Chapter Text
Ukai Keishin is exhausted.
He's slouched in his seat on the bus ride home from Tokyo, forehead against the window, and he knows he should be relishing in the post-nationals high and the knowledge that his team made it all the way to the quarterfinals; but all he can think about is how much work he needs to do to prepare for the next season. Applications open in two weeks for the rising first-years, graduation for the third-years in just over a month, he needs to study for his coaches license exam if he wants to actually be on Karasuno's payroll by next season, and he's still got to schedule a proper debrief with the team after nationals.
He needs to work extra hours at the shop next week to make up for his nationals absense. He needs to visit his grandfather in the hospital. He needs to get home and eat a real meal, sleep on his own futon. He needs to nap for three straight days.
He needs the first-years to stop fucking bickering in the back of the bus.
"Will you shut up," he snaps, whipping his head around toward the culprits. Yamaguchi at least has the wherewithall to look sheepish, though he shoots a stubborn 'why am I in trouble' stare at the other two culprits. Hinata and Kageyama don't even try to hide their outright glares directed at each other. He doesn't know and does not care what the two were arguing about this time. "Some of us are trying to sleep," he grumbles, gesturing to the third-years crumpled in a comatose heap on one of the seats. Even Tanaka is passed out on Nishinoya's shoulder, the libero leaned against the window moments away from his own nap.
"Sorry, coach," the three say in unison. Satisfied, Keishin turns back in his seat; Hinata's piercing shout reduced to a reasonable whisper. He doesn't know where the kid gets the energy, didn't he just recover from a fever? He pinches his nose, exhales firmly, and looks up in time to catch Takeda glancing at him in the rearview.
"What," Keishin says flatly. Takeda shrugs and directs his glance back at the road. Keishin huffs, then settles back into his seat.
"You can hardly blame them for being a little excitable," Takeda finally responds after a moment.
"-t's not the excitement, its the high pitched screaming I'd rather not put up with for another five hours," he mutters.
"You seem tired, Ukai-kun," Takeda says lightly. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, sorry for yelling, sensei," he offers, waving a hand. "Just need a nap."
Takeda hums. "Sure," he says easily. He glances back at Keishin in the mirror; Keishin holds eye contact with him for just a beat too long before turning back to his thoughts.
The bus falls silent after a bit, Hinata and Kageyama's argument dissapates as they finally succumb to their post-game crash. Keishin leans his head against the window again, his exhales fogging up the glass.
They managed to make it all the way to the national tournament, all the way to the quarter-finals, and Keishin couldn't be prouder of the team if he tried, but he can't help but wonder what the team could have done with a real coach. Is Keishin the kind of coach that can get a team like this winning nationals? What would it actually take to get them there? How much more work could he put in? He thinks about dragging one of the coaching books out of his backpack, studying for the license exam he still hasn't scheduled, but he knows he'll just give himself a headache if he tries reading on the bus.
"Ukai-kun," Takeda interrupts his racing thoughts. Keishin must have sighed out loud, or wore his thoughts on his face too loudly or something, because he can see through the rearview that stubborn look on Takeda's face he always gets right before offering some kind of pep talk. Furrowed brow, stubborn set to his jaw, glint in his eye, and a quick inhale right before launching in. Keishin has watched this pep talk routine more times than he can count over the past year, it's just not often directed at him.
"Whatever else happened this year, Karasuno has taken flight once again," Takeda says firmly. "The future, the skies, wide open to us, and it's all thanks to you."
Keishin squirms uncomfortably in his seat, rubs the back of his neck with his hand, and looks everywhere but the rearview mirror where Takeda's stubborn gaze is still on him. "Thanks, sensei," he says. "For guilting me into this, I mean. I have to admit, it's been a lot of fun."
"And the fun is just beginning for us. We get to do this again for as many times as we like!" Takeda beams into the rearview, and Keishin tucks himself back into the window.
The bus falls silent once more, and Keishin tries to think again about plays, about responsibilities, about his ever growing to-do list. Instead, he thinks about the way Takeda seems so often to know exactly what to say. He tugs on the collar of his jacket to hide the redness in his cheeks. He's not sure what this effect the teacher seems to have on him is, and the bus ride home from nationals is not where he wants to find out.
Eventually, mind momentarily cleared of worries, he dozes off along with the rest of the team.
"You look terrible," Ukai Ikkei says in lieu of a greeting. Keishin rolls his eyes and makes his way toward the armchair in the corner of his grandfather's hospital room, dropping one of two wrapped bentos onto Ikkei's table with a soft thunk.
"You ain't much better," he retorts. "You want these curtains opened? It's like you're living in a cave."
"Fine, fine," his grandfather grunts with a handwave, shifting to sit up straighter in his bed.
Keishin opens a few of the curtains, the early afternoon light flooding into the hospital room. Jiiji really doesn't look that bad; the rest seems to have done him at least some good since Keishin saw him last two weeks ago.
"I'm not kidding, you look terrible," jiiji says. "Have you been sleeping lately?"
Keishin should know by now that he can't hide anything from his grandfather. He was a restless, anxious kid, regularly plagued with insomnia over the most minimal of stressors. Jiiji used to catch him sneaking outside past his bedtime, and would stay up late tossing a volleyball or looking at the stars until Keishin could finally clear his head enough to sleep.
"M-fine," he lies easily, knowing full well his grandfather will roll his eyes and let him believe it. "Sleep schedule got a little wrecked in Tokyo, but it's fine."
Jiiji huffs at this, but moves on as expected. Keishin sinks into the armchair and unwraps his own bento. "Y'gonna eat that, or keep hasslin' me?"
Ikkei finally moves to unwrap his own bento. Keishin got up early this morning to head to the grocery store; he's got an evening shift at the store since his mother insisted he sleep in after his late return from nationals, but he didn't have a single fresh vegetable in his own fridge and the old man had to be sick of hospital food by now. 'Sides, not like he was sleeping much anyway. It's not much of a bento, just broiled salmon, rice, some sliced cucumber and daikon. Still, jiiji seems to take it without fuss, digging in with a quick thanks.
They chat amiably throughout lunch; jiiji ribbing him as usual about his punk-ass appearance ("You couldn't clean it up for national television??"), pestering him about all his old volleyball coach pals ("Ah! You met Satou-san — not bad for an old coot, eh?"), nagging him about the team's ultimate loss in the quarter-final ("Talk a big game, but you couldn't take them all the way"). Keishin knows this is just how his grandfather is, but would it kill him to just be nice for once?
He says as much, and jiiji stares at him for a moment before letting out a loud, belting laugh. "What, you need me to tell you I'm proud of you? At your big old age?"
Keishin rolls his eyes for at least the fifteenth time since he got here. "You could try not being an asshole for once," he quips.
Something sincere must've slipped through his tone by mistake, he really hasn't been sleeping well recently, because jiiji's face softens after a second. "You know I am proud of you, right?"
Keishin regrets everything he's said that has brought him to this moment. He stuffs a mouthful of rice into his mouth, looks out the window, at the heart monitor, at anything but his grandfather's face. "Yeah, yeah, I don't need all that, old man."
The old man shrugs, then laughs. "Never could take a compliment, could you?"
The conversation turns away from Keishin directly, which he's immediately grateful for. They discuss the Nekoma game for a bit, jiiji gives him some advice on how to better utilize his libero next season, how to get "that tall blonde kid" to loosen his stance a bit. Jiiji asks about the next season, about his license exam, if first-year applications have opened up yet.
"Keishin," his grandfather says suddenly, tone serious. "The second year is harder than the first, no two ways about it. But don't forget — you brought the team back to the national stage. If you did it once, you can do it again."
Keishin doesn't know how to respond to this. It's not that sincerity from his grandfather is rare exactly, but Keishin has as long as he can remember measured his grandfather's love in his expectations. Ukai Ikkei has always believed Keishin capable of anything, and thus has always expected him to do so. No, he doesn't know quite how to respond to this, so he simply doesn't. Lets the silence between them grow from oppressive to companionable.
Finally, Ikkei picks up the remote from his bedside and flips on the news. Keishin yawns. His grandfather gestures at him with the end of the remote.
"Take a nap or something, you look like hell," he says gruffly. Keishin, still exhausted, doesn't quite have it in him to refuse. He wakes up an hour later with a crick in his neck, just in time to head back to the store.
The final debrief session after the Spring Tournament is full of more crying and hugging than it is actual volleyball.
It's more for the benefit of the kids staying on anyway; none of their third-years plan on pursuing volleyball in college, Azumane isn't even planning on going to college and Keishin's main goal is to get feedback from the upperclassmen for their juniors before they graduate and move out into the real world.
Which means, of course, the graduates spend most of the time hugging each junior one by one and crying.
Keishin and Takeda back off and let them have this. Keishin already spent their first twenty minutes reviewing some game tapes - mostly sick plays made by each of the players, followed by a few glaring errors and how to correct them in the future. After, he lets Sawamura take the floor, and the captain gets about three sentences into his prepared speech before he exclaims, "You're just a bunch of baby seals" and bursts into tears.
"He apparently found out how quickly baby seals grow," Takeda leans in to inform him. "And now he can't stop thinking of the underclassmen as such."
"But they're crows," Keishin says, and immediately makes a face at his own stupidity. The teacher is standing far too close to him. Takeda chuckles behind his hand.
The kids wrap up their practice, their goodbyes, they thank the coaches profusely for the season, and Keishin pretends not to choke up when the third-years promise to keep in touch. He's genuinely touched by their consideration, by the way Hinata promises so earnestly to eat a proper meal when he gets home tonight, by Sugawara's quiet "thanks for everything, coach," by Sawamura bypassing a handshake entirely and pulling him in for a sweaty hug. Azumane clasps him on the shoulder on his way out and offers a wide smile, Shimizu even offers a quiet thanks to both coaches, and Keishin nearly loses his composure. He doesn't know what he expected when he started coaching volleyball last year, but he certainly wasn't expecting to care this deeply about the same rowdy teenagers who have terrorized his shop for years. If this is how he reacts to the last practice of the season, he's gonna have a hell of a time at graduation next month.
The kids finally leave, he and Takeda mop and straighten up the gym, giving him a chance to compose himself. The teacher blessedly doesn't comment on the crying he is definitely not doing.
"Oh, Ukai-kun!" Takeda says. "I've got some papers to deliver to the principal's office, and I believe you have employment paperwork of your own to pick up?"
"Oh," he says eloquently, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess I need to go grab that."
"Perfect." Takeda smiles at him, and Keishin, not for the first time, feels like he's stopped breathing. "Let's head over together."
The two walk away from the gym, Takeda chattering aimlessly about the third-years college plans, his own progress on setting up the next season's practice games. They don't get far before they're interrupted by a piercing shout behind them.
"Take-chan~!"
The shout comes from somewhere behind Keishin; he barely has a second to step out of the way before Takeda is all but tackled by a group of his students. Second-years, if he had to guess. They chatter amiably, asking the teacher questions about the final exam, about the Spring Tournament, and finally duck off with a delighted, "Thanks Take-chaaaannnnn~" before heading on their way. Keishin can't help but laugh.
"So casual," he teases, nudging the teacher with his elbow. "Seems like I'm the only one who calls you sensei around here."
Takeda turns a rather fascinating shade of pink. Keishin isn't sure what to make of it. "Ah— yes, well, I've never been one for, er, formality I suppose." It's Takeda's turn to avoid his gaze; he turns his eyes to the scenery, the buildings, the path in front of him, anything but looking back toward Keishin.
"Seriously though," he says after a beat. "They seem to really like you, sensei."
Takeda appears to choke at the address, but Keishin can't quite be sure. "They're good students," he replies, composing himself, though the blush still remains a moment longer. Keishin takes note. "I'm proud to be the kind of teacher they feel they can be themselves with."
Keishin hums at this. "What made you decide to become a teacher?" he asks.
"Ah!" Takeda smiles to himself at the question. "I was lucky enough to have a wonderful teacher in school. Amano-sensei. She was equal parts deeply kind and incredibly strict. She had a reputation for high expectations of her students, but she was also quite skilled at drawing the best out of her students."
"Did she teach literature as well?"
"Oh, no. English. I thought about becoming an English teacher myself for a bit, but I've always been rather partial to Japanese literature."
"I see," Keishin says. "So this Amano-sensei inspired you to become a teacher?"
The conversation has veered outside the normal realm of his interactions with the teacher. It's not that they don't talk about personal matters; it's just that most of their time together centers around, well, volleyball. Takeda seems surprised by the inquisition; Keishin himself is a little puzzled by his own forthrightness, but Takeda answers amiably after a moment.
"She inspired me to become the kind of teacher who was… a safe haven. For her students," he clarifies. "High school was not terribly easy for me, you see, and Amano-sensei was a trustworthy adult. I looked up to her quite a bit. Aha! Here we are."
They've arrived at the administrators office building before Keishin could blink, it seems. It's too bad, he thinks, he was going to ask the man more about his high school experience. Still, he follows Takeda into the office, picks up his paperwork from the nice woman at the desk, and makes his way home.
He passes his coaches license exam in mid-February. Keishin receives the paperwork in the mail, the shiny new license and certificate marking him as a Level 1 Athletics Coach - Private Lessons, School Clubs, and Extracurricular Activities (Volleyball). More than anything else, he's just grateful for one less thing on his to-do list — though he does need to take the license and employment paperwork back to the administration offices before the school year ends next week, damn it. He scribbles a note to himself in the new planner he's had to start keeping in his back pocket.
Ah, shit. He forgot tonight was the monthly Neighborhood Association meeting.
Should I cancel, he thinks. No, no I shouldn't cancel. Masa-san's gonna get mad at me if I skip again. Plus I haven't done anything that's not work or volleyball related in a month and a half. Ugh, fiiiine. Fine. I'm going.
He rallies himself, forces himself off the couch and into the shower. Considers his appearance in the mirror with a frown. His roots have really grown in now, and he hasn't had a haircut in a while; he can't decide if it looks intentionally dissheveled in like a hot way or if he just looks like he's too lazy to fix his damn hair. He sighs, rummages around for a ponytail holder and pulls his hair back off his face. He's probably gonna get ribbed for trying out a new hairstyle, but whatever.
Keishin spends entirely more time than necessary picking out a shirt, given that he's just gonna throw a hoodie on top of it anyway. He nitpicks his hair one more time, pulling the stupid ponytail out and replacing it with his trusted headband. Gathers his keys, his cigarettes, pulls his shoes on, and makes his way to the izakaya.
They've got a big group today — the whole neighborhood volleyball team managed to get the night off together, for once. ("It's a big occasion! Your first nationals!" Mori insists with a grin.) Tanaka Saeko is here, and she's managed to drag the older Tsukishima brother out for the night, too. Old man Masayuki-san is quippy as ever, greeting him with a "Look who deigned to grace us with his presence for once!" and passing a pint full of ale his way.
"We saw you on the news! You looked so calm," Mori says with a grin as Keishin takes his seat.
"Yeah, but you know he was shaking like a leaf on the inside!" Shimada teases, nudging him in the shoulder. Keishin shrugs, laughs, takes a big drink.
The izakaya is packed; even aside from their own large group, it seems everyone else in town has descended on the bar. At least four strangers stop by the table to congratulate Keishin on his nationals run, and a couple of them even buy him a round. He's a little taken aback, to be honest. He honestly didn't think this many people would be so invested in Karasuno High School's volleyball club, let alone recognize him in public. One older man clasps him on the shoulder and tells him how excited he is to see someone so invested in their volleyball team's potential.
Keishin catches himself grinning. He can't help it; he's proud of himself. He says as much; maybe he's had a couple more drinks than he'd planned. Takinoue laughs, Shimada slaps him on the back again.
"You should be, man! You put Karasuno back on the map again!"
Keishin shrugs. "Not by myself, that's for damn sure."
"They're a great team. Tons of potential, lot of heart." Shimada shoves a plate of edamame his way. "Your advisor's been working his ass off, too."
"Speaking of which, where is Takeda-sensei?" Tattsun asks. "How come we never see him out here?"
"Ah," Keishin says eloquently. He takes a rather large gulp of ale. "He's okay. Final exams are coming up, he's been busy with that. Practices start back up after graduation, I think."
He's invited Takeda to these things a few times before; not long after he took up the coaching gig, he started asking the teacher to come out and meet everyone. Takeda joined once — and seemed to really enjoy himself — but more often than not politely declined, citing grading or curriculum planning or some other thing keeping the man busy. Eventually Keishin stopped asking.
Hidenori laughs at something Saeko says at the other end of the table. A group of salarymen at a nearby table clink glasses for at least the third time in as many minutes. Keishin thinks he might be sweating; he's not sure exactly. Maybe he should switch to water for the next round.
"Invite him out sometime!" Shimada says. "He works at least twice as hard as you, lemme buy him a round too!"
"Yeah, okay," Keishin says. His voice sounds as if it's coming from somewhere outside himself, somewhere far away. "I'll ask him."
He digs his lighter out of his pocket and lights up a cigarette; Saeko practically leaps over the table to bum one. The conversation finally, blessedly, pivots away from volleyball advisors; migrates away from volleyball entirely as Masayuki-san starts in on some story from his glory days. Keishin chugs a glass of water, smokes another round, winds up in a conversation about college sports with Akiteru — who turns out to be much chattier than his younger brother.
Eventually, he makes his way home; Tattsun walks with him halfway there, makes plans to meet for lunch sometime next week.
"You really should invite the teacher next time," he says casually.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll ask." Keishin shoves his hands in his pockets and frowns. "He usually says no though. Dunno if he'll actually go."
Tattsun grins, elbows him in the gut. "But he might say yes."
Keishin walks the rest of the way alone, puzzling over his friend's parting words. It's a weird thing to say. He didn't even know Tattsun was friends with Takeda. He frowns, lights one more cigarette, and crashes on his futon without bothering to shower. He'll do it in the morning. It was a good night, overall. He sobered up to a pleasant buzz, brought home leftover gyoza he'll scarf down cold in the morning. He's glad he went, really he is. He just can't quite shake the feeling he missed something important.
Sakanoshita is quiet today. With the third-year graduation just a few days past, the students who usually trickle in and out of the shop are largely gone and Keishin can't say he's not grateful for the break. Nakamura-san drops by the store at 11:00 as usual, crooning, "Keishin-chan, I need dashi stock" in lieu of a greeting as she walks in the door. A couple of last minute students drop by for curry buns around noon, but otherwise the store says empty. He finishes stocking early, it's been a slow week and they haven't turned much inventory, and he spends the rest of his shift squinting at the ledger books.
He's been making a concerted effort to stop smoking in the store as frequently, one of his regulars complained about it, but the habit is hard to break on a good day and these ledgers are giving him a headache. So he lights up another one, and scratches behind his ear with his pencil.
He's thinking about switching to digital soon. Sakanoshita has been around for at least three generations now, and his mother's a packrat, so the attic is full of decades worth of old ledgers and inventory sheets. There's something about doing the books by hand that appeals to him, but it's probably time to get with the times if he's honest. He spent an evening at the grocery store over Shimada's shoulder looking at their computer setup, and he can't pretend he wasn't inspired. Spreadsheets, cross-referencing, the ability to pull up any data he could possibly want whenever he wants. No hand cramps.
Convincing his mother that they should buy a shop computer, however, is an argument he is not looking forward to.
Keishin groans, drops the pencil onto the counter, and stretches. He's been hunched over a pile of receipts and the shop's general ledger for at least an hour at this point. Hand cramps are setting in, and his back doesn't seem particularly happy with him either. He stands up, shoves the stool out of the way, and hunches forward to touch his toes.
The doorbell chimes the moment he reaches peak stretch. Keishin nearly jumps out of his skin.
"Fuck!" he swears. Then, "Shit, sorry, I mean, welcome to Sakano—sensei!"
"Hello to you too," Takeda says, not bothering to hide his mocking grin. Keishin rolls his eyes.
"I was stretching," he says, stupidly.
"I see," Takeda says. The teacher is still clearly laughing at him. Keishin elects to ignore this.
"What can I do for you, sensei?" he asks.
"Oh!" Takeda reaches into his bag, shuffles his belongings around, and withdraws a file folder full of papers. His glasses are slipping off the end of his nose; he turns back toward Keishin and slides his glasses back into place with his index finger. "Yacchan brought me the new first-year applications, and I thought we could go over them together. If you've got time, that is."
"Sure, yeah, I've got time," Keishin says. He gathers up the stack of receipts, slides the paperwork under the counter, and gestures toward the table in the corner. "I'll be right there."
He slides his ashtray across the counter, shuffles through the ledger book, tucks his pencil back behind his ear, and fidgets with a few more pieces of paper. He's stalling. It's not like this is the first time Takeda's brought volleyball work here to the shop, and still he's stalling. He glances up; Takeda's spreading out his paperwork across the table, shoots him a questioning smile when he catches Keishin's eye. Keishin, smoothly, trips over the stool as he makes his way around the counter.
"So, new first-year applications?" he says as he sits down across from Takeda.
"We've got six new students joining us," Takeda says, sliding the stack of paperwork across the table. "I thought we could look through these, start talking through training for the next season."
Keishin accepts the paperwork, and rifles through the stack. It looks like a decent group; one kid, Yaotome, played libero at his middle school which is great news for Karasuno's future after Nishinoya graduates. There's one named Shouji who's brand new to volleyball, but Keishin has met Hinata Shouyou and knows better than to underestimate a kid who wants to play. At least one setter in the group, and a couple of spikers with decent stats from their respective middle schools.
"Looks like a good group," he says, handing the papers back.
Takeda nods. "I think so," he says. "It'll be great to see how the rising third-years take on their new responsibilities."
"Can't wait to see Tanaka and the freak twins scare off the new kids, you mean."
"They're not that bad," Takeda protests, but he laughs and Keishin feels like he's won a contest he didn't know he'd entered.
They talk over the applications a bit longer, discuss plans for the next season's practice schedule starting next month. He fidgets with his pencil, spins it in his fingers a few times, watches as the teacher hunches over his paperwork and jots down notes. Takeda pushes his glasses up with the knuckle of his pointer finger, tucks an errant curl behind his ear. Keishin tears himself away from the movement.
"Where are you even from, sensei?" he asks. It occurs to him that he doesn't know very much at all about the teacher's personal life. It seems strange, to spend this much time with somebody and not even know where they grew up.
"Oh, nowhere nearby," he says non-committally. "Small town in Akita. Near Odate."
"Odate?" Keishin blinks. "That's so far!"
Takeda shrugs. "Not that far."
"How the hell'd you wind up here?"
"I went to college in Tokyo," the teacher says. "Taught for a couple years there, then took a position in Sendai. I wanted to teach Japanese literature, though, so when the position here at Karasuno opened up two years ago, I moved here for it."
"I see." Keishin shifts in his seat, grasps for something else to keep the conversation going.
Takeda has other plans, it seems. "Well, if we're all done here, I've got some grading to catch up on."
"Oh, sure," he stands, makes his way back behind the counter. "Of course. See you later, sensei."
Keishin watches the teacher leave. He can't decide if Takeda is just deeply private, or if he's being brushed off. This is the second time in the last month he's tried to get to know the teacher a little more, and the second time he came away with a scrap of new information before Takeda darted off. Keishin sighs. Whatever. If Takeda really wants to brush him off, he has every right to.
He sighs again, stretches, pulls his hastily stashed receipts back out onto the counter and makes a concerted effort to return to his ledger work. He's got to get his books balanced, needs to take the store's inventory, has about a thousand things on his to-do list that don't involve mysterious, curly-haired literature teachers.
The shop, all of a sudden, is too quiet.
Keishin can't sleep.
He checks the time on his phone, squinting into the hard blue light it casts into the lightless room. 12:45. Not as late as he'd anticipated, he's apparently only been tossing and turning for three hours as opposed to the seven it felt like.
He groans, then sits up. He's on his old childhood futon in his old childhood bedroom in his grandfather's house. Ikkei had been released from the hospital earlier, and Keishin met him at home with groceries for a week and a pot of curry on the stove. Jiiji had insisted he go home, he was fine, "I'm not dying, you dumbass." Keishin rolled his eyes, portioned himself a bowl of curry and rice, and gestured pointedly at the bowl in front of his grandfather.
That was hours ago now; Ikkei's been asleep since around 21:30, and Keishin should've been out as well. He glances around the room. He spent half his childhood in this room, every weekend and entire summers with his grandfather, waking up early for the bean harvest, tossing the volleyball out back with other kids in the neighborhood, learning to chop vegetables and cook basic meals in Jiiji's kitchen.
Keishin grumbles to himself and stands up, tiptoeing through the room as quietly as possible. He's not trying to wake his grandfather up right after the old man came home from the hospital, but he can't keep tossing and turning in his childhood bedroom indefinitely. He grabs his jacket, checks the pockets for his cigarettes and lighter, and sneaks outside to the back porch.
He's always liked this house. It was a lot harder to slip out of his bedroom at his mother's house; though the Takinoue's house was only a few doors down, making it easy for he and Tattsun to meet up past curfew (as long as they didn't get caught). His grandfather's house didn't have the same sort of delinquent appeal, but he's always liked how many stars he can see out here.
He lights up a cigarette. He thinks he started smoking because of his insomnia; he's not quite sure, but it's certainly a tradition now to slip outside and light up. Even in his apartment above the store — or hell, even inside the storefront — where he'll chain smoke inside all day long, there's something about the cool nighttime air that helps him clear his head enough to get to sleep.
He hears his grandfather before the old man makes his way outside; Keishin had been careful not to step on the creaky floorboards on his way out, but Ikkei takes no such precaution. The door slides open, and jiiji shuffles his way outside, groans as he sits on the porch to join him.
It doesn't matter how old he gets, how quiet he tries to be, his grandfather still has a sixth sense about him. Keishin lights up another cigarette. When he was seven, and he couldn't sleep after that kid in his class made fun of him for stuttering in the middle of his reading, he snuck outside when he knew full well he wasn't supposed to leave the house after dark. Jiiji found him just a few minutes later, laying on his back in the dirt volleyball court, tossing a ball up and down. The old man caught the ball mid-toss, glared down at him, insisted he get up and play a round with him. They tossed the ball back and forth until Keishin couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.
Jiiji doesn't say anything this time, just sits in silence, looks up at the stars. Ikkei never asks what's bothering him, why he's not sleeping, what happened at school, what's going through his head. When he was younger, he used to think his grandfather didn't care about whatever was bothering him; now, he's just grateful to not be left alone.
The first practice of the new season happens on an unseasonably warm morning in the first week of April.
Keishin walks into the gym and takes a quick inventory. Hinata, Nishinoya, and Tanaka greet each other loudly, as if they haven't seen each other in decades rather than two weeks. Kageyama looks once again like a deer in the headlights at the display. Ennoshita and Yamaguchi introduce themselves to the pile of new first-years, most of whom look like they're seconds away from passing out. Narita and Kinoshita are hovering near Ennoshita, and Tsukishima appears to be looming in a corner pretending to hate everyone in this room. It's nice to know some things stay the same.
"Okay, circle up everyone!" Keishin barks, and practice begins.
Five of the six new kids are great — Keishin is genuinely excited about getting to know them. None are as immediately genius as the freak twins, but there's definite potential to spare. He directs the kids through some practice rotations, placing each first year in a different position to see how they do. His first instinct turned out to be correct; Yaotome falls right into place subbing in with Nishinoya, which is great news for the team's future libero needs. The tall kid — Nakamura — is clumsy, but he's tall and the team is wanting for height, so after a couple rotations Keishin pairs him up with Tsukishima (the second-year shoots him a dark look for the imposition). The boy with the cornrow braids, Sasaki, is painfully shy but has an earnestness that reminds him enough of Yamaguchi that he makes a mental note to call Shimada later. Shouji hits it off well with another first-year, Inoue, who shows the markings of a decent ace in a year or so. The upperclassmen, for the most part, take the new kids in stride.
And then there's Tokita.
Keishin has never wanted to throttle a fifteen-year-old before in his life. This, of course, is a lie; he's encountered some truly annoying teenagers at the store of course, but none have so instantly pissed him off quite like this particular first-year. The kid is a stellar volleyball player, this much is evident. He's got great form, a near psychic ability to read the other players' next moves, and has a jump serve second only to Kageyama. He's an excellent player.
Unfortunately, his personality sucks.
The kid is good — and he knows it. He struts around practice, practically preening when he hits a jump serve even Nishinoya has trouble digging. Making smartass comments about Tanaka's form, about Shouji missing what was allegedly a perfect pass, about literally anything and everything he could possibly comment on.
At the end of practice, Keishin does his usual speech about the importance of rest, about self-care, about eating well. "Go home and eat a good meal," the second- and third-years shout in unison, Hinata leading the charge. The first-years blink, wide-eyed at the end of their first practice; Tokita, for some reason, scoffs. The team falls silent for a moment; Ennoshita starts to react (settling into his impending captain role already), but Keishin holds a hand up.
"Something to share with the class?" he says coolly, raising an eyebrow.
"It's just a bit rich coming from you, isn't it?" the little fucker says with a smile. "Lecturing us about our health, like you don't spend all day chain-smoking in a convenience store."
The team begins to shout all at once, Tanaka and Hinata loudest of all, and Keishin thinks he has never needed a cigarette so badly in his life. He starts to jump in, ready to pull Tanaka off the kid if necessary, when Takeda speaks up.
"Tokita-kun," he says with an easy smile. The light glints off his glasses in a clear threat; Keishin wonders if teachers learn to do that on purpose. "Let's have a quick chat."
The little asshole shrugs, follows Takeda outside. Keishin wraps up practice, gives Ennoshita the floor for his own pep talk, and informs the students of the next scheduled practices. He doesn't have a clue what sensei said to cause the kid to return to the group with his tail between his legs, and frankly he thinks he doesn't want to know. Takeda-sensei might be the scariest person he's ever met, he thinks with a grin.
They're sitting at the front counter of Sakanoshita, the full volleyball team roster in front of them, determining this year's starting line-up. Takeda has a practice game scheduled for them with Seijoh in two weeks, another practice match with Nekoma a few days later, and the Inter-High coming up far sooner than they think. They're in agreement for the majority of the roster, but the final slot for a wing-spiker is proving more difficult than anticipated.
"What about Tokita-kun?" Takeda asks, and Keishin groans.
"Unfortunately, he's a natural," he replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. "But god the kid's personality sucks." Takeda, to his surprise, laughs.
"He does have a bit of an attitude problem, doesn't he?" Takeda grins.
"That's a real polite way of calling him a little shit," Keishin snorts.
Tanaka won't put up with it for very long; he'll clock the kid himself if he keeps peacocking around like this, and frankly Keishin thinks the kid needs to be decked by his senpai. He keeps this thought to himself though; he's pretty sure advocating violence against a teenager will drop that smile off Takeda's face real quick.
"I do think we should consider starting him," Takeda says thoughtfully. "His attitude may need work, but perhaps time spent with his peers on the court will do more for his attitude than any amount of coaching might."
Keishin groans. "I really don't want to reward this."
"I understand," Takeda says. "Perhaps we put him on the starting line-up on a temporary basis. Just for the next practice games."
"And then pull him if he's not showing any improvement?"
"Sure." The teacher taps his pen thoughtfully against his nose, then scribbles the name onto his clipboard; Keishin tracks the movement far too closely. "Well, with that, I believe we've finalized our starting line."
Takeda begins stacking the papers, tucks them in his bag, brushes his pants off as he stands up, and turns his attention toward Keishin.
"If there's nothing else to discuss here, then I'll see you at practice tomorrow morning?" he asks, smiling politely.
Keishin frowns. There is something else. He's tried and failed a few times to get to know the teacher better, and he's starting to think that in the middle of volleyball talk isn't going to work. But Takeda is already halfway to the door and he's not sure he can get the words out in time and he's not even sure the teacher would want to and he's aware he is massively overthinking this, and finally he thinks, oh what the hell.
"Hey, sensei," Keishin blurts out before he loses his nerve. "The neighborhood association…we try to get drinks on some weekends each month. Third Saturdays, usually. I-if you're free this weekend…you should join us?"
Takeda blinks owlishly at him for a beat, then beams. "I'd love to, Ukai-kun."
Keishin can't sleep. Again.
And he'd been doing so well for the last few weeks, too. He tosses the covers off, turns over in his futon for the eight thousandth time, and checks the clock for the time. 01:14. For fucks sake.
He flips over onto his back and lets out an aggravated exhale. He's been working on his sleep schedule so carefully this month. With his license worked out, the new school year started, and jiiji back home and doing well, Keishin's stress levels have subsided; he can't work out what it is that's keeping him up tonight.
Or, well.
Maybe he knows what's been stressing him out lately. He's just not quite sure what to do about it.
Prolonged staring. Smiles that last just a little too long. Takeda passing him a clipboard the other day and Keishin having to feign a bathroom break to recover from the less-than-a-second's worth of contact where their fingers brushed.
Keishin flips over and groans into his pillow. He's spent a year writing off this feeling, like oh we're just colleagues and oh, he just coaches my volleyball team and oh, I just think he's cool and funny and clever and witty and has a really pretty smile and I'd like to be friends with him outside of work.
Oh. Oh. Oh. Of course.
There's no writing this off anymore. Keishin has a crush. On his co-worker. On a man. On a fucking schoolteacher.
He groans into his pillow again. Pushes his way off the futon. Throws on a hoodie, grabs his keys and cigarettes from the table by his front door, makes his way downstairs and to the front of Sakanoshita. He needs a smoke if he's going to do serious personal self-reflection at one-o-clock in the morning.
Keishin settles in on the curb and lights up a cigarette. It's quiet, as it usually is this late at night. The security light beside the store shuts off after a minute, and he's suddenly sitting in the dark with nothing but his thoughts. Not terribly different from his futon upstairs, but the nicotine hits and the chilly nighttime air is clarifying somehow. He exhales heavily, and watches the smoke drift away.
He doesn't remember the last time he had a crush on, well, anybody. He dated a girl in college for a few months, hooked up with a different girl once or twice. He went on two dates with Megumi from the neighborhood association two or three years ago, who immediately declared he was, quote, "way more interesting drunk at the izakaya with your friends." They're still friendly, despite what she told Tattsun was the, quote, "most boring date in history."
He doesn't even know if he had a crush on any of them. He doesn't think it felt anything like this, like his legs are gonna collapse out from under him any second now every time Takeda laughs at one of his jokes. Like his face is on fire every time he thinks about the complement the teacher paid him on the sidelines at nationals. Like he doesn't remember how to breathe every time the other man directs that thousand-watt smile in his direction.
There's no platonic explanation for this. He doesn't remember the last time he felt like this about anybody ever. Ukai Keishin has a crush on Takeda Ittetsu. It's the only plausible explanation.
Shit. There's no heterosexual explanation for this, either.
"Fuck," Keishin swears out loud, to nobody at all.