Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In emergence, humans are born with instinct. It drives our minds, spurs decisions and becomes essential to survival– carnal, primal and incorrigible.

Legends go as far as to say that a star is born for each babe whose cries split the air, shining just for them in holy genesis. Light guides, and light burns. The star becomes a candle whose brightest flame and weakest flicker dictates your breath, your hopes and your future. When a star dies, a man falls, and an angel loses its evanescent wax wings.

You were born with the instinct to fly.

Since you opened your eyes, your sights had been set on the brightest, most reverent star that you could set your eyes on, and you couldn’t tear your gaze from its brilliance. As Icarus’ ill-starred legacy, you were destined to chase the sun.

“Y/n! Come play volleyball with me!”

“Coming!”

You put down your crayons, grinning widely at your crude depiction of the sun, slashed in hues of blinding orange and yellow. Your childhood was marked with scents of wax and bruises on frail limbs, but it didn’t matter to you. Ridiculous as it may seem, you thought volleyball was your calling–when you played on cloudless days, the sun was clearer than ever.

Childhood summers were marked with grass stained clothes and sugared hands sticking to wooden popsicle sticks. Your bruises, scrapes and cuts felt like nothing to your drowsiness as cicadas lulled you to sleep.

“Wow, you’re improving so much!”

You smiled at your teacher, limbs aching from movement. The sun seemed closer during those times, but you never waned against its taunts.

To you, to fly was to fight. Each step that led you closer to the blinding light was a worthy one, no matter the cost.

“C’mon, another rally!”

“It’s late, we should go inside, Y/n.”

“Please?” But your friends sighed and turned for home. You realised then, that not everyone was like you. As the sun drooped across the horizon and the moon took its place, it felt like a mockery of who you were.

Silly child, whose self was the entire world.

“We’re tired of this, let’s play something else.”

“Yeah! Y/n? What do you think?”

“I’m gonna keep playing. You guys suck.” In an elementary school classroom, smells of wax faded. Gone were the crude drawings hung on walls, replaced by charts printed with coloured ink and numbers. You had to endure long winters for those summers where the sun felt within your reach.

Less and less people wanted to play volleyball with you. You didn’t let it bother you–you simply turned to junior clubs with shining hardwood floors and others with bright, eager eyes. This was when you learned that practising on your own was lonely.

“What are you doing on your own?”

You looked up, holding your ball still. You met her then–your senior, Michimiya. She held your hand and showed you how to play on a court, helped you stand on your feet on the field of giants.

It didn’t help that you were the youngest in the club.

“Y/n, you should go to my middle school.”

You looked up at Michimiya, the girl who towered above you tying her hair as you both observed the gym before you. You yearned for her height–with your childish mind, you thought you could do so much more with it than her. The sun may have been within your grasp.

“Why your middle school?”

“It’s a powerhouse. You’ll do great there.”

To fly was to push beyond your limits. The stars never waited, why should you? Your hands ached with calluses and blisters, but it was never enough. A story is forged with each ache in your muscle and strain in your bones. All the curses and scoldings and cries became spilled ichor–ink to write the most breathtaking narrative to finally put the sun within your reach. You desperately wanted to grasp the sun. To you, it didn’t matter if it burned or blinded you. You simply wanted to hold celestia in your hands.

“Service ace!”

“Look at her go! Kitagawa Daiichi’s girl’s team’s ace!”

It was all familiar ground. You’d soared above it millions of times over, and you knew it like the quiver of wings in your sleep. So you would go higher, faster, stronger–a hundred times ‘till you fall.

You didn’t know how little it would take for you to tumble back down.

With the snapping of bone, you’re reminded that the stars are heavenly. You’re just a mortal.

And perhaps its disappointment that pulls you back to the ground, or whispers of your fading wings that bring you back to your feet.

You’re mortal, you’re human, you’re weak.

And you want the stars anyway.

Chapter Text

Life was monotonous. There wasn’t a single thing that could keep you entertained. From the moment you quit volleyball (because you’d never admit that you were forced to stop by your doctor–even after attempting to train again), it was as if everything had lost its colour. It was as if with the snapping of your bone, colour seeped endothermically from your world into the vicious red that blinded your senses. 

You didn’t remember going to the hospital, nor did you remember what your teammates did when you’d fallen to the ground, clutching your ankle, gritting your teeth and resisting a scream of bloody murder.

The only thing you remembered was the pain. Perhaps the last colour you properly saw was that red. 

But there was no point thinking like this. Nothing could restore your ankle to its healthy state. They’d said it was a permanent injury, and that you’d never be able to play again. 

You remember crying when you found out, but you don’t let yourself remember for more than necessary. 

The sun had never felt so cold. 

You trudged through the mundane school halls. The sun hid behind the clouds today, as if echoing your gloomy sentiment. 

Though the injury was nearly half a year ago–midway through your last season with your middle school team–you still felt envious of those grinning faces framed in pictures with gold medals clasped in their hands.

You’d gotten them there. They only completed the last leg.

Yet the medal that sat on your shelf, identical to those in the pictures, didn’t feel like your own. 

They had the audacity to win the prefectural tournament without you and go to nationals. (You’d gotten them to the semifinals, but you were still bitter over not being able to go to nationals with them.) Afterwards, as though heeding your spiteful prayers, everything went downhill. They lost their first game at nationals, and they were quickly cast away. 

The team slowly lost their high regard within the community, and they became the shadows in the light of the boys team, where the two teams were tied neck and neck the previous three years. 

The boys had their prodigy setter , the king of the court, and the girls had you. 

Emphasis on “had”.

You frowned to yourself as you opened the door to your classroom and took a seat, waiting for the class to begin. 

You didn’t know why you were so irritable. Perhaps it was because you hadn’t touched a volleyball in so long. Your days were now spent at your desk, finding some semblance of comfort in studying numbers and words. You had to relearn how to be a normal student instead of a mini volleyball celebrity that lived, ate and breathed volleyball. 

It was so bad that if you closed your eyes, you could imagine plays in your head and nearly feel the impact of the ball on your palms. 

It was ridiculous.

Among these (finally) normal endeavours, you attempted to refresh your deplorable Japanese. Growing up overseas, you’d never really had to speak the language, but your parents scolded you for not practising your mother tongue relentlessly. 

Who would’ve thought they’d send you to live in Japan with your grandparents? (your grandparents had you in their house for all but one year before you’d injured yourself. Though they didn’t really support your volleyball-consumed lifestyle, they were sad all the same.)

Begrudgingly, you supposed they had a point. Though you could speak, read and write well enough, Japanese literature was a drag, and you couldn’t understand any of the proverbs your teachers were drilling into your heads. 

It only took you a week of school to become fed up with being clueless each and every lesson. You’d started to see your teacher’s wrinkled, frowning face in your nightmares. 

Perhaps this was exactly why you found yourself standing at Tsukishima’s desk as he peered up at you unamusedly through his glasses. 

“You’re talking to me?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I tutor you?”

“You’re smart.”

“Thanks.”

You knew he was rumoured to have been difficult, but you never could’ve imagined it to this degree. “I’ll give you my English notes.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. Behind him, his friend glanced between the two of you anxiously. You wondered if he ever quit his nervous behaviour. Even in class, you could hear him tapping his pen. 

“Why would I need your English notes?”

“Because I know you’re bad at it.”

“Are you a stalker?”

“No, the teacher just picks on you and I pay attention.”

He sighs. You smile. Your first of many victories. 

“Okay. I’ll tutor you after school before clubs.”

Turns out, you didn’t need much help. You only needed a pointer in the right direction, and you were suddenly doing fine in all your classes. (Tsukishima didn’t want to admit it, but your giftedness pissed him off.)

That didn’t stop you from trying to study with Tsukishima and his timid friend–who you later learn is Yamaguchi–each day on the courtyard benches before their after school club started. 

“I might kill myself.”

“Good choice.” he taps his pen on his workbook, underlining something as you groan and complain about your maths homework that you’d been stressing out over for nothing. The teacher never even checked it, but you stayed up late doing it anyway.

“Does that teacher always do this?”

“...yes?”

“You couldn’t tell me sooner?”

“It was funny watching you struggle.”

Yamaguchi was used to your bickering, but he was just happy that their little duo had another addition now. He was happy that Tsukishima managed to make a friend (because deep down, he knows that Tsukki is a piece of shit, but he loves him anyway).

“Okay, funny. Help me with literature now.”

He sighs, then turns to you. “What is it?”

You frown. “I don’t know what this means.”

“We went over this last time.”

“No we didn’t.”

“Just take my notes. Look at it yourself.”

Another thing only Yamaguchi could ever admit was that Tsukishima cared in his own way. He knows for certain that his best (and only) friend would only ever do this if he:

1. Had something to gain from this experience (your expertise in English–you were a native speaker, after all.)
2. Or if he liked you as a person.

Seeing as it’d only been two weeks since school started, it was probably option A. He wouldn't say that Tsukki liked you, only tolerated you. Then again, he was an outward bitch to everyone, so he didn’t know what could be expected of him. 

Again, another thing that he would never say to Tsukki out loud–only because he loves his best (and, again, only) friend too much. 

You mumble to yourself as you flick through his notes, neat, blocky hiragana and perfectly printed kanji only irking you. 

“Are you part of the calligraphy club or something?” 

“Volleyball, actually,” Yamaguchi supplies. “Both of us!”

It made sense when you thought about it a little. With their heights, it’d be a waste if they weren’t playing volleyball or basketball. Jealousy pricked your teeth with poison as you smiled. 

“Must be fun.”

“What about you? You’re pretty tall, do you play too?” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes light up, and Tsukishima doesn’t look up from the bench. Talk about awkward.

“No. I’m not in a club.” (is what you told everyone. They aren’t special.)

In truth, you’d checked out Karasuno’s girl’s team, but only two of them showed up to practise that day. The gym was empty, and the squeaking of solitary shoes echoed through the hallways.

You couldn’t hide your surprise when you saw that one of the girls was Michimiya, and had quickly ducked away when she turned around. 

It felt shameful to look at her again.

In melodramatics: your injury felt as if it was chaining you down. Cliché, but you weren’t a writer, you were the muse. Or you were supposed to be. A shitty muse at that, if you only sparked clichés and dead metaphors from your admirer.

Oh well. She probably wouldn’t even recognise you after all these years.

Still, it also hurt to see her practising dejectedly with her singular other friend when she’d shown you how to stand on a court with six.

“You should see our team. The other first years are crazy.” Yamaguchi only seems to glow with happiness, so you listen. “We have a short, ginger kid who can jump as high as Tsukki, and some prodigy from Kitagawa Daiichi–”

“The King of the Court?” you cut him off. Tsukki’s frown deepens, if possible.

“Yeah, do you know him or something?”

You shake your head. You’d never known him personally, but he was renowned across your school, the local papers, the local news. He was the legend that took Kitagawa Daiichi’s boy’s team to newer heights as you did. 

But you’d never met outside of games. School spirit made you cheer for his team. 

“I went to school with him.”

“You went to Kitagawa Daiichi?” 

“Yeah. It’s not all that great.” Truthfully, you didn’t remember much. You’d transferred in your third year of middle school after being abroad for a couple of years, and even then, you’d only been able to commit the insides of the gyms to memory. The halls? Classrooms? No, try again another time. You couldn’t remember. 

“Practice is gonna start. Give me my notebook back.”

“Wait, can I keep it please?”

“No. Take your own notes.” he takes the notebook from your hands and you sigh, packing up your things. A stagnant warmth hangs in the air. Spring would come soon, and with spring, comes the spring tournament. 

Another day to actively avoid!

“You should come and check out the king!” Yamaguchi suggests. “You’ll see–”

“No it’s okay. You guys have fun at practice!”

You quickly escaped through the school gates, but paused on the threshold. 

You had no willpower, really. It was becoming an issue. 

So you waited for them to go into the gym, and peeked through the barred windows. 

Damn, that kid’s hair was orange. 

“Excuse me?”

“WHAT–” you jumped from the spot where you were tiptoeing on a bucket to catch a glimpse into the gym. You fell (gracefully.) on your own two feet. Embarrassed, but unharmed. The boy you turned to meet was confused.

He looked oddly familiar. 

“...Are you looking for someone?” 

“Nope. Have a great day.” Then you walked away. 

It was only hours later, at home, that you realised he was Kageyama Tobio. (you were stalking your old middle school on the internet when you finally made the connection.)

You’d be damned if anyone recognised you. 

Inversely, Kageyama was wondering how to ask you if you were okay or not. The last time he’d seen you was when you were crumpled on the ground in the gymnasium at the semifinals, and since then, he’d been wondering what you were doing. 

Honestly? You thought you were doing just fine. You were coping with your injury just fine, and your schoolwork was going great. But the ground becomes a cage nonetheless–an elaborate one, even still– and you are no longer able to fly.

Chapter Text

You dreamed last night. 

In your dream, there was a church. 

But you’re not certain it was even there. Your recollection is hazy as if the film roll of memories had been burnt. 

You remember light shining across the ground in intricate patterns and a mosaic of colour, and a voice calling out to you. When you turned, you saw an altar. Upon it lay a goblet filled with wine, an empty, elaborate golden platter and a bottle of cherry wine. 

You, of course, took the entire bottle of cherry wine and opened it. 

You woke up just before you put it to your lips, and were more disappointed than ever to find that it was all a dream. 

But according to your grandparents, whose concern for you only grew by the day, all dreams meant something. Lingering attachment, hidden regret, or, apparently, an underlying urge to get drunk. 

“Whats up with you?” Yamaguchi asked you that morning. 

“I want to get drunk.”

“...are you okay?”

You sighed. Tsukishima didn’t bother to look over at you, but he remarked, “we have a future alcoholic here with us today.”

You huffed a laugh, then class started. 

You wondered what it would be like to get drunk. Why did people drink? To celebrate? Forget? 

Old people are a mystery to you. 

But, you supposed, the best drinks invoked emotion within you. Your drink of choice was a Capri Sun. The drink of your childhood. So, as your break started, you hurried through the legions of students pouring outside, aiming for the vending machines. 

“Was that you at the gym yesterday?”

You nearly jumped at the intrusion. The devil worked fast, but the bright orange haired boy before you seemingly worked faster. Impossibly so. 

“What?”

“Kageyama walked in spouting something about a girl who was spying on our gym, then he started talking about ankles and injuries…”

You looked at the ginger in front of you incredulously. He was remarkably shorter than you. (If he was Kageyama’s teammate, he’d be cooked alive. You knew that the setter’s patience had very short ends.) For a men’s volleyball team, he probably didn’t stand a chance. He also didn’t look like he had a single thought behind his eyes, and it seemed like if you hit his head, it would resonate. Hollow. 

So this was the Shoyo Hinata that triggered Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s fight or flight.

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about, ginger.” you ruffle his hair as you walk past him. The vending machines were calling your name. Your Capri Sun was waiting for you. 

“Wait! I have questions!”

“I don’t think you have the right person, Hinata.”

“I do– wait, how do you know my name?” (why wouldn’t you? Every time volleyball was mentioned, Hinata was mentioned. Even against the will of Tsukki and Yamaguchi who were now your friends. Or so you’d like to think. Tsukishima likely hated you as much as anyone else, but Yamaguchi seemed to think otherwise.)

“Uh, lucky guess.” 

“Wow! You’re a genius!”

You could see why Tsukishima’s frown lines deepened impossibly whenever this ball of energy was mentioned. It felt like your energy was being leeched by this parasite that stood beside you, practically vibrating with excess energy and… bounciness. 

“Anyway, did you go to Kageyama’s middle school?”

It was too early in the morning for this. (it was eleven in the morning. You weren’t a morning person, and you didn’t need to answer him at all, but here you were. Everything was getting in the way of you and your bloody fucking Capri Sun.)

“Aah! Look!”

“Huh? What? Where?” Hinata rapidly turned, arms raised as if ready to throw punches (you had no idea who he was supposed to injure with those tiny fists of his, but you had no time to wonder as you sprinted away from him.)

“Wait, what? Where did you go?” 

You were nearly at the vending machines. You could nearly taste the sweet nectar of content and success, a succour of sweetness under this cruel sunlight. 

“Oh. it’s you.”

“Fuck my life.” 

There, behind the gleaming glass panes, was your beloved Capri Sun. It had your name written across it as the gospels were. It was singing your name like a sacred hymn and you could only look at it in all its glory as you were faced with yet another wall. 

Kageyama Tobio.

It wasn’t as if you held any grudges, certainly not. 

You soon would, though, if fate kept getting in your way.

A girl had simple needs. 

“Huh?”

“Move, please.” you pushed past him, but he trailed after you as you stood in front of the vending machine. As any wise scholar should know, victory is best savoured in the sunlight of the next day (the one that your enemies wouldn’t live to see), but your enemy, right now, stood behind you, blocking your sunlight. 

You shivered as he stared at you, undoubtedly needing something from you. 

“What do you want from me?” 

“...Is your ankle okay?”

So he recognised you. Here, you had two viable options:

1. Play dumb. Knowing him, he’d probably believe you. (He probably had a volleyball for a brain) Or:
2. Simply say yes and offer no further explanation, but swear him to a vow of silence. 

You weren’t in the mood to properly contemplate the pros and cons of each option, so you simply went with the second one. 

“Yeah.”

“Ok.”

Conversation over. He walked away as you were about to tell him not to tell anyone, but you figured he had no friends to tell anyway. So, you pushed the button on the vending machine. 

The taste of hard earned victory was that of a Capri Sun in the budding spring. 

“Y/n, what’s the answer to question four?”

“The second clause.”

“Well done.”

You relished in the groans of defeat (undoubtedly because your English teacher now favoured you for your english abilities and were now hopeless in attempting to catch up). 

“Y/n,”

You turn around. 

“What’s number four?” Yamaguchi whispers across the narrow aisle. 

“Yamaguchi!” 

He nearly jumps out of his seat. Poor boy. “Yes!”

“The answer to number four?”

“Uh…”

The bell rings. 

He is spared by the gods of cruelty and embarrassment. 

The teacher’s instructions for homework are drowned out in collective sighs as pencil cases are zipped and papers are shoved into bags. 

“You got lucky.” 

“That instant may have made me religious.” he puts his hands together and bows his head to the open window, where the sky is gray and gloomy. Thanking the Gods, probably. 

“If you really want to thank the gods, we should go to the temple.” you suggest. (you missed the dango they made outside the temple in one of those little portable carts, but you weren’t about to tell the duo your motives.)

“Hm, I’ll go before our first games for the Inter high tournament, then.”

You didn’t have to look at the blonde walking in front of you two to know that he was pinching the bridge of his nose yet again. You smiled to yourself. Annoying him was now one of your favourite hobbies. 

“Let’s go before our exams too. The gods will bless us with better memory.”

“Good idea!”

“I’m surrounded by idiots.” Tsukishima mutters. 

The two of you simply look at each other and start giggling like little school girls. Your presence gave Yamaguchi more confidence, or so it appeared. 

You take a seat in the courtyard where sunlight bathes the area in gold, and slump onto a bench as Tsukishima quietly grabs his headphones and continues writing… something. 

“What are you doing?”

“Homework.”

“What subject?”

“English.”

“Can I see?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Let me focus.”

“I can help.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Y/n!!!!!!!!!”

Your head snapped up as a bright ball of orange bounded towards you. You’d never wanted to end yourself more than in that moment. 

That was when you realised your fatal mistake. 

Though Kageyama may not tell anyone, you were willing to bet on the last three dollars left in your bank account that the over enthusiastic ginger couldn’t keep his mouth shut about your history. 

(Secretly, you didn’t know why you were so embarrassed about your situation, anyway.)

“Hinata, leave us alone.” Yamaguchi sighed, holding his head in his hand. 

“But I want to practise with Y/n!”

“Huh?” At this, the duo looked up at you. 

You were already halfway across the courtyard. 

“Wait up!” It didn’t take long for Hinata to catch up to you, even with you increasing your pace towards the front gates. “Kageyama told me about your inju–”

“Shut up.” you slap a hand onto his big mouth. “That’s none of your business.”

He pries your hand off. “But I just–”

“I don’t play volleyball anymore.” 

And though the kid may have the social awareness of a shrivelled bean, even he can detect the regret in your voice as you retreat down the street. 

Regret, bitterness, and maybe uncertainty. 

“Wait up!”

“What do you want from me?”

“Why don’t you play anymore?” he easily catches up to you, and the slight bounce in his step only makes you sigh. 

“If I tell you, will you shut up?”

“My lips will be sealed!” 

You raise a skeptic eyebrow. 

“What? You can trust me!”

In that moment, you valued your sanity more than your privacy, so you told him. “It was a permanent injury. I tried to go back to training after I healed, but my doctor said it would only irritate the injury.” 

A partial lie. Now, it was likely fine to play casually, but you could never return to the way you were. 

“I see.” Hinata seemed to be in deep thought. Eyebrows screwed together. It looked like so much effort. “Still, you should come see our training!”

“Why?” you wanted him to leave you alone. Talking to him was like standing in direct sunlight for too long. 

“You’ll see!”

“Nope, sorry. Tsukki and Yamaguchi still don’t know.”

“...Why not?”

You were going to lose it.

“If I go and watch you, will you agree to never speak to me again?”

“I—”

“No more questions or anything?”

He nods. 

A wise choice. 

So you follow him back to school. The walk, thankfully, is silent. He seemed to have finally picked up on your memo. But now, you had a question of your own. 

“Hinata?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you play volleyball? You’re so short, and you’ll undoubtedly meet people who are leagues taller and better, so why even try?”

He appeared to have been glad you asked. 

“Well, I want to fly! Have you seen the little giant? He went to Karasuno too! He can beat anyone he goes up against, and I want to be just like him! Also…”

You tuned him out after he started to ramble about the little giant and… whatever else it was, but his first words stuck with you. 

You, too, had once wanted to fly. 

God, you needed a drink to maintain your sanity. And, perhaps, a shot for courage if you were to face the entire gymnasium of volleyballers. One of them would be bound to recognise you. 

But as you approached the gymnasium, familiar smells that you couldn’t quite place greeted you with the nostalgia of a long gone friend. 

“I can’t believe you actually got her to come to practice.” Kageyama said as a greeting.

“Who’s that?”

“She looks kind of familiar…”

“HINATA? DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND???”

Yeah, you couldn’t wait until you were legal.

Chapter Text

There were three instances in your life where you could’ve withered into the wind with embarrassment. 

The first, your first show and tell in elementary school. You’d brought home made pastries for your class, only to find that they were gone by the time you got back from lunch. Someone had eaten them. (you never forgave that chubby kid that sat behind you. From that day on, you bought the prettiest bentos you could to spite him and his hungry glare.)

The second was your middle school graduation ceremony. You’d received the award for best female athlete, nominated by your peers, but you were frozen to the spot, unable to move as people started whispering. You couldn’t move your legs to the stage to receive the award–ankle brace constricting around your leg like a shackle–and only when your friend dragged you through the aisles of chairs, did your leaden legs finally move. 

You hated attention. You hated it even more when people tried to give you sympathy for your injury. It wasn’t their fault, why were they sorry?

Finally, the third incident. Familiar hardwood floors and incandescent lights. Unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar eyes. 

Everyone around you stared at you like an enigma. You had half a mind to leave the gymnasium. 

Hinata’s energy was only multiplied hundredfold in the presence of those two demonic second years who looked at you with hearts in their eyes. 

You wondered if they were always like this. 

“You’re Y/n?”

“Yes,” 

“I remember you!”

Uh oh! Here we go!

“You used to play for Kageyama’s school too!”

You nod, looking away. Someone behind them coughs. You hear murmuring, but you don’t look at the small crowd of boys that stare at you as if you’re a spectacle to behold. Instead, you take in the gym. The net was undeniably higher than what you were used to, and the lights that shone on the hardwood floors invoked nostalgia you didn’t even realise still remained. 

“She did.” Kageyama affirms. “She was the ace.”

You wished he would stop talking. You hated explaining yourself. Why couldn’t everyone just accept the principle of the situation as it was? 

“Woah! You never told me that!” Hinata’s eyes widen impossibly larger, and you stifle a laugh. 

“Guys, stop. You’re making her uncomfortable.”

“Alright, let’s not fall behind on practice. Keep warming up! We have a practice game next week!” 

The crowd disperses.

“I–we didn’t know,” Yamaguchi approaches you. 

“It wasn’t important.” you smile awkwardly. You’d always been this way. You never knew what to do or say, and you didn’t know why you were here anyway. You decided you’d make the ginger buy you a Capri Sun tomorrow as compensation for your troubles. 

“Well–”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

Tsukishima looks at you, then begins to join the others to warm up. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You swear you could’ve kissed him right there. 

As they walk onto the court, you climb the ladder up to the spectator stand and observe their practice. They were undoubtedly far better than any middle schooler team, but you could sense that they weren’t quite comfortable with each other yet. 

They were reckless and wild, but you supposed they were still working on their teamwork. 

Begrudgingly, you realise that these observations could’ve only come with your previous fixation on volleyball. 

Emphasis on ‘previous’.

“Y/n!!!!!!!”

You blinked as you were pulled out from your thoughts. Hinata waved like a maniac from below. “Come practice!”

“You dumbass, she’s injured.”

“Not permanently, right?”

You sigh, once again, laying out your options:

1. Say no and stay up there sulking and observing and not doing anything about their questionable plays
2. Say yes and hit one set, then leave
3. Leave

Option three looked the best right now. You’d done nothing the entire time you were here. You had no purpose. If anything, it only made you feel worse about yourself the longer you stayed observing their drills. 

You wanted to fly again. 

Well, the gods had other plans!

You shook your head at the ginger who didn’t even seem to notice, utterly engaged in arguing with Kageyama. 

As you descended the ladder and started towards the door, Hinata caught up with you, to your dismay. 

“Y/n, are you leaving? You haven’t–”

“Oh shut up. She can do what she wants.”

You turn to find Tsukishima standing between the two of you. (you couldn’t even see Hinata behind Tsukishima’s towering frame, but you could presume that he was making that puppy-like face of defiance and annoyance.)

“Yeah? Well you don’t know what she wants, do you?”

For fucks sake. (did Hinata know how to not cause a scene wherever he went? Most of the gym was now staring.)

“Hinata?”

“Huh? Yeah? Are you–”

“Your receives need to be improved.”

“Huh?”

“You’re still moving your upper body too much. Your platform should be stronger.”

“Oh… well that makes sense…”

“Kageyama?” 

“Yes?”

“You need to listen better.”

“Excuse me????”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Listen to your teammates. The best setters know how to bring the best out of their team.”

He didn’t respond. Indistinctly, you remember his rivalry with your upperclassmen, Oikawa–the other genius setter of your middle school. 

You wouldn’t call him a genius, though. He knew exactly what he was doing. 

“Y/n!!!! Tell me what I’m doing wrong!” A boy (not that much taller than Hinata) bounds up to you. 

“Uh…”

“Me too! Me too!” a baldie joins him.  (in your head, you nicknamed them “the weirdo second year duo”.)

“Uh, I wasn’t really–”

“You’re experienced, aren’t you?” another boy says. His hair is gray, and his eyes are soft. Kind. 

You thank every god for putting this man on the earth to combat those two demons. 

“Well, yeah, you could say that.”

“Mind giving us a few pointers?”

“Uh…” you were just about to go home.

“Oh–I’m sorry. Where are our manners, I’m Sugawara, these two are Tanaka and Nishinoya, and they should calm the fuck down before–”

“Okay! Sorry!”

He smiles. You don’t know if you should be terrified or not. 

“You don’t have to.” Tsukishima turns to you, ignoring how Hinata glares at the back of his head. 

You sigh. 

You missed volleyball. 

“I’ll stay and watch you guys play. I’ll offer whatever I can.”

“Thank you!” Sugarawa bows, and it’s not long before a brown haired boy joins him. 

“Thanks! I’m Daichi. Team captain. It means a lot.”

“No problem.”

“Alright everyone, practice game! I want you two to practice your quick attack. Tsukishima, you’re with me. Hey! You two! Stop hovering around her!”

…The team sure was something!

“Hey, you okay?”

You turned to the voice. The most beautiful woman you’d ever seen in your life is looking directly at you. 

Had you died and gone to heaven? Was she an angel sent to call on you from the divine heavens and offer you a reprieve from the endless torment of this forsaken earth?

You pinch your arm and flinch. 

Nope, real.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m good.”

“I know those two can be a lot, sometimes.”

“Yeah, they can.”

“I’m Kiyoko, by the way. The team manager.”

“Nice to meet you!” Kiyoko. That was the angel’s name.

“Why aren’t you on the girls’ team?”

“I have a permanent injury, so I can’t play full time anymore.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. I’m sure you miss it a lot.” That’s it, you’re marrying her.

“I do.” 

“Well, would you consider being a team manager? You’re a first year, right?”

You blinked. 

“We’ll see. I’m still not…” Over it? Confident enough? Nothing seemed to describe what your current predicament was. (Pathetic, maybe. The incident was almost half a year ago.)

“It’s okay. Take your time, don’t worry. I graduate this year, so I just need to find a replacement.”

“I see.”

Then you fell into silence, observing the game and keeping score. 

The first years’ quick attack stunned you into awe, and you watched the game with a concentration you hadn’t lapsed into for a while. 

By that point, it was clear that Kageyama was a genius. He acted on pure instinct. No wonder his upperclassmen hated him (you would too, if that was your competition). To the other team’s credit, they held up quite well, but it appeared Tsukishima wasn’t giving it his all. 

His movements weren’t as calculated as everyone else. He hesitated. 

You frowned as you watched another ball get past his block. What was his deal?

“Y/n!! This one’s for you!!!” the ball smashes through the (one person) block and the baldie grins to himself. 

Cringe Cringe Cringe Cringe Cringe.

You groaned, face palming just as he took his shirt off and started swinging it around. Kiyoko sighed and patted you on the back. 

She appeared to be used to his antics. 

The set quickly ended with Hinata’s side winning. Despite the game, he looked as lively as ever. You’d kill for his stamina and athleticism. 

Well, not as if you’d be able to use it, now.

“Y/n!! What do you think?” Speaking of the devil, he ran up to you. 

“Your quick attack is insane–”

“Thanks!!!” 

“–but it’s Kageyama doing all the important work, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“...Okay!”

“Anyway, your receives need practice. I said this before. You should learn from Nishinoya.”

“My name was mentioned.” he pops out of nowhere. This club was full of jumpscares. 

“Nishinoya!! Teach me how to receive please!!!”

“Alright… come, my star pupil!!”

Cringe Cringe Cringe Cringe Cringe. 

“What’d you think?” Sugawara and Daichi approach, holding water bottles and sweating profusely. 

“You guys are good. You still need practice working together, obviously, but you have promise. If you can make Hinata able to play independently from Kageyama, your team will get even better.”

Sugawara’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“He’s relying on Kageyama’s sets. Closing his eyes when he hits. It’s a weakness for your team.”

“She’s right.” Daichi sighs. 

“Hm… Hinata!” Sugawara goes to find Hinata. (and undoubtedly kick Nishinoya off his high horse.)

“...Okay, well if that’s it, then I’ll get going.” you start to gather your belongings which you’d left on the side of the gym, but you’re stopped by the ginger that Suga went to find. 

“Wait! You should play with us!”

“Why are you so insistent?” your patience was beginning to reach its limits. 

“Because I wanna see you in action!!!”

“Another time.”

“Please???”

“Leave it, shrimp.” trust Tsukishima to shut Hinata up. You’re more grateful than ever as Hinata glares at your tall, blonde friend. 

“But–”

“I’ll hit one ball if you promise to shut up.” 

“Yes! I will!’

“Also buy me a Capri Sun.”

“Deal!”

“Make that three.”

“What?”

“Yes, he will. I’ll set to you.” Kageyama quickly silences the red head (and wisely so. Hinata looked scared. Maybe he was going broke.)

You quickly stretched your arms, making circles with your injured ankle. It didn’t hurt anymore, but you instinctively put less weight on it. The phantoms of pain still clutched your ankle with memory. 

Kageyama signalled to you that he was ready, standing at the net with his arm raised. 

You had every faith that the King of the Court knew exactly what he was doing. He’d seen you play, and you him. 

Trying to ignore the indiscreet eyes on you, you picked a ball from the cart and breathed deeply. 

“This is so anticlimactic.” You hear Tsukishima remark from somewhere behind you. So you simply toss the ball to Kageyama, who sets it almost perfectly to where you wanted to hit it. His set was soundless and still, the mark of a seasoned setter. 

Your steps for approach, the swing of your arms, the form you held before you swung your arm down–it was a muscle memory you weren’t even aware you retained. 

You had forgotten how good it felt to fly so high. 

Your spike left a resounding echo through the gym, and you couldn’t help your smile. You could fly, despite the shackles.

Chapter Text

The stars you stuck on the ceiling when you were a gangly kid were starting to fall off. 

Even after years of you being absent from this house, oceans apart, dust gathering and settling on old volleyball shoes and a desk covered in stickers, they’d stuck to the ceiling, perhaps hoping for your return. You commended them for their valiant efforts, but not when one fell onto your face as you were about to drift off to sleep after hours of staring at the constellations mapped on the otherwise plain ceiling.

Your palm felt the phantom sting of the ball even after you’d arrived home. It was taunting you yet again. Much like those demonic second years. You’d never forget their screams. 

“WOAHHH NOYA?? DID YOU SEE THAT?”

“I’D KILL TO RECEIVE ONE OF HER SPIKES HOLY MOTHER OF–”

“NO WAY, ME FIRST!”

You cringed to yourself. 

“You can jump.” (Less weird, but still odd.)

“Thanks, Kageyama. I didn’t know that.”

“You can jump!” Hinata bounded up to you, jumping and bouncing like a ball of energy. Daichi appeared moments after and grabbed Hinata by the collar. Containing the resident feral puppy. 

Did joining the volleyball club come with social incompetence?

“...Yes I can.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Hinata.” Tsukishima snickered. 

“You have to be our coach!” the ginger persisted. 

Ignoring the absurdity of his suggestion, you instead ask, “You don’t have a coach?”

“We’re… working on it.” Daichi had seemingly given up on containing Hinata who invaded your personal space with endless questions. Again. 

“Well, what about becoming our manager?” Hinata insisted. 

Sugawara appeared beside him. “What Hinata means to say, is that it’d mean a lot if you could manage for us! We do have to eventually find a replacement for Kiyoko!”

“Besides, if you can’t play, then you may as well not let that knowledge and experience not go to waste.” Daichi added. 

A bit blunt, but he had a point. 

“We can brag about having two female managers!!!!” the shorter of the two second years exclaims. 

“You guys haven’t let her say anything, yet.” Yamaguchi interjected, smiling at you and frowning at the feral second years. 

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.” 

You had quickly made your escape as the captain was scolding the second years and Hinata for being weird. 

“Hey!”

You turned around. Yamaguchi stood on the threshold of the gym, brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you tell us you played?”

You shrugged. “It didn’t seem important.”

“But you–you’re so–how can you–”

“Leave it, Yamaguchi. She doesn’t have to share everything with everyone.”

“R–right! Sorry Y/n!”

“Don’t mention it.” you smiled at the two of them, who were then dragged back into the gymnasium by Daichi. He didn’t look happy. You wondered why. They’d done nothing but be kind to you the entire time you were there. 

Well, it granted you enough time to escape. 

So escape, you did. 

The glow-in-the-dark star that fell from your ceiling was cold in your fingertips. You now stared up at the marks where the adhesive was still stuck, now devoid of any purpose. Why was that adhesive still there? After the star fell off, what was its purpose? What meaning did it have, beyond leaving an echo of what once was? Its echo would inevitably fall into the abyss, even unheard by listening ears. 

Voiceless, soundless, depthless and dying. 

How morbid. 

You flung the (now useless) star across the room. You heard it rebound off the wall and land on the floor with a light thump. 

You supposed you should take the rest down, so that the empty space where the residual adhesive took up wouldn’t look empty. 

You checked the time, and your heart dropped. 

Sleep–tomorrow, you could take down those stars. 

“Y/n? Are you still with us?”

“Can I have your onigiri, then?”

“Earth to Y/n?”

“YES!” you snapped awake, yawning for the umpteenth time. 

“...Can I have your onigiri?” 

“NO!” you snatched it from your lunch box, guarding it as if it were your first born. Yamaguchi stared at you, perplexed. 

“I was joking,”

“Good.” you take a big bite out of the rice ball. 

“Did you sleep at all? You have dark circles…” Yamaguchi frowned. 

“I did! I did! I’m fine. Just…”

“Just???”

“...You’re right. I couldn’t sleep.”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Tanaka and Nishinoya’s screaming haunted her dreams.”

“How did you know?” you answer. Truthfully. They don’t catch on. They just laugh at your suffering. Some friends. 

“So…” 

Quiet envelops your trio as the chatter of students outside drifts in through the classroom’s open windows. It was a quiet lunchtime. Usually, there was a gaggle of girls gossiping in the corner. Not today. Maybe they finally found something better to do with their time. 

Or, maybe, someone had scared them off. 

You cast a wary glance at Tsukishima. “So…?”

“How long have you been playing volleyball for?” Yamaguchi asks. His tone is as casual as can be, but you can still see unease in his demeanour. His gaze wandered, never settling. 

“Uh, since I can remember.”

“Really?” his brows raised. 

“Yeah? I think… I don’t really remember.”

“Even overseas?” 

“Yeah. I joined a bunch of clubs. Played for my school and all that.”

Tsukishima’s expression was unreadable. It wasn’t as if you could ever read him, anyway, but it still made you curious. 

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Yamaguchi shrugs. You somehow feel relieved. They weren’t making a big deal out of it, and you were grateful. Unlike a certain short ginger, they had a sense of decency–

“Y/NNNNN!!!!!!!!!”

“Is it too late to run?” you groan, burying your face into your arms. Tsukishima allows a small, shit-eating smile and Yamaguchi sighs. 

“Can you come to practice today?” 

You don’t move. You try your hardest to pretend you’re dead. As they say, fake it ‘till you make it!!

“Is she awake???”

“Nope. Didn’t sleep last night. Best to leave us alone.” Tsukishima deadpans. 

“Oh. Okay. Well, when she wakes up–”

“ Alone .”

“But–”

“Leave.”

You hear indistinct animalistic (??) noises and Yamaguchi’s snickering before Tsukishima sighs. 

“You can look again.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you guys?”

“You shouldn’t start now.” Tsukishima mutters, tapping away at his phone. 

“...Is he a sadist?” you not-so-quietly whisper to Yamaguchi.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“I can hear you.”

“We know!” you smile at him. He doesn’t look up. One day you’d get him to warm up to you. 

One day. 

“Hey, you’re awake!”

“Fuck me sideways.” you close your eyes, rubbing your temples. Hinata enters the room with Kageyama trailing behind him, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

You can’t help but sympathise. 

“I had a question–”

“Ah! Look at the time! I had to go meet with someone! Sorry I can’t answer your questions!” you abruptly stand and weave past the two volleyball players, ignoring Tsukishima and Yamaguchi’s laughter. 

“What? Wait–” 

“Nope! Sorry! Gotta Go!” and you disappear down the hallway.

“...is she avoiding me?” Hinata asks Kageyama sincerely. 

“Obviously. Who’d want to be seen near you?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“You deserve it.” Tsukishima suggested. 

“For once they agree on something.” Yamaguchi sighs. 

Meanwhile, you’re busy fleeing the classroom and navigating through clusters of students. 

“Oh! Y/n!” 

You turn around, ready to meet your new doom. Instead of doom, you find salvation. Kiyoko, that angel. 

“Oh, Kiyoko!”

“How are you?”

“I’m…” tired? Regretting? Fed up? “Good! What about you?”

“That’s great, I’m alright as well. I was going to ask if you gave some more thought to being a manager?”

You want to cry. How could you ever let down this heaven sent beauty? At the same time, you would rather die than set foot into that gymnasium again. Kiyoko must’ve read it in your eyes, because she smiles understandingly. 

You might have to marry her. This girl-crush may soon escalate.

“If your concern is Tanaka and Nishinoya, they’ll get used to you. You just have to ignore them until they stop, I guess.”

“What if I beat them up?”

“...I’ve never tried it, but I'm sure it’ll work!” she smiles. (You arrive at the conclusion that she’s too good for the world.)

You’re unbelievably conflicted. After you went home yesterday, you thought about absolutely nothing. There were no thoughts in your head as you went to bed and stared at your ceiling, remembering how it felt to play volleyball. 

You believe that it’d be too much to simply watch people play and never get to play, yourself. Managing the volleyball club would be torture. 

“Kiyoko, I–”

“I FOUND YOU!”

“SHIT,” you jump, catching sight of a head of bright orange hair heading through the crowd. “Listen, Kiyoko, I’ll talk later, but Hinata’s currently chasing me down, please distract him for me. I love you, It was nice talking to you, bye!”

“...bye?” she blinks as you sprint in the opposite direction, and turns around just as Hinata reaches her. 

“Kiyoko! Have you seen Y/n?” 

“Nope. She wasn’t here.”

“I swear I saw–”

“Are you okay? You’re a little red, I think you should rest. Save some energy for practice.”

“But–”

“Come on, let’s get you back to class. Help me out, Kageyama.” she gestures to the confused boy that was trailing Hinata reluctantly. He, again, looked like he would do anything but help out, but what Kiyoko says always goes. 

Besides, they got to walk to class with a stunning third year girl, so who were they to complain?

Hinata: 0, you: 1. 

“See ya, Y/n!”

“Have fun at practice!” you wave at Tsukishima and Yamaguchi as you pack your things. There was no point in staying in the school grounds after school ended, especially when you three decided not to have after school study sessions anymore. Hinata would inevitably find you, and you were dreading that encounter if it happened. 

So, peacefully , you leave the school, content that there were no annoying gingers chasing you around today. (distantly, you remember that he owes you three Capri Suns. How were you going to cash them in? You glared at the ground as you walked, trying to think of ways to go about collecting your debt.)

Your content was short lived, disturbed by an echo of the past. 

“Y/n? Is that you?”

You turn around, ready to punch someone. 

Michimiya stares at you with a smile with startling likeness to the one she used to wear in elementary school. 

“Michimiya?” you feign surprise. It isn’t hard, really–she’d grown a lot. Well, obviously , but in the ways that counted. (you relished in the victory that you were now taller than her. She used to be leagues taller than you when you were playing together, but to be fair, there was a three year age gap. Now…) You smile back as she beams at you, enveloping you in a bear hug. 

“When did you get so tall?”

“Since you stopped growing, dummy,” you laugh, and she falls into step with you. You remember living one block away from her, and it made walking to practice so much more enjoyable when you were with her. 

“Ouch! But hey, if we’re finally reunited after your overseas trip and your middle school celebrity phase, why didn’t I see your name in the list of new students?”

“Huh?”

“For the volleyball team? Unless…” 

“Oh, that. I, uh…”

“Did you stop playing?” she asks, slowing to a stop, forcing you to look at her. “Why? You were doing so well!”

“Well, you see–”

“Come by practice tomorrow morning! I’ll introduce you to the team! I’m the captain!”

“Wait–”

“Just you wait, we’ll be the best in the prefecture with us finally back together!”

“Michimiya.” 

“Huh? What is it?”

“I got an injury. I can’t play anymore.” you watch as the pure happiness drains from her expression, and you can’t help but want to curl into a ball and die. 

It felt like stabbing that little part of you that was still obsessed with volleyball–that child that looked up at the sun with such wonder. 

“Y/n…” her eyes are filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it.”

She groans in frustration, and you keep walking. She follows, frowning at the ground. 

“It’s unfair.”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. You thought you were over it–why were you crying now?

“Is there anything you can do?” she asks, brows furrowed. 

You shake your head, praying she won’t look you in the eyes. It might unravel you completely. 

The rest of the walk home was relatively quiet. She asks you to tell her about your time abroad, to which you oblige, then she rambles on and on about her life, and eventually lets it slip that she has a massive crush on Daichi. The captain of the boys team. 

You weren’t that surprised. 

Once you reached home, the world went quiet again. As if there was no movement. There was a void of stillness and silence, and yet you still felt like Atlas as the world weighed you down.

Suspended in space like a star, and you fell to the ground and cried.

Chapter Text

You tended to hide inside yourself when you wanted to hide from the world. The world was your enemy. Against your every breath. You used your own skin as a shield, and perhaps this is why you got injured so quickly in your volleyball career. 

The bruises from falling endlessly were a reminder that you were alive and breathing, but you hated it, sometimes. 

You couldn’t even play volleyball anymore, so what was the point?

“Hey, you’re Y/n, right?” 

You look up from your secluded corner. (You’d taken to hiding away at break times and only reconvening with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi in class and before school. You couldn’t risk running into Hinata, Kageyama or Kiyoko anymore, lest you dig yourself an even greater hole. But none of that seemed to matter anymore, as–) Sugawara smiled down at you, crouching down. 

“Oh, Sugawara. What do you want from me?”

“Just call me Suga. I’m just checking in with you. Mind if I sit?” you shake your head, and he does as he said, bringing his knees up as he leaned against the wall.  

His eyes are warm. Chocolate brown. Kind and honest. His demeanour is open, and he doesn’t hide the slight concern that furrowed his brows. It makes you want to speak to him. What kind of black magic was he practicing?

“So…?”

“How are you?”

“Good. What do you want?”

He sighs. “Straight to business?”

“Preferably.”

“Well, we have a practice match coming up.” he gazes down at his hands. Long, slender, pale fingers. Smaller palms. Good for setting. (you needed to stop relating everything you saw to volleyball. It was becoming a real issue.)

“That’s nice.”

“We’re playing Aoba Johsai.” 

“Wait, what?” You heard whispers about that high school in your middle school gyms. It was where both Oikawa and Iwaizumi winded up. Those two were your famed upperclassmen, and Oikawa had centuries long, ancestral seeming beef with Kageyama. (Part of you wanted to see what would happen if those two were put in a room together for an hour. Your money was on Oikawa.)

“You know them, don’t you?”

“What’s this got to do with me? Where’s this going?” Suga’s kind demeanour seemed to mask a manipulator. You applaud his cunning. (You thought you ought to take a leaf out of his book.)

“Well, I just wanted to see if you’d like to come with us to watch the game.” 

“... just watch the game?” you ask, eyes narrowing on him. He blinks innocently at you.

“Yes, I promise.”

“...I’ll think about it.” It was tempting. You haven’t seen that ace-setter duo in years, and you were curious as to their progress. 

This was all part of Suga’s evil plan, you realise. 

“Great!” he smiles (to himself, probably) and gets up, dusting himself off. “Well, tell Tsukishima or Yamaguchi your decision, and we’ll make arrangements for you!”

“Okay.”

“See ya!”

“Bye,” 

Well shit. He’d given you an offer too good to refuse, but was it worth seeing the ginger again for a glimpse of Oikawa and Kageyama’s drama? You turned back to your phone. You didn’t want to think about it.

“...you’re actually coming?” 

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t comment.” Tsukishima replies coolly. You line up outside the gym, ignoring Hinata and Kageyama’s nervous chattering behind you. Though it felt like Hinata was the only nervous one. Kageyama was… you didn’t want to turn around to find out. (but it was likely that no one was up to anything good.)

“Suga, you’re a manipulator.” you grumble as you pass him, stepping into the bus. He merely smiles, blinking owlishly. Innocently. 

You could definitely use a leaf out of his book. 

You take a seat at the three-seater next to the window, leaving space for Yamaguchi and Tsukishima. Soon after you, they board the bus and suddenly the air is infested with nervous jitters. Your leg starts bouncing up and down as you attempt to sit still. 

You weren’t even playing, why were you also affected?

“Hey.” you turn around as Tsukishima nudges you. Offering you an earbud. 

You take it curiously, peering at his playlist. He tilts his phone away. 

“Why are you hiding it?”

“...”

“It’s not like I won’t be listening to it anyway…” you blink at him, and he doesn’t meet your eyes. 

…okay, then.

He hits play, pointedly not looking at you, and leans his head back against the headrest as the bus lurches forward. The serene stretches of farmland and plains begin to roll outside your window, yet the entire way there, you’re all quiet. Except Hinata, who throws up all over Tanaka. You gag and crack open the window, but you only smell fertiliser. 

Fertiliser or barf? You can’t choose. There was no lesser of two evils. So you simply didn’t breathe. (you breathed in through your sleeve.)

You were regretting this trip already. 

The indie rock music helped minisculely. (you had to give the blonde credit, he had a refined music taste. You supposed there was a good reason he had those headphones in all the time. Maybe you’d ask for his playlist later.)

As you finally arrived at Aoba Johsai, you could only heave great sighs of relief and savour the crisp, fresh air that graces your lungs. And turn away from Tanaka as he changed his barf-covered pants. Out in the open. 

“Does that baldie have any sense of… anything?” you mumble.

“Hey! What’re you lookin’ at? Wanna go??”

“Apparently not.” Tsukishina scoffs, a slight smile on his lips.

Daichi’s futile attempts to calm Tanaka are met with strong resistance as he swings his barf covered pants at whoever that poor person was. 

“STOP LOOKING AT KIYOKO LIKE THAT.” Nevermind, valid reason presented.

You turn around from your little huddle with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi to find Tanaka facing off with a turnip head and his friend with his hair parted in the middle. 

“Why are you giving her nasty looks?” the shorter of the second year duo asks. (threatens) (rather, attempts to be threatening and intimidating.)

“Uh–”

“Kiyoko, you okay?” you stand next to her, frowning at the two boys in front of you. They back off. Your rumoured resting bitch face was apparently a weapon to be honed. Tanaka and Nishinoya seemed to be proud as they watched the two Aoba Johsai boys drag their feet, walking away. 

“Thanks, Y/n.” Kiyoko smiles. “Oh! By the way, have you–”

“Oh! Sorry! Tsukki’s calling for me! See you later!” 

Wow. You’re so smooth. Teach us your ways, oh great wise sage.

“...dumbass.” Tsukishima mutters to himself as you breathe a sigh of relief, hiding behind his tall frame. He doesn’t move, though, instead stepping in front of you slightly to shield you from her line of sight.

You weren’t ready just yet to give her a solid answer. On one hand, you’d love to manage, but watching them play without playing yourself was like dangling air in front of a drowning man. 

On the other hand, you weren’t even sure if you could. 

But it didn’t matter for now. They were all focused on the practice game. Or you could hope.

The team eventually (after valuable moments spent getting lost around the school – how did you even get lost inside a school for that long? ) found the gym where Aoba Johsai’s team was warming up. 

“Hey! Karasuno’s here!”

You hide behind Tsukki as the team walks into the gym, praying no one notices you. How could anyone notice anything behind that 190cm wall?

“Oh hey, isn’t that the girl from Kitagawa Daiichi?”

Your hopes are shattered. Maybe you’re just terrible at staying hidden.

“Huh?”

“Oh, you’re right.”

“Wait, y/n?” 

You turn to the voice calling out to you. 

Iwaizumi (27. Athletic trainer) looks down at you. Confused, curious - pleased?

“Oh, Iwaizumi,”

“Long time no see.” he smiles, ruffling your hair. 

You don’t have to look at Karasuno to know that they’re gawking at his display of affection. 

“Stop that, you big oaf.” you shake him off, but somehow, you’re less nervous than before. 

“Y/n????? Do you know him???” Kageyama sneaks up, glaring at his senior whilst staying hidden behind you. 

“How do you think I learned how to hit properly?” 

Kageyama’s jaw was on the floor, and you were willing to bet your life that Hinata was jumping up and down with stars in his eyes. 

“Shut up.” He hits the back of your head. 

“Bitch.”

“Back at you.” 

Kageyama only stares at the two of you in what seems to be envy. Was he jealous of your tutelage? You weren’t bothered to find out. 

“Hey, why are you with the boy’s team?” he asks. 

“Uh, funny story,” you avert your gaze, searching for an escape. “Wait, where’s Oikawa? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

He narrows his eyes as you change the subject so blatantly, but doesn’t question it, thankfully. Always observant, always patient. “He should be back soon. His knee was acting up again.”

“Ouch.”

“Could you say the same?” 

You sigh. He was too observant for you to pull wool over his eyes anymore. “Nope. Can’t play anymore.”

His expression is carefully schooled into blankness as he nods, patting you on the shoulder.

You’re thankful it isn’t disappointment or pity.

“We’re starting!” the temporary coach for Karasuno yells from the sidelines. His chronic smoker voice tears you out of your miserable thoughts, and you jog over to the bench after quickly saying goodbye to Iwaizumi. 

“Have you given it any thought yet?” Kiyoko asks. 

“Managing?”

She nods. Oh well, you couldn't escape forever. 

You fiddle with your hands. “I don’t know.”

“Take your time. It’s okay.”

(You wanted to kiss her then and there, once again.)

“Captains, shake hands.” 

Daichi shakes hands with Iwaizumi (who looks like he could crush Daichi’s head with his bicep - but Daichi’s built thighs could definitely compete with them). The coin is tossed, and they get into rotations in a rush of movement and yelling.

“Have you seen their quick attack yet?” Kiyoko asks, opening her notebook. You catch a glimpse of drawings, numbers and tallies made of the team’s statistics and training. Was this the standard required for managers?

“Nope.”

“Prepare to be surprised.”

“Not much can surprise me,” you joke. But as you sit on the bench, you hope that they do. 

A few points in, and it was looking good for Karasuno, but you knew that with Oikawa, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Not now, at least.

Iwaizumi only seemed to be stronger, more powerful and more precise. You knew how good he was, and knew his physical capabilities, but he never ceased to surprise you.

People rarely did. Most were within the realms of expectation.

It’s not until Hinata absolutely soars through the air and cuts through the open skies that you realise just what he was talking about. 

Flying.

You almost miss it - the way the ball moves into his palm with the precision of Kageyama’s set, the ginger’s jump that leaves Seijoh’s blockers dumbfounded. 

As you watch Hinata’s landing and as his eyes light up with mirth, you realise you miss that too.

Surprise, and volleyball. And of all people, Shoyo Hinata was the one to show you this.

Chapter Text

“Y/n! Did you see that??” 

“What the fuck was that?!”

“Did the King finally find someone who could hit his sets?”

“Shut up! You’re not-”

“Tanaka.”

“...” Tanaka sticks his tongue out at the turnip head instead.

“Holy shit.” coach Ukai declares.

Kiyoko smiles.

“You saw that, right?” Kageyama turns from his celebration with his team to stare you down.

Instead of affirming, you simply smile. They don’t miss the look in your eyes, nor your restlessness. 

“Give us another one.”

The excitement dies down, but the quick attack duo nods in determination.

“What do you think?” Kiyoko asks.

“They’re brilliant.” you say. Breathlessly. With more wonder than you would’ve liked. With Kageyama’s skill set, you shouldn’t have been surprised that he was able to pull this off, and yet somehow getting Hinata to trust him within a couple weeks of knowing each other was a whole other thing.

The King of the Court that Kitagawa Daiichi once knew was gone. 

“Good luck with that one, Iwaizumi.” you call from the sidelines.

He flips you off, laughing to himself. But even he knew the magnitude of their new weapon.

Each strength, however, has its weakness. To each light, a shadow.

Karasuno wins the first set, to which you gloat to Iwaizumi who chases you around the court. Tsukishima’s eye twitches as you high five the ginger and the setter, but you flick him and Yamaguchi on the forehead as you tell them to catch up.

Tsukishima would never admit it, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to.

“Don’t let the shrimp jump higher than you.” you poke his side.

“Never.” 

..but the stoic blonde did have his exceptions. Especially when it came to that shortie. (Not because of you, not at all.)

The second set started the same as the first, but you’d all nearly forgotten about Seijoh’s own wild card. 

A squeal of girls, and you know who walks through the gym’s doors. You can feel Kageyama’s anxiety from here. Tooru Oikawa, star setter, famous for his pretty face, your co-mentor. (you know the team would be dumbfounded if they ever found out, so you note to yourself to keep it quiet.) 

“What did I miss?” 

“We lost the first set.”

“You guys need me, don’t you?” he yelps as Iwaizumi hits him across the head. 

“Shut up, Shittykawa.”

“Oikawa, is your knee good to play?” their coach asks.

“Sure is!”

“Hurry up and warm up then.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan.”

Your leg bounced from where you were seated on the bench. Karasuno was fucked. They didn’t know that yet, though, so you just let them dream.

“Oh? Is that little Y/n?” Oikawa taps you on the shoulder, smiling down at you. “Long time no see!”

“Hey,” You glance down at the bandage on his knee. “You good?”

He invites himself to take a seat next to you (Karasuno collectively casts you a heavily judging, heavily betrayed glance), stretching his arms and rotating his wrists and ankles. “I will be. But what about you?”

You shake your head. 

“Ah. That’s how it is. A shame.”

You couldn’t put it any other way.

“Join me warming up?” 

You warily look at the team, who are engrossed in the game. They wouldn’t need you. They weren’t your responsibility, anyway. You agree, moving to the other side of the gym to pepper with him.

“You’re their manager now?” he readies himself for you to toss the ball to him. 

“Less talking, more warming up” you glare, passing the ball to him. 

“You’re as mean as Iwa-chan,” he pouts, receiving and passing it back. “He rubbed off on you in every way. Most notably the wrong ways.”

You spike the ball down unexpectedly, and he barely manages to save it in time. “Focus, Oikawa.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “But what did you ever gain from –”

“One more word and I’ll shove this volleyball –”

“Yep. Iwa-chan’s mentee.”

Meanwhile, Karasuno sees you warming up with him, and only becomes more confused and betrayed. You were quickly making an enemy out of your own team. Lovely.

“C’mon! We have to get as many points before Oikawa gets back!” 

They were so fucked. 

“They’re certainly hopeful.” Oikawa perks up. 

“That’s one way to put it.”

“That blonde keeps looking over. What does he want?” 

“Huh? Oh, probably confused. Like the rest of them.”

“What? Why?”

“Why do you think, Great King of the Court™?” 

“...I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not.”

“Good.”

“You scare me.”

Tsukishima’s dry humour and snark must’ve rubbed off on you. You laugh to yourself, but follow Oikawa back to the main court as he finishes up stretching. 

“Player substitution!” 

Time passes, as it always does. 

People struggle, people fight, people lose, people win. 

You’ve become an observer in a world of actors. You’ve become stagnant, unwilling to move against the stage’s lights anymore. 

As the last whistle blows, and you watch these actors mourn their losses, your stillness is gray. Grayscale, black and white, devoid of any life. You expect a tumbleweed could blow past. 

“Y/n!!”

You turn around as Karasuno boards the bus in defeat. They’re too tired to turn around – most of them, anyway – but Tanaka and Nishinoya still cast sharp glares at Oikawa and Iwaizumi as they approach you. 

“Are you going to be a manager?”

“This again?” you sigh. 

“If you can’t fly again, might as well help others.” Iwaizumi offers. “It’s what you would’ve done.”

“Huh?”

“What you would’ve done before.”

“Before what? Quit being cryptic.”

“Before you got injured, you dumbass. So become a manager, or something. I wanna see you again at the interhigh.”

“Hopefully on a winning team! But I guess it wouldn’t be so good for us, so prepare to lose!”

Oikawa ruffles your hair with a victorious(ly annoying laugh), and you attempt to shake him off before Iwaizumi does the same. 

“What am I, a dog?”

“Nope. Our little mentee. You’d better not fucking waste all those late hours I spent coaching you.”

His face looks a little too serious to contradict, so you simply nod. Salute, even. Oikawa snickers, with a look that suggests he’s on the receiving end of it far too often. 

“See you later, then.” You wave at them as you board the bus. They wave back, and as you take your seat with Tsukki and Yamaguchi, you stare at their distant figures until they become obscured by the scenery. 

“So, the Great King™ and his Ace?”

“God, Hinata, don’t start, please.” you groan, letting your head fall back onto the headrest. Hinata’s head of bright orange hair peeks up from the seat in front, then quickly gets pulled down. Harsh whispers, a whisper-yelled phrase that sounds frighteningly like “Hinata, you idiot”, then silence. 

You don’t remember drifting off to sleep, nor being draped in a Karasuno jacket far too big for your own size, but when you wake, you wake to the faint scent of vanilla and something like fresh linens. 

“Is she awake yet?”

“Tsukishima don’t move. Whatever you do, don’t move.”

“You’re gonna wake her if you don’t shut up.”

“My bad –”

“Too fucking late, Tanaka.”

You blink your eyes open, and realise half of the team is staring at you.

“...Morning?”

“Yes, morning.” Nishinoya replies with a grin. 

“Everyone get off, we’re here. What’s taking so long?” Daichi’s voice echoed into the bus from outside.

“Sorry.” Tsukishima mumbles, picking up his duffel bag from above the seats, withdrawing the jacket from you. You shiver at the sudden cold. You’re too tired to realise you slept on Tsukishima’s shoulder. 

“Y/n?” Kiyoko approaches you as you step off the bus.

You’re too exhausted from talking and thinking. God, why was thinking so difficult? Choices, choices, decisions and more decisions. You just stared at her, and waited for her to speak. 

“About being a manager–”

You nod. 

“ – Would you like to?”

You nod again, yawning.

“So you will?”

You sigh. You nod again. You walk away. You ignore Hinata’s screams of joy. 

“Okay! Training is tomorrow after school! Don’t miss it!” she calls after you as you leave the school. You signal a thumbs up and continue trudging down the path, the sun arcing its low course through the turbulent skies. 

Watercolours, memories of grass stains and scrapes on knees. 

That quick attack was something else, but how could you make it even deadlier?

“Do you really want to?” 

You turn around. Tsukishima stands merely feet away, demeanour schooled into a blankness you knew so well.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to?”

You narrow your eyes. You were too tired, and your temper was running short. “Yes.”

He’s silent, but he catches up with you, matching your pace as you gaze at the skies, transfixed. Quiet falls between the two of you, and you find yourself relaxing imperceptibly. You almost don’t notice it, until you catch yourself quietly humming a tune from one of Tsukki’s playlists. 

Cicadas chirp in the trees beyond the road, and birds cry in the distance. The wind is a faint huff of breath against your skin, chilling the temperance of spring. 

“I don’t know.” you mutter into the quietude. 

“Thought so.” 

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

You scoff. “Iwaizumi?”

An almost imperceptible scowl. “Maybe.”

“You made a face.”

“I don’t make faces.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

You lapse into silence as you shrug, a slight smile on your face that you know angers him.

But as the sun’s light begins to fade from the sky and purples bleed into deep blues and winking stars, you lightly bump his side. 

“Are you always this observant?”

“What?”

“Did Hinata and Kageyama put you up to something, or what?”

A scoff. “What? Why would they –”

“Nevermind then.”

A beat of silence.

“Hey, they called you the Queen of the court, didn’t they?”

You freeze in place. 

“Something like that. I forgot what it was.”

You simply stare at him. Where could he have gotten that information from? You thought you buried all traces of that embarrassing, arrogant title from overseas the moment you set foot on Japanese soil, but apparently, Kei Tsukishima was as much a stalker as you were. 

Not that you’d ever admit it. 

Him, on the other hand. (Could he even read english that well?)

“It was the Queen of offence. Cocky title.” you mutter, increasing your pace. 

“It meant something, though, didn’t it?” (he easily matches your stride. Long legged freak.)

“Are you trying to psychoanalyse me?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“Come on, use your brilliant brain.”

“Did you just say my brain was –”

He sighs exasperatedly, turning to you as you reach your doorstep. (You later realise that he walked you home, and you’re still deeply confused.) “What do you want?”

You stare at him. His eyes slightly narrowed, lips slightly parted, hair tousled by the wind. All of this, yet still unreadable. 

Is he asking you expecting a reply? What does that question even mean?

He silently leaves, and you can’t help but feel as if you did something wrong. Did you say something to him? Did he discover something about your past he didn’t like? Did Nishinoya or Tanaka implant some sort of propaganda into his head? 

You close the door to your house and sink to the ground, trying to figure out what it was that you might’ve done. 

But what did you want?