of his apartment. 

"She sounded like she was grieving," Wakatoshi mumbles, his words barely audible. "Korai, you should have seen the way she was crying. Like she was grieving my death, even though I'm still alive." A strangled laugh forces his way out of his throat. "I suppose I'm dead to her now."

"She doesn't deserve to grieve," Kageyama says firmly, done with his phone call. He drops down to Wakatoshi's other side, holding his hands up before awkwardly wrapping his arms around Wakatoshi's chest as well. "I—I've known grief. My—fuck, my grandfather died when I was thirteen. You grieve someone because there was nothing you could do about them leaving. You don't grieve for someone when you were the one who caused them to leave."

Tobio's words hold an unnatural amount of bite. Wakatoshi supposes that he's drawing from his experiences with his own parents. 

"I feel like I'm grieving, Tobio," Wakatoshi murmurs, and he can feel Tobio awkwardly patting his head in an attempt to comfort him. "How did you...how do I deal with it? All of it? With...with the grief, and the knowledge that I'll never see her again?"

Tobio lets out a long breath. "I...take it one day at a time. It's not...it's never going to go away. It still hasn't gone away for me. I miss my grandfather every day. So, I guess...learn to live with it. You're smart. You'll figure out a way."

That gets Wakatoshi to laugh for the first time in what feels like a very long time. "I am the smart one?"

"Well, it's sure not Tobio," Korai mutters, and then Tobio reaches across Wakatoshi to elbow him in the face. "Ow, hey!"

"I know you're not talking, I saw you about to eat food off the gym floor two days ago!"

"It was perfectly good food!"

And the sound of Tobio and Korai squabbling is enough for all the thoughts in Wakatoshi's head to quiet down to a near-silent hum. He distantly registers Tobio and Korai helping him up, to his bed, dragging his covers over him.

"Sleep well," Korai whispers softly, patting his cheek.

"I called—" Tobio begins, shaking his shoulder, but Wakatoshi is already asleep before Tobio can finish his sentence. 

—

He wakes up in his bed, with a familiar redhead facing him. The sky is dark outside, but he can see the barest traces of the sun stretching its fingers to the sky. 

"Hey, miracle boy," Tendou Satori whispers. He brushes his thumb across Wakatoshi's cheek. "I missed you."

And the sight of the boy that caused Wakatoshi to cut all ties with the woman who raised him, the sight of him smiling down at him like he's amazing, incredible, a goddamn miracle —that is enough to cause Wakatoshi to start crying all over again.

"It's okay," Satori whispers as Wakatoshi cries into his shoulder. "It's gonna be okay. Wakatoshi, it's all gonna be okay."

He feels a sense of complete and utter relief when he realizes that he wholeheartedly believes Tendou Satori's words.  

"It will all be okay," Wakatoshi whispers as Satori holds him in his arms. "I am...I am going to be okay.

—

"I thought you were supposed to come this afternoon," Wakatoshi says in the morning, while Satori cooks them eggs and toast. "Tsutomu's game is tomorrow."

"I decided to come early," Satori says cheerfully, sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. "And I guess it's a good thing I came early, 'cause..."

Wakatoshi takes a sip of his tea to avoid having to say anything. Satori sighs, "Yeah, I figured. You wanna talk about it, or...?"

"I…" Wakatoshi begins, and then stops. What does he even say? What can he even say? "I do not want to talk about it. It was..."

It hurts. It hurts like an open wound across his heart. Time may be able to heal all wounds, but it will be a long, long time before his flesh and blood begins to scar over. 

You did this to yourself. You did this to yourself. You did this to yourself.

You have only yourself to blame.

No.

This is what is best. 

This is what is best for me.

"Ushiwaka, you're so brave," Satori says in a hushed whisper, and it's in the exact same tone as when they were children, after Wakatoshi got his teeth taken out, and Satori said that he was brave , and Wakatoshi didn't believe it at the time, but now—

Maybe he's starting to believe it more and more.

"I am," Wakatoshi whispers, and tears are starting to drip down his cheeks again. Satori is by his side before he can even blink. "I...am brave."

"Of course you are," Satori whispers into his hair. "You're miracle boy Wakatoshi."

He used to not believe in miracles either.

But maybe that's changing as well.

—

"TENDOU!" 

"Hello!" Satori cheerfully shouts as Semi Eita barges his way towards them. Eita steps on the toes of many other people in his haste, and Kenjirou follows behind him, sighing and apologizing the entire time. Wakatoshi is pleased to see that their hands are intertwined. They must have reconciled. 

Eita finally makes his way towards them, grabbing Satori in a very painful-looking hug, curling his hand into a fist and slamming it into Satori's back repeatedly. Kenjirou turns towards Wakatoshi, saying, "Sorry, he's being an idiot," and holding his hands out for a hug as well. Wakatoshi obliges.

"Idiot, running all the way off to fucking Paris," Eita says, burying his face in Satori's shoulder. It occurs to Wakatoshi then that Satori's absence must have had a lasting effect on everybody , all of their friends, not just him. "Did you listen to my new album, at the very least?"

"I did, Semi-Semi, I did!" Satori says, nodding his head up and down. Eita's black lips break out into a smile, and he hits Satori once more. Satori pretends to wince, then glances over at Eita and Kenjirou in quick succession. "So...you two finally got your heads out of your asses or what?"

"Fuck you," both Eita and Kenjirou say at the exact same time. Then they lock eyes with each other and fist-bump. 

"Yeah, we're dating now. Been dating for a year and a half now. Or whatever." Kenjirou rolls his eyes before grabbing Eita's hand again. Satori laughs at them before holding his arms out for another hug, this time for Kenjirou. Kenjirou makes a face and leans back, much to Satori's chagrin.

"C'mon, Shirabu-bu, don't be like that!" Satori says in delight, advancing closer towards him and laughing as Kenjirou takes several steps back. "You haven't seen me in ages!"

"And if you keep acting like this, you won't see me for many ages more," Kenjirou mutters as he leans into Satori's touch. "Med school's a pain in the ass, y'know, took forever for me to get time off for today."

"Don't I get an Ushiwaka hug too?" Eita asks, turning towards Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi obliges to do this as well, hugging Eita so tightly that the man starts to choke. "Ow. Okay. Okay, thanks."

"I missed you," Wakatoshi says earnestly, and Eita lets out a bark of laughter. Then his face softens, and he claps a hand onto Wakatoshi's back.

"Missed you too, Ushiwaka," Eita says, and then the four of them turn to head into the stadium. "Reon and Hayato are already in there. Let's go."

"I can't wait to see Tsutomu play again!" Satori says excitedly, swinging Wakatoshi's hand back and forth as they walk. Wakatoshi is glad that he no longer needs to fear scrutiny—he has survived the worst of it. All he can do now is walk forward, and live the rest of his life happy . 

"REON!" Eita screams, his voice able to project over the heads of all the other stadium patrons. He waves his hands wildly, jumping up and down. Wakatoshi distantly thinks that Eita's gotten much more energetic in the past few years—he supposes it's due to him performing more and more concerts as a rising music artist. "OOHIRA REON!"

Wakatoshi hears Reon before he sees him. "EITA! SEMI EITA!"

And then he sees Oohira Reon heading towards them, with Oohira Ai right behind him, and something— someone —in his arms—

"OH MY GOD!" Satori screeches as Reon gets closer and closer. "YOU HAVE A CHILD?!"

"Yes, I do!" Reon says, readjusting his child in his arms. It's a young girl, one with Ai's face shape and Reon's eyes. "Say hi, Shiryuu, say hi to your uncles!" 

Oohira Shiryuu looks to be around two years old, and she giggles as she's deposited into Satori's arms. She's wearing a bright pink dress, with Hello Kitty designs all over it. Her hair is pulled into two pigtails, and sparkly pink hairclips decorate her head. 

"Hello," Satori coos as he pats Shiryuu's back. "I'm Uncle Tendou, I live in France, I make chocolate for a living." Shiryuu's head perks up at the word chocolate , and Ai giggles from behind them. "Ooh, do you want some chocolate? Lucky for you, I always have some on me!" Reon sighs and shakes his head.

"Do not give my daughter any chocolate–" Reon begins, but Satori's already taking a handful of wrapped chocolates out of his backpack and placing them into Shiryuu's pudgy hands. "She already has enough of a sweet tooth as is—"

"Thank you!" Shiryuu shouts excitedly. "Uncle Ten-Ten!"

"Uncle Ten-Ten!" Satori says, matching the toddler's tone completely. He nudges Wakatoshi, a smile wide across his face. He unwraps one of the chocolates for the girl, and Shiryuu promptly smears it all across her face. "Didja hear that, Ushiwaka, she likes me!" He then passes the girl off to Eita, who holds her at arm's length. "Shiryuu-chan, this is your Uncle Semi-Semi!"

"Do not —" Eita begins, but he's cut off by Shiryuu's delighted shout of, "Semi-Semi!" The man sighs, but smiles, passing the girl off to Kenjirou. 

"Your Uncle Semi-Semi is a bit of a grump," Kenjirou tells the girl, matter-of-factly. "But he has a nice singing voice, so that's something, I guess. He likes to say he's a rockstar. I'm Uncle Shirabu. I'm studying to become a doctor." 

"Shi..." The girl clutches at Kenjirou's jacket, a look of wonder upon her face. "Uncle Shi-Shi?"

Kenjirou smiles, patting her head. "Sure. I'll take it."

"Better than Uncle Bu-Bu," Eita whispers to Satori, and Satori lets out a mad cackle. Kenjirou rolls his eyes, and he's about to pass the girl to Wakatoshi, when they all hear a loud, "YOOOOOOO!"

All of them look up to see—well, first they see Takahashi Rena running at full speed towards them. But then they see Yamagata Hayato sprinting towards them as well, an enormous smile on his face.

"Uncle Yama-Yama!" Shiryuu screams, and Hayato holds his arms out wide. The little girl tries to wriggle out of Kenjirou's arms, and Hayato laughs, pressing a kiss to Shiryuu's forehead. 

"Your favorite uncle's here," Hayato sings as Rena laughs. "Yes, isn't that right? Uncle Yama-Yama's here, and all of these guys are way less cool than me." He gives the rest of them a shit-eating grin, sticking his tongue out and pulling down his lower eyelid. Shiryuu copies the motion, blowing the rest of them a raspberry. 

"You are teaching my child all the wrong lessons," Reon sighs, while Satori and Eita gasp in mock offense. Hayato cackles, patting the girl's back. "Ushiwaka hasn't gotten a turn yet to hold her," Reon says, and Hayato immediately turns to deposit Shiryuu into Wakatoshi's arms. 

Oohira Shiryuu stares up at him, and for a second, he worries she may start crying at the sight of his face. He has never been good with children—his impassive face and monotone voice are not conducive to entertaining young kids. But the girl does not do anything of the sort—she merely giggles, reaching a hand up to his face.

"Hello," Wakatoshi says to the little girl. "I am...your Uncle Ushijima. I play volleyball."

"Uncle Ushi-Ushi!" Shiryuu screams happily, laughing as she does. "Uncle Ushi-Ushi!"

The child likes him. The child likes him. This is such a turnaround from that one time when he played for Japan and got told by a little boy that volleyball was boring. 

"Alright, we should—" Reon starts, reaching for his daughter, but Shiryuu clings tightly to Wakatoshi's shirt. She turns away from her parents, leaving her father to sputter in shock and her mother to laugh until she's crying. 

Wakatoshi looks towards Satori, who is looking towards Shiryuu. He wonders if Satori is thinking the same thing as he is: we should get a daughter too.

You haven't even proposed yet. 

That's a thought for another day, he decides as he pries the little girl off of him and hands her back to her father. "She is beautiful. The best of you and Ai."

"You're so sweet," Ai says, punching him in the arm with a surprising amount of force. "I think she looks more like Reon, but that's just me. Everyone says she looks like a mini-me."

"I believe Soekawa and Kawanishi are waiting for us." Rena checks her phone, a hand on her hip. Hayato is staring up at her with stars in his eyes. The height difference between them is less pronounced than it was in high school, but it is still there and noticeable. "They've been holding our seats for us. Shall we go?"

"Yes," Wakatoshi says, pointing everyone towards the audience seats. This is where he should be. This is where he should be. 

This is his family.

"Let's go cheer our Tsutomu on."

—

"GO, GO, TSU-TO-MU! PUSH IT, PUSH IT, TSU-TO-MU!"

Thirty minutes later, Wakatoshi is shouting more than he's ever shouted in his entire life. Everyone around him is shouting as well—everyone except for Taichi, who is recording the match, and Jin, who is holding Shiryuu so the rest of them can shout.

"YEAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Satori screams, cupping his hands around his mouth. They got seats relatively near the front, but they're still not sure if it's enough for Tsutomu to hear them. Regardless, every time the man scores, they go wild, in the hope that Tsutomu will look behind him. "MIRACLE BOY! TSU! TO! MUUUUUUU!"

The Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets are in the lead, and every time Wakatoshi watches Tsutomu slam a ball over the net and pump his fist into the air in victory, he feels a sense of pride . That is his kouhai. That is his ace. He knew that boy when he was a fearful first year, and look at where he has gotten now. 

It doesn't hurt that Kiryu Wakatsu is with him as well. Wakatoshi remembers that boy as the number one high school ace in all of Japan back in his day, and he thinks that Tsutomu would have been jealous of him back then. But that was back then, and this is now, and Wakatoshi feels proud as Tsutomu slaps his hands against Kiryu's in satisfaction. 

The DESEO Hornets stand no chance. They lose after three sets. 

Goshiki Tsutomu claims his victory. 

Wakatoshi screams until his throat feels like it's about to give out. He can hear Ai and Rena whistling, Eita and Kenjirou stomping their feet and slapping their hands against the railing, Reon and Hayato cheering and praising the team, Jin and Taichi clapping, Satori rhythmically chanting Tsutomu's name.

Wakatoshi wonders if this is what his teammates felt like when he played for Japan for the first time. He wonders if they were just as proud of him then as he is for Tsutomu now.

And then Goshiki Tsutomu turns around, and he catches sight of them, all of them, and Wakatoshi can see tears sparkling in his eyes as he screams and waves back at them with both hands. Then he runs off with the rest of his team, and Wakatoshi's group turns towards the exit. 

"He's grown so much," Satori says, pretending to wipe away his tears, but Wakatoshi thinks he can see actual tears in the corner of his eyes. "He's so good now, 'Toshi, you might have competition in the future!"

"Bold of you to assume Tsutomu won't lose on purpose to him," Kenjirou scoffs, and Eita laughs. Shiryuu is back in his arms, and he's singing a song to her to calm her down while they wait for Tsutomu to come out. 

They hear Tsutomu before they see him, because he's screaming, "GUUUUUUUUUUUUUYS!" in an incredibly shrill voice. And then the first year boy, the wannabe ace that Wakatoshi once knew is running full speed towards them, his duffel bag banging against his leg as he sprints towards them. 

"Hey!" Satori protests as Tsutomu speeds past him and immediately heads for Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi can feel Tsutomu's tears soak into his shirt, and he instinctively feels his hands coming to pat Tsutomu on the back. 

"You did an amazing job," Wakatoshi says, and he can hear Tsutomu crying, crying like he did that fateful day so long ago, when Wakatoshi told him, "I'm counting on you." He supposes some things never change. "You were absolutely incredible out there, Tsutomu."

"That one cross shot gave me the chills, " Satori says, slamming his hands on Tsutomu's shoulders, and Tsutomu turns to hug him as well. "Lookie lookie, miracle boy Tsutomu came so far, didn't he?"

"Shut up," Tsutomu warbles before he pulls away. He wipes his tears away, and despite his very similar bowl cut, he has grown so much since high school. He turns to give the rest of his former teammates a hug, and to take his turn holding Shiryuu. 

"Uncle Ki-Ki!" Shiryuu shouts, and everyone lets out a collective "awwww" at the way Tsutomu fully squats down to the ground so he can hug the little girl. 

"TSUUUUUUUU-TOOOOOOOO-MUUUUUUUUU!!!!!"  

Everyone turns towards the new voice, and then they see a man with blonde hair streaked with black running towards Tsutomu, and then they see the man taking a running start and jumping onto Tsutomu, crushing him in a hug. And then they see the man give him a kiss on the mouth. 

"YOU WERE SO COOL!" the mystery man shouts, shaking Tsutomu back and forth by the shoulders, Tsutomu letting out small yelps the entire time. "YOU WERE—ah, shit, sorry, are these your—your friends?"

"These are my old upperclassmen!" Tsutomu says proudly, waving towards all of the Shiratorizawa alumni. "Guys, this is Koganegawa Kanji! He's my—"

"I'm his boyfriend!" Koganegawa says, cutting him off in his enthusiasm. "Nice to meet you!"

"Oh my god," Satori says, eyes darting up and down in recognition. " You were the one Date Tech setter who had hair like that one angry bird!"

"Yeah, like Chuck!" Eita chimes in. Kenjirou lets out a snort of laughter. Taichi does as well, before Jin shakes his head in disapproval. 

"Guys," Tsutomu whines, burying his face in his hands. Koganegawa just laughs. "Don't make fun of my boyfriend!"

"I believe Tsutomu mentioned liking you at the end of his first year," Wakatoshi says, remembering his graduation ceremony. Tsutomu blushes scarlet.

"Aww," Koganegawa says, nudging his boyfriend. "You had a crush on me in your first year? That's so sweet of you, 'Tomu." Tsutomu flushes even more, looking away from Koganegawa, and it reminds Wakatoshi so much of when he just started dating Satori. 

He looks over at Satori. Satori looks back at him. And Satori smiles . 

"C'mon," he says, as the group starts heading out of the stadium. "We gotta celebrate, yeah?"

And they begin heading towards the streets of Tokyo, talking about everything and everything. Satori takes his left hand and swings it as they walk. Tsutomu is on his other side, asking if he saw every single one of his great plays. Eita and Kenjirou are bickering over who cheered louder during the match. Hayato is trying to show Shiryuu how to do the middle finger, much to Reon's chagrin. Taichi and Jin are reviewing the game footage. Ai shows Wakatoshi a new pancake recipe to try out. Rena asks him how his teammates are doing, and he says that Tobio and Korai are doing well. 

This is a family he is happy with. 

This is his family now.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for coming with me today,” Wakatoshi tells the four women before him. “I…I greatly appreciate all of your help.”

“Of course,” Tendou Karin says, smiling. Her triplet daughters all grin in unison, and Wakatoshi can see the family resemblance in all of them. “So, what did you have in mind for my son’s engagement ring?”

“I am imagining the band will be gold,” Wakatoshi says, holding the door to the jeweler’s open for all of them. The three seventeen year old girls ooh and ahh at all of the shiny jewels before them. “I am not sure on what style, or what kind of gemstone, though. I was hoping you could all help me with that.”

“You can count on us!” Tendou Marika says, and the three girls split up. Wakatoshi has learned how to distinguish all three of them over the years. Marika is the only one out of her sisters that has freckles, and Arisa prefers having long hair, while Erina’s hair has always been short. All three of them share Satori’s red hair and intense stare. 

Satori is coming home in two months, for his sisters’ high school graduation. He will be staying in Japan for a week. It is during this time that Wakatoshi is planning to propose to him. 

They finally went to Reon's and Ai's wedding a couple months ago. It was an amazing time. Wakatoshi and Satori were groomsmen. Shiryuu was the flower girl. Wakatoshi danced with Satori for the first time. 

Satori deserves all of that as well.

“I am…I feel very honored that you decided to ask for my blessing to marry my son,” Tendou Karin says as they roam through the store. “You didn’t need to. I would have been happy for you either way.”

“You have been too kind to me over these past few years,” Wakatoshi says, staring down at the rows and rows of engagement rings. “This is the least I could do. And…I wanted to make sure that at least one of our families would be attending the wedding.”

“Your mother isn’t invited,” Tendou Karin guesses, and Wakatoshi nods his head. “I see. Well, Ushijima-san, just know that you and my son will always have my full support. Always.”

“Thank you.” It’s been a little more than a year since Wakatoshi cut his mother off completely. It has been a very long, very arduous time of grieving. 

He does not regret disowning his mother.

But he does miss her.

“Your son has been my best friend ever since we were children.” Wakatoshi closes his eyes briefly, thinking back on his time with Satori as a seven year old. It’s been two decades since that time. “Thank you for…raising such an amazing person.”

“That was all Satori,” Tendou Karin laughs, shaking her head. “He’s always been a firecracker.”

“Can I ask you why you named him Satori? My grandmother and mother…they both believed his name was a bad omen, because of the legend of the satori living in the mountains.” Wakatoshi makes a face. “They said he would read my mind and eat my heart.”

Tendou Karin lets out a shocked laugh. “I didn’t even know there was such a legend!”

“My family is deeply spiritual and superstitious.”

“I named him Satori because it meant consciousness , or enlightenment .” Tendou Karin shrugs as she looks at all of the jewelry before her. “I wanted him to think differently, to be able to see the world for what it truly is.”

“Mm.” Wakatoshi thinks. This meaning of Satori fits his partner just as well as his mother’s interpretation. Satori has always thought differently from everyone else, ever since they were children. He never cared about what strangers thought of him. He was always so very brave .

“I’ll admit, I was torn between Satori or Satoru. But Tendou Satoru has a bit of a weird ring to it.”

“That’s the name of one of his favorite manga characters,” Wakatoshi chuckles, remembering how Satori had called him at midnight to cry about his favorite character. “Gojo Satoru, I believe.”

“We’re done!” the triplets call, running back to Wakatoshi and Tendou’s mother. 

Marika shows her choice first: a simple classic diamond ring, cut in a classic diamond shape as well. “Elegant. Timeless. Perfect.”

It is indeed classic, but it borders on cliche. Wakatoshi thinks that Satori may want something that stands out a little bit more.

Arisa shows her choice next: a ring with a pear-shaped ruby. “To match his hair and his eyes.”

The ring looks nice, but Wakatoshi thinks that it looks a tad too garish, with how big the stone is. It almost looks like costume jewelry. 

Erina shows her choice last: a ring with three tiny sapphires nestled within them. “To contrast with his hair and his eyes.”

Wakatoshi likes this one the best, but he also thinks that the gems look too understated. He is a D1 volleyball player, and Satori is a Michelin-starred pastry chef—Satori’s engagement ring should reflect that, at least a little bit.

“They’re all very nice,” Wakatoshi begins, and then he finds he does not know how to finish his sentence. “But…ah…” 

“You could place a custom order,” Tendou Karin suggests, watching how Wakatoshi struggles to reject all three girls. “Incorporate all three of them into one ring, somehow.”

“Or just buy all three of them,” Arisa says, and Erina lets out a loud laugh. 

“I think I will do that,” Wakatoshi says to Satori’s mother. He turns to all three of Satori’s sisters, who all beam up at him. “Thank you all for your help. I am sure that Satori will love it.” He bows his head towards Tendou’s mother. “And thank you, Tendou-san, for giving me your blessing to marry your son.”

Tendou Karin smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder. Her face has gotten older, but the youth in her eyes remains. “Please, Wakatoshi, call me Karin. We’ll be family soon enough.”

Wakatoshi distantly thinks he may have to fight back tears.

“Thank you for everything, Karin-san.”

—

"Oh my god, they grow up so fast," Satori says. It's the evening after his sisters' graduation. Wakatoshi was there to see his—hopefully—future sisters-in-law walk across the stage with their diplomas. Arisa, pumping her fist in victory. Erina, throwing up two peace signs. Marika, blowing kisses to the audience. It feels like a lifetime ago since Satori and himself did the same thing. Their futures were so uncertain, so undecided then. 

“They do,” Wakatoshi agrees as they take a walk through the park he chose for their engagement spot. In the distance, he can see Satori's family waving at him, discreetly giving thumbs ups to him. “It seems like yesterday, they were just toddlers.”

“And we were just kids.” Satori gasps in realization. “Holy shit , Ushiwaka, I feel so old.”

“We are twenty-seven.” Wakatoshi feels around for the ring box in his pocket. It’s there. And it’s closed. Good. “I believe our lives are just starting.” Excellent. Perfect segway.

Say it now.

Unfortunately, Satori seems to be unintentionally hellbent on diverting the conversation away from potential segways into his proposal, because he then begins talking about how beautiful the wisteria flowers are.

“Like from Kimetsu no Yaiba,” Satori says in wonder, standing on tiptoe so that his hands barely brush against the flowers. Wakatoshi wonders how on earth he’s supposed to connect an anime about decapitating demons to his desire to wed Satori.

"I see," says Wakatoshi. A single stray leaf floats down onto Satori's head, and Wakatoshi vaguely thinks that his boyfriend now looks like an apple. 

"I have good news," Satori says softly as they slow their walking pace. "At the rate my shop's going, I'll be able to open up an international branch soon. In Tokyo. I'll be able to split my year between here and France."

"Oh," Wakatoshi breathes out. Years of living away from Satori, enough that it's become routine, and now—now, here is the idea that they will be able to live together, be together , once more. 

This is what he's been waiting for, all these years. This is what he's put his faith into. The hope that they'll both succeed at what they love doing. 

"I have good news as well." Satori turns his head towards him, eyes squinting, as if already trying to guess what the good news will be. "My contract with the Adlers expires in a month. I will have half a year before my contract with my new team begins. It will be...it is an international team, in Poland."

"Holy shit," Satori whispers. " Holy shit . Oh my god—you're gonna be living in Europe! With me! And I can—I can live in Japan with you, I can move my schedule around whenever— oh my god —"

"We both got what we wanted," Wakatoshi says, brushing his thumb against Satori's. "I told you that my faith in you is entirely deserved."

Wakatoshi has never been good at guessing—that, of course, has always been Satori's job. Still, he has gotten...somewhat more socially adept over the years. He thinks he can do this. He would try anything for Satori.

He needs to be brave for Satori. 

"I wanted to confess to you during hanami season," he says as they walk along the bank of the river. "Under the cherry blossoms. However, my plan went awry after my note was destroyed."

Satori laughs, his voice the only thing filling the air. "Oh my god, I remember that. Eita—didn't Eita spill water on it?"

"Well, you saw it in my hand, and you tried to grab it, and then we ended up ripping it," Wakatoshi says, and Satori laughs even more. He could listen to it for hours upon hours. For the rest of his life. "But yes, at some point, water got spilled on it."

Satori's red hair has begun growing out again, long enough to reach the bottom of his ears. It's darkened over the years—it used to be much more vivid. Wakatoshi has always liked Satori's hair, both light and dark.

It still looks like roses. But it makes him look older. Matured. 

He loves him so much.

"You're awfully quiet, 'Toshi," Satori says, glancing over at him. Wakatoshi's hand clenches around the ring box. "You got something to say?"

Wakatoshi stops walking. His breath hitches in his throat. Satori cocks his head to the side, eyes closing in on Wakatoshi's hand in his pocket.

He has never been good with words, but he thinks he doesn't need them right now. His actions can speak for themselves.

He gets down on one knee, pulling the box out of his pocket and quickly opening it. Luckily, he doesn't fumble it to the ground in his haste. Satori's eyes go wide, his mouth drops open, and a sound of amazement escapes his throat.

"Tendou Satori," Wakatoshi says, trying to capture every minute detail of Satori's shocked face. This is it. This is it. "Will you—"

"Yes!" Satori screams, tears cascading down his face. "Yeah, I fuckin' will!"

"You did not even let me finish," Wakatoshi says, but he's laughing, wiping the beginnings of his tears away. Satori laughs, then hiccups, and then nods, slapping his hands over his mouth.

"Tendou Satori. You have been by my side for the past two decades. I cannot...I cannot imagine a life without you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

"Yes, I'll marry you!" Satori sobs out, and then he runs forward, throwing himself onto Wakatoshi, and it's all Wakatoshi can do to shut the ring box and hug his boyfriend—no, fiance —as tightly as he can. 

Satori is crying, but he's smiling so widely. Smiles like sunshine. He sniffles, wiping at his eyes, and then makes grabby hands towards the ring. "Can I see the ring?"

It was the biggest pain of Wakatoshi's life to figure out Satori's ring size—he had to contact one of Satori's employees to get him to discreetly put a ring on him—but it was worth it. The ring fits onto Satori's ring finger perfectly. It shines in the soft light of the street lamps surrounding them.

"Wait, 'Toshi," Satori says through his tears. "Did you put the fucking French flag on my engagement ring?"

"What?" Wakatoshi asks, hurriedly bending down to look at the ring. He took ideas from all of Satori's family members—there is a diamond cut in the shape of a diamond in the center of the ring, with two smaller gemstones nestled to its sides. There's a ruby on the left, and a sapphire on the right. If it looked like the French flag, someone would have told him, right? "No. No—Satori, the red and the blue are swapped on the French flag, are they not?

"Whoops," Satori laughs, burying his face in Wakatoshi's shoulder. He's crying, and laughing, and he looks so happy . "God. What are you supposed to do after you get engaged? I feel like we should go and do a photoshoot, or something."

"That is why I brought you here," Wakatoshi says, vaguely gesturing to their surroundings. "I thought it would...make for a good backdrop. Also, your family is somewhere around here. Your sisters insisted on spying on us."

"Those little—" Satori's head whips around wildly, and in the distance, Wakatoshi can see the triplets running towards them, waving their hands excitedly. Satori snickers. "Sneaky, sneaky! Hey, one picture with just us, okay? Before they come here and start making a fuss about everything?"

"Alright," Wakatoshi says as Satori fumbles with his phone. Satori hands it over to him, because he has longer arms, even though he's awful at taking selfies. His fiance proudly holds his hand up, ring on full display. Wakatoshi wraps his free hand around Satori's shoulders, and Satori clasps it with his other hand. 

Smile, Wakkun.

Sometimes, he misses his mother. But he's since learned to push the yearning to the back of his mind. 

It doesn't hurt. 

Not anymore. 

They take a couple of pictures. Wakatoshi is too busy looking at Satori to see his face in the camera, and Satori's too busy doing the same. These pictures may turn out awful—ah, well, that was what the triplets were for.

"SA-TO- RIIIIIII!" He can hear the girls' voices scream in unison—they're within earshot now. 

"Hold your fucking horses!" Satori screams back. Wakatoshi hands him his phone back, and he eagerly scrolls through all of the photos. " Ohmygod , 'Toshi, we look so cute! We look so good, holy shit—"

Wakatoshi peers at the photos, fully expecting the usual: Satori, looking as radiant as ever, and himself, looking as dull as ever. 

That is not the case. 

He looks at himself, and he sees that—he is twenty-seven years old now. He has lived over two decades of life, and he will live for many more to come. He has lived most of his life thus far getting by with mediocre smiles in pictures, never showing any emotion, always quashing it down to maintain the status quo, always trying to force happiness when his mother demanded it from him.

Here, though.

Here, he looks happy .

He looks happy, in a way he has never looked before. His mouth is open, mid laugh, but it doesn’t look awkward at all. The skin around his eyes is crinkled up, in the way his mother always said would give lines when he was older, but he doesn’t mind it. His posture is relaxed, his entire body leaning towards Satori, like Satori is the sun and he is a tree trying to reach him.

Satori clasps Wakatoshi’s hand, admiring the photos of themselves. He mumbles something about trying to find pictures of themselves when they were younger, to compare now and then. He looks over at Wakatoshi, absolutely beaming .

“We look good together, huh, ‘Toshi? Miracle boys Wakatoshi and Satori.”

The sun is setting, but the brightness of Satori’s smile more than makes up for it. His life thus far has not been anything like he had imagined when he was younger, but it has been enjoyable in ways he had never thought possible. 

Wakatoshi squeezes his fiancé’s hand. Satori squeezes back. The motion is comforting.

“Yes. We do look good together.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi is twenty-seven years old when he looks at his own smiling face, and it finally looks right .