Archive of Our Own

“Hello.” Watery eyes looked up at him blearily, cautiously. They were large and round, watching him. Taichi bit the inside of his mouth. What was he doing?

“Are you… okay?” he asked quietly. Those eyes blinked up at him again, before darting away.

“No,” the other boy whispered quietly. Taichi frowned. Well, he already knew the other wasn’t okay; he found him crying underneath the slide at the playground all alone. The kid looked to be around 8, the same age as him.

“Why are you under the slide?”

“I’m scared,” the boy quickly replied, curling into himself further. “I wanted to hide.”

Taichi crouched down to the other boy’s level, tilting his head. When the boy didn’t say anything else, he crawled over to sit beside him, moving away a few wood chips. He didn’t say anything, just sat underneath the slide with this kid he just met.

“What are you doing?” Taichi heard him sniffle, and he shrugged. He supposed that he was supposed to give him a hug, since that’s how he saw other people comforting others

“Hiding with you? I can’t fight what you’re scared of, but I can hide with you. ” He thought that should have been obvious. He was scrawny, definitely not a fighter by any means. He was kind of tall though, growing a lot faster than any other kid his age. Maybe the other boy thought he would stand up for him? No, he was too nervous to do that—

The kid shifted closer, his shoulders brushing against Taichi’s own. He didn’t say anything about it, simply stared at the wood chips scattered on the ground before him. He just stayed there, shoulders still, eyes on the ground like he was watching something only he could see. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He just didn’t know how to react.

The boy latched onto his wrist this time.

“Uh—” he started, startled at the action.

“Thank you,” the boy whispered. “My name’s Kento.” First name, huh?

“Taichi.”

Kento was quite talkative after that incident, but never really told Taichi what he was afraid of that day. Not that Taichi minded—it’s not like he asked.

Taichi wasn’t really that talkative anyway, but Kento was always there to fill the silence. He didn’t seem to mind that Taichi wasn’t the best conversation partner.

The first time he invited Taichi over to his house, his mother was elated. Taichi knew his mom worried about him.

“He’s just so quiet, I was worried he’d never make friends!”

Never make friends.

Kento was a friend.

He proved that theory wrong.

Eventually, Kento moved away. The other was crying as he gave Taichi one last hug, before waving his hand out the door as he drove away.

Taichi was a little bit sad after. His days were quieter, and he was back to being alone.

Junior high came along, and Taichi was still alone.

The other kids tended to avoid him. He didn’t blame them—how could he? He was tall,

uninviting, and cold to the rest of them. He didn’t care that much, though. People were hard to deal with. People were too much to deal with.

He honestly planned to get through the rest of school with no friends. He’d given up—who else would he even talk to?

He was fine with being alone. It didn’t affect his grades, it didn’t affect his life. He had already proven to his mother that he could make a friend; any more was excessive.

Group projects were his least favourite activity. No one picked him, and he was always the one who the teacher had to shove in some group that didn’t have enough people. He knew the teacher most likely gave them a talk to be ‘inclusive’ and ‘open-minded’ with him. That was mildly embarrassing.

It was fine, though. Other opinions on him didn’t exactly matter now, did they?

Then why did he feel like they should matter?

Volleyball was fun.

Not just because it was a sport and he got to run around hitting things. (That was fun though, he wouldn’t deny that.) What made the game really fun was that he didn’t have to read between any emotional lines. There were no social cues that could make someone mad if he answered wrong.

Volleyball was about trickery, that was true. In a way, volleyball was kind of like a conversation. Except this time, Taichi could keep up with it. The setters always try to deceive him with their body language, but Taichi has learnt how to observe, how to read their actions closer.

With volleyball, he doesn’t need unnecessary words.

He doesn’t need to coat anything with sugar or say things lighter. And all his teammates communicated the same. They yelled out what they were doing. Straightforward without any hesitation or layers. If someone was receiving, they called for the ball. If he touched the ball for a block, he yelled that he had done so.

He didn’t need to go observe them and see if his words made them happy or not. He just had to say what he did so everyone understood what he did.

Watching people was something he was much better at doing than talking to them. Which was most likely why he did so well as a middle blocker. (Being tall also helped a lot.)

Nevertheless, volleyball was fun for him. Taichi didn’t need to think of a response, he could just do it. He didn’t need to think if the other person's feelings were going to get hurt—they were going to anyway. He could analyze the situation and adapt to it. If he knew they were going to lose, why waste any extra effort? If he thought that if he tried harder—and that they could win—he would.

Volleyball was safe. No one expected him to do anything more or less than his role.

He was eating lunch when it happened.

He was sitting outside, alone as always, when he heard sniffling coming from around the corner. Knowing there was some alley sort of area there, Taichi ignored it at first. They were all kids who turned into teens and were all dealing with the sudden overload of hormones and puberty. People got overwhelmed—nothing he could do about it.

But the sniffling didn’t stop. Logically, he should have gotten up and left. Packed up his lunch and walked away to find a new place to eat. Yet the sniffling reminded him of his first friend.

He met Kento by staying with him. And Kento stayed with him after.

Company seemed like a good idea. He missed having someone to listen to.

Bracing himself mentally, Taichi stepped around the corner. There, he recognized one of his classmates.

It was obvious she was trying to keep quiet, and Taichi supposed that he was intruding on someone who wanted to be alone.

No one deserves to be alone, though.

“Okajima?” She seemed to choke. I should go.

Yet he didn’t.

“Are you… alright?” he managed. Internally, he winced at his tone. Couldn’t be good.

“K-Kawanishi! I— um— I’m sorry about this,” Okajima stuttered in a panic. “You should go back to lunch, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re crying,” he stated plainly. She flinched at that. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I—”

Taichi sat down about a meter away from her, staring at the grass. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you cry, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her breath hitched, and he was worried that he had overstepped an invisible boundary. Quickly, he backtracked.

“Unless of course you really don’t want me to be here—I can go, yeah, I can.”

“Kawanishi, it’s okay,” Okajima assured him, her voice still thick and watery.

“It’s not a bother if you’re worrying about that.” Taichi picked at the grass. Why am I still here? “It’s fine, seriously. It’s just… I dunno, if you’re not feeling great then I don’t think you should—um. Keep it all in.”

She breathed shakily. “It’s just— stuff you know?”

“Stuff,” Taichi agreed. “Yeah, stuff sucks.”

“It’s just a lot today. Cause you know—stuff.” Okajima laughed awkwardly, before playing it off as a cough. She immediately looked at the ground.

“I’m not really good at this comforting thing, if that’s obvious,” Taichi mumbled. “But I know how to listen. Not in the therapy way, but in the ‘I can listen while you talk ’ way. If that’s okay with you.”

No answer.

“It’s kind of weird I guess. We don’t really talk outside of class. I don’t talk in general. Yeah. Weird. Or I can not talk and we can just stare at the ground. Whatever feels right to you, right?” he was rambling at this point. When was the last time I talked this much?

This time, Okajima laughed genuinely. She looked at Taichi softly. “You’re… kinda strange, you know that? In a good way.”

In a good way. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Okajima mimicked the way Taichi was picking at the grass, rolling a blade between her fingers. “I’m going to be alone in high school. That’s why I was crying.”

“Ah.” Not everyone liked being alone.

“My friends are all headed to different ones than I am, and that’s scary to me. But that’s not really why I’m here,” she explained.

“Mhm?” Taichi hummed for her to continue.

“It’s just— they knew . They knew and they didn’t tell me until now. Now we only have like, what? Less than a year left together? They knew this for a while and didn’t tell me until now. And I can’t help but—” she choked on her words. “ Regret not spending enough time with them. How many times did I take it for granted? Now there’s a time limit on our friendship and it sounds unfair for me to be mad at them, but if they told me earlier, then maybe we could have spent more time together and—” her voice was rising in volume, and she cut herself off.

She didn’t continue again, simply taking deep breaths as she crushed the grass in a fist.

“There doesn’t have to be a time limit, ” Taichi murmured.

“What?” I said that out loud, didn’t I?

“On your friendship,” he continued. He was already doing this, might as well finish it. “It doesn’t have to feel like a time limit.”

“But they’re leaving and I won’t see them again!” Okajima protested.

“Who said you won’t see them again?” Taichi shot right back. What am I saying? Taichi what the hell are you doing?

“I— never thought of that,” she admitted.

“And won’t less time with them mean you’ll appreciate them more now? It doesn’t have to end sadly.” He was sure he was overstepping now.

“You’re a lot kinder than people give you credit for, Kawanishi,” Okajima said, causing Taichi to stiffen.

Me?

Kind?

“I mean it. You said you’re not good at this comforting thing, but you make a lot of sense. And it’s not like you sugarcoat anything either. You just say what you think, don’t you, Kawanishi?”

He just hummed.

“You’re right, though. I should talk to them.” Okajima sounded more confident in herself, and she stuck a hand out towards him. “Thanks, Kawanishi.”

Taichi took her hand, and she pulled him up. Her eyes widened. “I forgot how tall you were!”

He gave her a small, amused smile. “I get that a lot too.”

A few weeks later, he was asked to stay after class by Hinano-sensei.

“Kawanishi-kun, you should really try and talk more to your classmates.” He squinted at Taichi. “Being alone all the time isn’t good. You need friends.”

Taichi opened his mouth to say that he was fine like this, that he was on the volleyball team and that was enough social interactions for him, but Hinano held up a hand.

“I see you and Okajima seem to be a bit friendlier.” We are? Is it because I respond to her greetings? “And I’ve already asked a few of your teammates to try and include you more—”

“ What ?” Dread. Hinano-sensei asked other people to hang out with him.

“Kawanishi, part of what you learn in school is from the connections you make with other people. It’s my job as your teacher to help educate you. Without any friends, how can you develop yourself?” He knew that he had good intentions with his words but… ouch.

“I see…” No, Taichi did not see. But pretending that he did and simply being compliant was much easier and less energy consuming than fighting against his teacher. It was times like these that Taichi was thankful for his ever placid face.

“Make sure to have fun, okay, kid? Your classmates won't judge you.”

Easy for you to say. You’re a middle aged man.

Taichi made sure not to get too close to any of the students that Hinano-sensei assigned to spend time with him. He only engaged in order not to make anything more awkward for the rest of them.

It was just a year.

He could do this for a year.

But what would I do in high school?

Occasionally, Taichi would just stop working. He didn’t really see it as a problem though. Really, the sensation of him ‘stopping to work’ was as if he went on airplane mode.

The people around him seemed to all be mixed in jumbled levels in the background. It was either he could barely hear them over the roaring noise in his head, or they were too loud for him to think properly.

This certainly didn’t help with Taichi’s inability to properly communicate with people.

Whenever this happened, he always tried to leave any conversation as quickly as possible. Taichi had learnt the hard way that asking someone to repeat themselves multiple times was rude. He was genuinely trying to listen to what they had to say, but being unable to hear them made it difficult.

Maybe he had brain problems. How else could he describe the turbulence in his head?

Dear Kawanishi Taichi,

It is with great respect and consideration that Shiratorizawa Academy extends an invitation for you to attend our prestigious establishment, as both a student and a member of our esteemed volleyball program.

Your performance on the court has not gone unnoticed. Your composure on court, natural talent, and unique skill set—particularly your abilities as a middle blocker—reflect the kind of player Shiratorizawa is searching for to cultivate. Under the guidance of our staff, and our rigorous training program, we believe we can shape you into an even more formidable opponent.

Should you accept this invitation, we are confident you can find an environment which pushes your limits, challenges you, connects with your peers, and allows you to contribute meaningfully to our school team and community.

Any concerns regarding costs are unnecessary. This invitation has all expenses paid, with the exception of the costs for your school uniform.

We look forward to your response and sincerely hope you will consider becoming part of Shiratorizawa's proud legacy.

Regards,

Shiratorizawa Academy

Coach Washijo Tanji

Head Coach, Shiratorizawa Boys’ Volleyball Team

Shiratorizawa Academy

Taichi gripped the edges of the paper. Everyone in the volleyball scene knew who Shiratorizawa was. Taichi remembered his game with them, Shiratorizawa had won by a landslide. To think that the head coach of the high school thought that he was good enough, Taichi couldn’t believe it.

When he showed his mom, she was elated.

“Taichi! I’m so proud of you! You have to accept, look at this!” his mother gushed, reaching up to pinch his cheeks. He groaned.

“Shiratorizawa is two hours away,” he mumbled. He’d never been that far away from home alone.

“They’re covering all the expenses! I’m fine to pay for a uniform. You have got to accept, Taichi! Such an opportunity! My baby boy is all grown up now.” She wiped away happy tears, hugging him tightly.

Taichi didn’t say much else. It’s not like he did have any other preferences for highschool, and Shiratorizawa was a whole new start. Who knew, maybe he’d even make a friend.

“Okay mom,” he agreed. “I’ll send them a letter.”

“Okajima, what high school are you going to go to?” He asked her. Everyone was already gushing about which school they were attending, and he supposed asking was something that friends did.

“Kawanishi! I haven’t really thought about it yet, but I was thinking about Aoba Johsai. What about you? Have you made any plans yet?” She tilted her head, smiling.

“Shiratorizawa,” he replied. Okajima’s eyes widened.

“Really? That’s so far though! I bet you got invited right? Makes sense, I heard you’re really good at volleyball. And you’re smart too!” Her cheeks grew pink, and Taichi scratched his neck.

“I guess so. Good luck at Aoba Johsai, though.”

“You too, Kawanishi!”

Junior high came and went, and before Taichi knew it, it was over. Of course, even if the place never really gave him anything, he was still sad to go. He was fully aware nothing stayed the same, but he liked the familiarity of it.

Now, holding a white and purple jacket in his hands, he knew he had to become ready for his future.

His mother dropped him off at the school gates, giving him a big hug before letting go. Tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes as she gazed proudly up at him.

“You’re going to do great here, okay? I know my son, and I know he’s going to do great things. So you’re going to step into that school and enjoy it, Taichi!”

He couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll see you for the holidays?”

“Of course! Call anytime, okay? My phone’s on, and I’ll always answer for you.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“You did get everything, right? They already delivered the box with your things to your dorm—you know your dorm room, right?— and you get a roommate! Oh, I hope he’s nice to you. Call me if he isn’t, I’ll send in a request to switch—” his mother was rambling now, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’ll be fine.” She burst into tears.

“Oh, both my babies have grown up now! Your mama is so proud of you!” She hugged him again, before pushing him towards the gates. “We’re here a day before they actually open, so you go and get a little familiar with everything, alright? Goodbye! I love you!” She turned and dashed back into the car. Taichi didn’t take it personally, he knew that if she didn’t go right then that she would insist on accompanying him around campus.

Turning around, he stepped in.

Hey there, Shiratorizawa, wonder how the next three years are looking?

Me too.

It took a while, but after finding the student services building, he managed to find the dormitories. Adjusting his bag, he stood in the elevator, making his way to the second floor. It kind of felt like a hotel, with all the room numbers and signs guiding him where to go. Thankfully, his room wasn’t that far.

213… 213…

Aha!

Someone was standing in front of his room. The boy had light brown hair, an interesting style of bangs, and was squinting at the door. Taichi stopped a meter away from him, wondering what to say. The boy turned to him, startling before nodding at him.

“Hello?” he greeted. Taichi nodded back.

“Hello.” He glanced back at the room. Shitshitshit what do I say? Why is someone here why I thought I had until tomorrow oh my gosh I wanted to stay alone why do I have to talk to people I wasn’t ready for this—

“213?” the other boy asked, tilting his head towards the room.

Just respond, Taichi. Just respond. That’s the rule. Respond to the question, but keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, 213. You too?”

“Yup,” Taichi paused. He’s my roommate. I already met my roommate oh my gosh— keep the conversation going, Taichi! “Why are you standing outside in the hall?”

The boy flushed. “I forgot to get a key, and I just got here.”

“Ah, I see. I got one, at student services.” Taichi fished the key out of his pocket, before adding “My name's Kawanishi, by the way. Kawanishi Taichi.”

Was that too early? No, I’m supposed to introduce myself—was that awkward? Everything about this is awkward why did I repeat my name—

“Shirabu Kenjirou,” Shirabu responded, interrupting his thoughts while watching as he unlocked the door. The two of them walked in, both choosing a side of the room. Thankfully, they both got the side they wanted. Taichi on the left, Shirabu on the right.

“So.” Shirabu dropped his bag on his side of the room. “Hello, new roommate.”

“Hi.” This is real, and I have a roommate.

“Here’s to the next three years?” He held out his hand, and Taichi shook it.

“Here’s to the next three years.”

Surprisingly, both of their boxes were on their respective sides of the room. They both began to unpack in relative silence, which certainly didn’t help with Taichi’s inner turmoil.

Was that a good first impression? I have to spend the next three years with this guy, no, his name is Shirabu. Spend the next three years with Shirabu.

Should I wait or should I ask now about him? Is that invasive? Am I being awkward by not talking?

“What class are you in?” Taichi blurted out. What am I doing what the hell am I doing?

Shirabu put down the books he was holding on the desk. “1- 4. You?”

We don’t share a class. Oh gosh.

Why’s he looking at me like that? Oh shoot he asked me a question. Taichi you gotta answer!

“1- 5. Guess we don’t share a class.” Taichi was slightly sad about that. It would have been nice to have someone that he recognized in class.

“Kawanishi, this is our homeroom. We could still share a class,” Shirabu chuckled. “Or was that not how it worked at your junior high?”

“Ah? No.” He scratched his neck, swallowing. I look stupid now, don’t I?

Turning away, he focused his attention on my packing again. Heavens forbid he embarrassed himself further by turning red. Dumping the rest of his belongings on the bed, he heard Shirabu hum behind him.

“Are you on the volleyball team? Or well, joining?” Taichi turned to see the other boy standing far closer than he realized, looking at his track jacket.

“Um. Yeah, I am. Got scouted here.” Hell Taichi, you’re so awkward.

“That’s cool. What position do you play?”

“Middle blocker.” Shirabu rolled his eyes.

“I should have known. You’re really tall, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Do you play volleyball too?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I play setter.”

Cool.

So now what do I say?

Shirabu wasn’t saying much else, so technically, Taichi didn’t have to keep the conversation going. Unless he was waiting for Taichi to say something, in which he’s already made the situation awkward again.

Think, Taichi, think.

“Tomorrow is the meeting, right? For uh, introductions and stuff?” Are you serious right now? Who says ‘introductions and stuff?’

“ Yeah, it should be. After the welcoming ceremony, meet in gym A,” Shirabu confirmed.

“You think we’ll get to see any of the players?”

“Maybe. If we do, I hope we get to meet Ushiwaka.” Oh I know him! The left-handed ace!

“Ushiwaka huh? You a fan?” Taichi asked, and Shirabu’s eyes lit up.

“Setting for someone that strong? That would be amazing. To be the one who guides that kind of power? As a setter, he’s like the dream hitter!” Taichi found it amusing how excited his roommate got over this.

“Is that why you joined Shiratorizawa?”

He nodded. “I wanted to experience it firsthand. And—call me an asshole if you want. I don't care—seeing the other team's looks of despair is a nice sight as well.”

Taichi snorted. “I’ve known you for less than an hour and we’re already discussing how you like watching people’s faces after they lose.”

“Oh shut up!” A pillow came and hit him in the back of the neck.

So, this is my roommate.

“First years, line up! Tell us your name, and your position!” a short old man ordered. Based on his outfit, Taichi deduced that this was Coach Washijo.

He’s a lot shorter than I imagined.

Hastily, he and the other first years stood side by side. He stood next to Shirabu, and two other boys lined up next to him. Another man with glasses nodded towards Shirabu.

“Shirabu Kenjirou! I played setter!” Shirabu announced beside him. The man seemed to check off his name on his clipboard. Next, he nodded towards Taichi.

Quick and easy. Name and position. You’ve got this, Taichi.

“Kawanishi Taichi! Middle blocker!” Taichi felt the blood rushing in his ears, the pounding in his chest. He was nervous and trying his best not to show it. Vaguely, he heard the other two first years calling out their names.

Yunohama and Umeda? I should remember that for later.

In an attempt to distract himself, he studied all of the seniors before him. Based on what he was told earlier, he knew that the players before him were only the second years. There were five of them, all paying various degrees of attention. Taichi recognized Ushiwaka immediately, the ace observing them all quietly.

So that’s Ushiwaka in the flesh.

A sudden feeling of being watched crept up on him, and he glanced at the other four players.

One player in particular was sizing him up, unconsciously causing Taichi to fidget with the hem of his shorts. The boy had spiked up red hair, and a slight unhinged look in his eyes. He poked at the boy beside him, an ash blonde with dark tips. He squinted at the redhead, before following his line of sight. Noticing how nervous Taichi looked, he gave him a reassuring smile. ‘It’s okay,’ he mouthed.

He felt a little better after that.

“Well, well, hello there, little first years! I am Tendou Satori! Don’t know if you’ve heard of me, maybe I’m not that famous yet—it would be nice if you did—but I’m the—” he began to drum dramatically on his thighs. “ Guess Monster!”

Oh gosh. What did I sign up for?

“Um. Hello?” he responded sheepishly.

The red-haired second-year smile seemed to get impossibly large, and he linked their arms together. He patted Taichi’s arm, before dragging him towards the rest of the second years.

“Middle blocker right? Great, that’s great! You can be my protege. Eita! Today marks the day of me and my protege! What was your name again—wait, no, let me guess — uhhh—” he paused, putting his hand under his chin and stroking a non-existent beard. “Kawinashi? No, that does not sound right at all—”

“It’s Kawanishi,” one of the other second years—who he assumed was ‘Eita’—corrected him. The other boy looked over at him, giving him a sympathetic look. “Good luck, kid. You’ll need it. Seriously. By the way, I’m Semi Eita.”

“Eita! You’re so mean! You get a little protege too, the Toshi fanatic.” Tendou wiggled his fingers towards Shirabu’s general direction. Taichi sent a look towards his roommate that he hoped conveyed ‘ help’ .

Shirabu, the banged bastard, shook his head slowly. Traitor.

“Semisemi gets a little setter friend! And then you can give him some advice on Wakatoshi. He practically lit up when he greeted him.”

“I don’t really think he needs my advice. He looks to be a plenty good setter himself, and also, wouldn’t you be better for talking to Wakatoshi?” Semi rolled his eyes as he waved dismissively at Shirabu, who was still watching Taichi from across the gym with slight amusement.

“But, Eita!” The supposed setter flicked Tendou’s forehead.

“Nope. Now unhand that poor kid, you’re scaring him.”

“First day and you’re already someone’s protege. Someone’s popular,” Shirabu huffed. The two of them had made their way back to their dorm, and Shirabu was still laughing about his interaction with Tendou.

“What did you think about it? The practice?” Taichi supposed that changing the subject was less rude than telling him to fuck off.

“It was fine, I guess. We did get to meet Ushiwaka, but the coach was pretty intense. Kept looking at us like we were some specimens or something.” Thankfully, Shirabu answered his question without jabbing at him further. But obviously, Taichi wasn’t going to let his previous comment slide.

“You’re not good at hiding how much you like Ushiwaka by the way. Tendou-san called you the ‘Toshi Fanatic’,” emphasizing his point, he made air quotations with his hands. He snorted when he saw the tips of Shirabu’s ears go pink. Revenge.

“Shut up! It was just cool to see him in person, is all.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—”

A pillow hit him on the side of the head.

“ Seriously?”

The next few months came and went. He had to adjust to things quickly, and Shiratorizawa was a big change. For the first week he was lost constantly, and barely made it to his classes on time.

But Taichi was finally able to put names to faces on his classmates, and even made a few acquaintances! A win was a win, and Taichi would take them.

He did get homesick every now and then, but his teammates helped ease him up a bit. He watched countless times from the bench how they won each match, and soon, he himself made his way on the starting lineup.

He still called his mother every week, and told her about his days. But even that didn’t take away the edge of missing home. He’s never had to stay out of his house for longer than a week, and with Shiratorizawa's dorm system, he had to stay the entire year, with exceptions to the breaks of course.

On days like these, Semi sometimes offered to let him come into his dorm and listen to some music. He didn’t know how it started, just one day the setter offered his room and he accepted. Reon was there too, and the three of them would just sit there and relax.

So occasionally, he would find himself drifting away to the sound of music, the smooth riffs of the guitar taking him home inside his head. He did wonder if he deserved this sometimes, but questioning it made him feel worse, so he didn’t.

Feelings were too hard to understand, so he chose not to.

Taichi really hated group assignments. He always had to figure out what to say, and how to say it. And he almost always had to rely on a saving grace (read: extrovert) to carry the discussion.

He hated group assignments.

This one was no different. They were meant to discuss how they felt about a short story, and his group mates were all trying to contribute. Taichi however, didn’t really feel anything reading it. He knew it was supposed to evoke emotion, but he didn’t see it.

So he said so. Because the whole point of this was to be honest and he was too lazy to come up with a convincing lie. He was met with flat faces at his insightful response of, “I didn’t feel anything.”

Yuzuki gave him a look that he couldn’t decipher.

“Do you not have any emotions at all, Kawanishi-kun?” She squinted at him. Taichi’s breath died midway in his trachea. At all?

Did I say something wrong? I said how I felt about it, which was nothing.

Taichi didn’t know how to reply to that, didn’t know if any response would suffice. He certainly didn’t want to fight anyone, or come off as rude. Instead, he just blinked at her. That seemed to be one of the incorrect answers. She rolled her eyes, sighing.

“You’re so cold, Kawanishi-kun. You like, never talk, never wave or smile at anyone, never greet anyone either. Just stare at everyone like a statue or some kind of—I dunno— freak? ”

Freak .

I’m a freak?

Taichi didn’t know what to say.

“Do you not know how to communicate or something? Hello?”

“I do know how to communicate.” Taichi hated how harsh his voice became, because Yuzuki flinched back. They felt acidic on his tongue and it burned. Yuzuki didn’t deserve that. It’s her fault for being a bitch.

You sound like an asshole, Taichi.

“Geez, did I hit a sore spot? So you’re just an asshole then who doesn’t talk to people, and when you do you’re even more of an asshole.” She rolled her eyes again. She really did that a lot.

Why did you say it like that, Taichi?

“Just mind your own business.” He turned back to his paper, focusing on trying not to make his trembling hands noticeable. The words scrawled against the paper feel meaningless now, and the burning, flaring pain in his chest starts to crawl up his throat. It’s strangling him, and all he could manage was to keep it down.

The people around him continue to talk, but he’s so deep in his head that any and every attempt of him trying to drag himself back into reality is futile.

This can’t be happening right now.

“You’re a lot kinder than people give you credit for, Kawanishi-kun.”

Bullshit, Okajima.

His shaky hands clutch the paper harder, trying to make the words make sense. What was he even supposed to be doing? Group discussions?

“—nishi? Kawanishi? Kawanishi!” He coughed, glancing back at his group mates. They were all various degrees of annoyed. Great.

“Yuzuki, apologize,” Ryouma sent a scathing look towards her. Taichi shook his head, raising a hand to signal that he was fine.

Ryouma frowned at him, but continued with the discussion nevertheless. Throughout the rest of the period, he felt himself sinking down a little lower in his chair, forcing his eyes to stare at the paper instead of darting around the room. The bright fluorescent lights seemed to glow a harsher white by the minute.

He added his thoughts when necessary to the discussion and responded to anything that was directly asked of him. Otherwise, he didn’t speak unless spoken to first.

They were definitely judging him. They were chewing apart every word he said until they hit the pit of the lie.

This is why he abhorred group activities. There’s no real way to prepare, and no matter what he said, whoever was louder altered the situation to their desires. Taichi was a bit jealous of them. Here they were, able to fully articulate their thoughts while he stumbled to make a three-word statement sound feasible.

He had to carefully select his words, make sure that he still sounded like he was paying attention. Yuzuki was still watching him, and he hoped she wasn’t going to make any more comments on his demeanour. He didn’t think he could handle anything else, especially with her oppressive glare and the glaring lights.

Taichi could see it in the way her jaw was clenched in frustration that she was trying to remain civil. Try harder.

Another question was directed towards him. He didn’t know what to say, and voiced that. Incessant ringing filled his ears, and Taichi reached for his water bottle. Water. Yeah. Maybe I’m just thirsty, and that’s why I can’t talk.

Not because I hate everyone.

He drank the water, letting it fall down his throat as the pounding of his heart faded back into the background. His vision wavered, and he swallowed thickly. Switching his attention back to breathing, Taichi let his eyes fall back onto the paper, instead paying attention to his own handwritten name scrawled on the corner.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He’s fine.

He managed to evade any further looks towards himself and managed to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t a freak. He could communicate. He had emotions.

Then how did I manage to get over that so quickly?

The bell rang.

Taichi hated how his life started to revolve around trying to become ‘normal’.

So he stopped.

All of that required calculating and work. Socialization required him knowing what to do, and he didn’t. So Taichi pushed down the anxious flutter in his chest whenever he said something.

Did he hate trying to talk to people or did he hate people?

“You’re a lot kinder than people give you credit for, Kawanishi-kun.”

He still didn’t know what Okajima meant by that. Sure, he could relate to certain feelings and knew how to listen. But he barely had a grasp on his own feelings. They were nonsensical and wobbly, a mess that he couldn’t clean.

It was easier to stop feeling entirely. Feeling was a hassle, and giving into the numbness wasn’t.

Taichi only ever went for the battles that he could win. And he knew he wouldn’t be winning this one soon.

Volleyball was a release.

He didn’t have to think about being normal. All he had to calculate was how to make the ball touch the floor.

In a way, it was almost as if the wall that he placed for the hitter was the wall he placed for himself. It was a twisted sort of satisfaction whenever the ball slammed into the floor off his own arms. His arms and hands stung, but it was good. He blocked them out.

And locked himself in.

He tried to stay civil with Shirabu. They were friends now, he hoped. He’d never been close to people, and Shirabu had quickly become what he supposed was his best friend.

“You can call me Taichi, you know,” he said one day out of the blue. He was drying his hair with a towel, sending a sidelong glance to his roommate. Shirabu hummed in response.

“Taichi,” it was weird hearing his given name coming out of the setter's mouth. A new kind of weird though. “Why the change?”

“Kawanishi is a mouthful. And you’re my friend. I also never really cared, so if you’re fine with it, you can call me Taichi,” he explained. Was that too much? Did I cross any lines?

“Hm. Okay. You can call me Kenjirou if you want then too. I don’t mind either.” Taichi’s hands paused on the towel, pressing into his wet hair.

“I’ll call you Jirou then.” He’d never given anyone a nickname before, but it felt right to do it with Shirabu.

“Jirou, huh? Your name’s too short to come up with anything, so you’re stuck with Taichi,” Shirabu—no—Kenjirou teased.

His best friend was currently clicking a pen angrily on his desk.

“Do you wanna—uh—talk about it?” Taichi tried. Kenjirou turned, blinking at him a few times with an expression Taichi knew well.

He was about to cry.

Shoot.

“Jirou?” The setter bit his lip, and chucked a paper across the floor. Carefully, the first year picked it up. A large 90% stared back at him.

“That’s good. Was this the test we had last week? The history one?” Taichi blinked, remembering his mark of a solid 88. Pretty good in his opinion.

“Yes.” Kenjirou sniffed.

“Well, that’s one of the highest marks then, I heard some of our classmates saying they got mid-70s,” he mused, trying to remember the shuffle of words that always occurred post test results.

“But it’s not the highest.”

Taichi blinked. “Huh?”

“Kurenai got a 94%,” Kenjirou gritted out. “A 94.”

“Good for… her? What’s the matter?” Taichi realized that he probably shouldn’t have asked that when Kenjirou glared at him. He was supposed to sound genuine, but ended up phrasing it as a question instead. Great job, Taichi. His roommate seemed to get even more frustrated as he glared at the paper in Taichi’s hands. Did I say something wrong?

“What’s the matter ? I— I— I don’t even know actually.” The setter slumped, defeated. He whispered softly to himself. “Good for her. Yeah, I’m not mad at her or anything—good for her, really—it’s just—” his voice grew shaky, meek almost. “I wanted to have the best score this time.”

Oh.

“I actually put a lot of effort into preparing for this test, more than usual. And I couldn’t even get the highest score. I never get the highest score. It’s always second, or I get deducted by one single point. I don’t know, Taichi.” The setter curled up into the floor, heaving. “I don’t know anymore.”

Taichi didn’t really care about his marks as long as they stayed to a certain degree. He certainly wasn’t in any competition to reach the top, and certainly wouldn’t try. Really his goal was to remain above 86%, and stay in that comfortable zone. That sounded contradictory to his last statement, but it wasn’t that difficult for him. Which also sounds insensitive, but it’s true.

He thought about it like a match then. Three options for him to jump towards, all with varying answers. The setter, Shirabu, could react in three different ways.

1. He waved off Kenjirou's anxiety and dismissed his sadness, earning himself a bad reputation with his roommate for the next 3 years. This could also lead to Kenjirou feeling uncomfortable around him.
2. He gave encouraging words of support and affirmation that he (Kenjirou) could do it next time and that he just had to try and try again. A bit tacky in his opinion, and Shirabu might get the impression he doesn’t understand what’s the matter.
3. Listen carefully to what he says and try to speak his feelings. Taichi didn’t like this option, since he worried he wouldn’t be able to articulate his thoughts. But compared to the other two, this one had the highest chance of letting Kenjirou relax.

He picked the third option.

“Why do you think that?” Taichi prodded. Kenjirou glanced at him, before sulking further into his knees.

“The numbers are what defines me,” he muttered.

“Hm?” Did he hear that right?

“The numbers, Taichi. If I don’t do well enough, then—”

“Then what?” Taichi interrupted. “Why do you think they define you?”

“Because! They just do!” The setter pouted petulantly at him. Real smooth of you, Jirou. “Don’t give me that face!”

Taichi wasn’t aware that he had even been making a face.

“Who decided that they do then? Define you, I mean.” Taichi looked closer at his roommate, glancing at the discarded piece of paper on the floor, then back at him. “I looked at the number, then I looked at you. You look the same to me.”

Kenjirou paused, blinking up to really look Taichi in the eyes.

“I— I don’t actually know. My parents?” he said weakly. It seemed Taichi had apparently given him a look again, because Kenjirou went straight back to glaring. “I don’t know!”

“See? You don’t know. You don’t have to know.” Taichi sat down on his desk chair. “So, your parents?”

“They have high expectations. Very high.” Kenjirou muttered. “It just felt—no— feels like they love me more the higher I score.”

The setter sent another offending glare to the paper on the floor, and Taichi swiped it away with his foot. That earned him a scandalized look. “What the—“

“It’s making you more upset to look at it, so now you can’t look at it,” he explained simply. He gestured with his hand, and Kenjirou took a deep breath.

“I didn’t get into Shiratorizawa through an invitation like you did. I did the entrance exam,” he started. How exactly was this related? Taichi didn’t know yet.

“My parents think that volleyball is a waste of my time and attention. That I could get higher grades if I just focused solely on my studies. They only supported Shiratorizawa because, well, it is one of the top schools in the prefecture. Not just in athletics. In everything. But I’m sure you already know that.” He did.

“So I’m just scared, I guess. Scared that if I don’t get it right, they won’t love me anymore. Maybe it’s some stupid trauma response, but being ‘smart’ makes me feel good about myself. I like knowing things and I like people knowing I know things. It’s selfish, but it makes me feel good.”

“I see.” Taichi studied his friend's face. “So, you know why you’re upset. And that you’re not okay right now, right? These things take time. They won’t go away overnight, they just fester inside you for a while. People will keep telling you the same thing, over and over, so many times you feel sick of it.”

“I guess.”

“It’s fine though,” he said, and Kenjirou tilted his head at him. “That you’re not okay,” he clarified.

“What about you?” The other boy pursed his lip. Taichi blinked.

“What about me?” Kenjirou gave him a look, frowning.

“You’ve been off lately. Or maybe that’s how you are, I haven’t known you very long after all. But you’ve been kind of—how do I say this? In your head lately.” Even Jirou’s noticed. No, Jirou’s always been observant. You’re just a freakish idiot, Taichi.

“Have I now?” he asked dumbly. “Maybe I'm just like that.”

“The same goes for you too, you know. It’s okay, if you aren’t okay.” Kenjirou huffed, and he hummed in acknowledgment.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot more lately, is all.”

Like how much of a bad friend I am.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Kenjirou wiped his face, walking over to his side and tentatively letting his hand hover over Taichi’s shoulder. “That’s what friends are for.”

“Yeah. That’s what they’re for.”

—

Taichi was being ridiculous to the point that even he himself could see it. Volleyball was a team sport, yet he wasn’t keeping up with his team. He knew it was only a matter of time before Washijo benched him again.

Tendou however, adored him. He hooted and hollered whenever Taichi made a particularly ruthless block. He teased him as well, yelling at him to loosen up a little, and that he could be nicer.

Taichi could be nicer to their opponents. He could relax a bit and let up on his blocking. But that made him feel like he wasn’t doing enough, so he jumped anyway.

It’s not like he felt joy seeing their distraught faces. Not in the way that Tendou gushed about. He just felt satisfied after the whistle blew, indicating another point for Shiratorizawa.

He hated how fake he felt nowadays. People liked him for some odd reason, and he couldn’t even like himself. Why was that?

He needed to be honest with himself. Lying got him nowhere. He needed to tell Tendou the truth. Because lying got him nowhere

“I don’t think I’m a really good protege, Tendou-san,” Taichi mumbled softly. Tendou tilted his head searchingly. It was during one of their coined, “Middle Blocker Magic Times” that he had brought this up. Soekawa was refilling his water bottle with the third years, which left him and Tendou alone.

“Why’s that, Tai-chan?” He swallowed, remembering the words from Yuzuki.

You’re so cold, Kawanishi-kun.

“You should have someone that actually cares,” he whispered softly. Not someone who doesn’t know how to feel.

I’m a freak and you look at me like I’m just anyone else. I don’t care as much as anyone else does.

“ Someone that isn’t a freak.”

Something in his face must have given something away, because Tendou seemed to soften ever so slightly, before letting out a boisterous laugh. “I don’t care if you think you’re a freak. Look at me! People call me a freak all the time! That’s great then, Taichi, we can be ourselves together!”

Together.

“You’re so cold, Kawanishi-kun.”

“You’ll never make friends like that.”

Tendou’s my friend now. He said I can be myself.

Kenjirou is my friend too.

I have friends.

“You may say that now, but it would be an unfair relationship if you were to care more about it than me. That would be selfish of me, Tendou-san. And I’m sorry for that.”

Taichi realized that he was a recluse. Yes, he was a freak. Yes, he had friends. The obvious answers being his teammates on the volleyball team, and that being about it.

He had to tell Tendou this now, before the guilt became too much for him. He knew how much Tendou cared—he wasn’t sure if he cared back.

Now that he knew what having friends was like—the real ones, not those assigned ones Hinano-sensei forced on him—he knew that they had his back. But ever since Yuzuki mentioned it, he knew she was speaking the truth. He didn’t interact with his friends the same way they did with him. He watched them, but never got up to talk to them of his own volition. There was always a prompt involved.

“Taichi…” Tendou opened his mouth to say more, but the first year turned away.

“It’s okay Tendou-san. I’m sorry I can’t be the protege you wanted.”

I’m sorry for not seeing what you see in me.

It’s hard for him to explain this weight, but it’s like there’s this constant pressure on his chest. It’s stopped him from breathing. He didn’t know what was worse—the emptiness that never seems to leave, or the way it felt like he was drowning in it. Was this who he was now? Someone with constant numbness, constant second-guessing. He didn’t know how to escape it. It was constant, the contradictions towards himself; he either cared too much or not at all.

Emotions felt like distant echoes, always delayed, yet heard nonetheless. Was it apathy? The familiar lack of sensation that had become a form of comfort for himself? There was a wall in front of him. Tall and self-imposed. He couldn’t bring himself to reach out and open up the cracks further.

Taichi was afraid. He knew that his numbness didn’t fit with their warmth.

Tendou grabbed him after practice the next week. In tow, he had brought Semi, and the two of them took him into some kind of alleyway. Am I about to get jumped?

“So—” Tendou leaned in, earning a quiet grumble from Semi. “Why do ya think that about yourself?”

“What?” He was confused. That was the first thing Tendou had said since looping their arms together. The second year laughed, patting his arm.

“What he means is, he’s wondering why you think you’d be a bad protege,” Semi explained. But didn’t I already tell him why?

“Taichi, Taichi, I’m gonna need a better answer than 'it being unfair for me’! Besides, as your amazing senpai, it’s up to me to care for my dearest kouhai! So, what’s up, hmmm?” Tendou looked closer into his eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was once again being picked apart.

Taichi blinked, but knew he was supposed to respond. “I… I’m not the best at talking. Or smiling. Or being a person, I guess.” He trailed off. He trusted his senpais, he really did. They had an uncanny ability to bypass whatever indifference he managed to

Semi and Tendou shared a look, and Semi sighed. “What do you mean by that?”

Averting his eyes, he found his hands much more interesting than the two second-years who were looking worriedly at him. “I don’t know.”

Semi pursed his lips. “You don’t know what to say, or how to say it?” Exactly.

“ Both?” he mumbled sheepishly. “When I do talk, I sound like an asshole.”

“Well, my dear kouhai protege, you are on the right team then! Everyone here is an asshole! See these asses? Don’t look at Eita’s though, I have a patent on that.” Semi smacked him. “Don’t worry about that, though. And don’t worry about any filters. You don’t need it unless you’re hate-criming, which you need a filter cause we don’t tolerate hate crimes and abject bullying.”

“What?

“He’s saying none of us really care unless you’re being an actual piece of shit. Otherwise, we’re all assholes here and have no right to be judging you.” Semi clarified for him.

“See Semi-Semi! It was a good idea to bring you along, you understand what I mean!”

“Shut up.”

“ See Taichi? Eita sucks spectacularly at communication and always sounds like someone pissed in his tea—” Tendou got a well-earned smack.

“Watch it.”

“But we still love him! Because underneath his little prickly act, he loves us!” Tendou flung out his hands and waved them around like he just revealed some hidden theory to be true. Semi sighed again, and Taichi looked at him for translation. Not that he needed it, he just found it funny.

“We all have different problems that all of us learn to work around. I—yes, I’m admitting it—have problems with tone deliverance. Tendou here has problems with clarity, Toshi has problems with understanding; you get the point. We’re a team and we work together, and we don’t mind having to adapt to let you be comfortable.”

“Oh… I see.” Taichi hadn’t really put that in perspective. He was fully aware of the issues the rest of his teammates had, but something inside him whispered about how that treatment excluded him.

“You don’t have to change anything about yourself, Taichi. I get that sometimes you feel like you have to, but you’ll be miserable like that.” Tendou leaned against the wall, sliding down and motioning for Taichi to follow. “Believe it or not, I tried to fit into everyone else’s standards too.”

Semi joined them on the ground. “You shouldn’t have to feel like you should change. Not for us, and not for anyone.”

Taichi was confused. Other people want me to change. They wanted him to feel in a way that he simply couldn’t. Tendou continued, his voice growing slower and more deliberate, words trying to reach him fully.

“You can be yourself. You’re not a freak, just yourself. And it’s okay to be yourself. We’re not trying to ‘fix’ you. If fitting into whatever standards you put for yourself makes you miserable, loosen up a little. You can be confident in yourself.” His voice softened at the end, reaching out to ruffle Taichi’s hair.

“I get it being a kind of comfort as well. But you don’t have to anymore. You have us now, and we aren’t going to go anywhere anytime soon,” Semi added, fiddling with his shoelaces.

“And don’t say anything more about being a bad protege! Now come here, you!” Taichi didn’t have any room to react before Tendou was sprawled on top of him, squeezing the breath out of him.

“ Tendou-san?” His arms hung awkwardly at his sides as the second year ruffled his hair further.

“You can drop the honorifics on me now, you’re practically my child!” Tendou crowed.

“Don’t suffocate the poor kid,” Semi chirped from the side, yet made no room to help him. Tendou laughed while rocking the two of them side to side. Carefully, Taichi let his arms fall around the redhead.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anytime, kiddo.”

Maybe one day, Taichi will drive himself so deep in isolation that he’ll never find his way out.

But for now at least, that wasn’t the case.