Archive of Our Own ^beta

2013

Honestly, if it weren’t for Yamaguchi’s sudden squeak, Kei wouldn’t have even realised there’d been an intruder in the Karasuno camp. They’re lounging in their designated rest area, taking the time to recharge after a frankly too over-dramatic match with Inarizaki. Kei first turns to his best friend, whose eyes are wide as saucers, before he shifts his gaze to the recipient of Yamaguchi’s stunned attention.

“Yo,” the person says, completely unfazed by the way Yamaguchi is staring at him, how there’s a fluttering of movement behind the person made up of Hinata flapping his stupid arms noisily, gawking, as Kageyama furrows his brows in his trademark glower.

It takes Kei a second to realise the Yo is directed at him; another to wipe off any trace of surprise that hopefully hadn’t shown at all on his face.

A beat passes, then another.

The intruder — his hands shoved into his track suit pockets, shoulders slouched over in a terrible posture that only people with excess height have the confidence to adopt — looks far too comfortable for a person standing in enemy territory.

Yamaguchi digs a sharp elbow into the soft part of Kei’s stomach in an entirely unsubtle fashion. “Say something back,” he hisses into Kei’s ear, sharp and urgent, and in that moment, does an unintentionally uncanny impression of his own mother, whenever Kei overhears her telling Yamaguchi off for not being polite; it’s clear from the way the intruder’s lips quirk upwards that he’s heard Yamaguchi’s admonishment.

“Yes?” Kei asks in return, much to an indignant huff from Yamaguchi, clearly appalled by his lack of manners. Honestly, he can’t wait for the rest of the team to wake up to the true terror of Yamaguchi’s nature. Kei can almost pin-point the exact spot on the back of his head that’s starting to catch fire with the way his best friend’s eyes are burning into him, compelling him to do something more.

Making a big show of sighing — a futile attempt to appease his own sense of pride —, Kei slowly climbs to his feet, ignoring the way his thighs are protesting at any form of action at all after the horrible match they’d just had. He tries to keep his lips from curling when he asks, “May I help you?”

“Yeah,” the intruder answers, with as much courtesy as Kei had. He nods at the corner of the sports complex, underneath the bleachers, where there doesn’t seem to be many players, “Let’s go over there to talk.”

“Uh, n—” 

“Okay, we’ll see you later, Tsukki!” Yamaguchi springs to his feet and shoves Kei forward with so much force that he almost stumbles into the intruder. He beams, all bright and sunny, the same smile that has everyone fooled, “It’s nice meeting you, Suna-san.”

There is a glimmer of amusement in Suna’s eyes that sends a course of annoyance running through Kei’s veins. “Fine,” Kei says, coolly, as if he hadn’t literally been stabbed in the back by the one person he thought he could trust. “Let’s talk.”

“Your blocks need work,” is what Suna starts the conversation with, without any preamble. 

They’d strode all the way in silence — past the rude stares of the Dumb & Dumber duo, Hinata looking like he was physically restraining himself from blurting out something that undoubtedly would have been embarrassing; past the chuckling of the third-years, with only Asahi-san having the courtesy to look away, like the three of them hadn’t been nudging each other in delight minutes before; past Nishinoya and Tanaka, who’d alternated between slapping Kei hard on the back like yeah, go make friends, you’re all growing up! and shooting a death-glare at the Inarizaki player — Kei hadn’t wanted to give Suna the satisfaction of knowing he was curious, but he regrets not asking now.

“What,” it’s more a statement than a question.

“They need work,” Suna repeats, his impassive expression unchanging. “And so do your spikes. There’s no power in them.”

A snort escapes before Kei can stop it. “Did I ask you for advice?”

“No,” there’s a nonchalance in Suna’s answer, like he doesn’t particularly care. “But I figured I might as well tell you so that next time we play against each other, it’d be a more interesting game.”

“Huh, last I checked, we did win the match,” says Kei, a surge of irritation pulling each syllable out of his reluctant mouth. “So you’re incredibly confident for someone who’s just got kicked out of Nationals on your first match.”

Suna just smiles placidly, a slightest upward curve of his lips, like doing any more had been too much of an effort. It shouldn’t get to him — he’s literally only known Suna for the length of a match and nothing more — yet the smile burrows itself underneath Kei’s skin, all red-itchy and frustrating.

It reminds him of another middle-blocker, one as smug as he is, but Kei doesn’t want to think about it. Not right now. 

“Hm,” Suna says, saving Kei the trouble of plunging down the rabbit hole of overlapping middle-blockers, “And if you don’t improve your game, you may not last much longer either.”

Before Kei can assemble a retort, one of the Miya twins — Miya Osamu, judging from his grey hair, who had been marginally less annoying than the other one, just because he didn’t yell as much during the match nor make gooey-eyes at Hinata — materialises beside Suna. The twin eyes Kei curiously, before turning to Suna, “Coach says we gotta go.”

Suna shrugs, as if he hadn’t breached enemy territory to haul Kei all the way out here only to insult him and say nothing else. “Make sure your spikes are stronger,” Suna says, in lieu of a proper goodbye — not that Kei had expected one of out him in the first place. “You’re smart enough to place them well but you need to follow through with them better.”

Then, he turns on his heel and slouches off to wherever the Inarizaki team had set up camp at in the complex, leaving Kei behind with the grey-haired twin. The twin nods at him, mutters an awkward, “Uh, good game.” that he clearly doesn’t mean, before striding off to catch up with Suna.

Kei returns to thunderous applause, led by a grinning Suga. “What’s with you and charming older middle-blockers,” Suga bellows, practically launching himself at Kei and loping around one arm around his neck to pull him in close.

“What?” his answer comes out in a choked gasp because Suga apparently has no qualms about being taken in for manslaughter.

“Oh, you know,” Suga continues, before Daichi realises that Kei’s turning purple in the face and pulls the older boy off with a, Suga! How many times must I tell you not to murder any of our first-years?

There’s no escape from Yamaguchi later that night, who sidles up to him, when they’re preparing for bed. “So,” he says, weighting the word down with enough significance that it causes Kei’s stomach to plunge. “What did Suna-san talk to you about?”

“He told me I sucked.”

Yamaguchi rises easily to Kei’s bait — the outrage in his posture so strong that even his hair seems to stand up, like he’s electrified, “What! Did he really?”

“Something like that,” Kei says, vaguely, does not acknowledge the flash of irritation that resurfaces at the memory of their interaction. How uninterested the middle-blocker had seemed throughout the entire conversation, despite being the one initiating the conversation. He looks down at his hands, realises they’re balled tight into tiny fists; he takes in a breath and uncurls his fingers.

Next to his futon, his phone lights up with a message, casting a bright spot in the dim lighting of the room. Kei doesn’t have to look at the screen to know who it’s from.

Yamaguchi continues, as he lays out his own futon, “I thought, maybe he was gonna tell you he likes you.”

Does he? Kei bites back the question before he slips up. They’re talking about someone else. His retort is sour in his mouth, “Yeah right, just from one match?” 

“I dunno,” Yamaguchi bites his lip, eyes darting around, looking incredibly suspicious in the moonlight that’s streaming in through the window. It’s too late to be having this conversation, and Kei’s futon is crying for his company. He hums, then asks, “Why not?”

There’s enough darkness in the room that surely, Yamaguchi can’t see the blush that’s creeping up Kei’s neck. Why not? Yamaguchi’s question rings, almost mockingly, in his mind. He shuffles into his futon and turns on his side, making sure to bring his phone underneath the covers with him, “Goodnight.”

“I can see you using your phone!” Yamaguchi protests.

Kei doesn’t grace him with a reply.

From Kuroo-san
congrats moonshine!!!
guess we’ll be playing against each other :3

Yeah
Everyone here is really excited
Congrats too

From Kuroo-san
also i heard you got a special visit from someone today~~~
should i be worried?

Worried?
Goodnight Kuroo-san

From Kuroo-san
seems like i’ll have to court you more ;)
night moonshine!

2014

It’s not his fault that they’d lost — volleyball, after all, is a sport that depends on all the players standing on court — but that does little to quell the frustration that’s scorching its way through Kei’s veins, so fiery that it feels like anything he touches will ignite into flames.

And so, he does the only logical thing — he finds the boys’ bathroom, the one furthest away from the main playing area of the sports arena, fills an entire sink with water and plunges his face in, letting his anger out in a frothful of bubbles.

It helps, barely.

Doesn’t change the fact that they’d lost. Doesn’t do much to wipe the memory of Inarizaki barreling through their defences like they were nothing, as if Kei hadn’t been there, jumping as high as he could each time, of the ball just scraping his arm in its meteor-fierce trajectory into the Karasuno court.

Of Suna’s smirk, each time his spike had flown through Kei’s arms.

Volleyball is a team sport but Kei knows he’d been everywhere but on court today. It hadn't helped that he'd stepped on court already itchy and pissed off, having spied a certain cat-like presence in the stands. His stupid rooster-hairstyle made sure that it was impossible to see his dumb face, even a mile away, and the arguments from the past week had came rushing back to Kei.

Things like I know you're only in your second year but you should start thinking about the future and I'm only saying this because I care about you or Why do you always shut me out? or Moonshine, what are we, anyway?

Kei had meant to reply to the last question, his fingers typing and re-typing the characters, Friends or I don’t know or even, impossibly, I like you. Yet, instead, the words never materialised and he’d archived the chat so that he wouldn’t have to see the last question, hanging like an accusation over the both of them.

It was stupid but Kei hadn’t expected Kuroo to come down for the match anyway.

And now, panting from screaming everything out in a burst of bubbles, the front of his shirt a wet, sopping mess, Kei’s left staring at himself in the grimy mirror of the dingy third-floor boy’s bathroom, alone. He should head back soon, Yamaguchi would probably be worried.

The sink makes a dying gurgling sound as Kei watches the water drains from the basin. He makes to take a few paper towels from the dispenser hanging on the wall when the door swing opens —

Just his luck.

“Yo,” the intruder says, with zero sense of irony. “Thought this would be empty.”

“It was,” Kei answers, but Suna doesn’t take the hint. The opposite, in fact, given how he takes a step closer towards Kei, doesn’t even hide the fact that he’s giving him a once over.

There’s a long pregnant pause, one that has Kei wishing the sink was still full so he could escape his thoughts underwater, before Suna says, “Thought you’d be much better than that.”

It’s impossible to contain the inferno that erupts through Kei’s being. “Yeah well, sorry for not living up to your expectations,” Kei spits back. The roar of the flames makes it hard for Kei to discern whether he’s saying this to the middle-blocker standing in front of him, or for the unwelcome spectator back in the sports complex. Even so, he relishes each syllable as they launch themselves at his target, “Maybe you can try someone different then.”

Suna recoils for a moment, his impassive expression shifting so quickly that Kei can’t discern what the underlying emotion is; and in that second, there's a pin-prick of guilt that pierces through his initial anger.

Then, Suna shrugs. "Whatever," he says, before turning and leaving the bathroom, as if he'd entered for the sole reason of annoying Kei in the first place.

Good , Kei thinks to himself, his thoughts bitter and acidic, let them all leave, like they should. It’s not like he needs them anyway. 

It’s not clear whether he’s referring to Suna or to someone else.

2015

The third time he meets Suna, it’s the last time Kei plays as a Karasuno member. Maybe, even, the last round of competitive volleyball he’ll play, ever. This realisation flashes through his mind when the ball, the final point of the match, slams into the ground with so much force, it curves back into the air, almost reaching Yamaguchi’s height.

The referee’s whistle is shrill in the air; against the explosion of cheers from the Itachiyama spectators.

This is the last time I’ll stand on court , Kei notes, distantly.

He shakes the hands of the players on the opposite side of the net, noticing how their hair is plastered against their faces, sweaty and tired, triumphant with their victory, This is the last time I’ll need to thank someone for a match.

“One, two,” Yamaguchi’s voice barely wavers, as he directs the team. They drop into a deep bow; and Kei feels the Dumb & Dumber duo shaking beside him. Together, their voices ring out as a team, One last time, I’ll need to face the crowd like this, “Thank you for coming to support us.”

Kei takes his time to straighten up, blinking rapidly, because there’s sweat in his eyes. The last time I’ll have to wear these sports glasses.

It’s sweat and nothing more. 

He sniffs once, twice; decides, maybe, he needs to get a drink from a vending machine, the one that’s tucked in the back of the sports complex, far away from any prying, curious eyes, who may wrongly interpret his leaking nose and red-rimmed eyes.

The vending machine waits, patiently, for Kei to make his choice. And it’s there, in between Kei’s second sip of the sickeningly sweet orange juice drink, that Suna appears beside him. “Good game,” he says, in lieu of a proper greeting — because when has he ever? — and Kei almost hurls the can at him.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were stalking me,” is Kei’s response, turning slightly to wipe at his eyes — it’s the sweat — before facing Suna again. “Are you here to insult me again?”

“I literally just complimented you,” there’s little inflection in the way that Suna speaks, as if emoting is beneath him. Then he says, almost like an after-thought, “I’m in the city for try-outs.”

“Try-outs?” Kei winces at how curious he sounds.

"For the V-League," Suna answers, with as much enthusiasm as he has with everything else that he does. "There are a few teams recruiting in Tokyo."

" You are going to go pro?" Kei doesn't mean to sound as incredulous as he does. But it’s bizarre — the thought of this person standing before him, a masterful blocker and spiker for sure, but ordinary, still ordinary , playing beside monsters like the Dumb & Dumber duo or a shining star that sucked up all the light in its orbit like Bokuto.

There’s nothing holding you back from trying, whispers a voice — not his conscience — a conversation he’s had, a while ago, with someone he thought had been important, who maybe still is important, which Kei has buried in his past. You don’t have to be embarrassed to set volleyball as a goal.

"I don't see why not," there's a steely undercurrent to Suna's words; Kei recognises a touched nerve when he hears one, decides to say nothing, wonders if he should apologise. But all Suna does is to reach past Kei to pop in a few coins into the vending machine and makes his choice for a terribly fizzy drink. The can is dispensed with a clatter.

Suna's crouching down to retrieve his drink, when he turns back up to look at Kei, "If you like doing something, there's no reason why you should give it up."

“R — right.”

“Anyway,” Suna says, straightening up and opening the can with a satisfying pop! “You looked like you had fun today. It was much better than last year’s anyway.” He says the last sentence with a smirk, clearly still relishing the victory.

“Geez, I was just kidding,” Suna cuts in quickly, before Kei can get another word in. He waves lazily, already spinning on his heel to head back to wherever he’d come from, “I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” Kei echoes; his gaze wandering back to the match going on in centre-court. The ball arcs high, back-lit by the bright stadium lights, hangs in mid-air, full of possibilities.

There’s no reason why you should give it up.

Kei wonders, a thought experiment, really, how hard it’d be to balance university course work with a competitive sport.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Kei looks up from his fingers, twisted together in the only show of his nerves, to see a familiar face in front of him. 

He should have expected this, honestly; he’d heard through the grape-vine — or rather, the recently created group-chat with Bokuto, Kuroo and Akaashi that buzzed constantly due to the two older boys, Akaashi had texted him before, you won’t mind being in it now, with Kuroo-san, would you? They’ve been wanting to add you for ages — that Suna had been recruited to join the EJP Raijin.

In an attempt to save some money, Kei had taken the overnight bus down from Miyagi to Nagano; and despite the fluorescent yellow travel pillow that Hinata gifted him for Christmas, his neck was aching from it.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Suna continues, with a smirk that’s slowly stretching across his face. “I’d think you’re stalking me.”

Despite this, he seats himself down on the floor, next to Kei. The other players around them — the ones that are in the same boat as Kei, the ones trying to go pro , it’s strange to group himself amongst them, but here he is, in this gym, with his name tagged onto the back of his sports jersey — dart looks at them, their eyes lingering on the EJP track jacket that Suna has on.

Their gazes are itchy against Kei’s skin; he can almost hear Yamaguchi praising him when instead of choosing to glare back, Kei leans downwards into a deeper stretch. He asks, “Are you sure you should be seen fraternising with the lower-class?”

Suna lets out an unexpected bark of laughter. “Are you, now?” he says, teasingly, almost gently. Perhaps it’s the nature of their interactions, always coming off a high of an intense match, but it occurs to Kei that this is possibly the first non-antagonistic conversation they’d had in the almost four years they’ve known each other.

But before Kei can reply, the coach’s whistle rings through the air. Suna’s quick to move, on his feet in a flash. He extends a hand out to Kei, “Good luck. Hope to see you on the team.”

“Yeah,” Kei says, hesitates for a moment before accepting Suna’s help to stand to his feet. His fingers are warm against Kei’s palm, cold with more nerves than he’d care to admit, “Thank you.”

Kei leaves that day, with a rejection that smarts more than he thought it would have and a new number in his phone.

From Suna-san:
Sorry to hear about the results

It’s alright
Guess you were right that I’ve shit spikes

Sorry
That was uncalled for

From Suna-san:
Lol
It’s fine
If you’re in Nagano for longer, we can have lunch tomorrow

I’m taking the evening bus back

From Suna-san:
Oh
Another time then?

Sure

From Suna-san:
Cool

Many other sports stadiums to stalk me in

From Suna-san:
Better make sure you join a team then

Of course

Kei almost regrets texting the group chat, after his phone lights up with an embarrassing amount of crying emojis that Yamaguchi and Hinata spam him with, after he tersely informs the others of the results of his selection.

That is, that he’d been accepted as a member in the Sendai Frogs.

It’s 17 minutes after and the emojis are still pouring in; his finger hovers over the Leave Chat button, only to remember that the last time he’d left the group chat, Yamaguchi had called him up almost immediately to convey his utmost disappointment in his best friend, because surely, Tsukki, you’re not as lame as to leave the chat again, are you?

Instead, Kei moves to close the chat window when a single thumbs up emoji pops up, with the King’s name tagged to it — as if words were beneath him to send. Kei takes in a deep breath and lets it whistle out through his teeth. 

(They find out a few weeks later that someone had swapped Kageyama’s keyboard to only emojis and the boy hadn’t figured out — or couldn’t be bothered to figure out — how to swap it back. This realisation had only surfaced when Yachi noticed that the King had only been communicating in emojis for an unusually long time.)

From Kuroo-san:
tsukki!
just wanted to congratulate you
i mean, outside of the chat
didn’t want to interrupt bo’s stream of crying texts
he seemed like he was on a roll

I’m actually getting pretty worried about Bokuto-san
This meltdown seems worse than when Akaashi-san said he made the Dean’s List

From Kuroo-san:
our owl friend does have a lot of emotions doesn’t he

but anyway
i always knew you’d make it!

I don’t think most people would say joining the Sendai Frogs means ‘making it’

But thank you
I mean it
Not just for this
But you know
Everything

From Kuroo-san:
i know
anytime
what are friends for!

From Suna-san:
Heard the news from Atsumu
Congrats
Sendai’s lucky to have you

Lol
Am I worthy of V1-level gossip?

From Suna-san:
Definitely
Especially if Atsumu keeps whining about his spiker keeps bragging about how his disciple’s going to stuff him

Sounds like Bokuto-san’s giving Atsumu-san a run for his money

From Suna-san:
Finally someone’s giving that loser a taste of his own medicine

2016

Time passes, and then some more.

Kei settles into a groove of university work and volleyball practice. He sinks into bed, brain buzzing from classes and limbs aching from training, but it’s a good sort of tired.

So much for, it’s just a club. It’s just a dumb sport.

He wonders if he should tell Kuroo this. Would it be weird? It’s not that they haven’t been texting, well, at least interacting in their group chat; and the sticky matter of the past has been left firmly in where it belongs (deep deep in the past, far away from the embarrassment that tinges Kei’s cheeks warm). Besides, whatever happened has fizzled out into just a deep, platonic respect for the older boy, albeit with a tinge of awkwardness at how his teenage self had behaved. 

But before he can make up his mind, his phone lights up with another text — 

From Suna-san:
Hey
The frogs are coming over for a match?

Maybe
The manager’s trying to arrange it

From Suna-san:
Cool
Would be neat to play against you again

So you can tell me I suck once again?

From Suna-san:
I’ve an easy solution for u
Just don’t suck lol

Thanks for the brilliant advice

From Suna-san:
Np

23 Nov

From Suna-san:
Cool
Just letting u know
We have a solid defence

Wow
I’m so scared

From Suna-san:
You better be

See you then

From Suna-san:
Looking forward to it

The Sendai Frogs lose the practice match. 

It’s not surprising, given that they are a V2-league team. But well, the omnivorous crow within Kei is cawing for vengeance, when the final ball hurtles through his open arms and lands solidly in their court. He’d been keeping track of it during the game, of course, but he turns sharply towards the scoreboard, to be sure of the final score.

Three sets. 25 - 20. 25 - 27. 25 - 23.

When he turns back to the court, he sees Suna, from across the net. His hair is damp with sweat, chest rising and falling with the exertion of the match, yet his face betrays as little as ever. Then, as if sensing Kei’s gaze on him, there’s the smallest twitch of his lips, a suggestion of a smirk.

“Lunch?” Suna mouths the question, or at least, something to the effect; as their teams bow towards each other, calling an end to the friendly match.

Kei doesn’t answer.

“You’re studying at the same time too?” 

Based on the approximately five conversations that Kei has had with Suna, this is the most surprised that he’s ever heard the older player sound. It should be a compliment. After all, not everyone can boast being a sophomore in university with a 3.9 GPA while also being a semi-pro player.

Yet — “Yeah, you’ve got a problem with that?”  

Suna laughs, another first, as far as Kei can remember. He raises both hands in surrender, “No, I’m just saying. That’s impressive.”

“Well, we can’t all go pro like you,” Kei says, with more heat than he intends, especially in the face of a compliment.

“ Yet , you mean.” Suna says, around a mouthful of ramen, not rising to the bait of Kei’s challenge. He takes a loud slurp of the broth, before changing the subject, “The Frogs seem to be doing pretty well lately.”

“It’ll take a while for us to even make it into Division 1.”

“Still a good match today.”

“You fielded some of your B-team members today, didn’t you?”

“Even so,” Suna answers lightly.

“Don’t patronise me,” Kei shoots back.

“Anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly pessimistic?”

“I prefer the term realistic.”

“Realistic then,” Suna lets out a cross between a huff and a laugh. “Sometimes, it’s good to dream a little bigger.”

It’s an unexpected statement to hear from Suna, and the surprise must show on Kei’s face because the older player pauses, then asks, “What?”

“I didn’t peg you for someone who’d say something like that, to be honest.”

“Well, as realistic as you want to be, it shouldn’t be overly limiting. Where’s the fun in that?” Suna shrugs, like he hadn’t just contradicted the entire lens Kei had been viewing him through. The change in perspective shouldn’t be as discomfiting as it is — particularly given how honestly little they’ve interacted with each other — yet Kei can’t help but feel a prickle of something.

He brushes it aside to ask, “So then, Suna-san, what are you aiming for?”

“The Olympics,” Suna says, all matter-of-fact.

Kei almost chokes on the piece of char siu he’d been chewing. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Suna. He raises an eyebrow, unimpressed by Kei’s reaction, “Your friend’s already done it. Why not us?”

Because he’s the King is the answer that’s on the tip of Kei’s tongue, but he holds it back. It sours in his mouth, tastes so foul that he wants to spit it back out, along with the half-chewed piece of meat.

Suna must see something on his face because he just smiles, gently, as if he knows what Kei had wanted to say. “Just think about it,” he says, almost cajoling. “But not too hard. I’m sure that brain of yours already works overtime.”

Kei thinks about it that night. He really doesn’t know what he wants. But he knows he doesn’t want to stop playing. It’s stupid, but he doesn’t. And if that road takes him to a V1-team, or even — hah! — the Olympics, then well, so it’ll take him.

You know that if you join the National Team, you’ll probably have to be teammates with Atsumu-san again
It’s inevitable that a monster like him would be on the team

From Suna-san:
That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make
So
Wanna join me?

Good luck Suna-san

2017

From Suna-san:
Try food

What?

From Suna-san:
Heard you’re having problems with your new teammate
Domesticated the Miya-twins with their favourite snacks
Fool-proof solution

Somehow I don’t think Kyotani-san will take kindly to the suggestion that he has to be domesticated
Also I see that you’re still gossiping about us lower beings

From Suna-san:
What can I say
Gossip is gossip

What advice do you have for taming someone with endless enthusiasm

From Suna-san:
Didn’t you have the tangerine to deal with in highschool?

I can’t believe I’m saying it
Kogane is about a million times worse

From Suna-san:
Lmao
Sucks to be u

From Suna-san:
Hey
Are you going to be in town this weekend?
Coming down for a short trip with my sister

No, sorry
I’m in Miyagi this weekend

From Suna-san:
Ah damn
Another time then

At least u finally have time to go home
This semester sounded crazy for you

Yeah
Glad for a break
I’m sure you’ll have fun without me

From Suna-san:
I’ll try my best :’)

Congrats on the win today
Caught the end of the match
That spike was disgusting

From Suna-san:
You always know the right words to my heart

You won’t be saying that when I finally learn how to stuff it

From Suna-san:
Bring it on

2018

Good luck for the match today
You’re playing against Hiroshima after, aren’t you?

From Suna-san:
You’re coming?
Oh yeah of course you are
Excited about the reunion?

Eh
Could think of way better things to do with my time

From Suna-san:
Sure
I better not hear about how you sobbed ur eyes out later

You need to find better things to gossip about

From Suna-san:
Atsumu’s been blowing up our chat about this match
How it’ll prove that he’s the better setter
Etc etc

Believe me
It can’t be worse than watching the two idiots flirt
I can’t decide who I want to see victorious

From Suna-san:
Hah

I’m not sure if I can stay for your match
Yamaguchi’s making us meet up with Dumb & Dumber after

From Suna-san:
It’s alright
Dinner after?

Sure you won’t be celebrating the victory with your team?

From Suna-san:
Lmao thanks
Drinks then
Although we need to get u something new
Kahlua and milk is like drinking with an old person

Blocking you now

“Here you go,” Suna reaches over from behind to place Kei’s drink in front of him. He’d gallantly volunteered to go to the bar to pick up their orders, although hadn’t held back the eyeroll when Kei had insisted on his usual order. “But I’m not buying the next round if you continue to drink like a grandpa.”

“I didn’t ask you to get this round,” Kei retorts, as he takes a pointed sip of his drink. He offers the glass to the older player, who declines it with a grimace. “Suit yourself.”

It’s the alcohol that sends a rush of warmth through Kei’s veins, and not the amused smile that Suna shoots him. There’s nothing particularly special about this outing, after all — just two people ( friends , Kei would admit, if pressed) hanging out, after having not met each other for a while.

Kei takes another sip, a bigger gulp, of his cocktail.

“So,” Suna says, leaning in — only because the music’s playing rather loudly in the bar they’re in — just to be better heard, “What was it like watching the match?”

“Infuriating,” is the first word that comes to Kei’s mind, and that elicits a bark of laughter from Suna. “They disgust me.”

“And?” There’s a knowing smile on Suna’s face that has Kei taking another huge sip of his drink just to ignore.

“And,” Kei says, each word grudging, like it pains him to say so, much to the twinkling eyed-amusement of the person sitting opposite him, “I can’t wait to step on court for training again.”

 Suna shifts and bumps his knees against Kei’s gently, “My thoughts exactly.”

Kei reaches for another pull of his drink, only to realise he’s already hit the bottom of the cup.

2019

From Suna-san:
Camp dates are out
You coming?

I’ll see you there

In all honesty, Kei hadn’t expected to receive an invitation to the training camp. He’d expected his coach to crack a smile and declare it’s all a joke, after he’d told him at training. But no, the invitation is real — We are pleased to invite you to our annual training camp, where the first round of selections for the National Team will take place — and now, Kei’s standing in front of the gymnasium doors, feeling like a chump for having sweaty palms.

He takes in a breath, it’s just a club, isn’t it? but the saying has long lost its meaning, before stepping in.

The gulf makes itself evidently clear on the first day of training — from the way he takes a few more minutes to properly get into a groove of a set or the furrowed brows of the coach as they take in his stance. But there’s no time to feel any pity; the briefest flash of I feel like an imposter here gets buried under the sprints and drills they’re running themselves ragged through.

Yet, this gulf cracks wide open at night, when instead of resting in the rec rooms of the dorm, Kei tucks himself in the reading room, on the second floor. It’s the furthest room from the living room and rec room area; and a few seconds later, when a long bang and equally loud cackling sounds off from below, it’s clear that this was a strategic choice, given the dorm’s lack of proper sound insulation.

“I’m almost afraid to see what happens when your tangerine friend teams up with Komori,” Suna says, by way of greeting. Kei turns away from his laptop screen, where he’d been going through museum emails received over the day, to see Suna sliding into the room. There’s another loud bang from below, then exuberant cheering, proving that having Hinata, Komori and Hoshiumi stay in the same place of residence had been a very bad call of judgement made on the organiser’s part.

Kei suppresses a sigh as Suna takes a look at his screen, then lets out a low whistle, “You’re doing work?”

“We can’t all live off volleyball,” Kei answers, without any real bite to his words; the ends of Suna’s lips curve upwards, as he takes a seat beside Kei. They sit quietly for a long while — the silence only filled with the tapping of Kei’s fingers against the keyboard; the occasional snigger from Suna, as he comes across a particularly funny post on his phone.

“Sure you don’t want to hang out with the fun crowd downstairs instead?” Kei asks dryly, after a while. He’s whittled down his inbox to just 17 unread emails, after an hour’s work, but he’s not looking forward to tackling the balance.

Suna looks up from his phone, eyes glimmering with amusement, “Nah, this is the quietest spot in the dorm.”

He waits a beat, then continues, casually, “Besides, you look like you could use some company.”

Kei pauses — a dignified pause, he’s sure — before turning back to his work. The heat climbing up towards his face is just leftover warmth from the physical exertion of the day, nothing more.

Hinata’s the one who lets Kei (he’s not brooding — he’d known that making into the National Team had been pretty much impossible, given that he’d been one of the only V2 players there as well) know that Suna’s made the team. 

Kei pauses for just a miniscule second to let the waves of jealousy crash over him before he does the mature thing of not being a sulky baby (he’s not sulking either) and texting the older player.

Congrats

From Suna-san:
Yeah, thanks
And sorry

It’s fine
It was a long shot anyway

From Suna-san:
Doesn’t mean you can’t feel hurt about it

Anyway
One step away
The Olympics is next, huh?

From Suna-san:
Hopefully

Didn’t realise they were choosing the Olympic team so early until Hinata mentioned it
Good luck!

From Suna-san:
Thanks
I’m nervous
We’ll see

You’ll be fine

From Suna-san:
Such reassuring words
I’m alright now!

…

From Suna-san:
Jk
Thanks again lmao

From Suna-san:
You probably heard from ur orange friend

How are you feeling?

From Suna-san:
Shitty
But oh well

I’m passing by Nagano this weekend
Dinner?

From Suna-san:
Sounds good

My treat
From one reject to another

From Suna-san:
Sounds even better

They go to a pub that Suna’s shown Kei to before — and this time, to commiserate with the older player, Kei agrees to getting a pint of beer instead of his usual cocktail order. Well, that, on top of another few drinks, that have them sitting a little closer together by the end of it.

“Don’t want to sound terrible whining about it in front of you,” Suna says, the alcohol a little heavy in his words. He makes a vague gesture with his hand, before settling it back down on the countertop, almost beside where Kei’s hand is resting. “Oh well.”

“We still have next time,” Kei says; his eyes, fixed on the distance between their hands, that tiny miniscule of gap between their pinkies. It’s the slosh of alcohol that’s narrowing his vision, but he doesn’t move his hand.

And despite the many more orders of drinks and snacks that flow across the table for the rest of the evening, their hands remain still, separated across the tiniest divide.

2020

From Suna-san:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRfSD34SDF12sd4rg
1:07
You can try doing that next time you spike
May give u more power

Wow
Is volleyball the only thing you talk to me about?

From Suna-san:
Ok
Fine
Tell me about dinosaurs
What new species did you discover today
Professor Tsukishima

No

[ Photo attached: A brightly lit selfie that’s so expertly taken it couldn’t have been snapped by Kei. There are two faces in frame, both smiling wide smiles: Kei and Suna’s sister, who’s waving at the camera as well.]
Your sis says hi

From Suna-san:
Wtf
When did you even meet her??

So much gossip…
So much blackmail material…
I see why you like this now

There’s nowhere else anyone would be during the Olympics than Tokyo itself. Knowing how expensive hotels would be during this period, Akaashi generously offers Kei his home to crash in; and he hears that Suna’s camping out in Osamu’s home as well. 

It’s unplanned, kind of, how they decide to meet at a park halfway in between their two host’s house. Perhaps it’s just serendipity how they stumble upon a volleyball court while they’re ambling through the park; how Suna had brought along a volleyball with him, just for the heck of it.

The court’s surprisingly empty. Maybe everyone else is at home, glued to their screens, cheering for their athletes. There isn’t much they can do, being just two people. “Set to me?” Suna asks; and Kei just shrugs off his backpack, and leaves it on the floor as his answer.

It’s funny to see Suna on the same side of the net as he is; they’ve been separated across the court, ever since their first meeting.

Kei’s gotten better at setting — of course he has, it’s part of the many drills that they do as part of the Frogs training — and the ball feels light against his fingertips as he sends it up towards Suna. The older player leaps into the air, seems to be hovering suspended for a moment, and then whip-fast twists his torso sideways and slams the ball downwards in a sharp, powerful spike.

“Nice,” Suna says.

“Seemed a bit short.”

“Definitely better than the first time I saw you anyway,” Suna teases.

“Wow, is that the thanks I get for accompanying you today?” Kei rolls his eyes, even as he strides across the court to pick up the stray ball.

“Is it my fault that all my friends are playing at Ariake Arena, right now?” Suna jokes. Kei hasn’t spent 24 years of his life honing his mastery in deflection, not to notice the slight tinge of self-pity underneath Suna’s otherwise impassive tone.

“Luckily, in four years, you’ll be playing alongside them as well,” Kei says.

“And you?” Suna asks, taking a step towards him. His lips are curved upwards in a teasing smile, “Where will you be?”

Kei looks at him, pauses. He lets himself dream, for just the slightest moment; and it flashes, so vividly real in his mind. “Me?”

Kei smiles, feels it expand in his chest, rush downwards to the ends of his toes, every part of his being. “I’ll be right alongside you.”