Chapter Text
"Remind me, sweetheart," she asked, her eyes curious, scheming. Ittetsu watched her gaze flicker down to his hand, trailing his fingers. He laughed instinctively, as he did whenever he was asked—
"Are you married?"
The big question.
Ittetsu really shouldn't be shocked. Still, hearing it reminded him of many things that — as a recently turned 28-year-old and freshly hired teacher — were constantly thrown back in his face. Ittetsu Takeda was late. He was late for many things, really. He had just gotten his driver's license, his job was barely a month old, and he had yet to date anyone, which meant no marriage or grandchildren, much to his parents' distress.
He had some wiggle room when it came to the first two. Walking and public transportation were commonplace in the towns and cities of Japan, so a driver's license did not warrant much of a celebration. And though it wasn't uncommon to start teaching in your late 20s, it was preferred to enter the classroom at a younger age. Not to mention that his parents had pushed for him to be a lawyer or doctor instead. While teaching was still noble in their eyes, they liked the idea of a more confident and life-changing son. For now, though, it pleased their expectations and calmed their worries about him being unemployed.
The empty spot in Ittetsu's bed and the lack of descendants, however, crept up on his parents' radar. And it seemed like other adults were catching on to Ittetsu's availability and prospects.
"You know, I heard that new art teacher is single," the librarian continued, "She's very beautiful."
Without thinking, reflexively, he responds, "She is."
This only fueled the librarian more. She smiled and slid over the books he had requested for his class, "You should talk to her. Who knows what will happen?" She winks, and Ittetsu chuckles nervously.
He really shouldn't have agreed, but he wasn't going to lie and say the art teacher was anything other than beautiful. It was just a shame his words were mere facts to him and not any genuine attraction.
"I appreciate your meddling," Ittetsu said, giving her one last thank you before taking his leave with his books.
-
"I'm sure you've been in many serious relationships by now," Rina mumbled, her forehead touching the cool surface of the bar. Ittetsu poked her, using his other hand to slide a napkin underneath it when she turned to look at him.
"Tell me, how do you move on. How do you love again?"
Rina was a coworker of his. The art teacher at Karasuno, with whom the librarian tried to set him up, only to fail miserably when she realized Rina was not single. That didn't stop them from becoming friends and sharing their lunchtime. She was around his age, and they shared a couple of interests. Their friendship eventually reached a point where they would partake in a drink or two on the weekends.
This day, though, was special. Having just ended a relationship, Rina wanted to celebrate her freedom. Though so far, she has mainly mourned her ex. Ittetsu had found that, in moments like these, people turned to their friends hoping their own journeys in romance would somehow cheer them up. He didn't have much in that department, and took a breath before he made that clear to his friend.
"I fear I will disappoint you, Rina-kun," he responded, "I've never dated anyone, so I wouldn't know what to say except a proverb or two from literature."
"Really?! You've never dated anyone?" she cried, shocked.
He shook his head.
"No first kiss?"
"Nope."
"Don't you ever want to get married?"
Ittetsu laughed. Going from first kisses to marriage was a huge jump, but what really made Ittetsu laugh was how the big question never evaded him. It was always showing up in different forms, in different orders, and with different emotions.
"I'm in no rush," he explained, trying to choose his words carefully, "Besides, we're here to mourn your relationship, not my lack of."
"Why?"
"Rina, you told me to come here—"
"No, why haven't you dated anyone?"
Ittetsu sighed, so he had to do this again. Last week, he had to comfort his mother over his dating history, promising it was only because he was so focused on his job. Not because his interest leaned more towards men, or that his anxiety practically repelled any attempts at flirting. Not because he feared the look on his parents' face when he brought home a man. Not because he had been preparing himself for an unhappy marriage to an unlucky woman who would loathe him once she realized how wrong he was for her.
"I don't know. It's not at the forefront of my mind. I'm in no rush to find a partner."
"Oh," Rina mumbled, now staring into the depths of her drink, "Maybe that's what I should do. Focus on me, not rush anything."
Ittetsu knew that was the end of his interrogation; Rina's attention was back on herself. He was relieved, even though the lump in his throat ached, and his stomach hungered for something he couldn't, or wouldn't, describe.
—
"You can use it when you're ready," his mother slid over the dull brown box.
"Your father gave it to me when he asked me to marry him," her voice was soft, full of fondness for the memory.
Ittetsu inhaled, watching as she lifted the lid. Inside, on a cushioned layer, was a delicate silver chain. It was thin, but elegant.
"I didn't wear rings. They kept me from cooking comfortably," she explained, "so he got me something different. Something special for me."
Ittetsu knew this was her subtle way of pushing the marriage topic on him again. The big question had many disguises that helped it get lost in the crowd of words. Still, the gesture was sweet, and it wasn't like he didn't want to get married.
There were just too many obstacles, ones he knew were less obstacles and more requirements. Requirements that could derail a lot of things in his life. But when he looked at the chain, he wanted to imagine someone wearing it one day.
This was a prized belonging of his mothers. One that she wanted him to give away to a lover, as his dad had done for her. It brought tears to his eyes, which wasn't a surprise, as Ittetsu was a crier. However, a myriad of emotions fueled it.
Fear. Shame. Guilt.
And though it was a tiny sliver, he held on to those feelings of longing, hope, and determination.
A shaky "Ma" was all he could muster, and he took the simple box as if it were fragile and worth millions.
"I know you must get tired of us asking and meddling with your love life," she said. He laughs, surprised that she acknowledged his own feelings towards their actions.
"You're just our only son," she said as her hand reached out to caress his cheek. She stared at him as if he were the most precious thing on earth. It felt odd. In his mind, he was a mediocre guy who taught Japanese literature to teenagers. In the grand scheme of things, he was a speck of dust.
He thought of the picture where Earth was a pale blue dot amidst a sea of stars and planets pulling and tugging at each other. He often felt that little and unremarkable, but that picture was loved. It was seen and written about. It influenced scientists and poets. It was a small dot, but it was so much more.
And Ittetsu Takeda was… is…
"Your joy is our joy," his mother brought him out of his existential thinking, "And we just want to see you relish in what your father and I found with each other."
"I know," he whispered as she wiped away some of his tears.
"You will find it, and I hope this," she gestures again towards the box, "might help you along the way."
Ittetsu could hear the desire and teasing in her voice. She hoped it would incite some motivation to find a partner. She hoped, hearing how his own father took matters into his own hands, Ittetsu would too. It was bittersweet, though the bitterness was sharp, and let the sweetness linger like a hazy memory.
It was no different from other conversations that would give him hope for a new outcome, only to stay on the same steady and traditional path his parents wanted.
"Thank you, Ma," Ittetsu could finally say, not able to promise that he would try or that he would make her proud. In the end, all he could tie up the conversation with was a quiet and strained, "It means a lot."
—
"Takeda-sensei?" he heard Hinata say. The team was doing stretches, and Ittetsu was observing to make sure they were following Ukai's instructions. The kids liked to ask questions, and when it came to their honorable sensei, the questions they asked ranged from genuine schoolwork confusion or intricate life-
"Yes, Hinata-kun?"
"When did you decide to never get married?"
The shock of the question hit Ittetsu like a punch to the stomach. This time the big question felt almost like a sly insult, coated with the innocence of a curious teenage. But Hinata was not like that, none of these boys were.
"W-what?! When have I- I have never said that—" His stuttering fell on deaf ears, though, because some boys immediately began lecturing Hinata on the types of questions he shouldn't ask his teachers, while others laughed so hard, they were clutching their stomachs.
"It's just that you always say you're not seeing anyone, maybe you don't want to marry anyone—"
"Hinata! Just—" Sawamura looked mortified. Ittetsu needed to jump in.
"I-it's fine, Sawamura-kun. All is well. I'm just shocked at the question," Ittetsu tried calming down the boys who had all begun murmuring between themselves.
"Hinata-kun," Ittetsu started, "that's not something I've decided, per se—"
"I'm not trying to say you will never find someone! You're really great, sensei!"
The other boys chimed in and listed qualities and reasons why Ittetsu was a catch and how any woman would be lucky to have him. It was overwhelming, to say the least.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," Ittetsu stopped the boys' chatter.
"I appreciate all your kind words, but what brought this on, Hinata-kun?"
At the question, Ittetsu noticed the boy's ears go red, "N-no reason!"
Ittetsu narrowed his eyes, deciphering Hinata's sudden shift into nervousness, "Hinata-kun."
Hinata lowered his gaze, "Tadashi and I overheard the librarian talk to someone about how you weren't interested in getting married ever, that you were some kind of forever-bachelor, whatever that means, or else you would be going out with different women all the time—"
"But it's none of our business!" Yamaguchi said, his own face blushing red, "I told Shouyou he shouldn't listen to the librarian. My mom told me she likes to gossip about everyone."
"I just wanted to know if there was a specific reason…" Hinata said, ending their part of the conversation. He seemed jittery, his eyes glanced around at his teammates, and his leg became shaky, as if he itched to get up and move around.
Ittetsu nodded to show Hinata he was listening.
"I understand. It's true, I'm not seeing anyone, but it's not because I don't want to. I'm just—"
Queer. Living in a small town. Gay. Homophobic parents. Loves men. Scared of losing his job.
"Busy."
All Ittetsu could do was make excuses. It's all he always did.
"Teaching and coaching take a lot of time out of my day, but don't worry about me, okay? Now, Coach wants you all to pair up and practice spikes today, got it?"
A chorus of "Yes, Sir!" followed, and the boys moved on quickly to their practice as if the previous conversation had not happened.
In many ways, Ittetsu was relieved. A part of him, though, was hit with the same wave of shame and sadness. It was different when adults pestered him with questions. They were easy to evade and distract.
His students, on the other hand, came with a sense of duty, and it weighed on him not to be honest with them about something as simple as love.
Ittetsu would have stayed lost in his thoughts were it not for Shimizu offering him a water bottle, which he happily took. She gave him a small smile, which he returned, "Thank you, Shimizu-kun. Coach told me you had some stats you wanted to share?"
Shimizu nodded, gesturing for Yachi to come over.
The rest of the practice went by smoothly.
—
Sometimes, Ukai would invite Ittetsu to stay later at the shop. At first, it was to talk about volleyball. Ittetsu was eager to continue learning its ins and outs, but after a while, it turned into just a pleasant night with a friend and a mind-buzzing drink.
One night, Ittetsu had brought along essays he had let sit a bit too long on his desk, and desperately needed to finish grading. So while he graded, Ukai told a story about a time when he, Shimada, and Takinoue saved two cats stuck on a tree branch.
"Shimada was on my shoulders, and Takinoue stood under the branches in case the cats slipped—"
"A genuine act of heroism, it seems," Ittetsu teased, imagining his friends as teenagers saving small creatures. He could imagine their bickering and the way Ukai probably yelled at Shimada to 'hurry and grab the damn cats already!'
Ukai laughed, the one that made Ittetsu laugh along, and made his insides ache.
"It felt stupid and reckless in the moment, but the cats were friendly once we got them down. 'Did make us feel a bit like heroes."
At the end of his sentence, the bell to the store chimed, and Ukai excused himself. Ittetsu tended to block out the conversations Ukai had with customers, but this time, the all too familiar phrase brought him out of his grading sprint.
"So tell me, young Ukai, when should I start hearing wedding bells?" the young old lady asked, "or should I perhaps introduce you to my granddaughter. I know I would love a hardworking man like you as a grandson."
Ukai smiled, "I'm sorry, Kanako-san: no wedding or interviews, though I'm sure your granddaughter is lovely."
"It was worth a try," the old lady, Kanako-san, chuckled, "You have a good one, Ukai, try not to break so many hearts."
"I'll do my best, ma'am," Ukai bowed slightly and waited till she was out of the store to return to Ittetsu.
"Kanako-san used to babysit me," Ukai said, leaning back as he lit a new cigarette.
"She seems like a nice lady," Ittetsu responded, then paused for a moment.
"Do you get that question a lot?" He added.
Ukai's eyebrows furrowed as he thought about it.
"Now more than before, I'd say, though I blame it on you," Ukai said.
Ittetsu leaned forward, "How so?"
"Well, you pushed me into coaching, and it's given me a reputation for being a hardworking man. It's prompted many people to come forward with questions and proposals. The catch of the town, it seems. Ladies can't get enough of me."
"You're kidding?" Ittetsu couldn't hold back a smile as he heard the familiar tone of Ukai's teasing and exaggeration.
"C'mon, Specs, you don't really think I'm drowning in marriage offers, do you?"
"Well, if kind Kanako-san is willing to ask you about your availability, I don't see why there wouldn't be various offers you didn't know about from young women."
"I suppose you have a point, but I'm not worried. In a small town like this one, those marriage questions come with the package of living here, especially if you grew up here," Ukai explained, as if it didn't bother him the way it did Ittetsu.
"That's fair," was Ittetsu's response, and he withdrew, pensive, back to the task at hand.
A couple of minutes passed in comfortable silence before Ukai spoke up again, "And you, Sensei? Do you get that question?"
Ittetsu nodded, circling the grade at the top, "I do."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What's your answer? How do you distract them?''
"Ukai-kun—"
"I personally like to play the 'I'm so focused on coaching' card. And if you're charming enough, you can convince some people that 26 is 'young'."
"I'm afraid 29 doesn't pass," Ittetsu laughed, "And I fear my mother is getting tired of teaching and coaching as an excuse."
"Yeah, you got a couple of years on me, Specs, you've been on the market longer."
Ittetsu exhaled, making eye contact with Ukai, "It's been a while, that's true. Sometimes we can't help how long it takes us. The market here… isn't exactly for me—"
Ukai didn't respond, but his eyes showed slight surprise with confusion mixed in. He seemed ready to say something, but Ittetsu, a bundle of sudden nerves and regret, beats him to it.
"I'm not saying that the women here aren't beautiful or worthy! Just that, well, sometimes we have different priorities, and it's not always marriage, or dating, or finding the perfect woman—"
"Whoa, relax, Specs," Ukai reached over, his hands grabbed Ittetsu's flailing and apologetic hands, and kept them from moving at alarming speeds.
"You don't have to explain your reasons to me," Ukai reassured him, and Ittetsu let out a sigh of relief, "We all have our reasons, and I sure as hell won't judge you."
Ukai leaned back, running a hand through his hair. Ittetsu watched him. Ukai had always been a great co-coach. And, now, a great friend. Ittetsu wanted to be honest. He did not want to hide behind thinly stretched and strained words. Not with Ukai.
"Ukai-kun-"
"What's your—"
But neither could finish their sentences. The bell rang again, and a few of the boy from the club came barreling in, screaming about snacks and sugary drinks for their sleepover.
"Hello, Coach! Take-chan!"
Whatever was about to be said died in their throats, and they shared a knowing look; endearment and exhaustion. Ukai stood to attend to their needs, and Ittetsu continued grading. Whatever they were going to say was lost.
—
Later when Ittetsu was back in his apartment, he thought about what Ukai was going to say.
A part of him hoped it was meant to be followed by "What's your type?"
An opening for a confession Ittetsu sometimes wanted. A sign that Ukai was someone he could talk to. That if his parents wanted nothing to do with him, he wouldn't be alone. But that was a mighty wish, far-fetched even. He stared at his ceiling, and thought again.
Maybe whatever Ukai wanted to say was inconsequential. "What's your favorite color?" "What's your plan for the next practice game?" "What's your watch say ?"
And suddenly Ittetsu was groaning, his hands covering his face, embarrassed at his fixation on something so fleeting. Whatever Ukai didn't say, would be left unsaid. However, Ukai had told him to get rest, and so Ittetsu pushed his thoughts away and turned to his side, forcing his eyes shut.
Still, he had an active mind, and it loved to think instead of rest. So, he continued thinking. Ittetsu thought about how he felt very fulfilled. This he was sure of. This he was comforted by. He had a great job that he loved. A club he was proud of. Friends and family who cared about him. All his needs were met: a full kitchen, a soft bed, and many good books.
He knew romantic love wasn't everything. He just wished it felt like an option, not a risk to his well-being. So he couldn't help but mourn that on these hard, sleepless nights…
He no longer felt comforted. Instead, he felt that all too familiar sick, aching emptiness in his stomach when he thought about what it would be like to love freely and openly. Ultimately, Ittetsu would count his losses like sheep instead and fall asleep.