summary: Your parents work for the Ushijimas, and a chance encounter during a visit to the Ushijima estate in your childhood changes your life forever.
notes: 13.2k words, author's notes, commissioned by @lumissandbox, childhood friends, light angst with a happy ending, fluff, class differences
You’re nine years old when you’re finally old enough to accompany your parents on their work trips to the Ushijima estate. Kaasan is a household servant who handles everything from washing the laundry to dusting the delicate ornaments in the living room, and Tousan is a handyman who does everything from managing the garden to repairing anything that breaks down in the house. They’ve both worked for the Ushijimas for a long, long time, since before you were born.
“It’s an honor to work for an esteemed family like them,” your mother would say. “And our family has done so for a long time.”
Needless to say, your curiosity is spiked about Ushijima Wakatoshi before you’ve even met him, what with all the stories you’ve heard. He’s the cherished heir, someone who does well in school and is perfectly obedient to his mother and grandmother, the picture of filial piety. And, to top it off, he’s a one-of-a-kind volleyball genius, winning junior tournaments and taking private lessons with top coaches.
Because he does so well, Kaasan loves bringing him up as an example against your wild ways, the mud you always track into the entryway and the dirty shoes you leave in the cupboard, your fluctuating grades which are as turbulent as the swell and dip of ocean waves (you do well in school when you’re not falling asleep during tests), and the fact you’re never in bed when you’re supposed to be and you always drop bits of rice from your chopsticks during dinner.
“Ushijima-kun always eats with such good manners. He always goes to bed on time, and never complains. He always remembers to wipe his shoes before coming in,” your mother would say. “You should try to be more like him.”
Ushijima Wakatoshi, as far as you’re concerned, is a mythical creature of some sort, a perfect child that can’t possibly exist in the real world. He’s setting unfair standards for the rest of the kids with his actions, and you’re positively tired of being compared to him.
Which is why, on the first day you’re old enough to accompany your parents and they no longer decide to shuffle you off to Obaachan’s house when they’re too busy to look after you, you decide to look for this mythical creature. He can’t really be that great, can he? You’re going to prove firsthand that he’s not; there has to be something that he messes up on. Maybe he forgets to wipe his mouth after eating, or he forgets to brush his teeth in the morning. Something like that, that you can hold up to your parents to prove that even Ushijima Wakatoshi messes up.
You’re meant to stay quietly away from the main household and to stay where your parents are working, after Kaasan repeatedly warns you multiple times to be on your best behavior, to be quiet and bow respectfully to anyone you see, and to use -san and not -kun or -chan or whatever silly nickname you want to bestow on a stranger.
Still, as soon as they’re off managing whatever tasks they’ve been assigned to, you immediately slide open a door and start wandering. The Ushijimas have a traditional house, all wood beams and shoji doors and tatami mats, with a fenced-off courtyard in the middle with a pond, a cluster of budding flowers, and a rock garden your father has to rake every day.
Even the decorations are tasteful, simple vases set on glass tables or ink brush paintings on the walls. It all screams wealth, but each room feels strangely lonely. Less lived in, and more for decoration and showing off to guests. It’s a far cry from your own cluttered home, the strings of drying laundry on the porch and the piles of books in the living room, the smell of Kaasan’s cooking wafting from the kitchen.
You’ve visited each branch of the house at least once, careful to bow to anyone you see, chirping out the appropriate greetings (you know how to be polite! If only Kaasan would trust you!) and haven’t seen Ushijima Wakatoshi at all. Maybe he’s away practicing tea ceremony manners, or reading some book that’s way above his grade level just to show off, or whatever it is that rich kids like him like to do in their free time.
With a huff, you head back down to the courtyard, ready to while away the time looking for worms and bugs, or playing pretend that the entire courtyard is the ocean and you’re a fish trying to survive in the brutal waters—when you spot a tuft of dark green hair crouched among the flowers.
They’re sunflowers, you realize on closer inspection, heavy green heads still tightly curled like a closed fist, as if they were too shy to bloom. The stems are long and reedy, and the boy isn’t even doing anything, just crouching in front of them, as if he’s trying to blend in among them forever and become a flower himself.
“Hi!” you chirp, wandering up the boy. He blinks up owlishly at you. He has a strangely solemn expression, one that makes him look disconcertingly mature, even with his chubby cheeks and thick eyebrows. He must be the kid of another worker here, just like you.
“Hello,” he says.
“What’re you doing here?” you say. “Do you like flowers?”
“They’re nice,” he says.
“So are you here because you like them?” You crouch right next to him. At this angle, the sunflowers are taller than you, and you squint up, a sky of green leaves and waving heads, arching right over you. “Or are you looking for bugs?”
“Bugs?” the boy says.
“Yeah! Or worms! They’re really cool, aren’t they?” What, has this boy never known the joys of worm-hunting? You dig in the dirt, moving clods of moist soil as carefully as you can so you don’t disturb the flowers until you find a wriggling pink creature, attempting to burrow further down. You pluck it up in your dirty palms and thrust it in the boy’s face.
“This is a worm,” the boy says. He’s looking at it cross-eyed, frowning. “Why did you dig it up?”
“Because it’s fun? And they feel so slimy! Here. Take it!” You take the boy’s hand and smooth it out, placing the worm on his outstretched palm.
“But the worm belongs in the dirt. It doesn’t want to be here,” the boy says. However, he’s still watching it stretch across his palm, without making any move to fling it back.
“Well, that’s why we put them back when we’re done! When it rains, I always try to throw them back into the grass. It gets so sad when they dry up, right?”
“I suppose so,” he says, carefully placing the worm back into the dirt and watching it wriggle deeper down to return to its wormy little home. He pats the clods of dirt back into place, carefully smoothing them out with his fingers.
“The flowers are pretty,” you say after a while.
“Otousan helped plant them,” he says. “But if you want to dig for worms, then you shouldn’t do it here.”
His dad must be the other gardener, then. You wrap your arms around your knees, sneaking another glance at the boy and his serious face. “Eh… does that mean you don’t want to look for worms? We can look for other bugs.”
“I did not say that. I simply said we should not look for bugs here, where we might disturb the flowers,” he says. “You’re an odd person. Okaasan has told me it’s not good to play in the dirt.”
“Well, you’re also weird,” you counter. “You talk super stiff and formal! Like you’re a grown-up. You’ve really never played in the dirt before?”
“Is that a bad thing?” he says.
“Nah, it just means we’re both weird. If you’ve never really played in the dirt, come on! I’ll show you how to! The dirt is really fun. Everyone should play in it at least once.” You stand, stretching, and hold out your hand to the boy. After a second of staring, he carefully takes your muddy hand into his, letting you pull him up.
For the next most pleasant half hour of your life, you traipse around the garden with the boy. The two of you look for ladybugs and grasshoppers, and you carefully cup them in your hands to show him before they fly up into the air or jump out of your hand. You find the most pretty rocks you can in the rock garden, plucking up smooth white stones as round as eggs. You peer down into the koi pond, watching the glubbing faces of the fishes staring back as you stick your tongue out at them.
“Are you having fun?” he asks you.
“I’m having a lot of fun! Why wouldn’t I be? We’re friends,” you say.
“We’re friends,” he murmurs. There’s a small, awkward smile blooming across his face, as hesitant and gentle as one of the budding sunflowers in the garden.
Your new friend is a little odd and clumsy, but he follows along obediently, even when you ask him to pretend to be fishes with you and he asks what kind he should be, and if he was meant to be a saltwater or freshwater species. There’s something fun even about his adult-like mannerisms, the way he asks questions and approaches the world.
“I can’t believe you’ve never played in the dirt, though,” you say, during a momentary break, when the two of you are spread out on the grass. Well, you’re lying on the grass, and your friend is sitting in a perfect cross-legged position. “That’s kinda weird for a gardener’s son.”
The boy blinks at you, slow and owlish once again. “My father is not a gardener here.”
“Eh?”
And then, from the open door leading out of the courtyard, Kaasan calls your name with a scandalized shout. “What are you doing? And why is—Ushijima-kun?” she says, and your stomach drops. You turn to the boy in slow motion, as if you’re trapped in a horror movie and the monster is looming just behind you, an inescapable presence.
“I am Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the boy says, giving you a perfectly neat and polite bow. “And my father used to live here. It is just my mother and grandmother and I now. This is our estate.”
—
After a furious bit of scolding from Kaasan for dragging Ushijima out to play in the dirt and getting both of your clothes dirty, you’re certain you’re never going to be invited back to their estate again. Kaasan apologizes to his mother and grandmother for so long it gives you a headache, and makes you bow and apologize, too, even though his mother laughs it off and says it’s fine. His grandmother, though, didn’t say a word the entire time, and you shrink under her stare.
Still, it’s the greatest shock you’ve ever experienced. The young heir you’ve heard so much about is the friend you enjoyed such a pleasant afternoon with. You even caught the best and fattest bugs to share with him, and you wouldn’t have done that if you knew who he really was! Well. Maybe you still would have. Ushijima Wakatoshi is nothing like you expected, and it’s hard to wrap your head around the mythical creature your mother talks about and the Ushijima you know.
Only a few days later, while you’re moping on your bed because you’re technically semi-grounded and neither Kaasan nor Tousan plan on bringing you to the Ushijima residence, Kaasan barges into your room, letting the door swing open without knocking. She always does that, even though she complains when you do the same, and then complains more when you point out the double standard.
Kaasan takes a deep breath, then lets it out. Her arms are folded tightly, her lips pressed together. She doesn’t look mad, though. Just a little worried. “Do you remember Ushijima-kun?”
“It’s not like I can forget him,” you grumble, poking at the threading on your bedspread with your nail.
“Well, Ushijima-kun has asked for you to come visit the estate again. He enjoyed your company, and after talking it over with Ushijima-san, we’ve agreed that you can be his playmate,” she says. “But! I need you to listen to me. You have to be careful around Ushijima-kun, all right?”
“I’m always careful,” you say.
“I’m serious,” Kaasan says. Her voice carries a low intensity, and it’s different from her usual frazzled or exhausted tone when she’s lecturing you. She’s worried, really worried, and at the change in her voice, you sit up straight, staring straight into her eyes. “You and Ushijima-kun are going to be friends, but you can never forget that the two of you live in different worlds. Never, ever forget that. Can you promise me?”
You nod, a slow, sweeping motion. There’s a weird feeling in your chest. You can’t quite name it yet, but it’s distinctly uncomfortable, the knowledge that Ushijima, a boy your age, could make Kaasan so apprehensive. It’s wrong, somehow, for a kid to wield that sort of power over an adult, especially one as tough as Kaasan.
“I promise,” you say. It’s the only thing you can say. “I promise I’ll never forget.”
You’re shuffled to Ushijima’s home the next morning alongside your parents, staring out the window as his house comes into view. You’re struck again by how big it is, how imposing. It could easily swallow your entire house whole, and you’re not even sure if Ushijima even uses all the rooms you wandered through last time. What’s the point of a room you can’t even use, anyways?
This time, Kaasan ushers you through the main house and drops you off in a stuffy guest room. Ushijima is already waiting there, legs folded under him in a proper sitting position, his back so straight you could probably align it with a ruler, with a collection of dry cookies and warm tea placed in front of him.
“Be good. I’ll come get you when I’m done,” Kaasan whispers.
You settle uncomfortably in front of Ushijima, who simply pushes the plate of cookies towards you.
“Hello,” he says. “How was your journey here?”
You poke at a cookie. It crumbles under your touch, and when you place it in your mouth, a shower of crumbs rains from your mouth as you chew and talk. “It was fine. How are you?”
“I’m doing well.” A pause. “Thank you for coming over again. I enjoyed playing with you.”
You finish chewing and swallow. You then pick up a cup of tea and guzzle it down as Ushijima watches politely. You want to listen to Kaasan and be as polite as you can, but you’re going to die of boredom if you have to keep acting like this.
“Want to go play in the garden and look at bugs?” you ask. Surely that can’t be against the rules, especially if you make sure not to get any mud on your clothes.
Ushijima blinks owlishly at you. Once, twice. “All right,” he says.
“Yay! Let’s go, Waka-chan!”
“Waka-chan?”
“That’s my nickname for you,” you say unrepentantly, and jump out of your seat.
The two of you spend a successful afternoon looking at bugs, and then catching them when you’re tired of just looking. You think you saw Ushijima smiling once or twice, especially when you shoved your hands in his face to show him a chirping cricket, beaming proudly at your accomplishments. But it’s awfully hard to tell when he’s smiling or not, so maybe you were wrong.
Your knees are a little muddy by the end of your adventures, and Kaasan narrows her eyes when she sees you, because she always has a sixth sense for when you do things you shouldn’t, but Ushijima only says, “See you tomorrow,” and when you excitedly wave at him before you leave, he gives a small wave back.
—
Your playdates with Ushijima falls into a routine after that. Since your parents spend most of their time at the Ushijima estate, they bring you along with them whenever they travel to work, and so you end up spending most of your days with Ushijima. From the early hours of the morning until your parents return home in the evening, it’s a summer schedule of nonstop Ushijima Wakatoshi.
It’s not too bad, though. After your initial impressions, you decide you like him. He’s a little quiet and weird, and he’s definitely more put-together than you are, but he always follows you around. Whenever you suggest a game, he’s always willing to try anything at least once.
He’s just another elementary schooler like you, and you like making new friends. Besides, it must be boring being by himself in such a large estate, with no one to talk to but other adults. No wonder his speech is so formal.
During that summer, you draw chalk outlines on the sidewalk outside until your hands are covered in a fine rainbow dust, jump rope and shoot plastic water guns, or just play whatever nonsensical game you want to in the garden, sunflowers waving around you, pretending to be frogs or pirates or whatever creature has caught your attention that day.
There is one game that Ushijima seems to like in particular, that he always gravitates back to: volleyball. If you don’t have any suggestions for the day, then Ushijima pulls out a worn white ball, scuffed and faded from repeated use, before you can offer up a different game. Ushijima handles it like it’s an old friend, with a care and reverence you’ve never seen him treat anything else.
You’ve played a little volleyball during gym class in your local elementary school, but Ushijima moves like a professional. He knows the names of all the positions on court, the strategies, and hits the ball so hard it makes your hands hurt when you try to receive it. He’s always lecturing you on proper posture, and you might have hated it if it wasn’t for the way he looked, solemn and focused, and the way, as rare and precious as a miracle, he would smile.
“Why do you like volleyball so much, Waka-kun?” you ask. You’re passing the ball back and forth in an easy rally, though on occasion it’ll bounce off your arm or Ushijima will fail to send it back to you properly, and you’ll have to chase after it.
“Because it’s fun,” he tells you seriously, as if he’s a grown-up discussing the economy. “And because of Otousan.”
“Your father?”
“Yes,” Ushijima says. “Ah.” The volleyball bounces off his arm and rolls towards the patch of sunflowers. Ushijima runs after it, and you follow.
“Otousan taught me how to play. He used to play as well,” Ushijima says, crouching down to pick up the volleyball. You crouch down next to him. Neither of you move to stand up right away.
The sunflowers have finally bloomed, unfurling bright yellow petals. They sway gently overhead, suffusing the air with a faint golden light, shielding the two of you from the rest of the world. For a few moments, the two of you stay silent, watching the flowers move overhead.
“He also planted these flowers before he left,” Ushijima says.
“They’re pretty. Do you like them?”
“I like them,” he says. “But there is something he said I don’t like. He told me that if I missed him, I should look at these flowers.”
Maybe that was why, the first day you saw him, Ushijima had been crouched in the garden. Was he thinking about his father?
You draw your knees closer to your chest, resting your chin against them. Ushijima is watching the flowers, but you’re watching him. He’s like a sunflower himself, tall and strong, with a steady gaze. There’s a faint furrow on his forehead, his eyebrows drawn together like two lost furry caterpillars, and you press one finger firm against the wrinkle.
He turns to you, confused, and you stick your tongue out at him. After a beat, he sticks his tongue back out at you, mirroring your gesture. It pleases you more than it should. “You don’t want to just look at the sunflowers, do you?”
“The sunflowers are not Otousan,” he says simply. “And he does not contact us often.”
“Don’t you call him, though?”
“I do not.”
“Why not?” you press.
“I don’t want to bother him,” he says. “He lives in America now.”
“But Waka-chan,” you say. “Aren’t you lonely?”
Ushijima frowns at your words. He speaks slowly, as if he’s taking the time to process his thoughts. “Lonely? I think, when he left, I was. But I’m not anymore.” He’s always giving you the most serious and efficient answers, no matter what your questions might be.
“That’s good,” you say. “But if you ever want to call your dad, we can do it together.” You stick out your pinky at him. “Promise.”
“Okay,” Ushijima says. He slowly curls his pinky around yours. There’s a funny expression on his face, like he doesn’t know whenever to smile or cry, and it looks a little like a budding sunflower. “I promise.”
—
When summer finally comes to an end and school resumes again in fall, you think you might not see Ushijima again. Your arrangement was convenient when you were both on break, after all, and had all the time in the world to see each other. But your lives have diverged once again, because Ushijima goes to a private academy that’s a thirty minute drive away and you attend the local public school that you walk to every morning.
You were just starting to get used to him, too. But your lives could only ever converge in that one perfect moment, when your parents had the time to bring you to his house while they worked, and you were free to spend the time as you pleased. Now, you have to return to your ordinary lives.
So it’s a surprise when, on the weekend after your first week back to school, when you’re getting ready for a day of wandering around the neighborhoods and seeing what plants are still in bloom and if any leaves have started to change color, Kaasan calls you into the kitchen. She’s making onigiri at the counter, apron pulled tightly around her waist, and shaping the rice with expert hands into perfect, fluffy triangles.
“Hi, Kaasan,” you say, arms pulled behind your back, standing on your tiptoes to peer at the filling she’s using. Salmon, pickled plum, and just plain white rice. “I’m not getting into trouble, I promise.”
“That’s not why I called you in here,” she says, then pauses. “And you know it’s suspicious when you tell me that, right? Are you getting into trouble?”
If sneaking into the neighbor’s yards to stare at their flowers up close counts as trouble, then yes. It’s not your fault that the roses are so pretty, though. And the neighbors are rude, which is why you have to sneak in. “No.”
“Right. Well, Ushijima-san has contacted me.”
“Yeah?” Your interest is perked, but you try to act as casually as you can. “She did? Did Waka-chan say anything?”
Kaasan lets out a choked, startled noise at Ushijima’s nickname. It sounds like a dying bird. “Not fully. But she wanted to know if you would be interested in taking volleyball lessons with Ushijima-kun. He asked her if you could attend alongside him.” Kaasan pauses, her hands kneading harder, faster. “He’s never asked for anything like this before.”
“I’d like to play volleyball with Waka-chan,” you say instantly. It doesn’t even take you a second of consideration; you like volleyball, and you like Ushijima, and you like playing volleyball with Ushijima. Ergo, you want to play volleyball with him. Those things just go together in your mind, you and Ushijima and volleyball. Like rice, seaweed, and salmon to make the perfect onigiri.
“All right. I’ll let her know.” Kaasan still hasn’t turned around to face you.
“Kaasan?”
“Hm? What is it?”
You dig one slippered foot into the floor of the kitchen. “Are you mad at something?”
“No, no. I’m not. Unless you’re getting into trouble, in which case I am. It’s just… I’m glad you’re making friends with Ushijima-kun. I didn’t expect the two of you to get along so well. And Ushijima-san is nice enough to offer to pay for your lessons, too. But I don’t want you to take it for granted, all right? Their kindness is appreciated, but we can’t rely on it too much. Tousan and Kaasan can take care of you, too.”
Her words are a little confusing to you. Are volleyball lessons such a big deal? Adults are weird, and Kaasan in particular is always overthinking things. She always keeps the Ushijimas at such a distance and speaks politely to them, despite the fact Kaasan can talk on and on when she runs into her friends at the market. Tousan rarely talks to the Ushijimas whenever he’s on the premises, but then again, Tousan isn’t chatty in general.
“I remember our promise, Kaasan,” you tell her instead. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Okay. That’s good. Now run along, unless you want to help me make onigiri.”
The next day, Tousan has dropped you off in front of a private gym, a behemoth of glass and steel with a fancy, whirring automatic door. You clutch the strings of your knapsack tightly; inside, you’ve packed your worn gym shoes and water bottle, as well as a towel and a few wrapped onigiri from Kaasan as a snack when you get hungry.
“Have fun,” Tousan calls. “I’ll come back later.”
He speeds off, and you’re alone. Somehow, the inside of the gym is more dizzying than the exterior: sleek furniture, the cool hum of an air conditioner, a few potted plants in the corner. It’s almost like you’ve teleported to an alternative universe.
But to your relief, Ushijima is waiting close to the entrance, settled in a chair with his posture as perfect as always, frowning down at a book in his hands.
“Waka-chan!” you say, voice perking up, waving your hands wildly as you approach him. “What’re you reading?”
“A math textbook. I am studying the assigned pages from my tutor for our next session together,” he says. You glance at his book to see a row of complicated equations and numbers swimming across the page.
“Oh. Well, I’m here now, so you should talk with me instead!”
“All right,” Ushijima says. “What should we talk about?”
“We should talk about volleyball,” you say instantly. “Thank you for asking Ushijima-san if we could take lessons together!”
“I wanted to spend more time with you,” he says. “We would not have an opportunity to do so during the school semester.”
“Well, I also like spending time with you,” you say, grinning. Your heart flutters at his words, like wind rustling through petals. Ushijima never says anything he doesn’t mean, and though you’ve gotten better at reading him, it’s still relieving to hear that he feels the same way you do. “And I like playing volleyball with you, too, Waka-chan. But if you’re not careful, I might become an even better player than you!”
There’s a faint smile on Ushijima’s face. “I’d like to see you do that.”
“Ushijima-kun!” An vaguely familiar-looking man in athletic shorts and with a bag slung over his shoulder calls out to the two of you, salt and pepper hair spilling out of the cap on his head. You stare at him as he approaches, but Ushijima simply closes his textbook and puts it away in his bag, standing up to bow at the man. You decide to follow suit, bowing and then sticking out your hand for good measure.
“Hi!” you chirp, introducing yourself by name.
The coach’s eyes wrinkle at the corners as he smiles. His grip is strong and firm, and you can feel the callouses on his palm. “Oh, so you’re the one that Ushijima begged to join his volleyball lessons?”
“I did not beg,” Ushijima says, unruffled. “I asked.”
The coach laughs. “Well, I’m Coach Kasamatsu, and I may not look like it now, but I used to play for the V.League. You know, I really wasn’t interested in coaching, but I knew Ushijima-kun’s father in high school, and when I heard his son was looking for a private coach, I couldn’t say no to an old friend.”
That’s why Coach Kasamatsu looks familiar, despite you never meeting him before now. You must have seen him on television from time to time out of the corner of your eye, when Tousan flips through sports channels to watch on lazy afternoons. Coach Kasamatsu is famous, but he doesn’t feel like it, not with how down-to-earth and approachable he seems, the way he looks you straight in the eye and talks as if you’re an adult.
It’s not the first time you’ve thought this, but Ushijima really lives in a world far apart from yours, one where it’s easy for him to brush elbows with the famous and powerful. You wouldn’t have dreamed of meeting a professional volleyball player on your own, let alone have him teach you how to play, but this is simply an unremarkable aspect of Ushijima’s life.
The volleyball lesson itself lasts for an hour. You and Ushijima run through warm-ups and then basic drills, while Coach Kasamatsu lectures you on the proper form for serving, receiving, and even the way you’re supposed to move around the court. Near the end of the session, he has the two of you practice spikes, and Ushijima lands every hit with a solid connecting swing, the volleyball bouncing so high you think it might have touched the heavens if only the roof didn’t get in its way.
You do your best as well, but you can’t help notice there’s a gap between you and Ushijima. He might make a mistake from time to time, but never as much as you. Then again, you’ve only ever played with him for fun. You’ve never had a real coach before, and any other time you played volleyball, it was for gym class in school.
By the end of your session, you’re sweaty, tired, and a little sore. Ushijima doesn’t look like he’s breathing hard at all, despite the exertion turning his face red. It feels a little unfair somehow.
At the end of the lesson, you’re both waiting in the lobby to be picked up. You swing your legs against your seat, and Ushijima sits with the same posture he did before, when you first walked in.
His ride is the first to arrive, a sleek black car pulling into view. Even this is different from your life; he has someone whose job it is to just drive him and his family around.
“See you next week,” Ushijima says politely. He bows at you, the picture of poise and grace. You wouldn’t have guessed he just ran around a gym for an hour.
You mimic his actions, knapsack sliding over your head as you do so. “See you next week, Waka-chan!”
He smiles at you again, causing that funny feeling to blossom in your chest. You smile back at him, and it feels like you have the sun caught in your mouth. You really are happy that you can play volleyball with Ushijima. He’s basically your best friend, and because he is, you push all of your bad feelings away, somewhere you don’t have to think about them again.
—
Your life with Ushijima continues at its careful, meticulous pace even once you graduate elementary school and enter middle school. But Ushijima has always liked his routines and his plans, so maybe it shouldn’t surprise you that once he’s decided on something, he doesn’t quite like to see it change.
Ushijima goes to a private school named Shiratoriza, with fees so exorbitant it makes your eyes hurt just to see the number, and you go to another local public school that’s within commuting distance of your home.
Every weekend, you see him for volleyball lessons. Ushijima is on his school’s boys volleyball team, and you’ve joined your own school’s team as well. It feels like something that connects the two of you, even when you aren’t in the same place. During breaks, you visit him as often as you can get away with, tagging along with your parents when they drive off to work, barring the fancy parties he has to attend, the plans you make with other friends, or the trips you make to visit your respective grandparents.
When you’re at the estate, Ushijima-san, his mother, is kind to you. She offers you your favorite snack foods to eat whenever you visit, asks about your life at school and your friends. She never seems to mind whatever you get up to with Ushijima, whether it’s working on summer homework or playing games in the garden.
His grandmother, the Ushijima matriarch, never seems to be around too much. You’ve only spoken to her a handful of times, and her overwhelming presence kept your eyes glued to the floor. Out of all the family, you get along with her the least, and you’re happy to stay out of her way.
There’s something about the way she looks at you that makes it feel like she’s always assessing you, trying to fit you into place. She doesn’t seem cruel, but a lack of malice isn’t the same as being kind.
In your third year of middle school, you’re studying for Shiratorizawa’s high school entrance exams during a winter weekend spent at Ushijima’s house. It feels like your brain is stuffed full of English vocabulary words and math equations. From morning to night, you’re chained to your collection of textbooks and flashcards, diligently combing over every possible topic that could pop up on the exams.
You try to review old tests and you’ve even signed up for the cheapest, most efficient cram school that you can afford, one that eats up your evening hours, meaning you don’t come home until the sun has set and you shovel a mouthful of dinner into your mouth before collapsing into bed, exhausted, kanji dancing in your mind’s eye.
Shiratorizawa is prestigious, and there’s no way you can get in without a scholarship. Though you and your team excel well enough at volleyball, you’ve never actually gone to nationals, despite coming close this last season. If you can’t rely on an athletic scholarship, you’ll need to rely on an academic one. Your grades aren’t bad, but you need to be more than just good; you need to be the best.
It’s not the easiest choice in the world, choosing to attend Shiratorizawa. There’s the cost of the uniforms, the entrance fees, and the yearly tuition that’s such a staggering number Tousan almost fainted when he saw the total.
Shiratorizawa is the best choice for your future, but it doesn’t hurt that Ushijima Wakatoshi is going to attend, too. Not that you’re basing your decision solely on him.
Once, Ushijima-san offered to help cover your fees when she heard you were trying to attend. Something about how your parents are valued employees, how she’s impressed with your work ethic, and how she’s willing to make an investment in your future. It was a kind thing to do, but for the first time in your life, you understood why Kaasan had looked so upset when Ushijima-san paid for your volleyball lessons.
“No,” you told her. “I’ll get in on my own merit.”
Maybe Ushijima himself is being considerate of your efforts, because whenever you hang out lately, the two of you inevitably end up studying together. He’s never said a word to you about your ambitions, but there’s always tea and fruit piled up on the table, the cushions are laid out and fluffed, and he always has a new test booklet to lend you.
He’s supporting you, in his own taciturn way. Ushijima would never wish you luck or tell you to do your best, because your success will not be born out of luck or circumstance, but it will come as an inevitability, the culmination of all of your effort.
It’s on one of these study sessions when you’re taking a quick break, a five minute walk shuffling down the halls, wondering if you can get Ushijima to quiz you on vocabulary words again, when you see her, like a ghost emerging from the mist. Ushijima’s grandmother.
She’s dressed in a simple cream sweater, but she’s nothing like Obaachan, who Kaasan says you take after, friendly and boisterous. Instead, she’s elegance incarnate, like a flower turned into a human, from the way she takes each silent step with deliberate precision, to her solid, graceful posture, an echo of Ushijima’s own.
You bow your head instinctively as you press yourself to the wall of the hallway, waiting for her to pass you.
But she doesn’t. Instead, she stops directly in front of you. You’re looking down at the edges of your slippers, heart in your throat.
“You’re Wakatoshi’s friend, aren’t you? The one who comes over all the time?”
“Yes,” you mumble, then repeat it in a clearer voice. “Yes, I am.”
“The child of the handyman and one of our servants.” It’s not a question, so you don’t answer. “I’ve seen you around. I hope you remember your place.”
She doesn’t say it with any malice, none of the overwrought anger or disdain like you’ve seen in romance dramas on television, the angry speeches from overprotective mothers about how “you’re not good enough for my son” when the impoverished female lead strikes up a relationship with the rich ceo’s son. No, she says it like it’s a simple fact and nothing more, and that somehow hits you harder than if she had said something cruel.
You’re frozen, and you can just barely raise your head to look at her in the face. In the dim light of the hallway, she seems to loom over you, beady eyes glinting like dark pearls, or perhaps the lightless eye of an eagle surveying the land right before it finds a rabbit and dives.
“Wakatoshi is very kind to you, and my daughter likes you as well. But you belong to two different stations in life. You will get hurt if you presume there is something more to it. I hope you remember that. We are a traditional family, and there are certain hopes I have for Wakatoshi.”
You can barely process her walking away, brisk and efficient. She’s said her piece to you as if you’re just another task to check off on her list. For a long time, you stand in the hallway, only aware of the slow sound of your own breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out.
It’s funny how her words are the same as Kaasan’s: the same warning, the same lecture. You’ve never really forgotten Kaasan’s words, but it had been easier to ignore them before, to not understand what they meant. You liked Ushijima, and Ushijima liked you, so that was all you were concerned about. Maybe, as a child, nothing else really mattered. But you couldn’t stay children forever, could you?
Ushijima Wakatoshi is the heir of the Ushijima family, and he can afford to have a famous athlete as his personal volleyball coach and a cushy ride to a private school. You’re just the child of his household servants. That’s the truth, as immutable as the families you were born to and your respective opportunities in life.
“You were gone for a while,” Ushijima says when you return.
“I got stuck in the bathroom,” you say, sliding back into your seat across from him, keeping your head down so he can’t see your expression. “Waka-chan, can you quiz me? I need help with some vocabulary words.”
—
The day you make it into Shiratorizawa, your parents take you out to a local restaurant with worn booths and laminated, hand-written menus, letting you order whatever you want without complaint. You’ve earned one of the hardwon academic scholarships, which means your continued enrollment is dependent on your good grades. It looks like your days of endless studying aren’t coming to an end any time soon.
Every Shiratorizawa student lived in the dorms, so this would be the last time you see your parents in a while, like a final hurrah to your childhood.
“Our clever child,” Tousan says fondly. “Do your best at Shiratorizawa. We’ll support you.”
It’s the most you’ve ever heard him say at one time. He must be excited, or the two glasses of beer he’s already downed in celebration are getting to his head.
“So you’re going to Shiratorizawa, huh,” Kaasan asks. “Are you excited?”
“Yes,” you say. “I’ll do my best. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”
“I’d never be disappointed in you,” Kaasan chides. She’s quiet for a beat before she slides a piece of marinated beef onto your plate. “Ushijima-kun goes there, too, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I chose to go there just because he does,” you say quickly, defending yourself when you see her eyebrows raise at the admission. “Shiratorizawa is the best school in the prefecture.”
“Well, the two of you have always been close, so I’m sure it didn’t hurt that Ushijima-kun is there,” she teases.
“I’m not answering that,” you huff. “But you don’t need to worry, Kaasan. I know my place.”
She should have been happy with your words. Hasn’t it been something Kaasan has warned you about, since the very beginning? You’ve always caused her so much trouble, but for once, you’re heeding her warnings. Instead, her lips droop into a frown, and there’s a troubled expression on her face.
“Hvae some more meat,” Tousan interrupts. He’s sliding another piece of beef onto your plate, and now it’s overflowing with a mountain of meat. “We’re celebrating, and you have to eat well! You’ll need all the strength you can get to do well in school.”
That night, you call Ushijima with the news. You’ve been debating over whether to tell him or not, but he did help you study. Also, the two of you are still friends. You’re not going to let his grandmother control your life that much.
As soon as the call goes through, you start talking before he even has the chance to say hello. “I got in,” you say.
“Congratulations,” he says simply. “We will be classmates in the upcoming school semester.”
“That’s only if we’re in the same class,” you say. “There’s a chance we’re going to be put in different ones, Ushijima-kun.”
There’s a beat of silence. For some reason, you imagine Ushijima cocking his head like an inquisitive bird.
“What’s wrong?” you ask. “You’re more quiet than usual.”
“My name,” he says. “You did not call me Waka-chan.”
It feels a little ridiculous to hear Ushijima say that cutesy nickname with such gravity. Like it really means something to him, your silly childhood nickname, given only on a whim. “Well, it’s kind of childish, you know? And we’re not kids anymore. So I wanted to use something more serious. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable when we’re in high school!”
“I would not be uncomfortable.”
“Still. Other people might say something.”
“You could call me Wakatoshi.”
You tighten your grip on your phone until the metal cuts into your palm. His grandmother also calls him Wakatoshi. “No, I don’t think that’d be right. You’re Ushijima-kun,” you say firmly. “Okay? I’ll see you at the entrance ceremony.”
You hang up before he can respond, and you know it’s a coward’s move, because you just can’t bear what he might say. Your arm drops to your side, phone slipping onto the hardwood floor with a plastic clatter.
On the ceiling, you can see the glow-in-the-dark stars you once pasted as a child, and they still glow with a faint neon luminescence, even now. This is your room, small and comfortable, full of trinkets from friends and vacations, seashells and rocks and plastic gachapon toys, old notes and doodles and books borrowed that you’d never returned, with markers and scuffs on the wall. It’s cozy and a far cry from Ushijima’s own palatial room, with its rich furnishings and lonely air, the only personal touches being his volleyball and textbooks.
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the Shiratorizawa uniform that Kaasan starched and ironed that afternoon, painstakingly placing it on a hanger before draping it across your desk chair, mindful of any creases. She handled the royal purple fabric with such care, and you can imagine her doing the same for Ushijima’s uniform if that was part of her job that day. If not, one of his other servants would iron it instead.
Ushijima Wakatoshi. You. You live in two different worlds, as far as the distance between the plastic stars on your ceiling and the cold, glittering stars outside.
—
During your first year at Shiratorizawa, you decide to quit volleyball and focus solely on academics.
Outwardly, you reason that you’re not on a sports scholarship, but an academic one, so it makes more sense for you to focus on your studies, and join something like the student council instead. Inwardly, you’re much too old to keep relying on Ushijima-san’s kindness to pay for your private lessons. Unlike Ushijima, volleyball isn’t in your future, so it doesn’t make sense for you to keep pursuing it.
“You could join as a manager,” Ushijima offers, when he notices that instead of heading to the gym for volleyball practice and tryouts, you’re heading towards the student council office.
“It’s okay! I think I’ve gained everything I need to from volleyball. Besides, I heard your coach is super intense! I don’t think I’ll get along with him,” you say earnestly. It’s excuses, all excuses, but you try to put as much cheer in your voice as you can.
“I see.”
And that’s the end of that conversation, as painless as it always is with Ushijima. He never pushes you for more than you’re willing to give. It’s both relieving and disappointing, all at once, that he never asks for more.
When you close your eyes at night in your dorm room, you think of Ushijima’s grandmother’s words. You and Ushijima are from different worlds, and maybe you’re just going to drag him down. What does your friendship really do for him?
The two of you are still friends, of course. It’s not as if you’re going to pretend almost a decade of memories means nothing to you, and you don’t want to let someone else dictate your relationship.
Sometimes, you wish you were children again, or that you’d met him just a little earlier, back before you were old enough to know what it meant for your family to work for his. That’s a pipe dream, though, and a few years of extra time together aren’t going to be enough to make up for the distance you’re trying to put between the two of you now.
But Ushijima keeps going on stubbornly forward, as if there’s nothing different about your life at all. If he notices you’ve withdrawn, then he doesn’t make any note of it. Volleyball practice tends to run longer than student council meetings, so he asks you to wait for him to finish so the two of you can head to the dorms together. Sometimes, if you’re busy prepping for school events and meetings run late, he’s the one waiting patiently outside the student council room for you to finish.
He has lunch with you, placing his tray right next to yours no matter who you’re sitting with, even if your friends tend to fall silent at his sudden presence, cowed by his reputation and the magazine articles emblazoned with his accomplishments. You see him everyday, because he always makes time to seek you out, regardless of the weather or your respective schedules, even if it’s only for a brief, five minute chat before he has to run or someone grabs your attention.
You make friends with some of Ushijima’s teammates by proxy, just because your lives are so braided together. The Shiratorizawa boy’s volleyball team is intimidating, and you’ve seen their posters plastered in the halls, tall boys with lean muscle, an array of awards, and a consistent presence at nationals. Everyone knows their names, and they’re the pride of the school.
Tendou is the one you’re closest to and the most approachable, though you say hi to Leon, Semi, and Hayato when you pass them in the halls, if only because you’re in the same year together. Tendou lopes through the hall without a care in the world, always looping his arm around your shoulder when he sees you like he’s about to sell you a knock-off watch.
He does this regardless if you’re alone, with a friend, or chatting with Ushijima. He always does this when he spots you with Ushijima especially, pulling you close like you’re a ragdoll.
“On a date without me?” Tendou will say in a singsong voice.
“It’s not like that, Satorin,” you’ll reply amiably.
There’s always an imperceptible flicker across Ushijima’s face whenever you use Tendou’s nickname, some spasm of emotion that you can’t quite catch but that makes Tendou burst into uproarious laughter.
“Ohhh, never change, you two,” he’ll say, dramatically wiping at the corner of his eyes and flicking his fingers.
Life might have continued on in this way with Ushijima stubborn and consistent as always, and you with your attempts to put a subtle wedge between the two of you that he never seems to notice, not until an injury during the end of your first year of high school.
It’s an accident, really. Carelessness on your part, from hitting the track too hard during P.E., feet pounding against the tarmac, pushing yourself faster and harder, heedless of the cries from your friends and teacher to slow down, until you trip spectacularly over some hard edge of the race track.
Then you go crashing down in front of everyone, like a ship running aground, momentum forced to a sudden halt as you lay dazed, trying to piece together what happened with blurry faces above you.
“They’re injured!” someone yells.
“You need to go to the nurse,” the teacher says with a click of her tongue, hands on her hips.
“I’m fine,” you protest, attempting to stand, but pain lances through your leg as you do so. You must have sprained your ankle when you tripped.
Just when you think your humiliation couldn’t get even worse, what with eating dirt in front of your classmates, you yelp when a shadow falls over you and arms wind under your knees and around your back, and then you’re being lifted up into the air.
People giggle and titter as you cling precariously to whoever’s picked you up, wrapping your arms around a very familiar neck. It’s Ushijima. You’re eye level with him, so you can stare right into his placid gaze.
“Ushijima-kun?” you whisper, astonished. You can feel the furnace heat of his body, the increase of his body temperature from running laps around the court. The way he’s holding onto you is with a grip so solid and steady that for a second, you wonder if you’re ever going to be let down again.
“We’re going to the nurse’s.”
“You can put me down,” you protest, but he’s already striding away, the sound of your classmates gossiping ringing in your ears. You can already imagine the gossip that is going to circulate, and Tendou’s gleeful expression when he hears about what happened. You’re going to be fending off dating rumors for the next two weeks, at least until something more exciting happens to take the attention off of you.
“You’re injured,” he says. “It would not be wise for you to stand on your own.”
“Ushijima-kun–”
“No,” he says firmly. He’s cradling you close to him, as if you’re something precious, and you try to convince yourself the heat on your face is from the exertion of exercise, and nothing more.
You’re in the nurse’s office before long, and Ushijima carefully sits you down on one of the beds. The nurse is out, so Ushijima takes it upon himself to shuffle through the cabinets. You sink the mattress, watching as he expertly sorts through medical supplies with a threadbare frown, pulling out an instant ice pack that he shakes to activate.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, kneeling in front of you. It’s strange to look down on him like this, not when his own gaze is so earnest and the entirety of his intense concentration directed solely at you.
You look away. “No, it’s fine.”
“Does it hurt here?” Ushijima gently presses his fingers to your ankle, grazing the edge of your sock as he carefully caresses your skin. His touch tingles, but it’s probably because your ankle is tender and sensitive. It has nothing to do with the gentleness of his hands, not when you remember how he can hit a volleyball with so much force it can knock the opposing libero off their feet.
“Only a little,” you mumble, wincing when his fingers ghost across a particularly sore area.
He nods, and Ushijima presses the ice pack to your ankle, a sudden cold shock to your sweaty skin. For a second, neither of you say anything. Ushijima carefully considers your ankle, and you consider him, the fringe of his hair and his eyelashes, the sweat beading at his temples, the bob of his throat as he swallows.
“Why do you no longer call me Waka-chan?”
It takes you a few seconds to process the question before you open your mouth. “It’s a childish nickname. I told you already.”
“You have not been coming over as often. And you quit volleyball.”
“Because,” you say. “I’m busy. We live in the dorms now. And volleyball is fun, but I don’t want a career in it.”
“Is there something wrong?” he says. Ushijima never minces his words, and he always, always cuts right to the heart of the matter.
You could lie here, and Ushijima would most likely accept it as the truth. Why would he doubt you? But the truth, which you’ve kept compressed for years, the uncomfortable feelings, the warnings from others, spills out like water from a full cup, overflowing and unstoppable: “We live in two different worlds, Ushijima-kun. I mean, think about it. Your family employs mine. You have access to things I never will. A relationship like ours shouldn’t work in the first place.”
“I do not care about that,” he says simply.
“But I do,” you insist. “You can say that you don’t care, but I do. I care. I think there should be more distance between the two of us.”
Ushijima doesn’t speak for a while, as if he’s pondering your words. Then, he says, “All right.”
It’s such a simple word, and you should be relieved. Here it is, what everyone wants from you, your mom and his grandma, your relationship is restored back to the way it should have been from the start. You finally know your place.
But why do you feel so awful? Why do you feel like you’re giving up? Why are you fighting back tears when you look at the top of his head, the swirling part of his hair, Shiratorizawa’s promising volleyball ace on his knees without question or complaint, just because you’re injured and he could think of nothing else than carrying you here and treating you himself?
Neither of you says anything again. The whole time, you look up at the ceiling and Ushijima keeps the ice pressed to your foot until the nurse returns and shoos him off.
“You’ll be fine,” she says briskly after checking your ankle, with hands decidedly more efficient and less tender than Ushijima’s. After all, to her, you’re just another patient. “Just some rest and continue icing your ankle, and you can be back to action by tomorrow. Are you all right? Does it still hurt?”
Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but you manage a weak smile. “No. I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
—
Falling out is the wrong word to describe what happens next. It’s such a violent word, really, and implies there’s some sort of cataclysm, some large event that you can pinpoint as the direct cause.
No, what happens is more purposeful and slow, a deterioration of your relationship with Ushijima as gradual as erosion, persistent water chipping at rock until it crumbles to pieces.
And you know the cause, don’t you? It’s you who rang the death knell for your relationship.
Ushijima is not rude or cruel. He simply does what you ask for and keeps his distance. The two of you don’t stop talking, but you can go days without seeing him now.
There’s a space Ushijima used to occupy by your side, some phantom pain where you used to have an extension of yourself, and it aches. You still find yourself turning to make a joke or express an errant thought, a reflex born from years of companionship, only to be met with empty air. Ushijima does what he says, and says what he does. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s an old-fashioned, honorable habit you find so endearing, even now.
Your second year of high school passes like that, at a cool, controlled, distant orbit around each other. Loving Ushijima and missing him are the same reflex, a practiced response born from your shared childhood, where he was always just one car ride, one call, one loud shout of his name away.
Is the proper way of doing things always so painful? Isn’t part of adulthood accepting that necessary things aren’t always so sweet or easy? And this is necessary, isn’t it? The best decision for Ushijima’s future, and your own? And you’re no longer a child, so you can swallow any bitter medicine easily, only you’re still waiting for the illness it’s supposed to cure to go away.
During Golden Week after the start of your third year of high school, you’re lounging at home when Kaasan calls you.
“I left my bento,” she says. “Take the bus and bring it to me at work. Go in through the side door!”
She hangs up before you respond, and you’re left speechless. You haven’t visited Ushijima’s house in three years, not since the moment the Ushijima matriarch reminded you of his place, and you would prefer to keep it that way.
But Kaasan never allows for any argument, so reluctantly, you make your way over. Ushijima’s house isn’t that much different from when you were a child. It’s still the same imposing build with its furnishings kept elegant and sleek, but you drag your feet on the familiar hardwood floors that you once roamed, peering into rooms you once played in. They love keeping things as they are, the Ushijimas.
His grandmother is out. That, at least, is your only relief.
Kaasan pinches your cheek and reminds you to “be good” when you find her in the laundry room and present her with the bento. A quick in and out, your task done, you should be able to go home now.
However, you find yourself near the garden, sunflowers waving their stalks and buds at you like old friends, and you quietly step into the grass. The sunflowers haven’t begun to bloom yet, not at this time of year. That will come later, when the weather is warmer and softer.
This is where you first met Ushijima, where everything in your life changed. Despite everything, it’s hard not to be fond of this place. You take a step closer, and pause.
There’s someone already there, sitting with crossed legs under the flowers, staring up at the leaves. It’s Ushijima, and for a second, you can’t breathe. There’s something about the arch of his back, the slope of his shoulders that seems so lonely. It’s like he’s still that kid again, the one who couldn’t admit that he missed his father, but still stared at the sunflowers he left behind everyday.
You should leave. There’s no place for you here. But you approach him instead, as if you’re that same kid, too, the one excited to make a new friend, who couldn’t leave that strange little boy in the garden alone. It’s too unbearable, the idea of abandoning him twice.
You sit next to Ushijima, leaving a respectable enough space between the two of you, legs pulled up to your chest. Ushijima doesn’t say anything. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the golden shadows of the flowers moving above you, a promise of everything they’ll become.
“The flowers are still here,” you say.
“Yes. They’re a perennial species, so they come back every year. With the right care, they can bloom for a long time.”
“I hope they bloom forever, Ushijima-kun.”
“That’d be impossible. Everything dies eventually.”
“I guess so. But you could always plant more,” you suggest. But would he even want to, when the original sunflowers were a gift from his father? What could ever replace that?
The silence weighs on you. You pluck at a blade of grass, rubbing it between your thumb and forefinger. In one of the shows you watched as a kid, one of the characters could play entire melodies by using a single blade as an instrument. You tried so hard as a kid to recreate that song, pulling up entire rows of grass with Ushijima, trying to find the perfect blade to make sing. That afternoon, your mouths and knees were stained green and Kaasan scolded you for hours.
“I miss you.”
The words are unexpected, without hesitation or pretense. Ushijima says the words like they’re as easy as breathing, as easy as saying good morning or good night. You can’t look at him when he says that. You can’t. If you look at his face, his honest expression, the full weight of his unparalleled, unchanging adoration and regard for you, you’ll shatter into a thousand pieces.
“I told you. We need distance.”
“Did someone say something to you?”
You hesitate, twisting at the blade of grass until it snaps. Ushijima values his family, and you don’t want to cause a rift between them. “Even if someone did, I made this decision on my own.”
“Was it Obaasan?” he says evenly. Your ensuing silence is answer enough, and he continues. “I respect her greatly. Obaasan has always been strong, dedicated, and clever, and has tried to do what’s best for the family and me. But that does not mean I will always agree with the things she says. And you do not have to, either.”
“Ushijima-kun. You don’t even know what we talked about.”
“I do not need to know the details. I can imagine, because she does not hide herself, but I have never wanted to be her heir, or to be anyone but myself. And I already know that you are more than what other people tell you that you can be,” he says. “I like who you are, and who you try to be everyday.”
“How can you still like me?” you whisper. His words are painful, and you want nothing more than to run before they obliterate all the walls you’ve worked to maintain. “Ushijima-kun, I’m being terrible to you. I’m selfish, asking you to ignore our friendship. You should hate me.”
“Hating you is not something I can do,” he says. “Do you hate me?”
You bury your head in your arms, your voice muffled as you respond, “I could never hate you.”
“Then that is all I need.”
Neither of you move. For a while longer, during a stolen moment on a spring afternoon, the two of you sit side by side, accompanied by nothing but the budding sunflowers, heads pregnant with dreams of summer and the hope of blooming for another year longer.
—
You’re aimlessly flicking through television channels when you come home from giving Kaasan her bento, news reports and variety shows flashing by as you struggle to find something that catches your attention for longer than five seconds when Kaasan and Tousan return from work.
Your conversation with Ushijima that afternoon is still fresh in your mind, and you turn his words over and over, stones tumbling in river water until they’re worn smooth and small. To be yourself. To still be so loved, even now. Ushijima Wakatoshi, who is precious to you beyond words, beyond understanding.
“There you are. Have you eaten yet?” Kaasan asks. She’s at the edge of the couch, peering at you from where you lie slumped over, still flicking through channels before you settle on a variety show with some idol you vaguely recognize from magazines.
“Hmmm,” you say, a response that doesn’t satisfy her at all. “Yeah.”
You think that’s the end of it, or Kaasan is going to lecture you for wasting time on the television and somehow running up the electricity bill with your indecisive channel switching, but to your surprise, she settles on the couch next to you instead, folding her legs to the side.
“I saw you with Ushijima-kun today,” she says.
“I didn’t talk about anything appropriate,” you say immediately. “I promise I’ve been keeping your words in mind, and—”
“I’m not going to lecture you. Unless you’ve done something that requires a lecture from me?”
“Kaasan!”
“I’m kidding,” she says, running an affectionate hand along your hair.
There are new lines around Kaasan’s eyes, and her hands are calloused from years of hard work and manual labor. Her hair is sparse, gray streaks sprouting in her hair like cracks breaking through the pavement. It makes your heart ache, and you lean into her shoulder.
“I hope you know,” Kaasan says, “That I’ve always been hard on you because I only want the best for you. I want you to have a good life, even if I’m not around to take care of you. And you’ve always been a little too rambunctious for your own good. Society isn’t nice to people who don’t fall in line, and I’m always, always afraid you’re going to get hurt.”
“I’m better about that now,” you protest.
“You are, and I’m proud of you. But I’ve always loved that spark in you, too, the part of you that isn’t afraid of anything, that knows what you want. And I’m worried that I stifled that.”
“You didn’t do anything. You were just telling me what was right.”
“No, I did,” Kaasan says. “You haven’t been happy since you decided to stop being friends with Ushijima-kun. He isn’t, either. Do you think I couldn’t tell? You used to talk about him all the time. You know, I was always a little resentful that it felt like Ushijima-san could give you things that I couldn’t. It felt like I was falling behind as your mother, so I resented her, and without meaning to, I took it out on you. And it’s true that your social standing is going to affect how you navigate the world, but I shouldn’t have made you feel small or worthless.
“You and Ushijima-kun might come from different places, have different opportunities in your lives, but you are no less than him. You are going to have to work harder than him to get what you want, and the world is unfair in that way but instead of telling you to accept things as they are, I want you to eat the entire world.”
“Kaasan,” you whisper, burying your head in her shoulder. She runs a hand down your back, slow, affectionate, as the television blares out with tinny laughter and music. You can’t speak for a while, long-buried tears choking your voice. “Ushijima-kun’s grandmother… she told me that…”
“She said something, didn’t she? Don’t listen to her. She has her way of doing things, but you have yours. Don’t lose your spark,” she says. “I’ll support you. Go for the things you want. Within reason, of course.”
“I love you,” you mumble, tears thick in your throat. You feel like a little kid again, clinging to your mother like she’s a raft in a turbulent sea, the only thing sheltering you from the world outside.
“I love you, too, and I’m sorry.” Kaasan strokes your back, and you wish you could stay like this forever.
—
When you approach Ushijima at lunch the next day, it’s with a levity you haven’t experienced in months. He’s an island in a sea of empty seats, and you’re always guaranteed to snag a spot in the crowded cafeteria. People tend to cut him a wide berth as if there’s some unspoken rule that ordinary people can’t approach him. The only one who doesn’t seem to care is Tendou who chatters on about the manga he’s reading, though you aren’t sure how much of it Ushijima understands.
“Hi,” you say, dropping your tray down in front of the two of them. “Satorin, Waka-chan.”
Tendou’s words cease, as if a boulder has cut off the flow of his words. He tilts his head, eyes stretching unnaturally wide as if he’s trying to puzzle out this new development with his preternatural intuition. “Waka-channnn? You haven’t used that name before.”
“Well, I used to, and I miss using it,” you say. “Ushijima-kun is too stiff! I sound like Kaasan. You don’t mind, right, Waka-chan?”
“No, I do not,” Ushijima says, chewing his rice and swallowing before speaking, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “I prefer that name.”
“What have you two been up to?” you say. “Anything new on the volleyball court?”
Tendou leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table, launching into some detailed account of their practices, the new freshman who’s easy to tease, their prospective rivals and his predictions for how the season will go (which usually involves him making blocks to crush the opposing team’s spirits and hopes).
You nod along, but risk a glance at Ushijima. You can’t gauge his expression, but there is a lightness to his shoulders, an ease to the way he holds himself that hasn’t been there since you started distancing yourself from him.
It’s natural how you rejoin Ushijima’s world after that, as if you’re simply slotting into a place that was reserved for you from the beginning. You start seeking him out in the hallways between classes, during lunch, and wait for him after volleyball practice. You text him with every random thought in your head and complain about homework and annoying classmates.
Now, you can wave at him whenever you see him in the halls, jump onto his back, and crack jokes as Ushijima nods seriously. It’s back to the way things used to be, but there’s something a bit different now in your interactions. There’s a newfound tenderness, reinforced by your painful year apart, as if you’re marveling at the miracle of each other’s presence.
But it’s not as if you’re just going to pretend nothing has happened. You apologize to him as soon as you muster up the courage for it a few days after you approach him during lunch. The sun is sinking low in the sky, and there’s a sheath of papers in your arms, forms from student council you’ll sort through later.
The school is empty, save for a few stragglers from sports practice that run late, but you and Ushijima are functionally alone. He’s carrying his bag and your bag, too, both slung carefully over his arm as you and him make your way down the gym steps. There’s still sweat clinging to his hair from volleyball practice.
“Waka-chan, I’m really sorry,” you say, hands tightening around your papers. “I want to apologize for how I’ve been acting. I hurt you, and that’s unacceptable. I shouldn’t have gotten up in the words of other people, or demanded that we stop being so close. I was selfish.”
“It’s all right,” he says. “You’re here now. And it is not as if you were wrong to be aware of our positions in life, and how that will affect our relationship.”
“But still,” you persist, “I made you feel lonely. I should have known better than to do that! And I feel like I’m taking advantage of your kindness, even now.”
“You’re not taking advantage of my kindness,” Ushijima says. “I’m doing this because I like you.”
“Well, I like you, too,” you say. “It’d be weirder if we didn’t like each other at this point, you know?”
“Yes,” he says. “But I also would like to date you once we graduate, with the intention of marriage.”
The papers fall from your arms, fanning out across the dusty ground. You’re no longer walking, and when Ushijima notices, he pauses and looks back. You don’t know where you should be looking—the sky, the ground, the papers on the floor you’ll need to pick up—but you most definitely cannot look at his face.
Ushijima bends down to collect the papers for you, and after a beat, you follow suit. It’d be wrong to make him do all the work, and it’s only once all the papers have been returned to your arms, albeit a bit more dirty than they were before, that you can speak.
“Do you even know what dating is, Waka-chan?” you say. “You only do that with people you really like.”
“I know,” he says, “That is why I would like to date you.”
“But,” you say. “But…” Your words trail off. There actually isn’t a refutal that you can think of.
“Do you not like me?”
Your heart feels like it’s exploding in your chest. There’s never really been any other answer to that question, is there? From childhood until now, even if the way you understand your own emotions have changed, in some aspects, they’ve always been the same. “I do. I like you a lot.”
“If our feelings are mutual, then all is well,” he says, nodding. “After graduation, I will have time to properly court you. I have been waiting since we were children to do so. I can wait a while longer.”
A strangled noise escapes you, like the dying call of a bird. Since you were children? Has he always been planning to do this?
“Are you all right?” Ushijima asks.
“Yes. Well, no. But also yes! Waka-chan…” you say. “It’s not fair that you confessed first! I wanted to do that.”
“You will have time in the future to do so,” he says. “Should I pretend we didn’t say anything just now, and you can confess to me during graduation?”
Is that a joke? Did Ushijima Wakatoshi, the most straitlaced, unbendable person you know, just make a joke? Maybe you are rubbing off on him.
The two of you walk towards the dorm in the light of the setting sun, and the entire world feels like it’s been burnished in gold. You could continue like this forever—you and Ushijima, side by side, the most natural place for either of you to belong.
—
There’s dirt under your fingernails as you carefully drop sunflower seeds into shallow, two and a half centimeter holes, smoothing over the moist, loamy soil once you’re done. You’ve tried to space each seed roughly fifteen centimeters apart, so that they’ll have room to grow when they finally bloom.
You wipe the back of your forehead with your hand absently, leaving behind a streak of dirt. You probably should have worn gloves, but you like the feeling of soil on your hands. It reminds you of when you were a child, playing in this very garden.
Before you can move, Ushijima brushes away the dirt on your face with a pristine white handkerchief, folding it over when he’s done and placing it carefully in his pocket. He’s situated right next to you, having finished with his side of the planting already.
“Thanks, Waka-chan,” you say, crouching back on your heels. “Tousan will help take care of them while we’re gone! I told him not to use any fertilizer, or to overwater the plants.”
He hums in affirmation. The sunflowers his father once planted have finally withered and died for good. You don’t want to see this patch of the garden stay empty, though, so on a day when Ushijima is free from volleyball practice and you don’t have any classes, you both agreed to make the trip from Tokyo to Sendai to plant some seeds.
“You should take a picture,” you say, surveying your work. For now, the area in front of you is pitifully bare dirt. But you know, just under the surface, the seeds you’ve planted are germinating, ready to stretch out tender roots. Even when you can’t see it, things are growing and changing. “Your dad’s going to want to see.”
Ushijima dutifully takes out his phone and snaps a picture, then angles it towards you. You hold up a peace sign as he takes a few more.
“Do they look good?” you ask.
“You look radiant,” he says simply. “Otousan will want to see that you’ve been doing well.”
You stand, stretching out your hands as high as they can reach. Your arms are a little sore from all of your work. Since you only recently joined the community volleyball team, you’re still getting used to the exertion again. “Okay, then let’s go see Kaasan and Tousan! Kaasan’s going to be mad if we’re late for lunch. And, Waka-chan—” You waggle your fingers until Ushijima obediently shuffles over, bending his head down and you kiss him on the lips, a brief, affectionate peck. “Let’s come back to see the sunflowers once they’re in bloom, okay?”
Ushijima is smiling at you now, something small and delicate, just like a flower bud. It feels like he’s been smiling more often these days, like when he got his contract with the Schweiden Adlers, or you got your internship with the Tokyo Metropolitan Government, or just whenever you surprise him in the stands during games. You want to bottle up his smile forever, just so you can carry it around and admire it on bad days.
You’re living together in an apartment in Tokyo, and with your respective busy schedules, it’s hard to find the time to see each other. But you make it work, and if nothing else, you like the assurance that when you come home, it’s to Ushijima.
His grandmother might not be the biggest fan of your relationship, but it’s not as if you’re worried about what she thinks anymore. Besides, Ushijima-san, Kaasan, and Tousan are happy enough to see the two of you together, but even if they weren’t, you probably would have just eloped with Ushijima.
“All right. We’ll come back,” Ushijima says, granting your wish as easily as he grants all of them. He leans down to kiss you again, as if the first one wasn’t enough. His kiss is tender, lips lingering against yours, and it’s a promise for everything to come and the flowers yet to bloom.
The sooner you start, the sooner you'll be done with it and the sooner you can stop thinking about it. Go on, up you get, it won't be as bad as you think.
You won't want to do it later either. You might as well just do it now. Even if you don't finish it all, anything you manage to get done now is something you don't have to do later (when you still won't want to do it)
╱ 𝒘𝒄 # 8.6k
— 𝒂uthor's 𝒏ote ﹕ reader is left handed btw! i really really like this one used all my brain power. it's been in my drafts for oh so very long (january 11) and i've just been slowly working on it :) hope you enjoy hah
more in the number neighbour collection
akaashi — smau
you're bored, to say the least.
it's a seemingly normal tuesday night, your homework is staring back at you with judgmental eyes, and you've scrolled through every social media app at least twice.
at this rate, you'll be forced to do your homework! and you really don't wanna do that..
that's when you see the trend going around again when you eventually reach for your phone: message your number neighbor.
it's stupid, risky, and exactly the kind of distraction you need right now. (anything to avoid homework ig)
your phone number ends in five.
you take a breath, open a new message thread, and type in your number, but change the last digit to a six.
you better be damn grateful i didn't make that six seven
you
hey number neighbour!
hope you arent a serial killer
you put your phone face down on your bed and wait. you expect to be ignored, left on read, or maybe blocked, like majority of the people out there on the internet.
five minutes pass. ten. then, your phone vibrates. with a racing heart, you glance at it.
xxx-xxx-xxx
I'm not a serial killer, I am a student.
you snort, fingers already flying across the screen. who texts like that, apart from emailing a teacher? it's so.. stiff.
also, who just reveals that information?
okay then. you'll do the same.
you
thats exactly what a serial killer would say
im a student too
how's life on the other side of the digit?
xxx-xxx-xxx
Life is fine.
I'm currently finishing my evening meal. It's important to maintain a consistent schedule for digestion and recovery.
you
.
okay 🥹
thanks for the health tip doc
xxx-xxx-xxx
You're welcome.
you
are you always this serious
xxx-xxx-xxx
I'm told I can be quite literal. I don't really see the point in unnecessary fluff.
you
unnecessary fluff 😭
well, im bored entertain me !
tell me something interesting about yourself without giving away your secret identity
xxx-xxx-xxx
I enjoy volleyball, and I'm left handed.
you
woah two fun facts and another lefty omg
me too
xxx-xxx-xxx
Being right handed is more common, but it doesn't mean you cannot follow your interests effectively.
you stare at the screen. they sound like a textbook come to life.
you
thanks for the pep talk, i feel so much more effective now 🤞
anyway im gonna go back to avoiding my essay
xxx-xxx-xxx
Okay
you
dont kill anyone tonight neighbor
xxx-xxx-xxx
I have already stated I'm not a murderer.
Good luck with your essay. It's better to finish it now so you can sleep early.
you toss your phone aside, collapsing back on your pillows.
"what a weirdo."
you're sitting in the cafeteria, picking at your lunch, when your phone vibrates in your pocket.
xxx-xxx-xxx
Did you finish the essay?
you almost choke on your own spit.
you
hi to you too
i did
barely
stayed up till two am
xxx-xxx-xxx
That is inefficient.
Lack of sleep leads to decreased performance and physical sluggishness.
you
okay doctor
xxx-xxx-xxx
As I've stated before, if you scroll up to read our past conversation, I am not a doctor.
you
nvm
what about you
did you do your homework
xxx-xxx-xxx
I finished mine yesterday at 8pm.
you
sweat
xxx-xxx-xxx
Funny you should say, I'm actually at practice at the moment.
you
volleyball?
xxx-xxx-xxx
Yes.
My teammate is yelling because I'm on my phone during a water break.
He says I'm evolving because I'm texting a stranger.
you
LMAOO tell your teammate hes right
you ARE becoming a social butterfly
wait
stranger?? we're neighbors theres a bond there
xxx-xxx-xxx
We share a numerical sequence.
That is all.
you
ouch my heart 🥺
fine go back to your balls =3
xxx-xxx-xxx
That is a crude way to phrase it, but I will.
And what equals 3?
⤷ you hearted this message
you put your phone away, grinning. then you pull it from your pocket again, and change the contact name.
health inspector.
you're supposed to be hanging out with your friend, but they're currently hovering over your shoulder. still counts as a hangout, right?
"who are you texting?" they ask, squinting at your screen. "you've been smiling at your phone for, like, ten minutes straight."
"just my number neighbor," you say, tilting the screen away. you really need to buy a privacy screen protector.. "he's super intense. like, 'i eat for digestion' intense. well, im think they're a he."
"is he hot?"
"wha- i don't even know his name! we agreed – well, we didn't agree, but we haven't asked. it's more fun this way. no expectations."
your phone pings again, and your friend groans.
health inspector
My teammate took my phone and saw your contact name.
you
oh no
what did you set it as
health inspector
Number Neighbor.
you
BRO THATS BORING
i have you set as health inspector hah
health inspector
I don't inspect health.
Anyway, he changed your name to 'Eagle Bait'. I don't know why.
you
eagle bait 💔
tell your friend he'd better start running
health inspector
He is very fast.
I doubt you could catch him.
you
bruh i hate u
health inspector
Well, I don't hate you. I don't know you well enough to harbor such strong emotions.
you groan and bury your face in your hands. he's so frustratingly literal that it's actually.. cute?
you find yourself wondering what his voice sounds like. does he talk as formally as he texts?
you
hey neighbor?
health inspector
Yes?
you
nothing
just making sure u were still there
health inspector
I am always here.
wednesday arrives with a heavy rainstorm that swiftly cancels your outdoor plans.
with nothing else to do, you're lounging on your couch, watching a movie you've already seen (and cried to) three times, when your phone lights up.
it's a photo – a blurry, shaky shot of a red haired guy making a peace sign right in front of the camera lens. he has a wild grin on his face, eyes wide and mouth leering.
health inspector
My teammate took my phone again.
He says hello, and that he doesn't care if you see what he looks like.
His name is Tendou.
you
lol hi tendou
tell him he has very chaotic energy even through a blurry photo 🥹
health inspector
He says that it's his specialty.
you
i can imagine
health inspector
He's currently trying to read our previous messages over my shoulder.
I've placed him in a headlock to prevent this.
you choke on your microwaved, triple butter popcorn. the mental image of someone putting a hyperactive redhead in a headlock is a bit too much for you.
you
damn
rip tendou
health inspector
Oh don't worry.
He isn't dead
you
i cant with you 😭
you actually have friends?
i thought you were a robot /j
health inspector
I'm not a robot.
Tendou is my friend, although he is loud sometimes.
you
sometimes or all of the time?
health inspector
Both
He's asking if you are cute.
I told him I don't know.
you
well
what did you tell him after that
health inspector
I told him that physical appearance is subjective and that based on your texting, you seem pretty
you
aw thanks 🥺
health inspector
capable of basic communication.
Sorry, I accidently pressed send.
you
wow i knew something was off you didnt use a full stop 😔
capable of basic communication..
i should put that on my tinder bio!
health inspector
Oh.
Do you use Tinder?
you
no lol
i was joking
do you?
health inspector
No.
I don't have time.
you
you sounds like you never have fun.
do you ever just eat junk food
watch a bad movie
etc
health inspector
I eat what is necessary for my muscles.
you
okay mr buff guy
health inspector
How did you know I was male?
you
magic
ABRACADABRA
health inspector
Okay.
Occasionally, I have hayashi rice.
That is enjoyable.
you
hayashi rice is your wild side?
health inspector
Yes.
you
jeez
we need to get you out more
⤷ health inspector reacted ? to this message
the next time you get a text from Health Inspector™, you're at the shopping centre with your friends.
it's unusual because he usually only texts in the evenings after his apparently strict schedule is done.
health inspector
We won.
you
oh
a volleyball thing?
congratsss (congratakaashilations)
health inspector
Yes. It was a practice match, but we won in straight sets.
I scored 19 points.
you
19 oh wow
is that good?
idk much about volleyball
health inspector
It's a high number for a three set match. My setter was very efficient today.
you
go celebrate!
get some uh
hayashi rice or something
health inspector
We're going to a convenience store.
Tendou is buying icy poles. The blue double ones. echo reference??
you
what flavor are u getting?
health inspector
I don't like sweets very much.
I'll have water.
you
you're literally the most boring person ive ever met 😑
health inspector
But we haven't met
you
oh COME ON
get a chocolate bar
live a little
⤷ seen by health inspector
when he doesn't reply, you go back to window shopping because you're broke asf with your friends.
five minutes later, a picture comes through, a large, slightly calloused hand holding a small chocolate bar. in the corner, it has a small nibble in the corner, as though someone has taken a tentative bite.
health inspector
I bought it.
It's too sweet.
you
CRYING
i can literally feel the regret through the screen 💔💔
health inspector
My teammates are staring at me.
They think I'm possessed because I'm eating chocolate.
you
tell them your neighbor made you do it trust 😏
health inspector
Okay
Tendou is now screaming that I have a secret lover.
your heart does a weird little skip at the word lover, even though it's just a joke.. right?
you
tell tendou i said hi and that hes a visionary
health inspector
I will tell him hi, but I won't tell him the other part.
It will only encourage him.
⤷ you liked this message
you
hey
health inspector
Yes?
you
we've been talking for a while now
i still dont know your name
or what you look like
or how old you are
health inspector
I am 18.
you
okay
one mystery solved
im 17
health inspector
Haha. 😂
I'm older than you
you
please never laugh over text again.
what about a name
health inspector
I would prefer not to.
If we find out who each other are, things might change.
I like that you don't know who I am.
you pause, thumbs hovering over the screen.
he sounds like people usually treat him differently because of who he is.
orrrr maybe you're overthinking things again.
you
fair enough
i kind of like it too
you can just be my health inspector
health inspector
And you can be my Eagle Bait.
you
NOT EAGLE BAIT AGAIN
health inspector
It's what's written on my screen, I've grown used to it.
Also, I've said multiple times I'm not a health inspector.
you
touché
health inspector
I'm going to sleep now.
Goodnight, Eagle Bait.
Oh, that almost rhymes
you
night hi
get it
hi
health inspector
h.i
hello
oh youre gone
GRANDPA
delivered
it's a monday morning, so of course you're dragging yourself through the school hallways, clutching a coffee like it's the only thing keeping you sane.
your school is buzzing because the volleyball team has just won something huge, but you aren't really one for sports. you literally know nothing about the volleyball team - you just know their gym is always squeaky and smells like sweaty feet.
your phone buzzes in your pocket.
health inspector
I am tired.
you
omg
what happened to consistent schedules for recovery??
health inspector
Our coach was dissatisfied with our blocking.
We had to stay late.
I didn't get to bed until 11:30pm yesterday.
you
uh
11:30 is a normal bedtime for most people yk
also why did you have practice on a sunday..
health inspector
Not for me
My legs feel heavy.
⤷ replied to also why did you have practice on a sunday..
My coach says otherwise we will forget how to play.
you
thats stupid
do you want me to send you a virtual hug
there's a long pause, and you watch the three bubbles appear and disappear.
health inspector
I don't know what a virtual hug is.
Is it a digital sticker?
Do you want to call me?
you
LMFAO no
it's just me saying i feel bad for you
health inspector
Oh
you
but here
(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
health inspector
That is a strange collection of symbols.
It looks like a person with very long arms.
you
thats because it is a person with very long arms 😭
health inspector
I showed Tendou.
Now he's trying to recreate the face.
It's unsettling.
you burst into giggles, earning a sharp look from your teacher and bemused looks from your classmates.
"sorry," you murmur to no one in particular.
after school, your friend drags you to the gym, against your will.
"just for a bit," she pleads. "my brother is playing, and i promised i'd bring him his knee pads. the fat lump forgot them."
you groan but follow her.
you stand by the entrance, on your phone, completely disinterested in the teenagers jumping around.
you
im stuck in a gym
well, not in the gym, but close enough
the squeaking is giving me a headache
health inspector
I'm also in a gym.
The squeaking is the sound of effort.
you
yeah no.
it smells like stinky socks in here
health inspector
That is a valid description.
you
SEE
health inspector
My setter just messed up. He's angry now.
I should go.
you look up from your phone, scanning the court in front of you, but none of them seem to be checking their phones.
"ready?" your friend asks, returning from where she's just thrown the kneepads at her brother.
"yeah, let's go. this place is too loud," you say. she laughs. "and stinks."
as you turn to leave, a volleyball rockets off the court and bounces toward the door. you stop it with your foot.
"sorry," a deep voice calls out.
a tall guy with dark hair and a bit of a scowl starts jogging toward you. he looks intimidating, but his eyes are focused entirely on the ball.
you kick it back to him. he nods once - not a smile but rather a blunt acknowledgement of your existence - and heads back to his team.
you don't think twice about it.
you
heyy neighbor
guess what i ate today
health inspector
If it's not a balanced meal, I don't want to know.
you
it was an oreo with ham on it
health inspector
Why would you put meat on a sweet?
you
because it tastes good why else
you should try it
health inspector
I refuse.
you
suit yourself
health inspector
I have a question.
you
shoot
health inspector
Why do you continue to talk to me?
Most people find me difficult to converse with.
you lean back against your headboard, brow furrowing as you type your response.
you
because you arent fake
everyone else tries so hard to be cool or funny
you just tell me about your diet and your early ass bedtime
it's refreshing
health inspector
Huh.
you
plus you bought that chocolate bar because i told you to
that was nice :)
health inspector
It was very sweet.
I still have half of it in my locker.
you
HELP WHAT
are you saving it 😭
health inspector
I didn't want to waste it.
you
has anyone told you you're such a dork
health inspector
I am told that often by Tendou.
you
of course
⤷ health inspector liked this message
you
so since you wont tell me your name
can i give you a nickname
health inspector is getting old
health inspector
What did you have in mind?
you
toshi
you don't know why you picked it - it just popped into your head.
somewhere, a tall boy with dark, olive green hair freezes. his heart thumps against his ribs.
toshi.
only his family and his closest friends call him that. it's a fragment of his actual name.
health inspector
Why that name?
you
idk
it just suits you
health inspector
....
you
it's fine if not i know that was random
health inspector
Fine.
You may use it.
you
YES
( you have changed health inspector to toshi )
you
okay toshi
go do your squats or whatever it is you do
toshi
I will.
Goodbye Eagle Bait
you
bruh i dont get a new name 😔??
⤷ seen by toshi
kys
toshi
Okay I will keep myself safe
⤷ you disliked this message
tonight, your screen stays dark.
you find yourself checking your phone every ten minutes, which is annoying. you aren't supposed to care this much about a guy who thinks salt is a bold seasoning. like, seriously!
finally, a message arrives, and it isn't a 'goodnight'.
toshi
I'm at a team dinner.
Tendou is standing on a chair.
you
of course
it wouldnt be tendou if he wasnt
toshi
He's singing a song about chocolate bars and secret neighbors.
I believe he is trying to provoke me into showing him our messages again.
you
and
did you
toshi
No.
I told him that privacy is a human right.
He told me I'm whipped
your face heats up.
you
whipped? 😭
pleasee you barely like me
you just like having someone to tell about your digestion and shit
toshi
That is inaccurate.
I quite look forward to our conversations
you
wow
i think thats actually the nicest thing youve said
toshi
It's the truth.
People usually only talk to me about volleyball.
Or they are intimidated and don't talk at all.
you
damn
toshi
You just call me a dork.
you
because you ARE a dork toshi
but a cool one
in an i follow all the rules kind of way
toshi
That is nice to hear.
⤷ you liked this message
saturday morning, you're at a local cafe. you snap a photo of your overly complicated iced latte - the kind with a mountain of whipped cream.
you
[attachment]
look at this
it's the complete opposite of your water bottle 😝
toshi
That looks like a heart attack desguised as a drink.
you
it's delicious!
i wish i could send you a sip
toshi
I'd decline
you
aw man
hey if i sent you something would you eat it?
toshi
I don't give out my address to strangers, number neighbours or not.
you
no shit that would be dumb 😑
i meant like
ill leave it somewhere
toshi
That seems unnecessary.
you
fine
have it your way
⤷ seen by toshi
you put your phone down with more force than necessary, a little irritated. you weren't actually going to stalk him or anything, but his immediate rejection wasn't exactly a nice feeling.
you go back to your book, feeling a bit silly.
around an hour later, your phone buzzes.
toshi
I'm at the park near Miyagi Prefectural Library.
There's a large oak tree by the fountain.
your heart skips.
that's- not far from where you are now.
you
..and?
toshi
I'm leaving practice now.
I'll be passing that tree in twenty minutes.
If you were to leave something there, I might find it.
you're already shoving your book into your bag.
you run to the bakery next door, grab a single, high quality dark chocolate brownie (less sugar, more toshi friendly), and sprint toward the park as fast as you can.
the oak tree is huge and gnarled. you tuck the small white bakery box into a crook in the roots, hidden behind some leaves, then run again.
you hide behind a nearby gazebo, peeking through the slats.
not long after, a tall figure walks down the path.
he's wearing a tracksuit - white and purple. broad shoulders, long legs, and a walk that screams 'i own this sidewalk'. from where you're crouching, you can see he has dark, olive toned hair.
it doesn't occur to you that this is the same guy from the gym..
he looks serious, his eyes scanning the ground.
he stops at the tree, looks around, making sure no one is watching, and reaches into the roots to pulls out the white box.
he opens it.
he stares at the brownie for a long time. then, he looks around again, a tiny, almost invisible soften to his expression.
he tucks the box into his gym bag and walks away.
your phone vibrates.
toshi
I found it.
you
it's a brownie!
try it before you judge it
toshi
I'll eat it when I get home.
Thank you.
⤷ you liked this message
toshi
You were there
Weren't you?
you
guilty
⤷ seen by toshi
great.
he's much more intimidating in person than he is in a text message.
toshi
It was acceptable
you
acceptable??
thats it?
toshi
It was the best thing I've eaten that wasn't healthy.
you
HA
I KNEW IT
toshi
Perhaps.
My mother asked who gave it to me.
I told her it was a neighbor, and she seemed confused as to why our elderly neighbor, Mr. Sato, would give me a brownie.
you
LMAAOAOO 😭💔
did you tell her the truth?
toshi
No.
I find I like having this to myself.
you bite your lip, a slow blush creeping up your neck.
you
me too toshi
me too
⤷ seen by toshi
—
toshi
I'm at the doctor.
you
shit what happened??
are you okay?
did the brownie take you out?
fuck im sorry are you allergic i shouldve checked oh my gosh
toshi
No.
The brownie was fine.
you
oh
toshi
My ankle is slightly inflamed.
It's a common occurrence.
you
does it hurt?
toshi
Not really.
I have been instructed to ice it and refrain from jumping for 48 hours.
you
oh noo
forty eight hours of no jumping
how will you survive? 🥹
you can go relax and sit on a couch
toshi
I don't like sitting on a couch.
It makes me feel stagnant.
you
you are SO dramatic
just watch a movie or something
toshi
I am watching a video of our last match to analyse my footwork.
you
NO that doesnt count
watch something that doesnt involve a ball
toshi
Suggest something.
you spend the next ten minutes arguing over movies. he shoots down every romantic comedy you suggest (highly unrealistic human behaviour) and every horror movie (i dont find jumpscares logical).
finally, he decides on a documentary about deep sea creatures.
toshi
The giant squid is impressive.
you
awh do you relate to a squid
toshi
Yes
⤷ you reacted 😑 to this message
you're walking through the school courtyard during lunch when you see a group of girls whispering and giggling over a phone.
"he's so stoic," one of them sighs. "i wonder if he ever smiles."
curiosity kills the cat, so you peek over.
they're looking at an instagram post from a local sports magazine. it's a photo of a volleyball player mid air.
the caption reads: Shiratorizawa's Ace continues his dominant streak.
your heart stops.
the jersey is white and purple.
just like the tracksuit the guy in the park was wearing.
aka. your number neighbour.
aka, toshi.
you can't see his face clearly, but the build is unmistakable. the thick legs, the broad shoulders, the hair.
then it occurs to you - it's the same guy in the gym from so long ago. you just didn't recognise him without the tracksuit.
you scramble for your phone.
you
hey
quick question
toshi
What is the question?
you
do you go to shiratorizawa?
the 'typing...' bubble appears, and stays there for a long, long time.
you're holding your breath. if he says yes, the mystery is basically over. you could find him in ten minutes.
toshi
Why do you ask?
you
i saw a photo
of a player
he looked like the guy i saw in the park
another long pause.
toshi
I have told you before.
If we know too much, this changes.
you
i know
but
toshi
Are you disappointed?
you
what??
no
why would i be disappointed?
toshi
Because I'm not telling you who I am
you
toshi
ive been talking to you for a while
i know you think water is a treat and you relate to squids
you can't disappoint me
toshi
I see.
Then I won't confirm or deny.
But I will tell you this:
My ankle is feeling better because I'm distracted by this conversation.
And you.
your face turns five shades of red, and you have to put your phone face down on a concrete bench to cool off.
you're back in the gym, this time because you left your sweater on the bleachers after gym class. you'd hoped you could wear it somehow, but the gym teacher had promptly sent you away.
you spot a familiar head of bright red hair.
it's..
wait.
tendou?
he's leaning against the net, looking bored while who you guess is the coach talks to someone else.
suddenly, tendou spots you walking toward the bleachers. he narrows his eyes, then a huge, mischievous grin spreads across his face.
he points at you and then turns to the giant guy standing next to him.
the guy turns his head.
you freeze.
you're wearing your school uniform.
you look normal.
but you feel like you have 'NEIGHBOUR' written on your forehead in black sharpie.
the guy looks at you.
he doesn't wave or smile. he just stares for a second too long before the coach barks an order and he turns back to the court.
you grab your sweater and bolt.
once you're safely in the outside, your phone vibrates.
toshi
You were in the gym.
you
i was not
toshi
Tendou said, "There's the girl who smells like brownies."
you
i do NOT smell like brownies
AND HOW COULD HE EVEN SMELL THAT
toshi
You didn't say hello.
you
because you were BUSY
and INTIMIDATING
and we have a DEAL
no names
no faces
⤷ replied to no faces
we've broken that
toshi
I'm not intimidating.
I was just standing there
you
toshi
you are a 6 foot something mountain of muscle
you are the definition of intimidating
toshi
6'2
I didn't think you would be afraid of me.
you
im not afraid
im uhm
preserving the mystery
toshi
I think you were running away.
you
no i was walking fast
toshi
Tendou is laughing.
He says you looked like a startled rabbit.
you
tell tendou im gonna put salt in his next chocolate bar.
toshi
I will relay the message.
He says he likes salt in his chocolate bar.
you
for fucks sake
toshi
And for the record..
That sweater would look nice on you.
It's a good colour.
you groan and trip over your own feet.
"fuck-!"
you can't stop thinking about what he said.
about the sweater.
because it means he was actually looking.
toshi
I have a question about the long armed person face
you
(づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ
this one?
what about it
toshi
If it's a hug, does that mean you are a physical person?
you
you're gonna have to give me more info than that
toshiTendou says some people show affection through touch, while others show it through acts of service.
you
tendou is getting deep
and idk! maybe?
i think im a bit of both
what about you?
toshi
I give them my full attention.
If I'm talking to you, it's because I believe you're worth my time.
I don't engage in idle chatter with people I don't respect.
it's so blunt – there's no 'i think you're cute' or 'i like talking to you'.
just the fact that because he's texting you, you're officially worth it.
you
wait thats actually really sweet
does that mean i have your respect sir 🫡
toshi
You have had it for a very long time now.
⤷ you reacted 🥺 to this message
it was his texts like this that had you speechless.
you just.. didn't know how to reply.
it's the night before a big game for him.
you know this because he's been texting less, which usually means he's, quote, 'in the zone'.
you
big day tomorrow?
toshi
Yes.
We're playing a team with very persistent defense.
It'll be tiring
you
you got this!
just think of the giant squid or smt
toshi
I will.
Will you be there?
you
i dunno
wouldnt that break the rules
toshi
What rules?
The gym is a public space.
I cannot stop you from entering.
you
yeah it'd be weird if you could
toshi
Besides, Tendou keeps looking for 'the brownie girl' in the stands.
It would be easier if I knew where you were so I could tell him to focus on the match.
you
oh
so u want me there for team productivity
toshi
Precisely
you
ill consider it
⤷ toshi liked this message
the stadium is packed – you've never seen so many people there for a high school game.
you're wearing a simple hoodie, your hood pulled up slightly, feeling like a spy. (cue spy music!) you find a seat way up, far enough that you're just a speck in the crowd.
the whistle blows, and the teams walk onto the court.
and there he is.
number one.
he seems.. different on the court. at the park, he was just a tall, imtimidating guy. here, he's still intimidating, but he's also a force of nature.
when he scores, he doesn't celebrate much. he just resets, expression completely blank, eyes fixed on the ball.
in one word, he's magnificent.
during a timeout, you see him take a drink from his water bottle. his eyes scan the crowd.
they move slowly, methodically, starting from the front row and working their way up.
your breath hitches. you know he can't see you – there are thousands of people here. you turn your gaze away, looking somewhere else.
your phone vibrates.
toshi
You're here.
I can feel it.
you nearly drop your phone in absolute shock.
you
how??
you're literally in the middle of a game PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY
toshi
My manager is holding it. I asked her to check for a message during the break.
My coach isn't very happy but I don't care.
you
I CARE
YOUR COACH IS SCARY ASF
whats his name again
washing board
toshi
Washijo
You're in the upper area. To the left of the scoreboard.
yes in this shiratorizawa has a manager idc
you are exactly where he said.
you
you are a freak.
FOCUS ON THE GAME
toshi
I am focused.
Watching you watch me is not a distraction.
the whistle blows again.
you watch him hand the phone to the manager and walk back onto the court.
he looks up directly toward your section and gives a single, sharp nod.
then proceeds to absolutely demolish the other team.
you slip out before they officially announce the winner, not wanting to get caught in the crowd – or by a certain redhead.
you're halfway home when the text comes through.
toshi
We won.
you
i saw! you were incredible toshi
seriously
toshi
Thank you.
I'm tired now.
My muscles are aching
you
do you want another long armed person hug?
toshi
No.
ouch.
toshi
I think, next time, I would like a real one.
you stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly walking into a mailbox, your face burning.
a real one.
the man who finds unnecessary fluff unnecessary – just asked for a real hug.
or at least, he admitted he wanted one.
you
a real one?
who are you and what have you done with the robot?
toshi
I'm the same. I'm just tired.
Fatigue makes people more honest.
you
well go to sleep then mr honest
toshi
But it's still early.
And I'm not home yet.
you
i dont care
⤷ seen by toshi
—
toshi
Tendou is asking why I'm smiling at my phone.
you
youre SMILING??
toshi
It's not a large smile
My mouth is simply less straight than usual.
you
mmm sure ill take it
so whats got u smilin
toshi
I was thinking about the way you ran away in the gym.
you
?? I TOLD YOU I WAS WALKING FAST
besides youre scary in person
you have main character energy
toshi
I don't know what that means.
It's my job to be reliable. And intimidating if necessary.
you
youre very reliable at making me nervous :/
toshi
Why are you nervous? 🤔🤔
you
BECAUSE
we've been talking for months and i still dont know your real name
i could find out rn but im respecting your privacy be grateful 😤
toshi
I am grateful.
⤷ you liked this message
toshi
If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?
you
maybe
toshi
Then not yet.
I want to see how long we can last like this.
It's like a game.
you
youre so competitive 💔
istg is everything a game to you
toshi
Only the things that matter.
you're in your room, folding your laundry and humming a song that has been fixated in your head lately. you really need to stop doomscrolling on tiktok. no, seriously ik damn well get off
your phone is on your bed.
not so wise decision.
you reach for a sock, stumble, and your palm lands flat on the screen.
and you had only been texting a specific someone moments earlier, so the screen is still on.
the phone starts ringing.
calling.. toshi
"no, no, no!" you scramble, fingers fumbling to hang up, but your phone is glitching. great – out of all times. it freezes on the calling screen.
he picks up.
on the other end, there's silence. you hold the phone to your ear, too nervous to breathe. you're too terrified to speak.
"hello?"
his voice. it's so much deeper than you imagined.
"eagle bait?" he asks.
"hi," you whisper. your voice sounds tiny compared to his.
"you called me," he states.
"..it was an accident. i was.. folding laundry."
"i see."
there's a pause. you can hear faint chatter in the background – he's probably in the locker room.
"you sound.. like i expected."
"and how is that?"
"kind. and a bit terrified right now."
you let out a shaky laugh. "me? never."
"i have to go to practice," he says ever so softly. "but.. i liked hearing your voice."
you smile into the phone. "i liked hearing yours too.. toshi."
"i will text you tonight." before you can utter a goodbye, he hangs up.
you collapse onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.
now you aren't just texting a number anymore.
you're talking to a living, breathing person.
a person with a voice that makes your toes curl.
you're walking past the gym again – actually, lets be honest. you're taking the long way home just to catch a glimpse.
the gym doors fly open.
"BROWNIE GIRL!"
tendou is sprinting toward you, waving his arms like a windmill. behind him, he is walking out at a normal pace, looking slightly exasperated.
you freeze. you can't run this time; tendou is too fast.
"it's you! i knew it!" tendou skids to a stop in front of you, leaning down to look you square in the face. "ushijima is always staring at his screen with this look like he's trying to solve a very intense math problem, but the math problem is love!"
"satori," ushijima booms. he catches up, stepping between you and the redhead. "leave her alone. you're being intrusive."
toshi looks down at you.
"are you okay?" he asks, a genuine look of concern on his face.
"yeah," you squeak. "im fine. just.. laundry. i mean, walking home."
tendou snickers. "laundry.." he scoffs under his breath.
the other man looks at you for a long moment. you notice his eyes are a dark olive, like his hair.
"you're wearing the sweater."
"it's my favorite," you admit, fiddling with a loose thread.
he nods, a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. "it suits you. as i said before."
"WAKATOSHI-KUN!" tendou screams. "you're doing it! you're flirting! my eyes! they've never seen such a thing! actually.. she's shown me before.." echo reference??
toshi ignores him entirely. "ill text you later. i have to take satori away before he causes a scene."
"too late for that," you joke. "i've got to go as well."
he actually huffs a small laugh. it's a sound that blesses your ears.
"you're right. goodbye.. eagle bait."
"bye, toshi."
you walk away, feeling his gaze on your back until you turn the corner.
tendou turns to ushijima, grinning. "eagle bait? still?"
"she doesn't mind it. i think."
"you think-"
when you reach the front door, your heart is still trying to beat out of your chest through your throat.
you keep replaying it – the way he looked down at you, the way his voice dropped when he noticed your sweater, and, most importantly, the fact that he laughed.
your phone vibrates again before you even get the chance to take your shoes off.
toshi
I apologise for Tendou, he has no sense of personal boundaries.
you
lol it's fine
hes funny :)
toshi
He's a nuisance sometimes.
But.. he wasn't entirely wrong.
you stop mid step, one shoe on, one shoe off.
you
about
toshi
About the way I look at my phone.
friday evening, you're trying to study when a text comes through that isn't a text at all. it's a link to a destination on google maps.
toshi
I'm going to a park tomorrow.
Not the one with the oak tree.
This one is further away, near the river.
you
okay?
are you going to look for squids 😭
toshi
No.
I'm going for a run.
oh.
oh.
if hes asking u to run w him we cooked asf
toshi
I'll be finished at 10am, and there's a bench near the bridge.
you
waiiit
are you asking me to meet you
like for real without any distractions or people around
toshi
I would like to see if you are the same in person as you are over text without Tendou present, if that's what you mean.
you
wow. rude
justice for tendou
ill be there
toshi
Nice 👍
⤷ you reacted 🥹 to this message
toshi
?
you
nothing
toshi
Also, I brought a brownie the other day.
you
you WHAT
toshi
Yes. It was good, but not as good as the one you brought me.
you
thats because i sprinkled it with some neighbourly love otw!
toshi
Oh is that a seasoning? I'll have to try it out
you
oh gosh
⤷ toshi reacted ? to this message
you arrive at exactly 9:55am. you're wearing a fresh outfit, your hair is actually done, and you've checked your breath, like, five times.
more like fifty.
the park is quiet, the morning mist still clinging to the river. you see a figure running toward the bridge.
he's wearing a black compression shirt and shorts. he slows to a jog, then a walk, as he nears the bench. drenched in sweat, his skin glows in the morning light. he looks like a perfect sculpture come to life.
ushijima stops in front of you, breathing hard. "you came," he says. his voice is a little raspy from the run.
"i said i would," you say, trying to sound cool. you fail miserably. "uhh, nice running?"
toshi wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "thank you."
a beat, and you stare at eachother awkwardly.
"i realised something," he says, stepping a bit closer.
"what?"
"i don't know your name."
you smile, reaching out and gently poking his arm. damn, his muscles are like rock- "it's l/n. y/n."
he repeats it, testing the weight of the syllables in his mouth. "y/n. it is a good name. better than eagle bait."
you let out an unflattering snort. "i think everything is better than eagle bait."
toshi sits down on the bench, gesturing for you to join him. you sit, and for a while, you both just watch the river flow.
he reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a small, crumpled paper bag. he hands it to you.
inside is a single, slightly squashed chocolate bar. the same one you told him to buy weeks ago.
"i bought it this morning," he says, looking at his feet. "i thought.. maybe we could share it."
you feel a lump rise in your throat.
breaking the bar in half, you hand him the bigger piece. he promptly nudges it back to you and takes the smaller piece.
"to living a little," you say.
"to being neighbors," he replies.
the chocolate is slightly warm and has a papery taste to it, but it's easily one of the best thing you've ever tasted.
you sit on that bench for an hour. you talk about things that aren't volleyball, like how he likes the smell of old books and how you're terrified shitless of spiders.
"i am not afraid of spiders," ushijima says, looking at the remainder of his chocolate. "they're helpful. they eat mosquitoes."
"spoken like a true fearless soldier," you laugh. "but if one crawls on me, i'm using you as a human shield."
he glances at you, expression softening into a lopsided half smile. "i'm a very large shield. you'll be safe."
the.. peace lasts exactly forty eight hours.
by monday lunch, the school is buzzing (gossiping). apparently, someone (tendou) saw (spied) a mystery girl (you) sitting with the ace (ushijima) at the river.
you're trying to blend into the cafeteria wall when a shadow falls over your table. you look up, and it's not toshi.
it's guy with a black bowl cut and a guy with light brown hair, in a slightly more lopsided bowl cut.
"is it you?" the first one asks, pointing a finger at you like he's accusing you of a crime. "are you the one who made ushijima-san eat a brownie?"
"i.. maybe?"
"he hasn't stopped looking at his phone during stretches," the other one says, sounding personally offended.
before you can defend yourself, a hand lands on their heads and pushes them aside.
it's.. toshi!
he looks down at his apparently teammates with a look that would wither a cactus.
"go away," he states. "you are bothering her."
"we just wanted to see if she was real!" black bowl cut squeaks. "tendou-san said she was a forest spirit that lived in an oak tree!"
"uh. clearly im not a forest spirit," you say, finally finding your voice. "im a student."
toshi looks at you, then back at his teammates. "she is y/n."
light hair shrugs. "'kay. cmon goshiki."
they leave, albeit reluctantly.
"i'm going to practice. do you want to walk with me to the gym doors?"
you feel a hundred eyes on you, and you step forward, legs a little shaky.
"sure, toshi. let's go."
toshi
Tendou has been banned from my phone.
I've changed the passcode.
you
nah what was it before 😭
0000
toshi
No
It was 1111
you
..youre so predictable
toshi
I was joking
Predictability is a sign of stability
you
in what world 🥹
toshi
Anyway
I have Friday evening free. My coach is attending a conference
you
are you asking me on a date perchance
toshi
I am proposing an evening with you.
I'd like to go to the cinema.
you
oh?
no documentaries about squids
toshi
There's a film about a man who survives in the wilderness.
It seems logical.
you
okay
it's a date
but i get to pick the popcorn seasoning‼️
toshi
Yes 👍
But no bacon flavour please.
you
DO THEY MAKE THAT
toshi
...
No.
you
ohhh they do dont they 😼
⤷ toshi disliked this message
the cinema is oh so very dark and smells of buttered popcorn. you're sitting next to him, and even though you aren't touching, you can feel the heat radiating off him.
he's sitting perfectly upright, staring at the screen.
halfway through the movie, the main character gets lost in a blizzard. ironically, you shiver – the theater is a little cold.
without a word, toshi shifts. he doesn't put his arm around you – that would be too smooth for him. instead, he reaches over, takes your hand, and simply places it on his thigh, covering it with his own massive, warm hand.
"you're cold," he whispers. "this will help."
you bite your lip to keep from giggling. he is such an awkward romantic, and you love it.
you squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. his hand is rough with callouses from thousands of spikes, yet it's incredibly gentle.
you spend the rest of the movie not watching the screen at all, just focusing on the feeling of his thumb tracing small, absent minded circles on the back of your hand.
when the lights come up and the movie ends, he doesn't let go immediately. he looks at you, eyes thoughtful.
"the movie was.. acceptable," he says.
"was it better than the brownie?" you tease, grinning.
"no. but it is unfair to compare food and entertainment." he says, leaning in. "the company was better than the movie."
you think he might kiss you right there in the cinema, but then his phone buzzes.
yay. cockblocker
( 38 notifications from tendou )
tendou
HOW WAS THE MOVIE
DID U HOLD HANDS
I CAN FEEL THE ROMANCE FROM MY DOOM
SOOM
ROON
ROOM
TELL ME EVEYYITMG
EVERYTING
EVERYTGING
ECERTITN
fucj
EVERYTHING
USHIJIMA
WAKATOSHI
USHIWAKA
U
S
H
I
J
I
M
A
W
A
K
A
T
O
S
H
I
ANSWER MEEEEEEEE
ew are u making out
OR WORSE.. DOING THE NAUGHTY ‼️‼️
ewwwwwwwww
that's naaasty
wear protection kids 😏
toshi sighs, deep and weary. "i'm going to change my phone number."
"don't you dare," you laugh, standing up and pulling him toward the exit. "i like my number neighbor right where he is."
it turns out that when the most stoic, volleyball obsessed boy in shiratorizawa starts walking someone to class, people notice. i know! absolute shocker.
you're standing by the school lockers in the morning when you see him. he's, well, hard to miss – he towers over the crowd like a giant.
a group of first year girls is hovering near him, one of them holding a pink envelope.
ah.
"ushijima-senpai!" she chirps, her face bright red. "ive watched all your games! please, take this!"
you pause, feeling a weird, cold prickle in your chest. you've never been the jealous type, but seeing a literal fan club form around your.. you don't know what he is, but! it feels different.
ushijima doesn't take the envelope. he doesn't even look at it LMAO. he's looking over their heads, his eyes scanning the hallway until they land on you.
"i cannot take that," he says to the girl, his voice loud and clear. "it would be an inefficient use of my time, and i am already spoken for."
the hallway goes dead silent. the girl's jaw drops, and her friends giggle awkwardly.
toshi walks straight past them and stops in front of you.
"you're late," he says.
"sorry, captain," you answer, hiding a grin. "i didn't want to interrupt your, erm, fan meeting."
"it was not a meeting. it was disturbance. let us go."
and so the two of you walk off together, leaving the girl and her friends behind, her still clutching the envelope pathetically.
your phone pings during your afternoon break. it's a notification from instagram – you've been tagged in a post.
it's a photo someone took of you and ushijima at the cinema. the two of you walking out, hands briefly brushing.
and.. the comments are a war zone.
@.user1 who is she she looks so plain
@.user2 does he even like her? he looks bored asf
@.user3 ushijima kun deserves someone more athletic!
↳ @.tendersatoes definitely not you then 😂😂
a lump rises in your throat. you know you shouldn't care what strangers think, but it still hurts.
although tendou's comment does make you crack a smile. seriously, tendersatoes??
you're about to close the app when a new comment loads.
@.Ushijima_Wakatoshi Her name is Y/n. She is not plain, she is observant. And I'm not bored. I'm focused. If you have time to comment on my personal life, you have time to practice on whatever you need to do. You're lacking in discipline.
@.Ushijima_Wakatoshi Fuckers.
↳ @.tendersatoes pop off ushiwaka 🤪 CLOCKED BITCHES
↳ @.user2 whatever
you stare at the screen.
toshi just commented a whole paragraph for you.
and on top of that – fuckers.
you
toshi
did u just flame your uh FANS in the comments
toshi
I didn't flame them.
I provided an objective assessment of their behavior and their priorities.
you
yeah..
you basically told them to go touch grass
toshi
Grass is good for them.
Are you upset? I can delete the comment, but I think many people have seen it already.
you
no actually
i'm really happy
but pls dont get suspended for me
toshi
If it means I have more time to spend with you, then I welcome it.
you
TOSHI 🥹🥹
⤷ toshi liked this message
since the gym is being renovated for two days, ushijima actually has an afternoon off.
you invite him over to your house to study, which mostly consists of you trying to talk about work while he stares at your bookshelves.
"why do you have so many books about people who don't exist?" he asks, picking up one of your romance novels.
"because fiction is fun, toshi! it's about feelings and drama and shit."
he puts it down, then reaches for another one.
you gasp, jumping on his back. "not that one-!"
"drama is just a lack of communication," he says, sitting down on your rug. he's so big that your room suddenly feels half its size.
you sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. he freezes for a second before he slowly relaxes, resting his head on top of yours.
"i like your house," he says softly. "it smells like you."
you laugh, the sound muffled against his arm.
ushijima suddenly shifts, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. he opens up your contact info.
"i have changed your name again," he says.
you look at the screen.
it doesn't say 'eagle bait' anymore.
it just says,
y/n ❤️
"the red heart means affection," he says, his face turning a very unnatural shade of pink. "tendou told me it was mandatory for this stage of a relationship."
"for once," you whisper, leaning up to kiss his cheek, "i think tendou is right."
but ushijima turns his head at the last second, catching your lips with his.
"i agree," he says matter of factly once you pull away, then lifts your chin to kiss you again.
called both of my number neighbours once on a dare, one sent me to voicemail and the other was a woman with a child crying in the background. and i was reading the manga the other day and ml ushijima does not talk like a robot all the time 😭 bro fanon ushijima is scary.
genuinely really proud of myself for this one tysm for reading (new top 3 fav unlocked ?!)
tumblr, please allow more than 30 images. thank you.
also ! im making this a number neighbour collection/series so lmk through my inbox if reqs are open if u want any other characters with a specific plot, and smau or chatfic :D (if a character's already been done, i won't do it again. at time of this post ive got akaashi, ushijima, oikawa and suna)
taglist ( to be added OR removed, fill out the tag form )
@n-o-b-o-d-y123 @owl-captain-of-fukurodani @tc-selmarillian @blythmourning @sevslover @fosfatodna @tearsoftae @heavenquilll @perlleta @noemivalorr @bookworm-center @thesmithslvr17 @lottiekarottiqd @fweakygyatt @wellitseugi @haniipie @charukii @imgonnashartmyself @toorubae @kotarosangel @leosxrealm @irethepotato @lithiumval @dreamayy @wanderless-musings @sunnyl1ght
"im lazy" i truly sympathize with executive dysfunction, but this is one of those quality-of-life things you need to prioritize. 3 minutes of research/installation will save you a thousandfold in time and energy. it can even help with brain fog (most people don't realize how much mental energy ads actually steal)
"i like ads" my jaw is on the fucking floor. you chose to live in a sewer, yet you will never be a ninja nor a turtle. you do not have a warrior's heart.
*inhaling deeply and reminding myself that Shaking The Baby only endangers the baby, and does not assist it to learn or grow* in spite of everything there are beautiful and important truths within this world that you must learn, and i must help you to learn
⬆️⬆️⬆️ Can confirm, I use this method (alongside others) on android. for iOS the steps are different (and it may be easier to install the AdGuard DNS app instead)
the above will decrease the amount of ads you see system-wide. however: hands down the BEST ANDROID ADBLOCKING feature is the ability to install Firefox with uBlock Origin enabled.
this only blocks browser ads, but HOLY SHIT does that matter if you try browsing websites over apps when possible. which you should bc it's awesome and gives you SO much more control. E.g. blocks youtube.com ads and you can play videos in the background. works with spotify.com too
Pro tip: toggle on 'Desktop site' to avoid mobile sites that are purposely designed to bully you into using the app. Desktop mode fixes a surprising number of problems
Note: for iOS users this isn't possible bc Apple hates your guts, but there are other browser options with built-in adblocking.
~400 words, SFW but slightly suggestive, zayne x fem!reader, inspired by this meme, masterlist
Zayne is appalled.
He needed a new black compression shirt for his workouts since his previous clothes don't fit anymore because of his strength training. Thus, he ordered this shirt from a reputable seller with thousands of good reviews, but upon receiving and trying on the shirt, it was far too tight on him.
The fabric clings to every nook and crevice of his muscular body. Not only is it impractical and uncomfortable, but it also leaves very little to the imagination for his form. It's a little embarrassing.
Zayne finds the link to the listing on his phone and decides to leave a one-star review with a picture of himself in the shirt attached, typing out the following:
★ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
I ordered 2XL. Why is it so tight?
The seller replies almost immediately.
Oh my god.
What kind of a response is that?
As Zayne frowns at the seller's response to his brief review, you walk into the bedroom. His gaze remains on his phone screen, re-reading the description of the listing to make sure he hadn't mistaken anything when he ordered the item earlier. He doesn't see the way you stand by the door, staring at him with keen eyes.
The outline of his muscles are clearly visible through the shirt. Thick pecs taper down to a narrow waist, pert nipples poking out from underneath the dark fabric. Your body moves on its own, striding over to him silently, already locked onto your target.
Zayne finally notices you approaching in his peripheral vision, glancing up from his phone. "Did you need something, honey—?"
Zayne is abruptly cut off as you grab him and pull him towards you by his waist, burying your face right between his pecs. You then proceed to grab two handfuls of his pecs, cupping them in your palms.
Heat spreads across Zayne's face. "What are you—?"
Your voice is muffled between his boobs.
"Bed. Now. The shirt stays on."
Later—after several passionate rounds of your attention, especially towards his now tender and sore chest—Zayne revokes his earlier grievances in his review.
★★★★★
I ordered 2XL. Why is it so tight?
Edit: I stand corrected. My wife loved the shirt. I suppose the sizing is acceptable.
Zayne figures this shirt can have other uses outside of working out.
all you wanted was a romantic shower together, wash his hair, scrub each other—all that mush. you thought you could acclimate but turns out, zayne bathes in what feels like a melted glacier runoff, that he so assuredly calls lukewarm.
"you don't have to brave a shower for my sake," he tells you. clearly, you're doing a horrible job at looking unfazed.
"pfft—me? b-brave? zayne I'm s-so co-cool." your teeth betray you.
he studies you for a moment, and then steps closer with a sigh, unconvinced. without a word, he reaches behind you and adjusts the knob to a warmer setting.
you melt immediately. a quiet hum slips out before you can stop it. and just like that, you fail yet again.
the following weekend, zayne suggests you give the shower another try. this time the water is perfect for you. warm and luxurious. as for zayne... he blinks at you like he’s trying to focus through a haze, panting softly.
"zayne... is it too hot for you?" your frown deepens as his blush descends, inch by inch, toward his abdomen. he blinks again, like the question requires significant amount of processing power.
"I believe you're mistaken," he clears his throat. "this is merely the... effect you have on me,"
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