it's not that he doesn't love your mouth he does, but when you give him kisses... it's just different.
probably because he's touch starved.
he's already a mess before you start. chest heaving, thighs twitching, fingers fisted his own shirt. his cock is so hard it's curved up against his stomach, dripping onto floor. and you're just looking up at him, lips shiny and close, and he's blushing all the way down to his chest.
"y-you're so pret—" he cuts himself off with a shaky breath.
first kiss to the tip and his whole body jerks like you shocked him. his cock twists hard, slapping against your cheek, and he lets out this high, broken whimper.
"fuck—"
he gasps, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. you just kiss him again. softer this time. right under the head. and another down the shaft, open mouthed and wet, tongue pressing flat. his hips buck into your face.
"sweetheart p-please—"
you don't even suck him. just kiss and lick, lips dragging, spit slicking him up until he's shiny and twitching. your hand slips between his legs, cups his balls, rolls them slow. his head drops back, eyes squeezing shut, a sob catching in his throat. "too much—too much—" but he's grinding up into your mouth, desperate, panting.
his cock throbs against your lips, precum leaking in these thick little pulses. he's so close. you can feel it. you press one last kiss right to the tip, tongue flicking over the slit, and he's done.
back arching off. a raw, cracked moan ripping out of him as he cums all over your face—your lips, your nose, your chin, dripping down your neck. his body locks up, shaking so hard his legs give up and he hits the floor with a thud, body twitching, chest heaving, eyes glazed and wet.
you crawl over him, cum still warm on your skin, and kiss him deep. he whimpers into your mouth, hands shaking as they grab your waist.
"clean me up, baby."
you say against his lips. and he does. desperate little licks, tongue dragging across your cheek, your nose, your lips, licking his own cum off your face like it's the only thing he's good for.
maybe it is.
masterlist. if you want to be in my taglist let me know :)
how on earth is sakusa kiyoomi supposed to get the girl when she's got real big romantic expectations!?
you've never been quiet about how romance worked in your head.
sakusa knew it. it was easy, really! what any guy just had to do to secure a place in your heart was be hopelessly devoted to you and worship the ground you walked on!
well, no. maybe not to that level. but what he did know was that, thanks to all of the collection of shojo and josei manga you had not so hidden in your apartment, to all the open tabs on your ipad of romance and historical webtoons, to all the love songs on your playlist and to all the times you gushed to kiyoomi about the latest rom-com movie you watched on netflix, your expectations were up to the fucking sky.
and kiyoomi did not care at all, damn once in a while he would tease you as you eat lunch on the MSBY main gym's bleachers just because you had your sandwich in one hand and a stupid manga volume on another. multitasking! you claim.
and he truly did not give a fuck until he started feeling his heart skip just a bit whenever you were around. or when you casually handed him a bottle of water after doing his reps. or when he heard your laugh when atsumu said something stupid. or when— whatever! the point was, after much deliberation and after hinata literally smacked his head, he came to the conclusion he was utterly whipped for you.
now what?
what did he have to offer that you wouldn't turn down in seconds just like you did with other men?! because he has witnessed it!
"sorry, your job sounds pretty... fake" he recalls you saying to some 'creative director' whose parents were still paying his rent. kiyoomi panicked, wasn't being a volleyball player literally a fake job?! he only had to chase after a ball!
"passiveness sounds pretty unattractive" you announced one time as you examined a cliché bouquet of red roses that some MSBY sponsor sent you. sending flowers was passive to you?! was it better if he had delivered him personally?
hence why, sakusa is now sitting on atsumu's couch, elbows resting on his knees as his head is between his hands at some lame ass hangout that miya, bokuto and shoyo insisted he needed to 'clear his head'
"what about some fancy restaurant! like one with a years long waitlist!" koutarou suggests.
"buddy, if you think a fancy dinner isn't bare minimum then just marry akaashi at this point"
"can we just... focus on what actually matters?!" kiyoomi groans, leaning back in despair "why doesn't anyone know what she'd like for a first date!"
"'kusa, y'literally hissed at us if we stood too close to 'er after practice. how are we supposed to know now y'jerk!" the blonde miya attacks, and kiyoomi hates he's right. maybe he shouldn't have gatekeepen you a lot.
they spend at least twenty minutes more debating about a what grand gesture could the least romantic person in the room pull so you even considered saying yes to a first date to him. even natsu was called by his sunshine-like brother.
"yikes" the teenager said over the phone, mocking the pro volleyball players "if none of the things you've read of the books she likes convinces you then—"
sakusa's eyes widen. "what did you just say?"
natsu then was flabbergasted "hold on a damn second, you haven't read the stuff she likes so you know what she wants?! oh my god! men are such dumbasses!"
of course! what's more trustworthy than the original source of your expectations?!
three weeks later, you had to stop dead in your tracks when you catched a glimpse of kiyoomi, the sakusa kiyoomi, after hours at the gym's bleachers reading one of your favorite shojos like he was reading the bible or some huge paper he needed for his thesis.
and that was not all, he had a fucking notebook next to him.
the volume of the manga he was currently scanning, had dozens of post-its peeking out. you guessed by the variety of them he was color-coding shit you didn't even know was possible. in your case, you just used any sticky notes you'd find in your desk or purse and maybe circle with a pen some phrase you loved and that's all!
this man was on a mission.
"firework festival, fuck off, we're in november and that's until next july!" you heard him complain under his breath, since you quietly approached him from behind.
and when you saw your name written next to the female lead, you couldn't help but freeze and let out a tiny gasp.
kiyoomi wanted to die.
he closed the notebook and manga so quickly you sure now knew why the coach always praised him for his reaction time while on the court. "no!" you squeaked, getting closer, demanding "let me see!"
"the hell are you talking about?! that was nothing!" sakusa's ears were so red as he yelled at you. why, why did god hate him so much?
"no, it was not. that was my name!"
"don't flatter yourself!"
"too late!" you said, lunging forward trying to take his sources from him "is it true? you really have a crush on me!"
against all odds for a germaphobe like him, he pressed his palm against your forehead "crush is a really strong word..."
yet, he was using the softest tone voice you've ever heard. yet he couldn't hold eye contact as you slowly stilled. and seeing how your gaze was equally as earnest as his, he had no other choice to fold. he extended the notebook.
and so you started reading his notes:
"fireworks, do all male leads say 'yeah, so pretty' while she looks at the fireworks but he looks at her? well yn is pretty", "'sports festival' damn, i should've met her in high school", "office romance, standing up to the boss for her. fuck yn and i don't even have common bosses but the coach, should i bribe the coach", "sick day, take care of hear. yn never gets sick, fuck fuck fuck!!!"
you have never felt your heart ache like this. this guy, the guy who once said twenty seven dresses was the most predictable rom com ever, was making notes on how to... get you?
you?
when you look up at him, mesmerized, you don't exactly know what to say. and you're sure he doesn't either. minutes strecth by and kiyoomi is just waiting for you to end his suffering and tease him but reject him since what kind of man needs to study to do romantic gestures?
you do something thoughtful for osamu without asking him first, and it sparks the first real disagreement of your friendship.
part ten of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
When Yachi showed you her final draft of Osamu's new sign for Onigiri Miya, you had to stand up from your chair.
"Sorry," you apologized, smoothing your skirt down and tucking yourself back into the table. The downtown coffee joint she suggested was packed and a little too trendy for your liking, but it was the only spot that accommodated both of your busy schedules. "It's just — holy shit. Osamu's going to love it."
"You think so?" The designer a few years your junior examined her work with a taut smile, as if trying to convince herself of her own talent. "I tried to keep the spirit of your original mockup while adding a bit of my personal style. I hope it's not too distracting."
"It's not." You shook your head — still reeling over her design choices, the smart balance between illustration and text. "It's so much better than I pictured in my head. How much do I owe you?"
"Oh, not much. I'll send you the invoice later." Yachi waved a hand, accustomed to your years-long exchange of work-related favors. "So long as your friend gets more customers, that's all that matters!”
"I could kiss you right now, Hitoka." You slid the documents into your work bag and downed the rest of your coffee. "Osamu will want to give you free onigiri for the rest of your life."
The wind upended your hair the moment you stepped out of the café and onto the busy sidewalk.
"You know, you caught me at a good time," Yachi confessed over the sound of office workers, self-driving cars, and drivers honking at self-driving cars. "I'm actually going back to school in a couple weeks.”
"Hitoka!" Your jaw went slack, furious she hadn't told you sooner. “That's amazing! What for?"
"Typography classes." She shrugged, although her lips tugged into a giddy smile. "It's just an evening course at my local community college, but it'll probably take up all my free time.”
"You know, Osamu has been wanting to go back to school for the longest time. Do they have a website or something?"
"Oh, for sure!" Yachi frowned, already reaching for her phone. "I actually think they're having an open house in a couple of weeks. He should totally look into it.”
The link appeared in your inbox not a moment later.
"You know," she began, sliding her phone back into her work slacks. "You're doing an awful lot for this guy who's just your friend."
"Please. I'm just making up for all the times he's fed me," you breathed. It didn't exactly help, given the way Yachi’s smile turned saccharine. "I'm serious!"
"Whatever you say,” she half-sang, turning back in the direction of the Yajakudo Designers office. "Let me know if you need a wedding invitation, okay? My treat!"
You didn't remember her being so brazen, you thought, fishing for your parking validation at the bottom of your work bag. Then again, I guess I've changed, too.
The thought clung to you like a piece of chewing gum as you sped-walked toward the parking garage and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to find your car.
On the other side of town, Osamu was actively trying not to crash out. Lunch hour was the busiest it had ever been; he was down two whole crates of avocados. The toilet in the family bathroom had been clogged since this morning, and Itsuki had just called out sick with mono.
"You know they call it the kissing disease?" he shared over the phone. "She was like a siren, boss. Beautiful on the outside, lethal on the inside."
"Alright." Osamu rolled his eyes from where he'd locked himself inside the freezer room. "Just drink lots of fluids. And stop stickin' yer tongue down everyone's throat."
"You're tellin' me," the eighteen-year-old sighed. "I think I’m a changed man now."
Before Osamu could open his mouth to respond, his phone rang with another call. It was Miss Yuki.
"Shit," he murmured under his breath. "I gotta take this. Lemme know if ya need anything, alright?"
He always figured there would come a time Kina wound up in the principal's office. He just didn't think it'd be today.
"I can't believe ya got into a fight," he grumbled after twenty-five minutes of traffic and a stern talking to by the head-of-school. "The hell happened?"
Kina hung her head low and dragged her feet across the asphalt, really exercising her right to remain silent.
"I don't wanna talk about it," she said, a repeat of what she'd told Miss Yuki and the head-of-school ten minutes ago.
"And here I thought ya got along with Yui..." Osamu muttered, unlocking his truck and tossing Kina's backpack into the backseat. "The hell am I gonna do with ya for the rest of the day?"
The drive back to the restaurant was silent save for the sound of Kina's legs swinging against her booster seat. Maybe he could set her up in a booth. Ask one of his employees to walk her through the puzzles on the back of the kid's menu.
"...she called me weird because I don't have a mommy," Kina murmured at a red light. Voice small. Knees turned protectively toward the window. "She called me weird because I don't have a mommy, and I punched her in the eye.”
Now, Osamu knew his daughter was unpredictable. Half the time, it aged him. The other half made him laugh so hard his sides hurt. This, though?
All he felt was his stomach drop, his insides twist. He wanted nothing more than to unbuckle his seatbelt and wrap her into a big hug.
Before he could, though, the light turned green.
"Oh, sweetheart," he said. Voice strained. Knuckles turning white as he drove through the intersection. "Yer not. Even though mommy ain’t livin’ with us, yer not any less than those girls at school. Ya hear me?"
“I know.” Kina nodded in the rearview mirror, although her bottom lip still trembled. "That's what Misa said, too.”
"Good." Osamu swallowed, the thought of you easing his nerves like a balm. "That's...that's good."
He'd been so distracted lately. By missing ingredients. By sick employees. By his foolish, painful crush on you — which wasn't your fault. He knew that. Maybe if he hadn't been so absentminded, he would've picked up on Kina and Yui sooner. Maybe if he were a little less selfish, his daughter wouldn't be crying in the back seat right now.
The thought stuck with him the entire afternoon, rotting like a fruit in the back of his mind.
"Did your phone die or something?" The front door to the restaurant jingled open as you stepped inside and fixed your hair. "I've been calling you for the past hour."
"Shit." Osamu adjusted his backwards baseball cap and checked the digital clock above the register. Sure enough, it was already five. "Sorry. I've had a crap day."
"Tell me about it. I'm so behind on work, I had Kuroo pick up Misa from school." You massaged the inner corners of your eyes and laughed. "I bet all my life savings he feeds her ice cream before jiu-jitsu."
You walked inside the mostly empty dining room and blinked at the child napping in a nearby booth — limbs splayed, mouth wide open.
"You picked her up early today?"
"Long story." Osamu winced. Luckily, you didn’t push. Merely snorted before sliding into an empty barstool. "How'd yer meetin' with the designer go?"
"Oh, great. She saves my ass at the JVA more times than I can count, so I'm on a mission to give her as much business as possible."
You reached for your work bag to show him the designs, but stopped abruptly.
"I need to tell you something first, though."
"Oh?" He paused. Tossed the towel he'd been using to wipe the counter over a shoulder. "I'm listenin'."
"Remember when you told me you were considering going back to school?"
Osamu nodded. He was pretty sure you were sitting in that same exact spot, too.
"Well...my designer sent me the website of a community college she's attending in the spring, and I may or may not have signed you up for their last open house in a few weeks."
Osamu blinked at your words. The slight guilt beneath them.
"And before you come at me!" Your eyes grew panicked. "I checked your Google Calendar backwards and forwards; I made sure I was free to babysit. They have this incredible scholarship for business owners wanting to finish their degree, and I think if you just looked into it — "
"I can't."
It was out before he could stop it. Osamu swallowed, stunned by the bite in his own voice. "I appreciate the offer, but...I can't."
"...oh." You clamped your mouth shut. Furrowed your brow in confusion. "Are you busy that day? Do you have a catering gig?"
“No." He shrugged, brushing a pile of imaginary crumbs off the countertop. "I just don't think I got the time. Between Kina and the restaurant, things are already crazy as-is."
"Well, lots of people make it work," you offered. "Plus, you've got a great support system. You have your mom, your brother. I can even take Kina to Misa's Tiger Tots program on the days you have class."
"What? No." He blanched, having already witnessed his daughter's appetite for violence. "I couldn't ask ya to do that. Plus, Tsumu's trainin' for the Emperor's Cup in December. It'd be too much."
"Osamu." You frowned at him from across the bar. "I know it'd be hard, but...I wouldn't want you to give up on something you clearly want."
He scoffed, gesturing for one of his employees to take over the register. "Think I gave up my right to do whatever I wanted a long time ago."
You narrowed your eyes at him, then. As if looking for subtitles to help explain wherever the hell this was coming from.
“Are you okay?" you pressed, following Osamu as he retreated into his office. Between the tall stacks of paperwork to the dust bunnies behind the computer monitor, you had no idea how he got any work done back here. "Did something happen with Kina at school?"
"When doesn't somethin' happen with Kina at school?" he snorted.
“That’s fine. You're not obligated to tell me," you huffed, leaning against the aging doorframe. "I just don’t think you should be making such sweeping decisions when you’re like this.”
“Like what?”
“Snippy." You gestured to the old shoebox you were standing in. "Clearly auditioning for the latest season of Hoarders."
"I make it work." He plopped into his broken desk chair, tufts of memory foam puffing out the cracked leather with a wheeze.
"You don't even have any windows!" you cried. "Seriously, Osamu. When's the last time you did anything for yourself?"
"Are ya seriously askin' me that right now?" he balked. "When's the last time ya took somethin' off of yer plate? Or went to sleep at a decent hour?"
"Hey. I take vitamins for that and you know it."
He rolled his eyes. "Face it. Ya can't berate me for not takin' care of myself because, at the end of the day, yer the same way."
"At least I don't act like a martyr about it," you muttered. Osamu arched an eyebrow at that. You sighed through your nose.
"Look. I get that you're busy. Hell, I get that a program like this is a huge expense. But don't use those as excuses for not going after what you want when I actually think you're just scared."
Your accusation hung in the air like a pungent smell. Osamu slid his eyes away from yours, although the blush creeping up the side of his neck told you that he'd heard you. Loud and clear.
"Daddy?" Kina interrupted after several long, agonizing seconds. She popped her head inside the office and frowned. As if she could smell the tension off the both of you. "What's the password for the potty?"
Osamu recited it to her. "Will you go in with her?" he asked apologetically. "Last time I let her in there by herself, she fell into the toilet."
Despite everything, you snorted.
"Roger that. C'mon, Kina."
"…were you and my daddy having a lover's quarrel?" he heard his daughter ask as you walked with her to the bathroom.
You didn’t answer right away. Kina asked again, just in case you didn’t hear her the first time. Meanwhile, Osamu's forehead hit his desk with a soft thunk.
"Wow..." Atsumu's thumbs flew across his controller at record speed. "For once in my life, I'm not the idiot twin."
Osamu cursed as his brother sent Captain Falcon flying straight into Ike's chest. "The hell ya mean by that?"
The apartment was quiet save for the low rumble of Super Smash Bros on the television, the occasional snore floating in from Kina's ajar bedroom door. The scent of fried salmon still lingered in the air — and while there were dishes in the sink and leftovers on the stove, Osamu couldn't bring himself to take care of it.
"What I mean is that Y/N went out of her way to sign ya up for somethin' you've been talkin' about for ages — and ya went and shot her down for no reason!"
"No reason? Did ya hear anythin' I just said?" Osamu spat, trying to regain offense. "Tsumu, I'm drownin' over here! I've got the restaurant and my kid — "
"Eh, you've been sayin' that for years now," Atsumu scoffed. "Find a better excuse. Or at least sound more convincin' when ya say it."
A muscle feathered in Osamu's jaw as Ike was blasted off screen, Atsumu's Falcon Punch delivering the final blow of the match. "GAME!"
Sighing, Osamu let the controller fall into his lap. "Kina got into a fight at school the other day."
"Really?" Atsumu pushed out his bottom lip. "Did she win?"
"That ain't the point!" Osamu snapped. "It's just...one of her classmates bullied her for not havin' a mom, and I've been pissed off ever since."
"Damn." His brother frowned, watching as Captain Falcon flexed his muscles in victory on the television. "Kids are real assholes."
"Yer tellin' me," Osamu grumbled, picking at a loose thread on one of Kina's plushies she hadn't put away yet. "I know Y/N meant well by what she did, it’s just...how the hell am I supposed to think about finishin' school when my kid needs me to be two people at once?"
Atsumu considered his brother's question for a long while. Arms folded, feet kicked up on the coffee table. Osamu almost thought he'd fallen asleep before —
"Well, unless ya suddenly grow a pair of tits, I don't think you'll ever be her mom."
“For fuck's sake, Tsumu,” Osamu swore, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. "I thought ya were gonna say somethin' profound.”
"Think about it, though! Kina's mom is the way she is. It sucks and it's unfair, but...it's also out of your control. So why would ya spend all yer wakin' hours pretendin' that it's not?"
Atsumu reached for his controller to start the next game. "Kina doesn't need ya to be anyone else but her dad. And given the fact that you've managed to keep her alive this long, I'd say yer doin' just fine."
Osamu didn't say a word. Merely sniffed back his exhaustion. Regained his own controller once it came time to pick the next stage. Stuff like this wasn’t intuitive to him anymore. Playing games instead of tidying up. Going to college open houses instead of watching Kina. It all felt backwards. Too indulgent. If everyone around him was well-fed and happy, why should anything else matter?
I wouldn't want you to give up on something you clearly want.
He didn't need to think too hard about what he wanted. Actually getting it, though...
"Do ya think it'd be crazy if I asked her out on a date?" he asked quietly.
"No," Atsumu said without missing a beat. "But if ya fuck things up, I will run ya over with my car and ask her out myself."
"Fuck you," Osamu snorted. Then, because he still had some pride left in his body, "Ya ain't even her type."
"And yer somehow better? Yer hobby is brooding."
Osamu's jaw tightened. "Can't argue with that."
He proceeded to lose the next three games before shutting the television off entirely.
The following day, Osamu stood in the lobby of your office building. Bento box in one hand. Cell phone in the other. He'd been scrolling through the website of the community college whose open house you'd signed him up for — and while he'd only intended to glance at it for formality's sake, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't interested.
To your credit, they did seem pretty flexible with their evening business program — offering scholarships, online course options. They even had an on-campus daycare at no additional cost to parents. The more he scrolled, the more he could picture himself being there. Learning there.
The idea excited him, if only for a second.
"Osamu?" An unfamiliar voice called out to him from across the lobby. The stranger wore a loose tie and a blue button-down, and his hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in days. "I don't think we've met! Tetsurō Kuroo."
"I — pleasure to meet ya," Osamu managed, pocketing his cell phone before taking the young man's hand for a shake. "How did ya know it was me?"
"I know a Miya when I see one," he drawled, gesturing to Osamu's face. He pointed toward the bento box. "You treating Y/N to lunch today?"
"More like offerin' her an apology meal," Osamu admitted. "She said she'd come down once she was out of her meetin'."
"Ah.” Kuroo nodded. “So you're in the doghouse."
Did Osamu even have the right to be in the doghouse? That felt like something reserved for people in relationships. Not...whatever the two of you were.
"Well, we're not — "
"I'm just shittin’ you, man. That food smells delicious,” Kuroo enthused, ever the portrait of attention deficit. He clapped Osamu on the back before stalking off toward the exit. "Good luck on your apology! I'm sure she'll be down any second now."
Sure enough, after minutes of hovering around and making unwanted eye-contact with your security guard, Osamu spotted you. Heels clacking against the tile. Work badge swinging from your belt loop. You always walked like that, he realized. Like you were going somewhere important.
"Sorry to make you wait!" you apologized, picking up speed as you approached. "Everyone and their mother was in the elevator today. Someone let it rip in there, too. It was bad."
"Yer good." Osamu grinned, relieved by how easy things felt despite your previous conversation. "Why don't we take a walk? Get ya some fresh air?"
"I'd love nothing more," you chirped, already heading for the exit. Your expression faltered once you spotted the bento box in his hand. "You didn't have to bring me lunch. I would've been happy just to see you."
"Eh." Osamu shrugged, popping open the box as you pushed your way out of the building and onto the busy sidewalk. "I wanted to do it.”
You began your slow, easy walk around the block — Osamu offering you small bites of hot dog and rice, you folding them into your cheeks like a squirrel.
"Even though I'm the one who owes you an apology?" you asked eventually.
"I — " Osamu blinked. "I didn't think ya did."
"I do, though." You swallowed, eyes glossing over with an emotion Osamu couldn't place. "I was way out of line the other day. I got excited and I overstepped, and...I should have asked before signing you up for the open house. I'm sorry."
Osamu soaked in your words. The tenderness beneath them. All this time, he'd been mulling over how to apologize to you. He didn't consider the fact that you might be doing the same.
"Well, I appreciate that, but ya were just bein' thoughtful," he offered gently. "Besides, ya weren't wrong. I was scared. I was scared and pissed and hypoglycemic, and...I was just lookin' for excuses to say no to ya. So I'm sorry, too."
You accepted his apology with a soft smile, eyes drifting down to your shoes.
"Do you want to talk about it? What was bothering you the other day?"
“Yeah…” Osamu sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Kina got into a fight with Yui at recess."
You fought back a sheepish look and confessed, "I know. Misa told me when she got back from jiu-jitsu."
Then, because you couldn't help yourself, "Did she win?"
“Why is everyone askin’ me that?” Osamu griped. He plucked a cherry tomato from the bento box and popped it into his mouth. "Yui told Kina she was weird for not havin’ a mom, so Kina…gave her a black eye.”
"Sounds like a win to me," you hummed. "And honestly? I would’ve done the same."
"No."
"Absolutely! You should’ve seen me when a Levi’s sales associate told me I couldn't fit my postpartum hips into any of their jeans. Misa gave me the stink-eye at a ripe three months of age.”
Osamu was full-on laughing now. "Well, despite yer appetite for violence, I think ya raised a good egg."
"You did, too," you reminded him with a light shove. "At least Kina can defend herself in a fight.”
"Yeah. I've got myself and Tsumu to blame for that," Osamu drawled. "It's just...Kina's my whole world. How am I supposed to focus on anythin' else?"
"Well, how's that saying go?” You weaved around a throng of office workers on their way to lunch — grabbed Osamu by the arm so you wouldn't lose him. “You can't pour from an empty cup?"
"Yeah. Suppose yer right," he sighed, squeezing your hand with his bicep. "It's just not in my nature to do that. To be selfish.”
"It's not selfish, Osamu. It's self-preserving."
"Yeah?" The corners of his lips tilted into a smirk. "And have you self-preserved at all in the past year?"
You shoved him again, a little harder this time. "Do as I say, Osamu. Not as I do."
His chuckle, low and teasing, rumbled right through you. "So full of wisdom today..."
You eventually found your way back to your office. Bento box empty. Hand still tucked into Osamu's arm. You tried not to think too deeply about how warm he felt, pressed into your side like that. But as you both pulled away from each other, you couldn't help but notice the difference.
“If I go to that open house in a couple weeks, will ya promise to take a day off?” he asked, snapping the lid back on. "I can take Misa for the day."
"Really?" The expression you gave him was touched. "You’d do that?”
"Course I would! I’ll take her and Kina to a volleyball game or somethin'. I'm sure Atsumu could spare us the free tickets.”
"Well...yeah, okay. I'd like that." You blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by the idea. "God. What am I gonna do with all that free time?"
"Well, ya could craft. Book that nail appointment you've been puttin’ off — "
"Oh!" You snapped your fingers. "I could read the smutty novel that's been sitting on my nightstand!”
"I — that, too," he chortled. It didn't escape you, the way his ears turned bright pink at the suggestion. Before you could tease him about it, though, he held his pinky out to you. "To takin' care of ourselves?"
You rolled your eyes slightly before hooking your pinky around his. "To taking care of ourselves."
Osamu still had a ways to go before he could fully want things like he used to. After all, his circle of happiness might as well have been drawn in permanent marker.
But as he waved you goodbye and walked back to his truck, he found himself scrolling through the community college website again. Reading up on the classes. Doing the tuition expenses in his head.
He'd be open to having this, he thought.
Then maybe, once he worked up the courage to ask, he'd be open to having you, too.
✨ next time: osamu and atsumu take the girls to a volleyball game, misa and kina meet a few familiar faces, and y/n gets tipsy for the first time in years...
✍🏼 author's note: thank you so much for everyone's patience! i participated in my first summer fic exchange last month, so it took me a bit of time to get the ball rolling again on our lil' kimori family. rest assured, though, these next few chapters are probably some of my favorite in the whole series (for reasons i'll keep to myself for now). 😏 💖 *squeeeee*
@miyasmagnolias
𑄝੭ summary: Love? Falling in love? With you? Why? What does that even mean? OR a collection of scenes detailing you and kuroo's relationship, and why he will always be the one to understand you.
𑄝੭ pairing: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader
𑄝੭ wc: 18k
𑄝੭ notes: rivals to lovers (??), flirting, non-linear timeline, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of injuries, exploration of character, inaccurate japanese volleyball organization structures, soul mates if you squint, yearn central, little meet cute (meet annoyance) lowkey a nonsense plot we just are observers of two people in love and idc and think thats beautiful
this was written for a fic exchange hosted by @sodaneko. thank you so much for organizing this cool event!! now onto my recipient who is @lumi-lex :) i wrote this in a diff style than i usually do but im mostly pleased with how it came out so i hope you like it and that i did your requests justice even though i think i went about it in a little more of a roundabout way. :)
read on ao3
You will burn and you will burn out; you will be healed and come back again.
—The Brothers Karamazov
𑄝੭
RISE
𑄝੭
The tradition of the Chiyoda Buccaneerrs and the Shinjuku Sirens facing off in the finals of the All Japan Intercollegiate Championship is an enduring one. For four years you have met the Sirens in the Tokyo Metropolitan Gymnasium, and have walked away wreathed in medals and flowers, or blue-faced and ashamed.
And it is always the same.
Hot, pulsing air. Splatter of sweat and stray sprays of water. The squeak of shoes, the snap of a volleyball. Muscles flex and fingers reach for the ball too slick with sweat, too battered. It's beaten out of shape in ways only the players can feel through their burning palms.
It's not enough—you know it better than anyone.
You roll your ankles absently as the scorekeepers adjust their panels. Coach is muttering in your ear and you nod, nails scraping against the plastic of your clipboard, but you're not really listening.
You observe the court the way a commander observes the battlefield. Where defense is weak, where a flank will occur. You'll need to sub out Matsumura soon—probably some time in the third; his jumps are getting too low for your liking and he keeps cupping his shoulder, trying to resettle it well into the socket. Never a good sign…
Across the net, tawny eyes flicker in your direction then away.
You lean over and whisper your idea into Coach's ear. He nods and gestures to the referee and holds up Matsumura's number. Captain's number—underlined. Bold and black.
That cat stare comes again. This time, you catch it.
A column of fire ignites through your stomach and begins to smoke your lungs when he winks at you. Even through the white hatching of the rope net, even as Matsumura tries to argue with Coach that they shouldn't waste a sub on him.
You taste it as deeply as the strawberry jam you had every day for breakfast back in primary.
You frown. It's a foreign thought, that jam. Slathered on milk bread, sweet and bursting and red with summertime.
A niggling memory, one you can't place.
"Leave it, Matsu," you murmur against the cacophony. "It's already done."
The whistle blows.
The volleyball goes up, and like all else, must come down.
𑄝੭
You try not to let the time slipping away bite at your heels. Every minute and every moment counts in your last year of a flourishing career in highschool volleyball. All you really need to do is make it to Nationals where you'll be scouted by future clubs.
And win.
You're programmed to seek victory, you chase after it because you need it. You like the way it tastes—savory and warm and filling somewhere deeper than your belly and closer to your heart. You need it the way peolpe need food—without it, you're hollow and cold.
So it may or may not piss you off that you cannot find the one person you need to find to stride closer to that goal.
The Nekoma office reserved for gym teachers and student team associated staff is a plain room, carpeted and wall-to-wall in a depressing yellow colour. Above your head, the fluourscent lights hum, and a fan rattles off in the corner. The door, propped open by a wedge, squeaks when you accidentally brush up on it.
Within are desks pushed up against a wall, binders overflowing shelves, a stuffed leather couch parked in front of a TV that displays white noise news. You eye it for half a moment before turning to scan the insides.
A lone figure sits slumped over a desk, writing something into a notebook. You note dark hair and a long, slender body curled onto the office chair—legs crossed beneath him—and a jacket strewn over his lap. The sleeves are the red of Nekoma, and you perk up, leaning against the door tentatively and rapping your knuckles against the doorframe.
"Excuse me."
"Huh?" The figure rises and slouches like a wave has coursed through him, and his head tilts over his shoulder. He blinks once, twice, hooking a finger along his wired earbud and pulling it out haphazardly. "Sorry, did you say something?"
"Just excuse me."
"Oh, well, you're excused." You frown. He smiles and pushes himself back upright, spinning in his chair. "Did you need something?" A look up and down. "Don't look like you come here often. If you're looking for a sports club, I can't really help you any more than a room number."
"Uh, no. No, I'm looking for someone specific." You sigh helplessly. "Sorry, what was your name?"
He smiles like you're a wet kitten he's found shivering in the rain. "I don't give my names to strangers."
"What? I'm not—well, yes, but no. No, my friend mentioned that I had to find some guy called Kuroo and I asked some other people who came here and they mentioned I'd find him around this way." Your cheeks heat as he cocks his head. Eyebrows knitting together, you avert your eyes to the carpet and swing a foot back, tapping your toe against the hard floor dully. Thud. Thud. Thud. "If you know where he is, it would help if you could point me in the right direction."
"Yeah, I could." He stands, moving his jacket over the back of his chair. "What do you want with him?"
"I'm the captain of Fukurodani's girls' team." You peer up at him but he's still staring at you like he's trying to figure out what on earth you're saying and you try to keep your tone polite. While subtly glancing at your watch: "Here for… the co-ed matches? If you know about that. We're early so they sent me to find the guy with the gym key and they're just… sort of waiting on me. The boys' team, too, so I'll stop bothering you if you can't help me."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"Well, what if I could help you?"
You look up. "You could?"
"Yeah. 'Cause I'm the guy you're looking for." You blink. The air smells stale and like lunch. It coats your skin in a greasy way you want to scrub out and you make a mental note to splash some cold water on your face once you get out of here. The guy grins and you decide that you don't think you like him very much. "No, seriously. You should snap a pic for Bokuto."
You scoff and avert your gaze, the inside of your cheek raw from how much you're chewing back your words. Under your breath, you mutter, "Can't account for taste," before you continue on louder, "Well, we're all waiting for you so we can actually get into the gym."
"Oh, right." He finally turns and hauls his bag onto the office chair, putting away his notebooks, stationary and whatever else he has spread across the table back in. "Say, I don't think we've officially met."
"Really." You angle your head to look behind you. Nothing but empty corridors. You jiggle your ankle, try to dig the toe of your sneaker deeper into the carpet as you wait for his shadow to fall on you. "Can't imagine why."
"Easy, tiger." He stops beside you, and his canines show when he grins. You can see it better up close. That, and the dark eyelashes that feather along his cheeks as he looks down upon you. "We got off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry 'bout that. If I annoyed you."
"You are annoying," you tell him frankly.
"Yeah. That's sort of my thing. I'm Kuroo Tetsurou," he says. "Captain of the boys' team."
You set off down the corridor. Back towards gym and people you know and away from the hot feeling in that room and the sputtering of your lagging heart trying to catch up as he jogs after you, easily catches up, falls in to rhythm. Their footsteps match.
"You're like the strong silent type," he says sagely as he shrugs on his jacket, too. "Akaashi was the same when I first met him, but I thawed him eventually. You'll see."
You look down. He has the same coloured laces on his Onitsuka Tigers as you. Dark blue cotton wrapped tight around him, just as navy blue ribbon binds you into your own.
Kuroo follows your eyeline and lets out a thoughtful hum and your gaze jerks up. Despite the tiny wrinkle in his brow, he offers a smile so faint and apologetic you cannot help but forgive him. Even if just a little. It must work often, you think. It is a look, so genuine, so tender, that he has perfected it against everyone.
His own little weapon.
You pointedly stare forward. He huffs a soft laugh and runs a thumb along the strap of his backpack, shrugging it, resettling it. His lips pucker in a whistle as he rummages for the keys in his pockets.
Over the jingle of it:
"I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't throw it."
But still, you tell him to be polite, of course. It feels a little bit like a losing battle, and you vehemently hate ceding ground to an opponent, but sometimes you lose a battle to win a war. Reroute. Rethink. Don't get stuck on one track to victory.
Focus on condition, on footing, on tactical manouevring and the elements of surprise.
Not on blue laces. Not on cotton and not on ribbon.
Not on the blood red of his sleeve brushing against the snow white of your own as they turn the corner.
And most importantly, focus not on the way you want to turn to look and memorize when his entire face brightens at the sound of your name. The pink dusted cheeks. The squint of his eyes, the sunlight that shines through.
It hurts so much to look at—it's far too beautiful for human eyes.
𑄝੭
Earlier, during the second set, your knee bounced uncontrollably. You weren't even on the court but the energy that radiated from the players infected you so terribly that even from the bench, you felt like you might vomit out your own heart.
"You're nervous," Coach had observed. "More than usual."
"I'm not." You forced your leg to stop. It lasted three seconds before it started again. Pressing the clipboard into your lap, you heard Takashi call for a set. The slam of a spike, and the volleyball went down. It caromed off a Siren's forearms and you sucked in a breath through your teeth as it went careening. "It's my last year. I just want us to do well."
"Let's just focus," said Coach slowly, "on winning the first set."
You glanced at your phone resting between you and the old man. Then, you leaned forward, and looked across the referee stand to the enemy team. Kuroo leaned forward on his knees, fingers clasped, hawk-like focus on the court. He was turned just enough that you could see both his eyes narrowed, watching, tracking.
He blinked and turned to catch you. You pretended to write something down on your board, a scribble of his jersey number. Coach shouted next to you, some reminder to tighten up as the crowd's energy began to gather. The rally was going on for too long—everyone was getting too antsy for their own good. You felt like at any moment you'd shoot to your feet.
As if mirroring your thoughts, Kuroo stood, swinging his arms in wide circles vertically, crossing horizontally across his chest as if to keep his shoulders warm. His eyes dragged back to the court as the Siren's libero received another harsh spike, and as he watched, he paced the length of the bench until he stood on the other end, closer to the referee's perch.
Closer to you.
Then, he pulled his arm back, bent his elbow behind his head and began a long stretch of the muscle running down his shoulders, down his ribs. His face screwed up, and there was a whistle of one of the girls sitting front row when he arched back further, the front of his jersey riding up enough that there was a sliver of tan skin peeking above his waistband.
"Ball!"
You jerked away. Redirected the ball into the air with a clever twist of your wrist before you even recognized your hand shooting out. The crowd cheered and as the ball came barreling back down, with one arm you launched it with a honed accuracy back towards your setter.
"Nice save," Coach hummed. You grabbed your bottle, sucked down enough cold water to chill your lungs.
"Yeah." A burning had nettled deep into your cheek as you looked down. Your pen rested on the number you had just written. 16.
You circled it once. Then twice.
"We need someone who's fresh when they put him on the court," you reminded him, pen tip tapping against hollow plastic. "He's going to be trouble."
Coach grunted. "He always is."
𑄝੭
Kuroo is a wily opponent.
He spurns his team action—without question, they will follow the plays he calls yet still adapt, remember, learn. As if each part is a living organism, a plasm that bounces back. No attack, no matter how sharply made, how swiftly dealt, will break their defense.
It's been thirty-two minutes. You think you might puke from how dry your mouth is.
You land with a heavy thud and watch the ball, hoping this time. This time, you aimed it right where the lines of the court ended. Maybe they'll misjudge the distance…
Yaku digs the ball and launches it back into play. It clears the net two touches later. Sweat, thick and hot, trickles down your temple as your girls rally it over again and again, trying to catch their breath. They pant, shoes squeaking against the slickening floor, gathering for a block when Kuroo hinges his body back, prepares for a spike. You skirt to the end of the court, wipe your hands on your shorts before slamming your forearms together just in time for his spike to ricochet off the flat surface.
"One touch!"
"Nice!"
Bokuto shouts from courtside something unintelligible.
You flash him a smile, feet carrying you to the net. You fall into the right of a wall made of your middle blocker and your wing spiker, and as one, the three of you bend your knees. Watch.
The ball falls onto Nekoma's side. A bead of sweat trickles over your eyebrow and you grab the hem of your shirt, wick it away. For a moment, you feel the cool, cool flash of wind that sweeps through the propped open doors of the gym and brushes along your stomach.
Separated only by the net, Kenma lifts his hands. You drop your shirt and wait. Lick your lips, scan the players behind the setter. Kuroo, Yamamoto, and Haiba all pull back. Mina, your middle-blocker, sucks in a breath as she always does before a block. Her head tilts to Haiba. You grab her shorts.
"Yes," you whisper. "Him."
Kenma's head cocks, blond hair turning copper underneath the light. His eyes glint.
The ball goes up.
You abandon the wall, and run to the end of the net where Kuroo leaps. You feel the gym floors bend beneath him, the muscles pumping through your legs as you launch yourself into place, and up. You match him for height above the net. His eyes widen. Your heart leaps to your throat and you feel it deep into the marrow of your bones, in the molars of your teeth as his arm catapults forward to the waiting volleyball.
The spike is no spike. It's barely a tap as he sends the ball reeling. Almost back towards his own team, but you slap it down for good measure.
And so the ball falls.
The whistle blows.
"Can we say that point was game?" Mina complains, dropping her arms and slouching in half. She brushes her fingers against her shoes. "I'm tired."
You glance at their referee as Haiba runs to retrieve the ball. Akaashi drops the whistle from his mouth and nods. Everyone nearly collapses in relief. "It's time for lunch, anyway."
Hands on your hips, shoulders falling, the last dregs of your energy escape. A lot of your teammates pass you by, patting you on the arm or shoulder, and you grimace at the feeling of their sticky skin against yours, but you let their praise wash over you as they head for the open doors. Twisting to watch them go towards the bright sunlight spilling into the gym, you wet your mouth again.
You need something to drink. Badly. You turn away from the doors to retrieve your bottle by the bench. Kuroo ducks beneath the net and trails after you.
"Hey, tiger." He pushes his wet fringe away from his forehead. "Nice point."
"Thanks." Greedily drinking through half your bottle, you let out a gasp as soon as you pull your mouth away, wiping at the droplets that drip down your chin. Your blood drops at least twenty degrees. You chase it with another quick sip. "Fuck. That feels good."
"Better get something to eat, too," advises Kuroo. "I think the managers might've already gotten it started but there'll be some fruit bowls to snack on while you wait."
You shake your head. "Bokuto's going to get first dibs on the meat. I'll just wait."
"Oh, they'll let the juniors eat first, but I'm sure you could sneak a bite or two." He waves the matter away. For a moment, it's quiet. You nurse your drink until: "How did you know?"
"What?"
"That Kenma would give me the ball."
"I just did."
"Funny."
"No, really. I just knew."
"Yes, but how?"
"I dunno. He trusts you more than Haiba and Yamamoto, so I thought from process of elimination that he'd set for you."
"Gathered that from our match?"
"Well, it's sort of human instinct. When we're backed in a corner, we turn to the person we rely on the most. Sort of like how in a fire, you look to what you want to save." You shrug. "Kenma doesn't seem to leave your side that often. Ergo."
"You talk like he's my pet cat."
"Could've fooled me." Despite the screaming in your legs, you sit down and rub at the back of your neck with a towel, patting it all over your face. Casually, you continue, "But you know it was a good set. It was the spiker who messed up the ball."
"Oh, really?" Kuroo leans in beside you, fetches his own bottle. "Kenma can make mistakes. I know he doesn't seem like the type—"
"My block was messy. I wasn't entirely centered before I jumped. If the spiker was paying more attention, he could've shot it cross court but his hand slipped."
"Couldn't have. With how experienced we all are, such a mistake could only happen to someone who wasn't paying attention."
You lean against the wall, tilt your head up to him. Arch an eyebrow. His eyes, tawny as a lion, narrowed as a falcon, linger on yours. His throat glistens with sweat as he chugs down water himself and you avert your gaze, trace the mouthpiece of your bottle with a finger. Kuroo's reflection in the waxed gym floor shifts, a smudge of red and b lack.
"Hm." At length and thoughtfully. "Maybe I got a little distracted."
"Dangerous trait for a captain to have."
"Eh, I thought the game was boring. Couldn't help my mind wander."
You halt. "Boring?"
"Yeah. Like… a little too predictable, I guess." He sets down his water bottle next to you. "I always find that with some teams, they just want to win so the way they play isn't really that fun. It's like, and I cannot believe I'm saying this to you, when you're playing a video game and you just use the singular most overpowered character. Of course you'll win, but how is it satisfying?"
You blink. "Why would I not want to win?"
"You're like with this mindset of… what is it again… hit it until it breaks, and it's effective but so boring."
"Did you just quote Oikawa at me?" You wrinkle your nose. "Do you even know the guy?"
"By reputation." Again, he chases the notion away with a flourish. "Look, I know you're good. Problem is you're too focused on winning, and not about the actual experience of volleyball. Where's the challenge? Where's the passion? Where's the… I don't know, anything? It was like playing against a bunch of robots."
With rigid shoulders, you stand again, coming chest-to-chest with the captain. Sarcastically, you ask, "Gathered that from our match?"
But Kuroo is undeterred. Even worse, he looks more determined than ever as you move past him. He grabs your wrist, eyes dark and serious. "Tell me, do you even have fun?"
"I do, actually." Very matter-of-fact. "When the win actually means something."
"What—"
"Hey!" Bokuto's shadow is long and thin as he steps up onto the stairs and calls. His voice bounces everywhere in the gymnasium and you welcome Kuroo's focus shifting. It lets you pull yourself free from him and the tangles your heart has gotten itself into. "Get out here! They've got freezies!"
"Coming, Bo!" You send him a smile and he disappears back into the sunny day outside. Before you step out to join him, you turn around to look at Kuroo. He stares at you with a myriad of emotions. You place confusion and pity, and something else. You want to kick him in the shins but resolve yourself with clutching your bottle tight to your chest. "Butt out of my business, yeah? And I'll stay out of yours."
He opens his mouth, dark eyebrows furrowing, but what comes out does not feel like what he wants to say. Through a clenched jaw, a wry smile, he merely assents, "Roger that, tiger."
𑄝੭
What do you do when you're backed into a corner? Besides scrambling for what you want to keep.
You want to say you'd stand up, puff your chest, and taunt whoever's got you pinned to just finish it.
The whistle pierces your skull and there's a smattering of applause.
Maybe on the court, you are that brave.
In reality, you know yourself much better than that.
Matsu, the captain, your friend, bites and demands. He hates being subbed out. He hates not playing. He gets restless, jittery, knee bouncing, and when brute force doesn't work, he turns up the charm to an irritating eleven.
But you've known Matsumura for a while now, and whilst that charisma might work on turning ex-girlfriends back into current girlfriends, you have grown immune. He's good looking, and fit, and you think if you weren't so singularly focused on trying not to throttle him, you might appreciate those aspects.
Alas, you sit next to him on the edge of the bench in the midst of one of the most important games of your life, trying to balance monitoring both the game and him at the same time, and his jiggling leg is just such constant fucking irritant that you slam your clipboard down on your thighs and turn fully at the waist to glower at him.
"Can you stop that?" you snap in a heated whisper during a rotation on a point for the Sirens. You keep your eye off the scoreboard. It might make you puke. "I'm trying to focus."
His brow still gleams with sweat. He twists and contorts a fluffy cotton towel dyed the shade of their jerseys (teal) over and over. "I should be playing. Our defense is too weak when I'm not there."
"No, it's not, because Yang is in," you argue. "He can take up offense and then Yoshida and Tanaka can split defense more evenly. They just need to warm up. Do you even pay attention to scrims?"
"Of course, but—"
"And your serves are low—"
"That was one rally fifteen minutes ago."
"—because your shoulder's twinging. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep going as you are." A severe look. You grab the towel when you realize he's not going to use it effectively and begin to rub it hard against his head. He yelps at how hard you jerk him around, but you ignore him. "And what will you do then? Forfeit your career with the Adlers? You're so stupid."
"I think you gave me a concussion." You look down at him and scoff, yanking his head up to meet your stare. You inspect his features of which you think you could pick out in your sleep. His dark eyebrows frame his glare and his long, shaggy hair's been shaken messily all over. His eyes are a deep brown, though, and they're quite nice to look, even if they're a shade too dark. It should've been a bit lighter, you think as he scowls. He should've been slimmer, and maybe a little taller. He should be wearing red.
"Stop being such a baby, Matsu." You step back and shoot the towel into his face. He grapples at it as you shake your head and begin to walk away when he grabs your arm. You're suddenly aware of the rest of the team looking at you—or doing their best imitation at not looking, and your cheeks warm.
"What's wrong with you today?" Matsumura demands.
"You're being pathetic," you snap, wrenching yourself free. "That's all."
You stalk past the others on the bench and return to your seat beside Coach.
He, at least, has the good sense not to say anything as Kuroo prepares to serve again.
It hits net.
One point for Buccaneers. Tied neck and neck.
𑄝੭
You don't see him for another month, but you keep tabs.
As captain, your focus must remain absolute. Of which to say all connections you have that are relevant to yourself only pertain to volleyball. You text your teammates, you speak to your coaches. Your mother insists on PT appointments, to which you go to.
You practice hard. Start every morning with a run and end every night with a decompression session, meticulously rolling out every muscle despite how much you want to scream. Sometimes you drag Bokuto with you for the sake of not being on your own. Sometimes you just sprint for as long as you can.
You observe the competition.
At the Tokyo Interhigh Qualifiers, you watch the Nekokma boys play. You take notes where they falter (very rarely), and list out their strengths (of which they have many). It's hard to concentrate amongst the cheering, but you make do and when Nekoma (predictably) wins within their bracket, you are already gathering your things to leave.
Scooting out from your row, you make it into the lobby before the rush, but even the vast room itself and the corridors leading into it are full of people loitering about. Teams that have already played idle near water stations and vending machines, talking to others whilst stands with information and the match schedules are given updates from inside.
You toss a glance about, searching idly for a specific head of hair, and are satisfied when it doesn't take long. Black-and-white tufts poke out by an emergency exit stairwell door and you head over immediately, cutting through the crowd. Your legs whine after sitting down for the whole day, but you put a bit of gumption in your step, tapping your target on the shoulder.
"There you are." You hug Bokuto and Akaashi chastely before drawing back. "That last straight shot was crazy, Bo."
He grins. "Were ya watching?"
"Of course. The whole day." You flip open your notebook and offer it to Akaashi. "I'll send these to you later, but I took some notes. Honestly, Itachiyama's gonna be a little bit of a problem. For both of us."
Bokuto groans. "Ugh, they always are. It's Sakusa who kicked me down a spot to number four. His wrists are so freaky." He pulls back his fingers in imitation. "I don't know how he does it."
"Their playstyle is similar to your team," Akaashi notes to you. "We should have more co-ed practices when we get back. But, uh—" with a meaningful look at your legs— "shouldn't you be resting?"
"I am resting. I'm not playing volleyball and I sat around the whole day, and I'll go home and sit around some more."
"You'd rather die before you spent a night in while weather's still good," Bokuto says.
"She'd rather die than spend a night in period," Akaashi corrects. "Remember last year when we found her in the blizzard."
"And all because 'I had to get my steps in!'"
"I was wearing four layers of clothes. No need to go grey about it, Mom." You cross your arms over your chest. "You two act like I have a death wish."
"Half-certain you do," says Akaashi.
"In any case," you say louder than him, "I am going to go home. You guys probably have team dinner plans or something. It would be weird if I crashed that."
"I could skip." Bokuto shrugs.
"We could skip," his vice-captain volunteers.
"Great. Captain and vice-captain skipping team dinner. How spirited," you dead-pan. "No, spend time with your friends. It's fine. Maybe I'll be in the park around the corner later tonight if you're up for it. A nice evening stroll." This, directed at Akaashi. He affirms that he'll let you know when he gets home and with a lingering wave and another utterance of congratulations, you slip out of the bustling gymnasium, skirting people heading for bus stops or the parking lots and following another wave towards the metro.
You stop outside, lean against the fence as you search up the way home. All the while, you fiddle with untangling your earbuds at the same time. Your attention split between tasks, you try not to look too idiotic as you type in your home address and get your fingers through a knotted loop at the same time.
To which to say, it is a very Sisyphean task you're committed to when you're approached by someone you would rather not see.
"Hey!"
You sling your bag back around and plug your phone in as you look up, and a shadow falls over you as you register Kuroo standing in front of you, still sweating, still in his jersey. A white towel wreathes his neck, and he grabs onto both ends habitually.
"Hi."
"Good game, right?" He smiles. You nod, and continue on with trying to undo the knot in your wires. Brushing the hair out of his eyes, Kuroo sucks in a deep breath, fanning himself with the front of his jersey. "Sorry, I just… I saw you leaving, and didn't want to miss you. Have your games started? I lost track—"
"Finished yesterday." He waits expectantly and you add begrudgingly, "We made it through."
"Congrats."
"Thanks. You didn't need to… come all this way to say all of that, though." You shift on your feet, uncertain. Eyeing the boy warily, you continue on, "That was robotic code for leave me alone, if you didn't gather."
He snorts. "Oh, we're holding a grudge, then."
"No. I'm trying to find a way home that won't take nine-thousand years and you're bothering me."
"Mind you, I should be the one upset. You told me to butt out of your life. That is so rude."
"Oh, my god. Do you want to fall asleep on your feet or something?" you demand dryly. Kuroo's eyebrows shoot up at the simmering fire in your gaze when you turn to look at him. "Because it's bound to happen when you're talking to a bore like me."
"Hey, I'm sorry about that."
You scoff, finally pulling up the directions. "I bet."
"Well, I am because clearly you're still a little upset about it."
"Oh, no. Not really."
The well of apologetic guilt in his eyes begins to recede. "Aren't you?"
"I'm determined," you correct succinctly. "My team will place better than your team in Nationals and then you won't have much to say about what my strategies are compared to yours because I'll actually have results."
"That is not statistically possible. Because I'm a better captain than you."
The laugh that explodes out of you surprises even yourself. You slap a hand over your mouth and ignore Kuroo's pleased grin with a stuffy feeling ever expanding between the spaces of your ribs. "Sorry. That was just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Then, accusingly: "I thought we didn't lie to one another."
"When did we agree to that?"
"Considering last time you decided to be brutally honest and call me robotic and boring, it was just the standard that I thought was set."
"Fair enough." He considers. "We can agree to something like it, if you want. Shake on it."
"On what?"
"No lying 'cause clearly you aren't programmed to do that. And—" he cocks his head— "you have to lighten up."
"No."
"What? Why?"
"Tell a girl to smile next time," you retort. "Maybe she'll say yes."
He winces. "Fair enough. Okay, no lightening up. Be all dark and stormy. I'll shine bright enough for the both of us. Deal?"
"No. I don't really care about this conversation at all."
"Really?" He tilts his head and rocks back on his heels boyishly. "Even though I'm cute?" Kuroo stops. "Ugh, I can't believe I just said that."
—then bite your lip to stifle it. With a quick yank, your bag presses harder against your shoulder as you turn the idea over in your head. Kuroo is slim but tall and you look down at his proffered hand which, like him, is all thin fingers and large palms. He could probably fold you into him and still have enough wingspan to overlap. A blanket of human flesh, the weight of a body holding you up, and all you want to do is sit down on the paved concrete and relish in feeling warm and tired.
But you have to do your bumping drills, and the corner of your garage needs about a hundred spikes, and three sets of five chin-ups, ten pushups, fifteen squats, and your morning run, and your nightly stretches to make sure you can still fully bend all the ways you need to, and you just have so much left to do before you'll let yourself cave in.
So much to do, and so little time.
You won't waste seconds on some boy who tries to get under your skin, despite how much something inside you screams. Screams for you to stop—before you do something you regret, while you're still ahead of this whole thing with Kuroo Tetsurou.
Whatever this 'thing' is.
But rarely do you listen to your heart. Because volleyball is a mental game. Everything is a mental game.
"No. I'm not interested. Get out of my face, and stay out of my life," you order. His smile is wiped from his face. "It's the last time I'm asking nicely."
You don't turn to witness his reaction.
Your heart might explode out of the cotton suffocating you inside out.
𑄝੭
Kuroo is never off his game when he plays against you. Not since their very first match a bazillion years ago, of course, and not unless you make an attempt to distract him on purpose.
They've met hundreds of times since their first game. It's given you time to study him—you think you know Kuroo better than most of his friends because the thing about volleyball is that it reveals things about yourself.
After all, it is a sport where you are forced to take all the energy the other person put into that spike or that set or that bump. To understand it, to learn how best to reply, you have to first think how what they give you makes you feel. How strong you are.
And as someone who has taken hits from Kuroo, been on the receiving end of a good pass, a firm block, you know exactly who he is: a player who knows exactly what he wants. It's one of the things you admire most about him. Confident, dedicated, and thoughtful.
Today, though. Today, you'd define him as spectacular. His failed serve only seems to spurn him and he's turned the set against the Buccaneers with sheer presence. Set two must've been some warm up because he runs circles around them. Feints when they expect a spike. Spikes when they expect a feint. He dumps a ball and doesn't even relish in the victory, sticking out his hands for celebratory high-fives before returning to his spot in court. Braces himself against his knees, and narrows through the sweat trickling down his face.
If something gets in his way, he'll smash it to bits.
A little part of you in him.
A fire stirs in the pits of your stomach. You've seen him only once like this before. It was just like this, under gym lights while the smell of salon pas and sweat rose like a cloud above you. The world kept on spinning, but you remember remaining rooted on the floor. Staring at him, anchoring yourself to him. He had been spectacular then, too. Lean, and lethal, and beautiful.
But you hadn't thought it at the time.
You had been wrong before. About the spectacular thing. Very, very wrong.
He lunges for the ball, knocks it up into play. Shoves his arms beneath him and pumps himself to his feet, then off he goes again, running with a reckless abandon towards the net to block.
This is his last game, too. The last time they will face one another. You on one side of the net, him on the other. Does he taste it in the air as the minutes tick away? Does his heart pound and race and scream for just one more touch? One more jump—one more look, even if it's through the net?
Today, Kuroo Tetsurou is perfect.
And the Buccaneers don't stand a chance.
Sirens take the third set.
𑄝੭
The sun burns their cheeks, and Kuroo finds himself pleasantly full of roasted meat and slices of watermelon as he climbs up the gentle slope outside the gym.
Bokuto's already there, kicking gently at Akaashi's feet and talking about the newest line of ASICS. The boy in question lays down on the grassy hillside, gesturing idly as he replies back. Hinata and Lev play tag around the tables, crashing into so many others that it becomes some convoluted game of manhunt. Yaku gets thrown as a human shield.
It is, by all accounts, such a lackadaisical and perfect day.
However, Kuroo's mind is ruining it, even if a little bit. So filled with images and voice snippets of you that he can't even concentrate on much else except wondering idly what the summer camp for the girls is like.
"I don't think she likes me that much," he announces as soon as he reaches his friends. Bokuto snorts out a laugh. Akaashi lifts his head, squinting, conveying his silent question. "Bokuto's wonderful counterpart of a captain. I saw her at the prelims and she acted like I killed her pet cat." Well, she smiled at me, his mind supplements, and then I must've ran over her cat when in the span of those three seconds.
"Maybe you did." As if reading his mind. Then: "Aren't you learning how to drive?"
He wrinkles his nose. "Yes, but I definitely didn't run over any cats recently. She told me to butt out of her life and leave her alone. What do you make of that?"
"Dude, she hates your guts!" Bokuto laughs, sitting down on the grass next to Akaashi. "What did you even do for that to happen?"
"Nothing! Seriously! I… okay, maybe I was annoying the first time we met, but I've literally never ever done anything wrong to her. She's just so serious. She never knows how to take a joke."
Akaashi lowers his head back to the grass. "She's just like that. She takes volleyball seriously and she's a serious person. Even when we were kids."
"I'm pretty sure most of us do."
"No," says Bokuto, "like… she's really intense about it 'cause she's on the U18 team. She played at the AVC Championship two years ago and had to miss school for like two weeks because she got sick after, but it must've been so worth it…"
"They won the whole thing."
"And we watched it live in class. Like she's good good and it was so cool. She said Kuala Lumpur was so hot. Remember the magnet she got me, Akaashi?"
"Of the monkeys? Oh, yeah. I still have mine on my fridge. And she played in the Youth World Championship last year."
"True! And will again next year."
"Sounds like a busy girl," remarks Kuroo dryly, but even as he says it, he sees your face again.
The sharp edges, the permanent glare. All things he's seen before. It's the same way the Shiratorizawa guy gets during Nationals, and that is someone Kuroo knows better by sight than anything. Ushijima Wakatoshi walks with hard set to his shoulders and a clenched jaw. Every step is onerous. Hard-earned, hard-kept.
You are the same.
"Sometimes, I worry that it's too much." Bokuto observes the clouds, propped up by his hands stuck out behind him. Gone is his wide, proud smile as he goes on softly, "'Course, she'd never say."
𑄝੭
The Sirens had taken the first set from them with a clever tip that just swung the momentum in their favour without hesitation, and you had returned the favour by suggesting starting with their pinch server to get an early lead their opponents couldn't recover from. Coach had thought that that would be enough to turn the series around for the Buccaneers.
It's better for a short game against the Sirens than a long one. They don't tire out. They just start changing, moulding themselves into the perfect weapon against whoever the face and the possibility of losing the championship looms over the Bucks' heads, each one of them locked in a pillory, unable to move. Unable to see.
All eyes on them. Beady. Intent.
You try to ward it off as the boys suck down water and keep themselves warm. Just as easily as you can lose, you can win. They didn't want to go to further than four, but they're left with no choice but to push for five. A fifth set, a last chance. You run your tongue over your molars and imagine the taste of it.
You're still thinking of the way your heart will skitter and sing the university chant when you enter the circle of your guys of which Matsumura stands in the centre of. He gives them each a mini-lecture, hot-faced and passionate, slapping their cheeks lightly and flashing his fanged smile, turning and spinning to give each player a little moment. Some are longer than others, some more harsh, some softened. Matsumura does everything he can to make sure every player's head is in the game.
Because volleyball, at it's core, is not about who's the fastest or the strongest. It's all a mental game.
It was always a mental game.
You turn your head over your shoulder and watch the huddle on the other side. Kuroo's got his arms wrapped around his libero, ruffling his hair. He's not captain, but he still wields his presence like one. As if he feels your gaze needling into the back of his neck, he turns.
You look away hastily, focus back in just as Matsu grabs your arm. "Got any last words for us, manager?"
Nodding, you step slowly into the ring. He takes your place and you haul your clipboard up to look at notes you don't even read. The walls shrink in on you and you inhale deeply, exhale slowly.
After this game, it'll be over.
"Well, everything Matsu said, of course. He's your captain. But, goes without saying, make sure we keep our blocks tight…"
We'll never meet like this again.
"… plus, they're just adapting to whatever we do, so don't become predictable…"
It's a tale as old as time, isn't it?
The referee gives a warning. Coach acknowledges it with a raised hand. You meet the eyes of your team. "Let's just fuck them up."
The Sirens and the Buccaneers.
"We won't give them a boring match."
You and me.
𑄝੭
During their weekly team check-ins, a light bulb goes off in your head during the strategy period.
Sat in the Fukurodani girls' gym, you turn to your teammates suddenly and they all nearly start at the fire in your eyes as you get up and fetch something from your bag.
"Okay, why don't we try something different to win?"
Mina calls back, "Like what?"
"Like…" You gesture for them to huddle up and it's colliding knees and squeaking sneakers as they sit in a tight circle. Pulling out your notebook, you flip through the pages. The girls, a good ten of them, lean forward. "These are all my notes from the prelims with summaries of play-styles. Look. Hisamitsu goes for height. They only recruit tall girls, so that makes them hard for spikes. Wanaka plays bullet time. Get the momentum and overwhelm. Score a bunch of points in a row, so all of their players can spike well and serve well. It goes on and they're colour coded."
Rena frowns. "This is a bit scary."
"It's… how I operate. I study tapes when I'm at home."
"Do you sleep?"
"Can we just focus, please?" They begin to pass the notebook around. "I think we need to focus on analysis. Adaptability. If we can all better understand how to read a player's motives and intent, we can quick-swap what we want to do more effectively on court."
"We'd need more communication. More hand signs and stuff."
You snap your fingers. "Exactly. And we would have to be able to do the opposite."
"To hide our own moves," Mina realizes, "so they can't read us."
"And when they're not expecting it, we attack." Kim grins. "I like it."
"Connect," marvels Rena. "Like Nekoma."
"Oh, don't tell him I got the idea from him, though," you order, an impish curl around your mouth. "He'll never let me hear the end of it."
The biggest thorns can make the best teachers.
And this thorn earns you the crown of the Interhigh.
𑄝੭
Thirty-two minutes into the fourth set. The score: 24-13, favouring the Sirens.
Buccaneers call a time-out. They have thirty seconds to catch their breath, to screw their heads back on straight, and you feel the air in the gym grow heavier and thicker in your chest as you walk towards the huddle. It's one point. One point, and then it's over.
You watch the coach for the Sirens grab Kuroo's shoulder, shakes his head. Forces him water.
"Keep it up… but what has gotten into… overextending yourself. Why?"
You wish you could talk to him somehow. Demand it of him yourself.
Instead, you turn back to your teammates as Coach barks, "What is it? What is it that is stopping us from regaining momentum?"
"What do you think?" Yoshida snaps, retaping sweat-slick fingers. "It's that damn rooster head."
"He'll tire out if he keeps playing like that, though," Tanaka says. "He's doing too much for too long."
"Ha, yeah. What's that saying? The brightest stars burn the fastest."
"Watch it," you snap. Chastised, Yang ducks his head. "Just.. focus on him, then. Make him tired and they'll sub him out. Hopefully until set five." Each word is a knife dragging through your throat. You don't like this strategy. It feels dirty, somehow. Cheap. "And we can reconvene then."
But it's the game.
The whistle blows and they spread out into the court.
Kuroo walks, all tall and proud. The back of his jersey is dark with sweat. It plasters 16 to the space between his shoulder blades.
It's the Buccaneers' serve.
The ball goes up.
On TV, this is what those watching at home hear:
"Yang starts it off. And there it goes. Received by Aoki, libero for the Sirens, bounces off the net. Free ball for the Sirens. Second touch. Spike down by Jin. 'Course… returned by Yoshida. Such a big part of the defense for the Buccaneers. He's really keeping them in this game by the thread of his fingers. Big swing by Takashi, right into Kuroo Tetsurou's arms. That's the middle blocker… if you'd forgotten, the score is 24-13. Victory is in the grasp of the Sirens, they only need one more point."
"And I mean, what an enduring tradition between these two powerhouses."
"Right you are. These have been real nail biters and I'm sure tonight, both teams will walk away satisfied that they've played their best. Aoki digs up another ball. Hard swing by Yu. That's Yang, blocking though. One touch. Second by the Tanaka. Here comes Takashi again. He's on fire and oh! So close. Received by Saito of the Sirens. Captain for two years, now. He runs up on the net as Kuroo jumps for the set."
"A tip over, here they go…"
"Oh! Oh!"
"That is a whistle blown. The point…"
And because of gravity and science and all that has been the natural order of things, everything must come down.
"…the point is awarded to the Buccaneers. They hang onto this set, this championship, by the skin of their teeth."
"I—I don't think they're celebrating. Something's happened. We have eyes courtside, but there's personnel blocking our view from the stands. We'll give you an update as soon as we're able but it looks like one of the players on the Shinjuku Sirens has gone—"
𑄝੭
"—down. Yes, because you didn't include the centrifugal force in your calculation, so that's why your answer's down from mine. Get it?"
You glance up through your lashes as Bokuto stares at the equation. Kuroo gazes expectantly too, and then at length, sets down his pencil. "I feel like my dad."
"And I feel crazy. Do you guys have to do this now while I'm trying to structure my essay?"
Bokuto nods apologetically. "It's the only time Kuroo had to tutor me and I wanted to hang out with you."
"I…" You can't fight the frown tugging at your mouth. "I see. And how's that going?"
"Awesome," Kuroo states flatly at the same time Bokuto shakes his head and blurts out, "Terrible."
"Bo," you begin seriously, "I still don't know why you took physics when you did so good in biology. Couldn't you keep doing that in university?"
"Kinesiology needs understanding of biomechanics," he grumbles. Kuroo nods.
"I mean, you've almost got it," he tries.
"I hate physics."
"It is such a pain," you agree. "Which is why I'm not taking it and I cannot believe you are."
Kuroo sends you a look. You widen your eyes as if to say what? but he merely turns a shoulder to you. "We can try this again. Physics is all about formulas. Normally, they give you a cheat sheet, but I dunno about this one..."
He slams his head into the table. "I hate school."
"Same."
"Same."
"And I'm hungry." Sitting up again, the ace resolutely affirms himself with a nod before getting up. Your brow knots as he tightens the drawstrings of his pajama pants and plants his hands on his hips. "I'm going to go get some fruits for everyone so no one can see me cry," he announces, and then, without another word (or another glance at his notebook) he opens the door and leaves.
At length: "That's why I don't take math courses."
"It might be a lost cause," Kuroo agrees. "We've been at this for two days."
"Hm. That's tough." Your smile begins to fade as you look down at your notebook, scratching out another segment of the paragraph you're editing. You're more than prepared to think Bokuto's absence will mean a lapse of silence for you to finish your homework as an awkward, stilted silence fills the air. You feel and hear Kuroo's gaze more than you see it yourself, the shift of his weight on his hips, the easy creaking of the table when he sets both arms down as if to focus on his own work.
You think you, for once, might get your wish in regards to Kuroo Tetsurou, when—
"Look, I'm sorry."
Your head snaps up. "What for?"
"About what I said. A few months ago. When I called you boring, and all that, and it's eating me up inside a little and I didn't… I—Look, I get under people's skin. It's my whole thing, and I don't mean to sometimes, and I really didn't mean to with you. It's not wrong to want to win. I don't have any reason or legitimate authority to police how you do that."
Stiffly: "You don't."
"I just… you didn't smile once when we played. I just thought if you're not having fun playing volleyball, maybe it's because you lost the spark you used to have for it." He gestures vaguely. "And I thought, maybe, if you played different, that you could stop yourself from being burnt out."
"I'm not burnt out."
"Barely. You only have fun when you win. Doesn't that sound a little insane to you?"
"What's wrong with enjoying your victories?"
"There's a difference between liking winning and putting all your worth on the fifty-fifty chance you win. Losing is crushing, and painful, and yeah, it fucking sucks. But, you shouldn't be afraid of it."
"Good thing I'm not afraid of anything."
"Well, obviously not." Kuroo looks down at his notebook. His pencil traces a character or a shape or something through the lines and your eyes flicker from that grey nib to his eyes, the bow of his eyelashes, the rise and fall of his shoulders. Then, at length, he adds, "I know you hate me, so you don't have to listen to what I say, but Bokuto worries about you, y'know. That you're doing too much too fast. I don't want him to have that wasted on someone who doesn't care."
"It's not wasted."
"I know," he says. "I just thought I'd say it anyway."
"Thanks, I guess."
"No problem. I just thought I'd make peace." He offers a tentative grin and the tension seems to break apart like a thin sheet of ice, shattering and then melting away. You put down your pencil as he tells you, "I passed my driver's test and got a car for my birthday. I don't want to wake up one day with slashed tires and a keyed up side."
"As if I'd waste time doing that when I'd just insult you to your face."
"That's true." He writes something down, idly tapping the end of his pencil against the desk. "Are you free this Saturday?"
"Uh, maybe after three?" You fetch your agenda from your bag and flip it the right page. Tracing a finger down a column, you frown thoughtfully. "I have practice in the morning, and then I have a deep tissue massage that my mom is insisting on, but after that, I'm free. Why?"
"Well, I'm gonna try out my wheels and maybe hit up an arcade."
"What's that got to do with me?"
He stares at you as if you've grown a second head. "What?"
"Why are you telling me?"
"Because clearly, I'm inviting you to come with me."
Heat rushes to your face. "Are you trying to ask me out?"
"No! Jeez. Bo, Kenma, and some of the other guys are gonna come, obviously, but… you're Bo's friend, and you're here right now, so…" With slowly reddening cheeks, he shrugs and turns back to his homework. "Wouldn't it be rude if we talked about it in front of you and just didn't invite you?"
"I mean, I guess. But I don't really care."
"Okay, well, the invite's open. I want you to come," he adds. "Even though you might put me to sleep at the wheel."
"Well, if I'm that desperate to do something that I'm considering hanging out with you," you reply, the corner of your mouth lifting, "then I'll let you know."
Bokuto comes back with fresh-cut fruit. Strawberries. You poke at one of them, watch the ceiling light reflect in the juicy seed-speckled and red skin.
When you glance over, Kuroo's already shoving some into his mouth. You can't help the way your smile grows.
𑄝੭
FALL
𑄝੭
You blink and there he is.
Why is he on the floor? Why will he not get up?
The world is spinning. You cannot hear. Someone is grabbing you, clawing at your arms, whispering urgently in your ear. What can be more urgent than what is in front of you? Than Kuroo, coiling in on himself, cradling his head, his teammate falling to his knees beside him, apologizing, apologizing, apologizing—
Suddenly that teammate is in front of you, and you grab that brainless sack and shake him, demanding what he's done, what happened, and there are hands on your shoulders, hands on your arms. Heat blusters all over your face and then you're shunted out. Crowded away taller men, sweat sacks and obstacles who block your view. The world comes off kilter.
It comes out raw. You think you left your heart somewhere behind you. "Tetsurou?"
His eyes pry open, then squeeze shut. It's too bright in here. You wish you could slam the lights off and plunge the whole world into darkness. Medics help him up, but he topples over, slouching onto the shoulders of his teammate, his captain. Saito murmurs under his breath as the ringing in your ears grows louder.
You need to follow him. You need to make sure he's okay, and as you take a step forward, it is the sole thought in your mind. Then, you jolt and pain shoots up your leg. It locks you in place, and cold fear digs its claws deep into you. Your stomach cramps with anxiety and a medic tells you something you do not hear.
Is this how he felt? Is this why? Oh, why, why, why…
Only that morning, you had risen and walked into your living room to find your couch empty. The blankets had been neatly folded, the pillows stacked, but your late-night guest remained unseen.
That was, until you walked further into the kitchen and spotted him, his back to you, his head tilted aside.
Kuroo watched the sunrise on your balcony with a fresh cup of coffee in hand and another one, iced and prepped with a straw, on the table beside him. He had his car keys in his hand, even though he was shirtless. You wanted to ask him if he was cold, but all you could do was slide the door open, sit in the chair across the coffee table from him and whisper good morning.
He nodded in reply, and then you listened to the world wake.
"After this game, it'll be over," he marvelled after a long, quiet while. "We'll never meet like this again."
And through a raspy morning voice, a tongue too dry, you could not gather enough strength to answer any more than, "Yeah. It's been a good run."
"It's a tale as old as time, isn't it? The Sirens and the Buccaneers." At last, a glance over. His profile was highlighted in the warm orange sunrise, and the spirals of gold reflected in his gaze. Your heart ached at the sight of it. "You and me."
You looked down at the drink he had left for you. Said earnestly: "I don't want it to end, but we graduate soon. We'll all be going our separate ways... And about what we talked about last night, Kuroo, I—"
"It's okay. We don't have to think about that right now." The chair whined as he leaned back. "I just know I don't… well, you know what I want now." He traced the rim of the mug he had designated for himself ever since this began.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Yeah, I know. But it felt wrong if I wasn't being honest."
"Yeah," you echo, "I know." You stretched your legs out in front of you, stared down at your feet. As you sipped on your iced coffee, it flooded your tongue—the perfect balance of milk and coffee and syrup—and you ran it against your the insides of your cheeks, closed your eyes to the silky feel of it down your throat. Your leg has felt stiff. You wondered if that was just the usual morning symptom or something more. Your heart squeezed in on itself. "I'm really jealous of that, y'know."
"Of what?"
"You just know what you want. I don't know how you can be." You stretch each part of your foot experimentally as you speak. First your toes, then a slow roll through of your arch, and then your ankle, rotating it clockwise and counter clockwise. "It's just as quickly that life flips you on your head and changes everything, so the plans you make and the hopes and dreams you have… it could all be taken from you tomorrow."
"I don't know." He sets his mug down carefully on a coaster. Your eyes knife to his, and already there is that smile again. That smile he gave you the first time you met him—overwhelming sincerity, the gentlest of motions. "I think when what I want is such a sure thing, I don't have any reasons to doubt it."
They got ready for the day in silence. You showered whilst Kuroo dressed, and it was as you were applying some concealer around your eyes to cover up the evidence of your late night on your face that he poked his head into his room. "I'll drive you to meet your team before I head back to mine." And when you began to protest, he shook his head. "I've been driving you around for four years," he had said. "Let me do this for you, one last time."
You didn't know why you felt like you were on the precipice of losing something at that moment.
Maybe it was the universe's shitty way of warning you.
𑄝੭
The last game of the Girls' Spring Nationals starts in, with your best estimate, an hour. There's something to be said about the final stretch, and victory being in your grasp, but you are not so cocky as to claim all that.
Sitting in the hallway, you listen to the sound of the boys' game echoing down the hall from the gymnasium. The ebb and flow of cheers, the squeaky shoes. It's hard to find a place not flooded with people, let alone somewhere quiet, but you've tried to content yourself with some far-off corridor that holds shelves of trophies.
It helps, you think, that most of the teams have either gone home or joined the crowd. It gives you places to hide in.
You sit beneath one such display of basketball trophies, one of your shoes shoved off and a roll of KT tape at your side as you cast yourself a doctor. The pain spirals up through the bone—less now that you're sitting and not on your feet, but as you inspect your foot awkwardly, prodding and poking at the joint, you note that there is a little bit of swelling that you hadn't noticed before.
You're in the middle of debating how best to tape up the pain when the sound of footsteps alerts you.
"Hey."
"Kuroo." You extend your foot down. The cold tile of the floor soothes the pulsing ache. "Hey."
"Are you feeling nervous?" You twist at the sound of his voice. "So nervous you didn't even watch my game. I'm almost offended if I didn't know you hated me."
You snort, turning back to the task at hand. "Of course I watched your game. And I don't hate you..." This, added under your breath. You measure a stripe of tape before cutting it cleanly, snipping off the corners as well to avoid any peeling from catching on your sock when you inevitably (and appropriately) put your shoe back on. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, unlike you, I actually support my peers in this beautiful sport we call volleyball." He shifts on his feet. The navy of his shoelaces matches his jacket. You take a moment to eye him. It's weird. You've seen Kuroo a lot outside of the court, but every time, you're taken aback by how well he dresses in a very casual sort of way. That is, the jealousy in which a hoodie fits on him in comparison to yourself strangles you. "I'm here to watch your game because I care and all that other stuff."
"Bokuto's playing in the finals right now," you point out. "And if I recall, he's actually your friend."
"Oh, I know. I just thought I'd find you before game point." He walks over, sits down, cross-legged before you. "So, how are you feeling?"
Wryly. "Are you my coach?"
"Of sorts, actually. A spiritual one." He presses his palms down on his knees and stares down at you. It might've been weird if it had been anyone else, but under Kuroo's attention, you merely stick your legs out in front of yourself to let him watch as you cut another strip, identical in length to the one before. More seriously, but still somehow keeping some levity to his voice, he probes, "Are you alright? If you're using KT tape, that's never a good sign."
"My foot's just been…" You struggle for words. "I'll take a break. After Nationals, just for a little bit. Until I get better, but it just feels a bit big."
"Big?"
"Swollen."
"Swollen?"
You shoot him a withering look. "Can you get your head out of the gutter?" You redirect your attention to your foot again. "I'm just hoping it's a sprain or something. I rolled it the other day during the quarterfinals, but I think it was hurting before then."
"Can I see?" He tightens up his cross-legged posture and moves his hands aside to allow space in his lap and you lift your foot up and onto him. You wrinkle your nose as he gently lifts the appendage up by the heel, and he glances up at you through his dark lashes. "Hurts when I do that?"
"A little," you admit.
"Is it more nerve pain or muscle pain?"
"A bit sharper than both. Sort of a mix?" Your features screw up. "I'm actually not sure. I am serious about that break though." At his look, you go on, "Is that a bad idea?"
"No. Probably the best one you've ever had." You bend over your leg and whack his shoulder. He cups his joint, handsome face agag. "Ow! Watch it!"
"Shut up. It wasn't that hard, you big baby."
"Yes, it was. I'm going to need to see the nusre now and miss your game."
"You need a bandaid for your booboo? A little sticker with Pikachu on it, maybe?"
"I prefer Charizard for your information," he sniffs. "In any case," he goes on before you can tease him further, "after Nationals, you need to be dead to the world for a bit for sure."
"Well, I have the U18 Championships, but maybe two weeks off won't be the end of the world."
"A month."
"Three weeks."
"Two months."
"You are bad at bargaining."
"Surprisingly, that's the least hurtful thing you've ever said to me." You roll your eyes and he grins. "Let's go for another drive after this is all over. Just us two. Save you from walking on this poor little foot of yours."
"Sounds good with me." You reach for the KT tape. "Do you wanna do this, too?"
"Yeah, sure. I can yank you around better." He frowns. "That came out wrong. I mean, my uncle's a PT and he taught me how, so we can, y'know work something out. Wait, show me how you've been doing it."
You demonstrate the lines you've been following and he nods, his gaze studious. Your skin tingles as he traces the line with a finger up your shin, careful of where you're tender and where it burns. You don't know how he knows. His fingers, featherlight and dancing, brush where you feel the most swollen, and you tense when he pulls the tape up, lifts the muscles away from your bones. For a moment, you feel relief, and then your flesh resettles and the dull ache returns. Less stabbing. More…
Your heart pulses as he covers the top of your foot with a palm, thumb digging gently into the arch of your foot. You want to pull away but the way he cups your heel with his other hand is so sincere that you cannot help but watch.
"This looks painful to even stand on," he murmurs, massaging the tension away from your foot. You nearly shudder at the relief. "How are you even playing without seeing a doctor?"
An unspoken question begs you to answer. "I was going to go, but the pain got worse," you say defensively. Kuroo's gaze tilts just enough for you to catch a sliver of gold. The soft twist of his pink mouth. "He was going to say I couldn't play and I… I need to." Weaker, more quietly. "You know?"
"I know." He sets your foot gently to the floor and then pulls your sock free from your shoe, rolling it up over fingers. "Alright, socks on at least. Don't put your shoe until you absolutely have to."
Then, Kuroo stands and he dusts off his pants, gathering the peeled backings of your KT tape to throw away. He's already half way down the hall before you realize what he's done, and you nearly thank him before biting it back. His footsteps reverberate back to you as you get up to unsteady feet. You tentatively place weight on your ankle, and nearly sag in relief when you don't feel as if it'll snap in half.
"Don't show off for me, yeah?" he calls once he's made it to the corner. "I might already be asleep by the time you've taken a set."
You grin. "Eat bricks."
"Easy, tiger. I might start blushing!" Then, more gently, more warmly, more than you can ever deserve, and with a hesitation at the corner. A lingering shadow. You don't want to see him go, you realize as he tilts his head back. You nearly open your mouth to foolishly say as much, but he beats you to it. "Take care. Break a leg."
And without missing a beat, you retort, "In your dreams."
𑄝੭
But, as they say: the higher you rise, the harder you fall.
𑄝੭
You will memorize the play-by-play commentators conversation the moment it happened.
"The score is 26-25 for Fukurodani. They just need that two point lead to claim the title. Hard spike blocked by Mina Suzuki, middle-blocker for the Owls, which is received by Niiyama's Yonezawa. Of course, that prevents a setup for their ace but here we go… Huge swing from Amanai into the arms of the Fukurodani libero. High ball. Rena Sato's in position for a set. Fukurodani's attackers run up: Sixteen, Nine, and Four. Which one does that ball of destiny go to? Niiyama marks—wait, Sixteen jumps! Sato sets, and— oh!
"Oh… oh, no…"
"Oh, that doesn't look good at all… For those who missed it, it seems as if…"
"My god, her ankle—her ankle's all—"
"Medical services are on site and she's conscious..."
"—oh, thank god."
"But she will have to be lifted out of the game. One of the brightest stars we've seen blossom over these past three years has met her end at Nationals today…"
"…Even if she will play volleyball, it will not be any time soon."
𑄝੭
You just jumped.
Was that where everything failed? Where your tendon zipped up your leg like the pulley of a blinds snapping, where your bones cracked under the weight of your body. You watch it, frame-by-frame, listen to the commentators.
When your ankle gave out, your body weight pitched and with a violent lurch, you collided with the net before tumbling to the floor in a horridly, wickedly snap of your body. It was almost something out of a movie, the way you spun about and slammed to the floor. The harsh silence that followed, and then the uproar.
You don't remember the crowds or the noise as you lay in your hospital bed, your foot trapped in a cast. It's all muffled, a hazy recollection of colours and words. You recall shouts of your name, but you don't know if that was a dream or not.
Maybe you're too hopped up on pain meds still. Maybe your leg hurts too much for your brain to be bothered to tell you that the rope burn along your cheek smarts, and or that there's a scuff on your knee from falling. You'd give anything to be asleep, but to be honest, you're more afraid of waking up and realizing that this isn't some sort of dream.
Here, now, in this afternoon the day after Fukurodani won the Nationals, you can still pretend that you're bathing in your victory. Pretend this hospital room is yours back home. That Akaashi and Bokuto slept over, and that your jersey, 16 and underlined and hanging over the back of a chair, will be worn again.
You tap the arrow key, rewind the video, and ignore the tear, hot and wet, streaking down your face.
Watch as a blurry figure climbs the barricade and runs onto the court. It is a mass of red and black, a struggling push. He's a strong guy but he's against two full grown men, but he ducks under somehow, collapses to his knees beside you.
Your hand tightens around the memory of him. Of his voice, of his eyes.
Look at me, he ordered. Tell me where it hurts.
Everywhere. Your fingers twisted in his sleeve. Everywhere.
"Watching that again?" a drowsy voice murmurs and you tear your gaze away from your own crumpled reflection. A head of hair rises from your bedside, rubbing at his face. As he does, he fights back a yawn, nose scrunching up, and you swallow dryly. Dark circles pull at his eyes and his hair sticks up at odd angles, made only worse when he ruffles his own hair and stretches out his back. "How long have you been up?"
"Only a bit. I got bored and I wasn't hungry," you whisper. He slumps, scooting his chair closer to your bedside. Reaffirming their interlaced hands, Kuroo reaches and closes the laptop carefully, setting it aside, and then, with an elbow to the cot, he presses their joined hands to his cheek and closes his eyes. It sends your heart scattering. You want to ask why he's even here. You don't know if you'll be able to understand the answer.
"Sorry to keep ya," he murmurs. You feel his voice in your hand just as much as you hear it, and it lives in your chest, a low, resonant hum. "Too much excitement for one day, and now my back's killing me."
"I knew I should've woken you up." You flex your fingers, the tips of your digits brushing along his hair. "Gotten you a pillow or something."
"I'm just being dramatic. I'll live."
"You didn't have to stay here."
"I know. I wanted to." His eyes open again. "How are you feeling? Still woozy from the pain meds?"
"A little," you admit. "Mostly just numb."
"Your team fought like hell after you left the court," he says. "They won that trophy for you."
"Fat good that does me." It comes out sour and you turn your head to the window to avoid the shame creeping up over you. It's not fair, you know, to say it doesn't mean anything. They worked hard for the win. They did everything you ever asked them to, even if they didn't want to. Just because they knew how important it was.
So why is it you in a bed and not them?
Tears welling, you try to suck them back in and swallow through the ache in your chest.
I wanted it more. I wanted it the most. Why am I here? Why? You try to move your toes and pain, hot and searing, rams up your ankle, and rattles your shin. You suck in a hiss.
Kuroo's hand tightens on your own, his cheek turning deeper into your palm as he leans forward. "What's wrong?"
The afternoon is bright, and the sky you can see through your window is unusually blue for January. You can hear birds chirping, and there are no sirens. Snow crusts the ledge outside in a healthy layer, fluffy and thick enough you could sink your hands into, melt into a ball you'd toss at the back of Akaashi's head as they walked to school.
A, by all definitions, perfect winter day.
And you are here.
"I'm never going to play volleyball again, am I?" you ask the cold, stale air. You look up to where you're still connected to an IV. You follow the trail towards yourself, and then shift the blanket away from your arm. "Not the way I want to."
"You don't know that."
"No, I…" You close your eyes to the pale sun. Imagine taking a step onto the court. Your skin crawls at the thought. "I really don't think I should."
"Well, if that's what you want." Every word formed by his lips presses into your skin. and they come out a bit muffled that way as his thumb strokes the back of your hand absently. "But how do you know if you make a snap decision based on one leg and your doped up head?"
"Nice."
"Sorry, but it's sort of true. You can't swear off volleyball just because your ankle tried to evict itself from your body."
"Some people might say it's a sign or something."
"Who?"
"I don't know. People who say I'm too intense. Too crazy about winning." You fix your gaze on him. "It's true."
"Well." He looks around. Bokuto is passed out on the chair. He let Akaashi take the cot, and he's gone ahead and slept with a book clutched tight to his chest. Outside, there are members of your team. Mina, and Kim, and Rena, cradled around a phone, sharing a bag of chips. They haven't noticed you're up yet. "Even robots break. They just need to be put back together again."
"Oh, yeah?" You cannot help the wan smile that tugs at your features. You raise an incredulous eyebrow. "And how does that figure?"
"You're your own architect, but you've got a bunch of people probably willing to help if you want to try. Present company excluded." Then, his other hand comes and wraps around your wrist, envelops you in the sort of heat that you can recall from sneaking under the covers of your parents' bed when it was cold out. How it would fold you in and keep you safe entirely. "I know you, tiger," he replies, and it sounds like a far simpler concept than it truly is when he's the one to say it. "One way or another, you'll come back around."
"And, what?" Your pulse quickens when his eyes, golden winged with such lovely dark lashes, find yours. "You'll be there waiting, like some Prince Charming?"
Kuroo's face flickers, and his eyes avert to the cot upon which you lay, upon which he did mere minutes before. The sun that streams through the window of your room seems to strengthen from white gold to summer yellow as he swallows. You feel the clench of his jaw. The shift of it as he breathes in quietly.
For a moment, you see the dust motes dance and settle.
It is only when he exhales that they set about again in a frazzled frolic.
"I'll be there waiting," he agrees, "on the court. When you're ready."
The bruising sensation of your throat intensifies. Something hot and wet shoots down your face. "And if I never am?"
"Then, I'll just wait forever." He shrugs and lets go of your hand, just to wipe away your tears. "That sounds perfectly fine with me."
𑄝੭
It's the waiting part that kills you.
For a long time, no one tells you anything. You abandon the game, and listen to it outside the medical rooms. You don't know why they won't let you inside, but you think if this is how you feel now at twenty-two, you cannot imagine how Kuroo felt all those years ago at eighteen.
You cradle your head in your hands, massage your scalp in circular motions in hopes of alleviating the headache, the heartache.
None of his teammates are here yet, but you're not sure if you should be grateful or angry about it. It should be them here, not you. You shouldn't even be around volleyball—you swore you wouldn't touch it with a six-feet pole—but instead you've been pulled back into this gymnasium by the very man they barricade you from and all you want… all you want is to give him an answer.
You don't want to win like this anymore.
That would be what you'd tell him.
Only he could ever truly comprehend what that means.
The door cracks open and you shoot to your feet. A nurse stands there, door wide open behind her.
"He's awake," she says. "He's—"
You shove past her and into the white-walled room.
𑄝੭
You storm down the hall, throwing your backpack to the floor by your bed. Anger is a dog growling in the corridors of your ribs, snapping his jaws when your follower reaches the top of the steps and walks after you. "Please, you know I wouldn't be so freaked out if I wasn't so desperate and a solution wasn't staring me right in the face!"
"And if I say no?"
"Umm… I sit outside your door for a thousand years until you say yes?"
"I didn't ask for a desperate ex when I said we could hang out outside of classes, Matsumura."
"The way you're treating me, I might as well be! Please, please, please, we sorta need you!"
Whirling around, you plant your hands on your hips to level a glare in the direction of your follower. Matsumura's the good looking sort of guy that makes you think twice about dating anyone in your university life. He's tall, as is custom for a volleyball player, and he's got the broad build that reminds you of Ushijima, but his hair is jet black, and his eyes are just as dark, huge and wide—bottomless pits of that reveal what some girls might call 'his deep and tragic character'.
Matsumura dresses well. He takes classes seriously. Besides the fact that he might carry about seventeen types of syphilis, the concept of him being a fashion business major in which the majority of his peers are of the female sex makes you wonder if his lack of girlfriend is because he's horrid or because he doesn't care about it.
As of now, you lean more toward the former than the latter. You never should've mentioned that you played volleyball during an ice-breaker last year. You had just gotten your first taste of being free from that shadow. You didn't limp anymore (except when it rained) and you could actually sit inside a gymnasium now (for five minutes at a time). No, you couldn't remove yourself from being friends with the few people you still kept in touch with (all volleyball players), but you had thought…
Well, to make a long story short, the two of you took English together once and had bonded like two stupid cats who bit onto each other's tails and toddled everywhere all over campus. You had foolishly thought that sharing that tiny tidbit of your high school life would not come around to bite you in the ass months later, not even a few days into your second semester of college.
Too bad Matsumura has the memory of an elephant.
"Is that the only reason you wanted to hang out with me?" you demand presently. "To get something out of me?"
"Of course not! Not like that, anyway!" With a deep breath: "Look, the opportunity came up so I thought I'd just ask. Won't you consider it?"
"No."
"But the Buccaneers need a manager on short-notice, and you already know the game better than some newbie. I looked you up. You're really, really good!"
"I was really, really good. And my career is over." You hang up your jacket, scooping up your hair into a swift updo before crouching down and beginning to unpack your bag. "I'm sure you saw my fall from grace, considering it was plastered all over the news for like a week. I'm just not the right fit, alright?"
"How do you know? You haven't even tried."
"Matsu, you're a nice guy, and I really, really hope you find someone, but sometimes, you just know." Matsumura flushes and you look away, grimacing. "God, you really are my desperate ex."
"If you were my girlfriend and I lost you, I would be inconsolable."
"Shut up," you order. "What I mean to say is, I really just want to focus on my degree and… volleyball sucks me in and it always spat me out worse, and I just want leave it in the past. I don't have a future in it anymore anyway."
"You can't just not have a future in volleyball."
You snort. "Funny. I knew another guy who said that once."
"Yeah? And what would he say, knowing that you're turning this down?"
You make up some lie just to get him to leave.
Truth be told, what Kuroo says is rarely what you want to hear.
𑄝੭
Kuroo calls that very night, as he does every Thursday night, and for some reason, you never say no to him.
You reason that being out in the air and watching him play volleyball is not as scary as being trapped in a big gymnasium with the sweat and salon pas creating a thick and heavy weight against your lungs.
The park is alight in tones of pink and orange as Kuroo tosses the ball up in the air and catches it again.
"So, will you do it?"
You glance up from your book. You lay on your stomach on a blanket-covered sward in the shade of a tree, feet kicked back as the street lights slowly turn on with a soft hum. In the playground off to the side, children are being corralled by their parents back to their strollers and cars whilst dog walkers and couples meander down the paved walkways.
But you and Kuroo are alone on the court.
That is, Kuroo stands in the centre of the court and you watch just as the lip of the asphalt. If you stretch, you would be able to feel the rough and warm rock against your skin.
"Be their manager?" You slide your bookmark in and close the cover as he launches the ball up into the air and begins a rally with himself. Set, bump, set. Set, set, bump. "No. It's a big time commitment."
"What? Anything is a big time commitment. Why not?"
"You know why." You narrow your gaze as he shifts nimbly back to catch the ball in a hit that redirects him to the center of the court. "Varsity sports? That's even worse than playing in high school, and I almost never walked again."
"Well, it's not like you'd be playing. It's more like dipping a toe in."
"No."
"There's no pressure on you to play well," he insists, catching the ball and dropping it to the pavement, catching it with a foot. "You'll be doing all the logistical stuff. Practice matches. Transportation for your team. It'll be fine and look good on your resume once you finish school."
"I can just manage something else. Some other sport." You stubbornly grab your book again and wrench it open. "I don't know why Matsu insists on being so dramatic about it. He could probably flirt a girl onto the team as a bandaid."
"Well, if Matsu can do it," he mutters in a odd, tight voice, and you send him a warning look. He holds up his hands. "I'm behaving, I'm behaving."
"What is your problem with him, anyway?"
"Nothing." He walks over to you, crouches, and you reach up beside your leg for his water bottle, handing it to him wordlessly. "He's just… annoying to play against. He's good. I'm better, of course," he adds haughtily and you roll your eyes. After water, he hands it to you and you take a sip out of habit before returning it to where their bags lay slouched together.
"Well, I'm not helping you beat him. In the interest of school spirit."
"That's the only reason?"
Confused, you frown. "What other reason would there be?" Kuroo only answers with a shrug. You sigh and peer up at him, study his expression for a quick moment before going on, "If you're going to do one of those things where you go all silent and thoughtful again, can you not do it in my space? I want to finish this book."
"Well, I was just thinking why you don't want to be the manager of a team that's specifically a rival to mine."
You rest your chin in your hand, flip a page as meaningfully as you can. "Please, share theories with the class. Besides the very real truth that I just told you."
"Yes, but I'm your spiritual doctor."
"Uh-huh."
"And I'm sensing—" and here, Kuroo puts two fingers to his temple and closes his eyes— "that you actually have a deep-rooted fear of losing against me over and over again."
"Uh, what?" You look up at last, an incredulous pucker in your brow. "In your dreams, bud. I ran circles around you in high school. You're lucky I'm not a boy because Fukurodani would've smashed you to bits any day."
"Prove it. Not that you're not a boy, of course. Unless you are."
"Kuroo. You clearly have the advantage of not having an ankle with a suicide wish." Clasping your hands over your book, you lean forward on your elbows. "Besides, I don't need to prove what tournament results show."
"But I could be better now."
"A twelve-year old could play better than me," you snap. "Can you go back to center court?"
"No." He sits down, cross-legged and you resolve yourself to never finishing the damn book. Tossing it behind you, you pull yourself up to your knees. "Rally with me, or… help me practice my sets and spike 'em."
You shoot him a foul look. "You know I can't do that."
"What? Because a doctor said so a year ago? You've been cleared. You can try again." He mimics your position, hands folded in his lap. His knees touch the asphalt. You want to ask him if it burns. "Go slow. Play with me. I need someone to set for."
"You could call Bokuto."
"I could," he agrees. Then, his hand lifts, and brushes along your jaw. His thumb on your chin, almost on your mouth. "I could do that, I guess." His eyes flutter down to your lips, then up again, and your stomach twists. Even now, all these years and this unspoken truce, he still looks for weakened points of your armour where he can chisel himself in. You try to shore up your defenses, but when his thumb taps the curve of your bottom lip, you crumble.
With a charming tilt of his head, his horrible crooked smile. "C'mon, tiger. Just once?"
What is it about you? You want to know. Why can't I just shut you out?
But you don't have time to contemplate an answer. Kuroo offers his hand, but you're already reaching. Your fingers settle against his palm too easily. Slide into the crevices between his own. Together, they walk to the centre of the empty park court. He can't stop smiling, and he squeezes your hand. It doesn't feel like a trap, but you feel naked as they stop beside the net and he lets go. You glance around and wonder where the cameras are—where will they be to watch you fall?
You favour your left leg. How can you not? A shoe, tentatively scuffing the ground. Your hands, tight in fists. You stare at him, shoulders tight, body tense.
"Stand where you want along the net," he orders. "I'll set it to you."
A cold fist grips your gut. It feels almost like hunger, but it's more severe. More hollowing. You don't let go, pull him to you. You feel like you stand on a cliff, and he's the only one holding you back, the only one pushing you forward.
Quietly, with your free hand wrapped around his elbow. "I don't think this is a good idea."
Kuroo cocks his head, dark eyebrows furrowed. With a knowing tilt of his chin, he merely says, "That is exactly why this is the best idea I've ever had."
"It most definitely isn't."
He smiles, pats your cheek before letting you go. "God, you're so boring. Has anyone ever told you that?"
Your chest splits open as you nod. It eases the weight—allows an opening for all the anxiety to spill out.
"No, actually," you tell him, scooping up the volleyball and palming it, remembering the feel of leather on skin. You bring it to your chest, and then, like a cannon, shoot the ball back towards Kuroo with ease. "Wanna tell me that again?"
A gleam comes to his eyes and you realize therein lies the trap.
You take three big steps away from the net and square your shoulders.
Kuroo smirks. "With pleasure."
Then, he tosses the volleyball straight into the sky.
𑄝੭
You land with a satisfying clap from your leap off the stairs before continuing onward hurriedly.
Despite it being just after school on the one day you don't have practice, the transit from Fukurodani to Shibuya is still abysmal. Not only that, the weather and time of year (spring) meant everywhere felt like a tourist spot. Most of all where shopping is ripest.
I miss winter, you reflect with a dismal sigh and your eyes trained on your rapidly approaching destination. Things always feel less crazy when it's snowing.
The Onitsuka Tigers flagship is a never-ending revolving door of tourists and residents alike, and although you want to take a look at the new upcoming lines, today, you have no intention to browse.
The black-and-glass building on the corner of the street is not even a minute's walk away now. Excitement makes everything brighter, everyone else quieter until all you can see in your mind's eye are the pair of shoes you saw online—beige, white and black Tokutens—and you imagine the colour way with the long spool of blue ribbon you had found.
The perfect every day shoe, you think not for the first time, and smile happily as you cross the street. Not basic, but not too flashy. And they match Fukurodani… well, sort of.
Still, that is neither here nor there. The point of cute shoes is that they are cute, and other reasons for buying them, such as school spirit are, in your opinion, arbitrary and secondary to the main.
Fetching your wallet from your backpack, you are near enough to the door that you reach out for the metal handle when a bunch of boys around your age leave. The two groups pause on either side of the door, but with an awkward gesture, you step aside, eyeing them each apprehensively in hopes they hadn't all miraculously sold out the shoe you had wanted to buy.
The boys file out, nodding their thanks and swiftly making room for the others. They all carry gym bags and wear matching jackets, but you don't bother sparring them a second glance as one of the guys holds open the door for you, chatting animatedly with his friend who lingers on his phone. You slip through with a muttered thanks, keeping your head down when you go headfirst into a hard chest and you let out a startled yelp.
Jerking back, you nearly bump into another chest as a hand comes onto your shoulder to steady you. The boy you collided with is tall. Taller than any highschooler you've ever met and you look up at him, shocked when green eyes peer down at you.
"Watch it, Lev," someone chides. You glance over your shoulder and realize it's the guy who holds the door open. A shoebox is tucked under his arm, and you wonder idly what he bought as he lets go of your shoulder and grabs the younger boy instead, tugging him out of the way. "Sorry. He's an idiot." This, said to you.
"Sorry, sorry!"
"It's whatever." You wave it off, propping open the door yourself. You turn to watch as the rest of his, presumably, teammates begin to tease him in a small crowd outside the store. An arm wrangled around the neck. A soft punch to the side. The boy winces, but even he still smiles when the one who held the door open for you smacks him in the backside of his head.
You smile yourself, and head in. Even though the doors swing shut, you catch snatches of conversation every time someone goes in or out.
"…said I was sorry… I just got caught up in looking at the shoes! Lemme see your new shoes again… Wow… Are you gonna keep the laces you think?"
"Agh, I dunno… I was thinking about these navy blue laces my sister bought that she never used…"
𑄝੭
He already hears you coming.
You sort of have that going about you—stomping everywhere you go. You've long since thrown out your high-school Onitsuka Tigers, but you still walk with purpose no matter the destination, laced so prettily with ribbon and bounding his way.
Recently, you've gone for a white ribbon for the sake of neutrals, but when he closes his eyes, he only ever imagines navy blue.
"He's just in the last bed over there. Only for a few minutes, really. And keep it down."
"Yes, I will."
Kuroo's heart stammers and pangs more than his head rings at the sound of your voice. He doesn't know why he's nervous. The lights are low, but even still, he squints as your sneakers go from a hard, brisk pace to a slow, hesitant walk, and then it's your shadow against the curtain around his bed, standing still and silent.
Maybe it's the leftover nerves from last night. Maybe it's because he heard you shouting for him, even over the din of the gymnasium.
Maybe it's because he's always been obvious about how he feels about you—or so he thought—and now you're well and truly aware of it and the game… well, neither of them are at the game, are they?
"You can come in," he murmurs, and then, the curtains part with a metal song.
You stand before him, hot-faced and hair a bit mussed. He imagines you must've ran your fingers through it like you do when you're stressed, and although you tilt your chin up to look at him laying on the cot, a wariness lurks in the pits of your eyes. Wariness, and relief.
"Not the same kind of awakening you gave me," you say lamely. You sit down on the corner of his cot. Kuroo smiles tiredly.
"Heard you lost your mind a little bit," he rasps. "Ow."
"Concussion?" He blinks in assent and you sigh, setting a hand on his shin. "You should rest, then. I don't know why she let me in here if you're still in so much pain and you can't go home yet."
He takes a deep breath and steels himself as best as he can.
"I sorta… begged her to let me see my girlfriend."
His face screws up and he peeks at your expression, gauging your reaction as you turn to him slowly. You are still as a marble statue, though, he thinks dazedly, you would put them all to shame.
"I… see," you manage at length. "It worked, I suppose."
But he can read between the lines. "You're thinking I probably shouldn't have done that."
You offer a wry half-smile. "Lie?"
"Mmm." He closes his eyes and sinks into the pillow. "That, too."
𑄝੭
The Sumida River churns along. The moon, hanging high, hanging bright, is flanked by a freckled sky of stars.
You had wondered how you got here, on this lookout and perched on the hood of Kuroo's car, a few minutes earlier, but in the present moment, letting him rest his cheek on your shoulder while he tucked his keys into his pocket, you realize you don't exactly care.
"Are the guys nervous for tomorrow?" he asks, lifting his head so that it's his chin on your shoulder instead. You turn to look at him and nearly start at how close he is. Their noses brush, and your heart constricts as he smiles faintly. The breeze sends his hair all into his face and you lift up a hand to brush it back and out of his eyes.
"Who wouldn't be?" comes your return inquiry. "Tomorrow is the end. Sounds ironic, but it's true. A lot of the team graduates."
"Yeah, but that means some new beginnings." He clears his throat and lifts himself away from you, the press of his body making you feel chillier than you think the night really is. "Though, those happen all the time."
"Yeah. Yeah, I never really thanked you for convincing me of that part." You look down into your lap, hike your foot (left) into your lap and hold onto it tightly. "I think it goes without saying that I wouldn't be the manager without you."
"Oh, you would've done it anyway. I just gave you the right push."
"You think?"
"Almost positive." You don't have to look up to know that he's smiling. "By the way, I have something else I wanted to talk to you about…"
𑄝੭
"You mean the confession."
He winces. "Don't get me wrong. I don't regret it at all. But, maybe I should've timed it better."
You scoot up higher on the bed, this time sitting near his hip, and Kuroo cracks open an eye as you look forward again, playing with your own fingers. He can only see your side profile, and even then, because of how dark the room is, not even that he sees well.
"Maybe," you admit. "But… if you didn't do that, I wouldn't be here."
"Make a bunch of bad decisions?"
You laugh gently, deeply in your chest. Even though his ears ring, the sound of it soothes him more than anything else as you twist at the waist and find his hand easily, holding onto his fingers.
"I was thinking more always goading me into making the first move I'm convinced I can't make."
𑄝੭
The summer sun shines down on you like nothing else at four years old. You sit in the strawberry fields alongside the boy who had toddled over to you and squatted down to pick the berries with you, counting out loud the seeds of the berries you pick. You don't know him, really, and his big fat head is covered by a straw hat so that you can't make out anything but his yellow eyes. You nearly want to shout stranger danger over it, but when you look over your shoulder, you see your parents talking to two other adults who must be his mommy and daddy, so you must be alright for now.
Fine, you'll play fair and nice.
"I like this one," you point out cordially, adjusting your navy blue bandana tied around your throat. The boy next to you nods emphatically. "Because it looks yummy."
"It's the brightest and the reddest." He screws up his face. "And no bugs."
"And no bugs," you agree. You're careful with your picks. The boy next to you sneaks a few into his mouth and tosses the leafy green stems as far as he can. You giggle. "Ew! You're so gross!"
"What?"
"You need to wash those first," you explain, but strawberry juice dribbles down his chin and you cannot help the smile on your face. "If you wash 'em and save 'em, we can make strawberry jam!"
"Ugh!" He screws up his face, dropping the last one he had in his fist back into his basket. "You're so boring! I'm hungry now and if we eat it now, the strawberries can grow back quicker and we can eat more."
"Dummy! That is not how that works. And I'm not boring! If you eat it all now, you can't eat it later! It's called being prackitical."
"I'm not a dummy! You're the bigger dummy! And your scarf is ugly!"
"Hey! That was mean!" You grab the first thing you can think of (a fistful of dirt) and you cock your arm back. You are so ready to launch it into this strange boy's face when:
"Tetsurou! Come back here, now!"
𑄝੭
"Oh." Kuroo falls quiet. "And you like that?"
𑄝੭
The river fades away. You stare at Kuroo, unable to decided which emotion is strongest. Shock, for certain, as if someone had knocked the wind out of you. Confusion, definitely.
𑄝੭
"Sort of," you allow. "Sometimes. It makes me mad, too, but I think it's a good thing."
𑄝੭
Love? Falling in love? With you? Why? What does that even mean?
𑄝੭
"That's… that's, uhm..." He searches for the right words. The concussion's making it hard, he thinks. Or he wants to blame it on that. You look to the orange lamp on the nightstand. "Okay."
"It's… almost excellent." Your fingers curl around his. "You making me connect the dots."
𑄝੭
You suppose strawberries and navy blue laces.
𑄝੭
"Hard thing to do for a robot," he comments.
"A big, boring robot, to be clear."
"I thought I said sorry over that."
"You did. Four years ago."
𑄝੭
And maybe a thousand other coincidences that you aren't able to confront right now.
𑄝੭
Outside the crowd erupts into a stomp and cheer so loud it shakes the walls, and your fingers interlace with Kuroo's as they both tilt their heads to the ceiling. The thunderous cacophony does not fade, but the shaking stops after a moment and he forces his body to relax as you find him a cup of water to drink from. Fixing that up for him, you lean forward and hold the straw to his lips.
"I suppose someone won," you comment as you do so. "I wonder who."
He pulls off the straw, and despite how cold it is going down his gut, Kuroo thinks he has never felt warmer. "Oh, for sure, me"
"Yeah?" You press his hand to your face. "And here I thought I would be the winner."
"Hm, truce?"
You laugh. "In your dreams, dummy."
𑄝੭
But eventually, Kuroo will get you to. He always does.
⟢--- welcome to beatopia, a magnitude of endless songs await you. what shall you choose?
⟢--- pick a song that your requested fic will loosely be based off of and any character from these options ->
jjk : anyone minus naoya
haikyuu : anyone minus the coaches!
blue lock : only hiori, rin, bachira, chigiri, sae (maybe), bunny, kaiser, nagi, reo! (you can still request another character, these are the only ones i can think of right now. however, please don't get shocked if i reject your request for that specific character.)
⟢--- duration: aug 16-31
⟢--- these are your options below;
⋆ beatopia cultsong
⋆ 10:36
⋆ sunny day
⋆ see you soon
⋆ the perfect pair
⋆ broken cd
⋆ talk
⋆ lovesong
⋆ pictures of us
⋆ don't get the deal
⋆ you're here that's the thing
? - i don't know anything about beatopia, can i still request?
= - of course! please consider this post that roughly explains the vibe you will get of each song! (i still HIGHLYYYY recommend you still look through that post even if you are familiar with the album/themes to see just exactly what you're getting.)
? - what about ripples, fairy song, and tinkerbell is overrated?
= - to me, these songs are centered around the singer themselves and i, as the author, cannot make any way to incorporate a romantic relationship within my interpretations of these songs (believe me, i tried) so they are exempted!
rules:
one entry per person
anon asks are allowed only with emojis. if your anon ask does not have an emoji or a name i can call you, it will not be answered.
thank you, and enjoy your stay at beatopia!
dividers by: @uzmacchiato @feimingo and me! // main m.list
summary: Oikawa Toru is about to lead the kingdom's first battalion of dragon riders within the royal knighthood. You're about to show them that they all have a lot to learn.
a gift for @purpleqilinwrites as a part of the haikyuu x reader summer fic exchange hosted by @sodaneko! so, so sorry for the wait, kaija! i really hope that this might be worth it. and many thanks to @tonystonem for beta reading. i owe you my life, as always
His time has come.
Toru has thought this many times in his life so far — when he became a soldier, when he was first given the role of commander of his battalion, when he was eventually knighted, and the several times he's been promoted within the knights' ranks. It's surreal to think that he can still feel this sense of anticipation and ambition even in the highest commanding role within the kingdom's royal knights.
He has been chosen to lead a completely new unit, the first of its kind in this kingdom — a dragon riders' squadron.
Obviously, the very concept of getting to ride a dragon exudes an image of elite training and combative prestige. And it's been the dream of plenty of young boys with fantastical dreams — himself included.
He can still recall the days when he would play in the fields or mountains with Iwa-chan, climbing on large boulders and pretending they were riding their dragons into their next adventure. He remembers gathering around encyclopedic books about dragons and other mythical creatures whenever he would visit the library or bookstore. He could probably still find some of his old pictures that he drew as a kid of dragons in the sky or himself riding atop one.
Little did that young boy know that he was going to be assigned to command a battalion of men and their dragons by the kingdom's royal council itself. He couldn't imagine how starry eyed he must've looked in front of the council when he was given the news. That he would have his pick of the most capable knights in the country as a part of his team.
It was as if all of his childhood dreams were coming true. It almost felt too good to be true.
But he didn't realize just how good it all sounded until he finally reached their new training grounds out in the countryside. And met the dragon trainer.
"First things first: I assume you're all prepared to fall to your deaths in this occupational hazard of a unit?"
There's a slight fidgeting that passes through the men lined up before you, Toru standing at the leftmost side as the leader. He has to speak for them with honor and confidence as their commander.
"As knights, every single one of these men here is prepared to die in combat for the sake of protecting our kingdom. They've faced countless dangers before in preparing for battle, fighting on the front lines, and making harsh journeys across uninhabitable regions. We're here because we're among the best in the kingdom's ranks."
That makes a few of their backs a bit straighter. They're all ready to be here. To become dragon riders.
"Yes, that's what I figured." You say without a hint of awe or even curiosity, "But that's not what I'm asking. I'm checking in to make sure that all of you understand the risks of training to ride dragons. Because no matter what you faced before or whatever accolades you may have accumulated leading up to this point, none of that matters to the dragons you will meet. They will decide whether you're worthy as a partner, or better off as tinder."
There's silence among the lines once again. A stiffness in the air that even Toru feels the urge to bite his lip against.
"I don't say this to scare you," you continue before he can say anything, "I'm sharing this as a warning so that you know what you're getting into. Dragons, while bright, incredible, and occasionally accommodating creatures, are not horses. They're far sturdier, and they're far more dangerous if you don't put in the effort to learn about them and give them the same respect as you would yourselves.
"I know all of you must have come here today with grand dreams of soaring through the skies or with boundless confidence you've built up as knights on the ground, but if you're not fully prepared to risk losing your life to the wind rather dying in a blaze of glory, then I'd suggest you keep your feet close to the earth."
Toru takes one last cursory glance at his line of men before standing at unwavering attention with a fist over his heart in salute, "I, Oikawa Toru, commander of the new unit of the Scaled Knights, pledge our allegiance, loyalty, and respect to the dragons we hope to work with, and trust in you, dragon trainer, to guide us to properly forge a relationship with the dragons, so that we may aid in the protection of our kingdom together. As do my men."
In quick succession and unison, all of the men lined up beside him pound at the metal plates on their chests in a matching salute, shouting, "Aye!"
You consider them for a few seconds before shrugging, rather nonchalantly, "Alright, if you all say so. If you're really sure about all this, then follow me into the warehouse. We'll start our lessons there."
There's a titter of excitement that runs through the group as they all march in their lines towards a large building made of stone and brick. Toru's heart is already pounding at the thought of seeing dragons inside.
While it is a large building, surely it can't house that many dragons, can it? Perhaps it acts like a horse stable for the younger or smaller ones that prefer to be cared for in domestication? He wonders what kind of dragons they'll see. Fledglings? Red scales? Blue? Maybe even the illustrious black? No, surely he wouldn't be lucky enough to see a black dragon on his first day. Still, it's all he can do to keep from bouncing on his feet and speeding up the march.
His unit is likely feeling the same. Some of the chattier ones are already whispering to one another some of his own thoughts. They're all excited to see some dragons.
Until they enter the warehouse, and find tables lined up with chairs and a blackboard…
"Alright, have a seat wherever you're comfortable. So long as you can hear me and see the front."
With some slightly hesitant steps, they all file into the chairs that stand in pairs with each available table. Which is slightly difficult to navigate with all the armor they're wearing. There are clunking noises all over the room as this group of large men with chunky armor fit themselves into sitting positions behind desks.
"Oh, you can take off all the armor if that's more comfortable." You tell them with a wave of your hand, "You won't be needing it for a while, so feel free to come to training in regular clothes until we're ready to move into actual combat training."
"And how long is that going to take?" One of Toru's more brusque knights, Kyotani, grunts out.
"That depends on how well you guys pick up on the material, but I suspect at least a few weeks, if not months." You guess.
"Months?!"
There are some noises of surprise and outrage about the room. Even Toru feels his heart sink at the realization.
"So we're not going to meet any dragons today?" Kindaichi asks in a disappointed voice.
"Oh, heavens no." You choke out a laugh, almost snorting at the concept, "You have much to learn about dragons before you're anywhere near ready to meet one, let alone ride one into combat. I told the council this when they first brought this idea to me, but I suspect it'll be at least several years before you're all ready to function as a deployable unit."
"What?"
"Seriously?"
"No way…"
More noises of disappointment.
Until his Vice Commander, Iwa-chan, pipes up in his no-nonsense voice to the room, "Hey. Enough complaining. We're here to be the first of our kind in the knighthood. Of course it's going to take time to learn everything properly. So get it together."
"Aye, sir." The men shout.
"And I didn't hear a single one of you address our Dragon Trainer properly when speaking to them. Show some proper respect." He reminds them, with an extra intimidating glare that somehow commands respect in a different way that Toru does.
"Aye, sir!" They all repeat.
"Oh, I don't care too much about all that." You say with another wave of your hand, "I'm not your commanding officer or anything like that, so feel free to just call me by my name. Or 'trainer' is fine too, I guess."
You ask everyone to introduce themselves to you, then proceed to pass out some bound booklets of blank parchment paper, along with some ink and quills.
"I assume most of you are fairly literate as knights. But in the case that you're not good with words, you're free to use the parchment booklets as you like. Draw pictures, make charts, whatever works best for you. You don't even have to use them at all, but I figured for these first few lessons, it might be helpful to retain the information I give you."
"What? So we're supposed to take notes like we're back in school?" Kyotani, ever the brute, says.
"For the beginning, yes. As much as I'd like to take the practical approach, there are a few things that I've learned in all my years interacting with dragons that I think you should know up front before you learn them the hard way. So get comfy, boys, because class is in session!"
They spend weeks on what you've designated to be "prerequisite training" for dragon riding. Mornings are filled with lectures in a classic school classroom style, where many of them do end up diligently taking notes about all the things that you teach them.
"There are many breeds of dragons. Probably just as many as dogs or cats. Some can fly while others remain on the ground, or even in the sea. Usually, the ones on land are herbivorous."
"Dragons have very distinguishable personalities. If I had to compare them, I'd say they're overall very haughty, like cats. But they're also very agile and fast, like birds and horses. And incredibly strong, almost as much as they are stubborn, like mules."
"Some dragons have stronger affinities for magic. Usually elemental, based on what kind of dragon they are. But the strongest ones are usually bigger and more brightly pigmented in color — perhaps in order to blend in with the sky or to stand out, as leaders of a flight. Herbivorous dragons are generally more earthy toned."
"While they are considered the highest apex predator in most ecosystems, they are able to get along with other species in mutually beneficial relationships. For example, they fly alongside birds during certain migration periods in order to find lands with more resources during colder seasons with lower harvest."
Not that Toru is uninterested in any of this information, but it really is quite a lot. He originally thought he was a bit of a nerd when it came to dragons, but he's coming to see that there is much more to them than he expected. He and many of the other knights end up needing extra parchment booklets to make record of all of the information you teach them.
Then after a quick reprieve for lunch, they come together again to do physical training. Which is unlike any of the combat training Toru had to learn as a knight with a sword and shield.
Here, you make them spend hours building their full body strength in ways he never imagined — holding heavy boulders between their thighs, standing on top of precariously stacked objects, scaling mountains from a cliffside. All of this to prepare them for mounting and balancing on a creature that will be moving at high speeds high in the air, gripping onto whatever scales are within their reach because dragons cannot be harnessed and saddled like horses.
You have them train until dusk, or their bodies give out on them for the day — whichever may come first. And then it's all they can do to drag themselves back to their quarters to eat and have a wash before collapsing in their bunks.
It isn't until about three weeks in, where they've crammed and quizzed and squatted and climbed to their brains' and bodies' limits that you decide it's time to let them see a dragon.
So you have them cart several crates for several miles until they reach a wide open plateau with a forest just at the edge of view, and a large mountain just beyond it. Then you turn to Toru and his men with a look of satisfaction.
"Alright, fellas. Remember everything I told you about etiquette when approaching dragons. Never get friendly too quickly, and show the utmost respect as if approaching a king." You remind them, prompting them all to shout with hearty fists against their chests, "Aye!"
"And maybe don't do that around them at the beginning either." You suggest with a slight wrinkle of your nose, "Organized group calls might be perceived as threats, so even if it goes against your knightly code, just take it easy. Remember, we're trying to make friends here, not train steeds."
With your fingers, you blow a loud whistling noise into the valley that might even reach the forest. It's silent for a few minutes, but then the rustling begins, and Toru and all his men are at attention as they see large, lizard-like creatures emerge from the forest's edge. And they approach fast.
Toru has to fight his inner instinct to draw his sword against the feeling of an imminent attack, not that he brought it, since you forbade any of them to come in uniform or with weapons for this excursion.
And in what feels like no time at all, the creatures are at their feet, standing just below their height level, heads atop their long necks ending just around your chin as they stand on all fours.
Based on what Toru has learned, he can guess that these are some of the land dwelling herbivorous dragons in the area, judging by their earthy yellow and brown scales, and wingless backs.
They approach slowly, likely observing the group of unfamiliar men standing behind you. But you somehow break the ice with them like they're old friends.
"Gaia, Sylvan! I'm so glad to see you!" You open your arms wide as you walk with slow steps towards them. The dragon you approach first is slightly larger than the others, standing on two larger hind legs with a bright sheen across their yellowish, almost orange scales. "It's been so long since two last showed your faces. Busy with the new hatchlings?"
To their surprise, the dragon responds to you with what sounds like an affirmative screeching sound. Toru watches in awe as you give the tops of their heads some gentle strokes and converse with them in a friendly voice.
"And of course, I brought you guys some treats." You say as you lug a crate from one of the carts, pulling out a few apples to feed them. As they chew, the other dragons begin to look curiously and longingly at you and the open crate. So you turn and call out, "Hey, commander! You want to grab a few apples and see if they'll eat from your hand?"
"O-Of course." He tries to ignore how hot his cheeks get from stumbling over his tongue.
But he does as you say, gathering all his muster as he takes two apples in each hand and slowly walks up to some of the dragons you have yet to feed. He approaches slowly and unassumingly, like he would a new horse, then gingerly holds out his handfuls of apples to them.
However, he jumps once they begin shrieking, swinging their heads down and then up to knock the apples out of his hands. Once they drop to the ground, some of the other dragons scramble for them and gobble them up before he can catch his bearings.
"Hey… that wasn't very nice." You chastise the dragons like you would children. "It's okay, Oikawa. Try again."
"Aye— Yes." He clears his throat, hoping to clear the embarrassment from his face as well, before returning to the apple crate and trying again.
Only this time to be shrieked at once again as they jump into the air menacingly, making him fall to his bottom on the ground in surprise, once again dropping all the fruit in his hands. They even seem to make what feels like chortling sounds at him once he's helpless on the ground.
To his chagrin, you seem to chortle a bit too, before saying, "Okay, don't take it personally. For some reason, they seem to have deemed you a funny target. They're just playing around. Thistle and Sorrel especially like to be a bit playful to the point of bullying sometimes."
"I see…" is all Toru can say before falling back in with the group.
"Alright, how about someone else? Vice commander?" You suggest, looking at Iwa-chan.
"Yes." He steps forward, approaching the apple crate and grabbing them in what Toru believes to be the exact same fashion as he did just at first.
And somehow, for some reason, the dragons observe him for a few seconds before eating directly from his hands! What in the—
"That's a good girl…" Iwa-chan says with clear affection in his voice, "I've got more where that came from." And somehow, one of the dragons goes even further and nuzzles its head against his chest!
"Wow, how did you identify that she was a girl, Iwaizumi?" You ask, in an almost quizzical way, like you're testing his accumulated knowledge.
"She seems to still be quite young, so I couldn't tell by her head shape or the bulges down at the base of her tail, but these pores along her thighs look much smaller than her friend's next to her." He explains gesturing at the small, faint looking dots along the softer skin creases between her inner thigh and stomach.
"Amazing observation." You praise, "And incredibly useful information for when you want to identify a dragon's strange behavior. Sometimes, increased aggressive behavior will occur more often in female dragons because…"
"They may be laying eggs or protecting new hatchlings. And they are much more sensitive to possible threats." Iwaizumi finishes.
"Excellent." You smile, then turn back to the rest of the knights, "Alright fellas, start unloading the crates and see if you can charm a dragon into eating out of your hands."
For the rest of the morning, they spend their time frolicking around with the dragons, for lack of a better word. You specifically told them to "play" with the dragons; go along with their whims, throw and catch large sticks with them if they so pleased. Apparently in order to build trust with a dragon, they must first forge a connection with them, a friendship.
Which seems to come easier to a lot of his knights than to Toru himself. While they're all able to feed them apples and yams and play catch or chase with these forest dragons within the hour, it takes Toru the better part of the morning to even be an acceptable presence to them.
Even with your help and suggestions, all of the dragons seem to just make fun of him if they don't simply walk away. What makes it worse is that you seem to find as much amusement in it as the dragons do!
"They're very perceptive. I think they can tell that you're quite eager to show off." You try to hide your chortle as one of the dragons pokes its snout at his head, rubbing his hair everywhere.
He tries to hold back his frustration as his men enjoy their lunches with their new dragon friends, some of them even offering a bite to them before laughing when they take a sniff and shake their head with a snort as if smelling something awful. Iwa-chan gets along especially well with many of the dragons, already on friendly terms with who you've introduced as the maternal leader of the flight.
As much as he doesn't want feel envy over his comrades' faster progress in their dragon riding endeavors, he does have some embarrassment as their commander. He should be able to set an example for the group, to lead by impressive skill and a natural affinity with their new partners — like he did as a soldier.
But none of it seems to be going in that direction as they finally move into riding basics in the afternoon.
"Since these are forest dragons who dwell on land, and are generally friendlier since they have to coexist with other land dwelling creatures, they'll make for great partners to start training. You'll be able to start somewhere familiar on the ground, but also get a taste of how a dragon generally moves — and get accustomed to it." You explain as you approach the largest male dragon of the pack; Sylvan, you called him.
They watch with rapt attention as you explain how to properly mount a dragon without a saddle, and what to expect of their movements since they are wildly different from a horse's gallop or trot, and how to brace and pivot your own body accordingly. And how you zip across the field faster than any land animal that he has ever seen.
Toru can hardly keep his jaw locked shut as he watches the way you ride Sylvan in multiple directions, twisting around boulders and jumping over large puddles. Once, he makes a jump so long that Toru almost swears that this forest dragon really can fly.
His men all exchanges murmurs of awe as they watch you dismount, and when they clap, some of the dragons copy their gesture in curiosity, which makes them all laugh.
Oh, what Toru would do to be able to ride a dragon with that amount of grace.
To his surprise, many of them are given the chance this afternoon. Many of them approach certain dragons that they've befriended that morning and are allowed to practice mounting them. Which takes up a great majority of their time, just learning how to mount and settle themselves on such a differently postured animal.
There is much more of an upward slope that Toru has to lean into, once he manages to get a dragon to agree to partner with him. And without a saddle to catch him from the back, sliding downward becomes the day's main learning curve.
By dusk, the only ones who have managed to successfully learn to sit and ride along at a slow walk without falling are Iwa-chan and Kyotani. How that mad dog of a boy managed to get along with a dragon well enough to be able to ride one is beyond him.
The way back down to their home camp is a tiring one, though rewarding for some of them. Many of them can't stop talking about their experiences getting along with the dragons and the issues they ran into trying to mount them. Many of the men crowd around Iwa-chan and Kyotani in hopes of learning from some of their successes. Some of them gather around you to ask you more about your expertise.
But they all fall into their beds with exhaustion curled into their bones and their thighs and backs aching from mounting practice. All they can talk about is how this really is a different set of skills to adapt to, and how knowledgeable and thorough of a trainer you are to have prepared them for this.
And soon, the conversation begins to revolve around you and your origins.
"I actually heard that they're from a small village near the edge of the kingdom. They told me that there are way more dragons there than around here. They mostly only started populating the area more because trainer actually convinced the council to improve the environment." Yahaba goes on.
"Improve the environment, like how?" Kunimi asks.
"You know," Yahaba waves his hand, "Like… dragon enrichment or whatever. The council had to start planting more fauna and produce that attracted dragons, and carved out more caves into the mountains for nesting and stuff like that."
Toru isn't surprised to hear that Yahaba has gotten this information about you. He gets comfortable with new people quite easily, and he didn't waste a moment trying to befriend you. Whether or not it was simply for a love of dragons is to be determined.
He is curious about you though, and how you came to accumulate such a vast hoard of knowledge about dragons despite being around their age. This was only their first day working with real dragons but you've already proven just how impressively experienced you are.
Quite honestly, he can hardly wait for tomorrow to come so they can practice some more. And so he can make some actual progress worthy of a commander of dragon riders.
"Alright, enough chatter. Head to bed, soldiers. We've got another trek at dawn again down to the valley, so get your rest in now so your muscles will be ready for tomorrow." He calls through the room.
"Aye, sir." They men chant out more casually than they do when in formation.
He supposes he's let them get a little too comfortable with him…
A mere two weeks later, you've decided that they're ready to begin flying practice.
"These here are some of the young bunch. As older children or young teenagers in their relative age, they're rather eager to fly, which makes them more willing to play with new partners who don't yet know how to fly either." You say pointedly, patting a tall blue dragon that stands beside you at almost twice your height.
There are several other young dragons gathered around the valley today, scaled in many different colors but most of them blue — dragons that spend more time in the sky and blend in with it. He supposes that's why the adolescents are so eager to fly with strangers.
"Now remember; each of these dragons is different, so you'll have to adapt your posture according to their flying style. Granted, they're young, so they have yet to really develop consistent flying habits. But the unpredictability of them makes them even better training partners for you! If you can figure out how to ride a young dragon without falling to your death, then you can definitely ride an older, stronger, more seasoned dragon."
After you go over the basic differences between mounting a land dragon and a winged dragon, you give another demonstration, somehow climbing onto that dragon with the ease of climbing some stairs.
And then—
Then you're in the air. Before Toru can even recognize that you've spoken to the dragon and given it a signaling pat to its neck, the dragon squats low to coil back and shoots up into the air, sending gusts of wind back at the knights like slaps to the face.
It's incredible.
Absolutely marvelous.
More beautiful than anything he could've imagined this to be.
Toru has dreamt of riding dragons like some fairy tale fantasy since he was a boy, but seeing someone actually soar through the skies before his very own eyes awakens something deep within him. Like he's uncapped a long sealed bottle of boyhood dreams and whimsy, and now all the dreams and possibilities are spilling over.
He can't turn away for even a second. It's all he can do to keep himself from blinking too many times, in case he misses this.
You're riding a dragon.
You look so comfortable up there, with a wide smile on your face, exchanging what must be a laugh with your flight partner, going farther and faster than any human would ever be capable of traveling.
It's astonishing, watching you defy the limits of humanity like this.
Once you land and dismount, none of the men can keep their voices quiet. Everyone is yelling and clamoring for your attention, lauding your praises, practically jumping at the opportunity to ride a dragon next.
You settle them all with a laugh and remind them to first befriend all these new dragons they're meeting today. Whether or not they can get off the ground will be up to them.
Which, at this point, they know means that you don't expect them to make it very far at all today. By the end of the day, the most that anyone can do is get permission from their dragon to begin mounting practice.
The one who gets closest to figuring out how to stay on his dragon's back is Iwa-chan, who has already proven to have a rather natural affinity with dragons. He gets along with several of the dragons and is able to stay aboard the back of the most rambunctious one, who continuously tries to buck him off as a form of play.
Toru, on the other hand, proves to become more of an embarrassment with each passing day. He feels like he had only just barely gotten a hang of how to sit atop a land dragon. And all these men who he was supposed to lead are beginning to leave him behind as they all continue to progress in their dragon riding training.
By the end of the month, Iwa-chan is the first one in flight — making it across several miles and back in mere minutes. And his success inspires the morale of all their subordinate knights, as he soon becomes something of an assistant to you as a mentor to help the rest of the group catch up.
And yet, even with Iwa-chan's help, even with all his efforts, even with following all of your advice and guidance, Toru is very clearly the runt of the group.
How utterly humiliating.
By the end of their sixth month, half a year into training as a dragon riding unit, Toru remains as the only one who cannot keep his seat after reaching several dozen meters into the air.
Despite your warnings, none of them have fallen to their deaths because you so graciously ride a short distance behind them in order to catch them if they fall off their dragons midair. And Toru is loathe to think of how familiar it is to fall into your arms now.
It's yet another day of failed flying for Toru that you find him sulking atop a tree branch during their midday break.
"Something got you down, commander?" You had appeared right beside his ear, from the other side of the tree trunk, making him jump in such surprise that he almost fell off of a non-moving surface this time.
"Oh— Gods! Where on earth did you appear from?!" He quickly scrambles for a hold on his branch, now looking more like a monkey than a commanding officer of knights.
"Climbed down from the top." You simply point upwards.
Clearly you must've been on a ride, going wherever it is that you go during your breaks. Which is obviously limitless, thanks to your riding freedoms and relationship with dragons.
Toru can only grunt in envy as he climbs back onto the branch and leans against the tree trunk once more, feigning indifference.
"Well, there are plenty of free branches available, trainer. But I got this one first."
"Not going to nap with the dragons during the rest of your lunch hour with your comrades?" You ask with a teasing smile.
As if Toru could get comfortable enough to sleep beside a dragon. Iwa-chan may have amazed everyone by cuddling up against a forest dragon for a midday nap several weeks ago, but Toru has yet to develop such an intimate relationship with any dragon to even let him ride properly yet.
"I just needed some time to myself today. That is all." He harrumphs, closing his eyes and crossing his arms, as if guarding himself from your presence will make you disappear.
"Hmmm…" You trail off, then ask, "In order to review your flight training studies?"
Toru's brow furrows, because how could you possibly know he was doing that? Then when he opens his eyes, he sees that you've somehow gotten ahold of his small little notebook — a separate booklet of bound parchment that he compiled for himself to keep on hand and take new notes on.
How did you—?
You must have caught it when he dropped it in his scare earlier. He didn't even notice…
"These are all great notes," you commend, flipping through the small pages, "But I don't think any extra studying is going to help you with what you need at the moment."
Toru snatches the booklet back and tucks it away in his breast pocket, trying not to snarl when he says, "Well, it's the only thing I can manage at the moment, since I don't seem to be able to make any progress in the air."
"Hmm…" You trail off again, giving him a considering look. It almost makes him uncomfortable, being under your intense gaze. It almost resembles the feeling of a dragon staring him down.
After a few scrutinizing seconds, you announce, "Come to the grove of sequoia trees before dawn tomorrow. Alone. Bring an extra pair of clothes with you."
"What? Why do I—?"
You're jumping down the tree branches before he can finish his question.
"If you want to be a commander of dragon riders, you'll need to be able to ride a dragon, yes?" You ask.
"I— well— Yes…" He can't deny it.
You give him a brief glimpse of a smile, then finish with, "Before dawn, commander."
Before dawn is much too early. Toru can hardly keep his eyes open after lugging himself out of bed three hours before any of his comrades will be getting up, and walking for ten minutes on his own down their usual route to the dragons' valley to find the grove of sequoia trees.
He feels like his head just hit the pillow only moments ago, and now he's dragging his body about for some unknown reason to meet his trainer. Perhaps for a remedial lesson of some sort?
Will forcing him to fly in isolation give you a chance to focus all your coaching attention on him and help him improve faster? Will you be giving him extra training that's different from the others to make up for his shortcomings?
He has no idea, yet at this point, he's willing to toss aside all of his pride in order to catch up with his men. There's no way he can continue to command them if he can't do the same things they can. He only hopes that whatever you have planned for him works.
"Morning, commander." You greet him once he gets deep enough into the grove. "Hop on and let's get going."
The large shadow that you pat beside you begins moving with a deep, rumbling growl until it stands as tall and strong as some of the trees in this forest. Or at least it feels that way.
It's so dark that Toru hadn't even realized there was a dragon behind you. And now it stands taller than any of the dragons you've been bringing around them for their training. Of course, you had mentioned to them that they would be moving on to riding adult dragons that could fly longer and harder eventually, but Toru hadn't even begun to picture how enormous they would be…
This tall, dark-colored dragon stands at least three times his own height, if not more. How is he ever supposed to mount this thing?! Let alone ride it into battle??
Gods, he's starting to think that maybe he was a little in over his head about this whole thing after all.
But you smack him out of his slack-jawed stupor to start climbing up the dragon's large, muscular leg.
"Come on, get moving now. There's no time to waste."
Even the scales on this dragon are larger than the young teenagers they've been training with. In a way, it almost makes finding a foothold easier.
But getting up to the top of its back takes much longer. If he trips and loses his foot placement, it'll be a harder fall to the ground.
After some huffing and trying not to embarrass himself climbing up this large dragon, you put him to shame by backing up to take a running start to spring up the length of the dragon's arm and climb across whatever scales remain along its shoulder to land on its back in front of Toru.
"Alright commander. This lovely creature who will be escorting us to our destination today is Dawnspire. She's incredibly fast. Much faster than any of the dragons you've ridden so far. So you'll need to hold on tight to me, do you understand?" You say with your head turned back to him, Dawnspire's long neck bent around to take a matching look at him as well.
Being scrutinized by dragon and trainer alike feels just as intense as it sounds, and yet, there's a strange charm to it. Like the two of you are a team, or even good friends working together.
"Understood." He nods, then with only slight hesitation, brings his arms to wrap around your waist.
"Good, now put this on." You hand him something that was attached to the belt on your waist.
Toru takes them and realizes they're a type of eyewear. He sees a similar pair hanging around your neck by a strap that you pull up to place around your eyes. So he does the same, assuming that it's for protection against the wind.
"Take us away, Dawn." You pat at the dragon's comically large shoulder blade. Just the size of the bone underneath looks like it could fill the room of a small house.
Toru doesn't have much time to be amazed as Dawnspire rises to her full height, bringing them even closer to the tall branches of the surrounding trees. His heart is pounding as he simply watches as the dragon leans into a crouch, and then takes off into a slight run before jumping into the air.
Somehow, as she rises up higher and closer to the already tall branches of the sequoia trees, she expertly swerves through many of them, barely letting any leaves brush against them with how agilely she moves between them.
Higher and higher she rises, until they break through the trees like an owl in the night. The only thing Toru hears is the wind blowing past as they begin to soar faster, and faster. And faster still.
And the faster they get, the tighter he clings to your waist. He can feel his knuckles starting to strain as he squeezes around you, trying to keep his heart in his throat. It's all he can do to keep his eyes open.
Even with the eye goggles, he's afraid to open them and see just how far they're getting off the ground. But then after a while, he feels your torso twist slightly in his hold before you yell to him, "Eyes open, commander! You're going to be up here soon enough."
He takes a deep breath, bracing for some kind of psychological impact, because he knows you're right. He's the commander. He's going to lead his battalion into the skies just like this one day in the future. He can't be afraid of this.
Still, once he opens his eyes and sees just how close they are to the moon, he screams.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" He shrieks into the night.
"Ahahaha!!!" Your laugh echoes with his screams.
It's all Toru can do to keep hold of his stomach for the rest of the flight.
What feels like hours later, but was apparently only about thirty minutes of flying, Toru falls to his knees on the sweet, steady ground. If he wasn't so busy catching his breath and wheezing to adjust to the change in air pressure, he'd have kissed it.
They're surrounded by sand, with the ocean lapping at the long shore of what looks to be a rather large, empty beach. Likely inaccessible to civilians since it's surrounded by large cliff side mountains.
While he's taking in the area, you send Dawnspire off on her own, which confuses Toru. Is he not here to train with you further?
"Caught your breath yet, commander?" You ask as he finally stands back on his feet like a respectable knight.
"My apologies, trainer. I should not have put on such a humiliating display." He bows his head.
"Oh, don't worry about that. I found it amusing." You chuckle, "However, we're here because you are eventually going to have to get over that. I assume you intend to keep your position as a commander of a dragon riding unit of knights?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then that's why we're here; to practice the basics." You announce, which doesn't make anything any clearer to Toru about what's going to be happening.
You disappear off towards a large formation of beach rocks, and bring out two long boards made of some kind of lacquered material. Had you already hidden those there beforehand? Have you done this before?
As you come closer with the two boards, he sees that they're even longer than he expected up close. When you stand it up to stick it in the sand, it's taller than him by over a head.
"What is…?"
"We are going to take these boards out into the ocean, and you are going to practice balancing on them out in the water." You announce.
"In the water?! But I— You mean to say I have to stand up on this board?? In the ocean??" Toru can hardly wrap his head around this concept.
"Yes, it's called surfing. You ride the surf. It's a rather popular sport in beachside towns." You explain, nonchalant.
"Sport?!" He feels himself getting dizzy. He's been a land dweller all his life. And he's only just started to learn how to get his feet in the air. Now he has to learn how to do it on water too?? "Why are we doing this?"
"The ocean waves are at their strongest early in the morning. Riding on a flimsy board of wood can resemble riding a creature of the wild, all while you're being attacked by merciless elements." You explain, "And here, you can fall on your face as much as you want and won't even die!"
"It's not like I'm trying to fall!" Toru retorts indignantly.
Then he heaves a big sigh. Is this what it's come to? He's so lacking in the basic skills of dragon riding that you have to resort to training him on the ocean instead of wasting the dragons' time?
It's humiliating. It's disheartening.
And at the same time, he understands. It sobers him. Perhaps even feels appreciation. He knows that you're taking away extra time to train him because he's lacking as a commander. You can see that he wants so badly to improve and you've put in the effort to take him aside and train him again from the ground up.
He can't blame you for his own lack of skill as a dragon rider. He can only pull up his britches and learn once more.
"I… I'm not the strongest swimmer…" He admits.
"Then you'll be learning with the same stakes as flying. Learn fast or die trying." You say with a cheeky smile, "Now take that shirt off, commander, and let's go ride some waves."
There is no way Toru is going to survive this. If he's not taken down by the waves or the wind, he'll die by humiliation at this point.
He's long lost count of the number of times you've had to fish him out of the water to find his way back to his board, clamber back on after slipping several times, and then try to stand up while another wave approaches him. Only to lose balance again and fall right back into the ocean.
Actually, with how often he's gone through this survival routine and had to scramble back up to the surface for air, he almost forgets to feel embarrassed at some point.
But somehow, slowly, very torturously slowly, he starts to find his balance. He starts to get a hang of it. His body begins to predict how the waves will move and how he should adjust his weight distribution accordingly, how he should use his muscles.
While it is different than riding a dragon, he still gets the sense of danger and skill and control being beaten into his body by the elements. And as he slowly grows accustomed to it by the time dawn breaks, he feels a slightly new sense of accomplishment by the time he's able to ride one small wave without falling down.
Though he does feel like his body is about to give out by the time they climb back onto shore to dry off and change into new clothes.
For some reason, Toru is hoping to hear praise from you. Some kind of acknowledgement that he's making clear progress. Any kind of reassurance that maybe he will be fit to be commander of a unit of Scaled Knights soon.
Instead, you say, "You've got a weak knee, don't you?"
"Excuse me?" He asks, readjusting his belt on his trousers.
"Your right leg. You don't use as much pressure on that side when you mount a dragon. I felt it when you rode behind me." You say, purely observational, "And every time you fell off your board, you would collapse onto your right side."
Toru stares at you, unable to deny your claims, yet not ready to admit to them.
"Is it a recent injury? Or has it always been weak?" You ask, undeterred.
"It was an injury I sustained in a battle against cursed monsters, about three years ago." He admits with a tight jaw.
"And why did you not think to share this with me when you first began training?" You ask.
He swallows nervously, unable to look you in the eye. If he had admitted to you, to anyone, that he had a long-sustaining injury, he would never have made it to the position he has now. He would have been tucked away to the sidelines, never to know honor and glory of a knight again.
He never would have been given the chance to become a commander.
But he doesn't need to weigh you down with all of that. It's been his responsibility to carry, and that it will remain.
"A knight is only worth what his body can offer." He says with a sigh, "I have proven that I can still be a worthy knight even with this knee."
"Without admitting that to anyone." You add, making Toru's jaw clench again.
"Do not worry, I will not be reporting you or anything like that." You say as you pack everything back into your belt and pull out a whistle to call for Dawnspire. "But even a healed knee isn't as strong as it once was. You'll need to remember that if you're going to be a dragon rider."
It's a silent ride back to their quarters. The first hour of first light is nearly over by the time they land back in the grove of sequoias where they first started.
When you send Toru off to get ready for the day's regular training, he has no idea whether you're disappointed in him, or if you expect him to work harder, or if you're going to let him work himself into the ground until he breaks or dies — whichever comes first.
He joins his men for their usual morning routine; breakfast and then gathering cargo to bring to the valley, and Iwa-chan walks close by his side.
"Where were you all morning?" He asks, low enough that no one around them can hear.
"Trainer took me out for extra training." He answers simply.
Iwa-chan isn't too fazed by his answer, it seems.
"I guess that explains why you look so haggard."
"Shut up." He rolls his eyes at his friend. His closest friend since childhood. The man who knows everything about him. Strengths and weaknesses alike.
So with a deep breath, he admits, "They found out about my knee."
Iwa-chan tries not to let it show too much on his face, but Toru doesn't miss the slight widening of his eyes. "And?"
"Nothing. I'm not sure what action they'll take, if any. Perhaps they just want to see how far I can take it." He shrugs, feigning nonchalance.
Iwa-chan gives him that unreadable hum of his, but eventually lets the matter go.
"I believe in their judge of character. Someone who understands the nature of dragons will surely understand the nature of people too." He says, "So what kind of training did you have to endure anyway?"
Toru sighs, feeling the exhaustion settle into his bones as he remembers that he'll have to endure regular training today as well, "Let's just say I'm a better swimmer now."
Before Iwa-chan can question him further, they reach the dragons' valley and are greeted with excitement by their many young dragon friends, who have come to expect their visits. As well as their treats.
As they all disperse and begin their day's greetings and play with the dragons before training commences, Toru comes up to one of the dragons who has been kinder to him throughout the fast few months.
Apparently, he's a bit of a runt of the litter, with slightly shorter wings than the other young dragons his age. He can't fly as high or as fast as many of his brothers and sisters, but Toru appreciates how he never stops trying.
You gave him the name Bark, explaining that he's tough and protective, despite what the other dragons may think of him. And Toru thinks it's quite fitting for a young, resilient forest dragon.
They're birds of a feather, or rather, dragons of a scale. So to speak.
"Hey, Bark." He greets him with a softer voice than usual, which the dragon seems to notice, tilting its head slightly as if in inquiry.
"It's nothing, I was just… doing some extra training. With [Surname]." He goes on, petting the dragon's rough snout and head with affectionate familiarity, "They've been hard on me, but I can see that they're doing it for me. No one else has pushed me to my limits like you guys and they have. No one else… has noticed my struggle like they have."
For some reason, he finds himself feeling softer as he talks about you. He even realizes that he's smiling a bit when Bark comes up to nuzzle his face, and his lips are already pulled tight at the corners when he breaks out into a laugh.
Perhaps you bring out something similar in him that the dragons do. You weed out parts of him that are weak and need improvement, and you force him to better himself. Perhaps that's why he sees you and the dragons in a similar vein.
"Commander." A voice suddenly appears behind him.
"Ah—! Uh, yes!" He jumps as he turns to find the very person in his thoughts appear before him.
Somehow, despite having been up all morning, gone into the ocean to teach him how to surf, and flying all the way back to lead your regular training sessions, you seem right as rain.
You hold out a rolled up white cloth to him, "This is a special blend of cotton and dragon hair that the kingdom has been developing. Sky dragon hair, so it should be lightweight but protective against certain elements. Try using this to wrap around your knee for support and let me know how it feels."
"Wha— My— For me?" He stutters.
"Yes, for you. If you want to fly, commander, you're going to need to figure out a way to balance yourself. You can't rely on your left side or for someone you catch you from your right forever." You say bluntly.
"I— Yes. Of course." He blinks himself back to sense, instinctively saluting you with a fist to his heart.
"Now come bend your knee. I'll show you how to wrap it properly."
As Toru comes down to bend on his left knee, you squat down to tightly wrap the thick white cloth around his right knee, making sure that he can bend it and walk properly while still feeling enough pressure to act as support.
For some reason, he feels closer to you like this. Closer than he did when he was sitting right up against you on your dragon this morning. Maybe it's because he can see your face clearly, and how concentrated you look as you wrap him up to protect his most vulnerable part of his body.
He can see the short, windswept baby hairs sticking up around your face, the little specks of color in your eyes, and how your lashes frame them like butterfly wings. Despite how fiercely you embody a dragon's spirit, there are still parts of you that are soft.
"Alright, here we go. How's that, commander?"
"Huh? Oh, it feels good." He says, blinking himself out of his thoughts. What was he even thinking about?
"Good." You say, not seeming to have noticed Toru's slight drifting thoughts, "That should hold during flight training, but let me know what you think about it later. I can bring notes back to the developers to improve on it."
"Thank you, trainer." He says before you walk off, "I… thank you. It means a lot to me."
You only stop to blink at him for a moment before breaking into a smile, "I know you're working twice as hard to keep up with your men, Commander Oikawa. So I'll meet you halfway. Same time tomorrow morning."
Toru sighs in exhaustion at the thought of getting up early to throw himself into the ocean again, but also finds comfort in the fact that you're willing to take the time to make sure he becomes a proper dragon rider. That you notice how badly he wants to be one.
And he'll prove himself to be one. The best one. Not only to himself, or his unit, or even the kingdom. But also to you.
"Good, good. You're starting to get the hang of this." You say when Toru splutters water out of his lungs after resurfacing for what feels like the hundredth time this morning.
It has been two weeks of surfing training before dawn now, and Toru has finally managed to ride a medium-sized wave with relative confidence.
The big waves, however, he still has some work to do. He is still face planting more times than he doesn't when the waves get too high, but he has gotten a good feeling of what to expect with the unpredictability of the ocean waves.
It reminds him of how the winds can change midair when he's riding a dragon. Bark has already noticed a bit of a change in him, and the dragon's confidence has risen in turn, much to Toru's pride.
The two of them are managing to keep up with the rest of the flight during training these days without too many falling incidents. Toru has a better understanding of how to use his body and navigate the wind pressure and adapt to Bark's movements, and his confidence helps him keep his seat much better now.
The knee wrap helps a bit too. He finds that he can put more pressure on it without fear of overexertion when it's tightly bound and supporting his muscles from overwork.
He keeps it on for most of the day, since the material is rather resilient to both air pressure and water as well. He wears it during surf practice and it doesn't weigh him down like his regular clothes do, which has been helpful.
And yet, even with all of these improvements, he still has plenty of falls. And you still laugh at him every time he takes an embarrassing tumble.
But now, he finds that he's come to enjoy your laugh. As indignant as he feels being made fun of, he finds your laugh rather pleasant. Occasionally, he finds himself hoping that you'll laugh, bracing himself in anticipation for it.
He doesn't want to dig into what that means, so he continues to train as he's told. He surfs, he flies, he takes care of their quarters with his men, he goes out to a pub in town with them on their free nights every so often.
Toru throws himself into this life to become the dragon rider he's always wanted to be.
Until eventually, several months later, he conquers the waves. He rides the largest ones without fear and without falling anymore. If he anticipates falling, he dives right into the water himself and swims himself back to his board without incident.
And then, about another year later, he conquers flight. He's able to ride not only his partner in crime, Bark, through the skies for over an hour at a time, but other dragons too.
As you begin to teach them to practice combat while atop dragons, he learns to balance on a flying dragon as he shoots an arrow, a crossbow, throw a spear, and even how to stand on a dragon while wielding a sword.
Combat training is an entirely different beast for all of them, because it reminds them that they are not simply riding dragons for the fun of it. They are soldiers meant to fly into battle. Against whatever enemies may swarm them; land, sea, or air.
The knights' confidence in their commander returns. They see his incredible progress as nothing short of a miracle. Perhaps because they don't see all the extra hours that he puts in before dawn, riding alongside you to throw himself into the ocean for the sake of his livelihood and honor as a knight.
They don't see all the hours you spend with him, giving up your own free time to train him into a worthy and deserving commander of the first battalion of Scaled Knights this kingdom has ever had. They don't realize how deep his relationship with you has grown, as you share scars and stories and laughs over the many months you spend together.
Toru finds himself taken with you more and more with everything he learns about you on those rides to the ocean and back to camp every morning.
On occasion, when the surf is too quiet for Toru to catch any real waves to practice on, you pull aside to the nearby town for breakfast instead. These become some of his favorite mornings, where he shares food and exchanges tender gazes and old stories with you.
It's a moment of peace and reprieve that neither of you get very often because of the hustle and bustle of working with dragons and men. A moment where Toru can really look into your eyes and see what you're feeling, understand the soul the lives beneath your skin. A moment where you both get to see the humanity in each other.
He learns that you have been smitten with dragons since you were a child living in a small village deep in the mountains. A village that revered dragons because they surrounded and protected the mountain area that your family lived in. And you were the village's pride and joy for having such a natural gift with them.
He learns that you would wander off on your own every day, playing with dragons, young and old, earth and sky, dangerous or not. Until eventually you learned to communicate with them somehow. Not through language, but through some kind of unspoken connection built up through trust.
And you would make more and more dragon friends over the years, until it became a familiar sight in your village to see you soaring through the skies atop a dragon's back, going far and wide to gather whatever it is your little village needed. You became the star of your humble little mountain hometown, until word spread about you to all the neighboring ones.
Until word got far enough to even the capital, where patrolling knights and soldiers would come to investigate, to see if the rumors were true about a child who could ride dragons across the skies like a hero of legend.
"Granted, I was already almost an adult by this time, but I guess it took time for rumors to circulate." You had added with a chuckle.
Toru learns that you were scouted by the kingdom right around the time you turned sixteen years of age. And that you had refused to join them for years, not wanting to be away from all your dragon friends.
"Then what possibly changed your mind?" Toru had asked as you both walked back towards the outskirts of town, where Dawnspire was waiting for you both.
You smile as you look up and cup the edge of Dawnspire's jaw in your hand, "This girl did."
Apparently, the kingdom had acquired a dragon egg, and was looking for someone with proper expertise to care for it. And while you knew it was the property of the kingdom, you couldn't simply let them raise a dragon however they wanted.
"And so, I packed up all I had, said goodbye to all of my mountain dragons back home, and came straight here to care for my little sunrise baby." You explained as you mounted the dragon you cared for with such deep affection, "That's where she got her name; Dawnspire, the 'bastion of first light.' I cared for her as an egg until she was born on the very first sunrise of the year."
"It's beautiful." Toru says, almost too soft for you to hear with the wind whipping around you.
You're beautiful, he wants to say. But, of course, he holds his tongue.
That's not something you can simply say to the person who has been training you for your job for the past two years. Even if he feels closer to you than anyone else in his unit now. Maybe even closer than he feels to Iwa-chan, who he's known since he was a child.
Those mornings are few and far between, but every time he shares one with you, he finds himself wishing that they didn't have to go back to camp. Just so he can be with you for a little bit longer, to cherish the fleeting joy that comes over him every time he feels his relationship grow deeper with you.
During the flights back, he usually ends up holding you a bit closer.
Toru knows that something is growing in his heart for you. He feels like he's known for quite some time now.
But as a knight, he also knows that he will always be bound to his duty. His duty as a commander, as a blade for the kingdom. There are always many risks that come with being a knight, which is often why they live and die by the sword, with nothing to leave behind but their honor.
It is why so many knights do not take spouses or have families, even after the royal council lifted the restriction on knights and soldiers of the military decades ago. Because they are bound by duty, many have found that they cannot leave their hearts in one place when they have sworn fealty to their nation.
That is not to say that it not done. In fact, as time goes on, married and parenting knights have become less uncommon. A small number of his own men in the past have had partners and children. And while it was hard on them to be away from their families, Toru did always feel a bit of envy when he saw his knights reunited with their loved ones every so often. There was never quite a joy so bright on a person's face as that of a returning knight.
Toru and all of his dragon riders are all bachelors, for the most part. There are a select few knights that have dedicated lovers that they left back home, whom they send occasional letters back to, but all of them are aware of the hazard risks that come with joining the unit. Some of them even prefer the life where they're free to meet and connect with the people in any town they pass through.
However, many of them are still fully prepared to live out the rest of their days married to their duties. Toru was always one of them. Nothing mattered to him more than his ambitions.
But now, as he spends time with you, he's begun to see that there can always be balance. He can still become a dragon riding knight commander and have feelings for someone special in his heart. As a matter of fact, that person can become something of a motivator for him to do even better.
He never feels prouder of his accomplishments than when he earns a wide smile from you.
Toru wonders more and more if this could ever be something that he could realistically pursue. If perhaps, his unit gets cleared for active duty in the future, maybe he could stay in contact with you. And spend more time with you… beyond learning about dragons.
In those seldom moments of peace in his busy days, Toru finds himself thinking about you. Thinking about all the things he's learned about you, and how he's developed an appetite for more. More knowledge about you, more intimacy that you share with him and no one else. Time you spend with only him, becoming closer to only him.
He contemplates what the future might look like… as friends. Perhaps lovers. He finds himself wondering if you would ever smile at him for reasons beyond his clumsy failures and training with dragons. If you would even look at him that way.
Sometimes, he catches you looking at him. Your gaze is always concentrated and observant. Usually watching his progress with dragon riding. An unbiased trainer's eye that you share with all your other pupils. But he's self-aware enough to know that you watch all of his men with the same discerning eye, full of professionalism despite your nonchalant style of teaching.
Toru sighs to himself and returns to his training every time he has to remind himself that you treat everyone fairly and equally. Even with the extra time you dedicate to him, it's under guidance and support to make sure he keeps up with the rest of his men.
So he does his best to concentrate on that, even as the desire to become closer to you grows by the day. He continues to work harder than anyone else, setting an example for his men, and showing you that he's worth your time.
Until finally, the day comes when you decide that they are ready to meet the adult dragons.
They're in their third year of training and most of them are comfortable flying longer distances now on their young dragon partners. Many of them have already built up a confidence that edges the line of arrogance every time they climb atop a dragon's back now.
So you have deemed this to be the perfect time for them all to raise the stakes.
"I think you're ready." you say, sending a shiver of excitement down the backs of many of his men.
You have them pack necessities for several days of camping before leading them into a mountain forest at the break of day. You explain that entering the dragons' nest on foot is the most harmless way to approach them as a group.
"Remember, all the kids and teenagers we've been flying with enjoy playing with humans and other creatures alike, but fully grown dragons have really settled into their personalities." You remind them as you lead them through the increasingly thick foliage, "Many of them are old and arrogant, so they'll be harder to win over. Which is why we have to stay around their nest and give them a chance to become familiar with us first. If they come to like you enough, then maybe one of them will choose you as a partner."
Hanamaki lets out a sigh as he ducks under a lower hanging branch, "I miss Pampa. He and I got along really well. Any chance that he'd grow fast enough that I could ride him into battle once we're able to deploy?"
You laugh as you continue hiking, "Maybe one day. But Pampa and the others are still so green, they would never move as fast as the adults in the face of dangerous situations. And their scales and wings need time to get stronger as well. They can't fly nearly as long as the older dragons can."
The hike takes another few hours of climbing, so you take the opportunity to teach them about the land as well, since they'll be camping out here for the next few days. You show them the different fruit and game that grow and live in the forest, as well as which plants to be wary of.
"Most of the foliage have little to no effect on the dragons' diet, but I am privy to believe that many of them can taste flavor. So whenever they give me something from their hunt, I season it heavily and offer them a bit as a treat." You offer as a tip, "The friendlier ones at least give me something of a positive reaction to it."
"And how often is it that a dragon will be 'friendly'?" Yahaba asks, sardonically.
"Not often at all!" you answer easily, "There are some dragons that I've known for years here that still don't feel too warmly about me. When I first moved here from my hometown, I was so hellbent on making every dragon like me. But I've come to realize and accept that you can't always win everyone over."
"A dragon who doesn't like you? I'll believe it when I see it." Iwa-chan says from his spot behind you.
"Oh, you'll be very surprised." You smile at the comment.
A smile that Toru swore he only ever saw when you were out surfing with him in the early hours of the morning.
He tries not to think about it as you announce that they're approaching the clearing where many of the dragons gather to sunbathe.
As they move closer, you make it a point not to hide your presence, using the dry brush or scattered rocks around you to subtly warn the dragons of your arrival. Once they're through a thicket of trees that opens up into a large grassy clearing that extends to the edge of the mountain, Toru tries to keep his emotions settled within his body when he sees them.
Dragons. Everywhere.
Larger than any of the adolescents they've been training with for the past two years. Much larger. The average size of them is at least twice as large as any of the younger dragons they've gotten used to riding. Even Dawnspire feels small compared to all of these dragons mowing about in this clearing.
Some lie curled up in the grass or under the shade of the tall trees, while others settle beside the wall of earth at the mountainside edge of the clearing, nuzzling with or grooming one another. Some tear into a fresh kill they just made — an incredibly large moose. Some play or drink or wash up by the stream running through one end of the clearing.
"Hello, all!" You wave at the dragons nonchalantly, like a friend passing through, "I brought my friends that I've been telling you about. These are the guys that have been keeping the little ones company for you."
Some of the dragons lift their heads in attention, watching them with cursory gazes as they move through the clearing. One of them stalks up to you first, a dragon with greenish white opal scales, lowering its head to stare at you with it's intimidating black eyes.
Yet, you greet the dragon with a warm smile and your arms out, "Zephyron! You're back! I'm so glad to see you! You were gone for at least three or four moons, no?"
The knights can only watch as you converse with this dragon who only huffs or growls in response, and you seem perfectly capable of holding a conversation with them. As you talk, the other dragons begin to take interest and start slowly approaching as well.
Before long, there's a wall of curious, and intimidatingly large dragons lined up before them, and it's all the men can do to hold their ground as they're scrutinized by some of the most majestic and other worldly creatures they've ever had the privilege to see.
Toru understands now, just how fantastical his childhood dreams were. Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of being stared down by a dragon ten times his size as it decides whether he's worthy of living, let alone riding them.
Once you finish your conversation with the dragon you greeted as 'Zephyron,' you address all the other dragons who have lined up to see them. And you begin introducing all of them to the knights.
They're introduced with many different foreign sounding names. Toru recalls you teaching them that dragons can identify each other without verbal names like humans do, but in your experience, forging a human and dragon connection has been easier when you have a specific way to address them. So you often find a name for a dragon after you've gotten to know them a bit.
"Sometimes I'll think of a name that comes from the region I know they're native to, and other times I'll just use my own judgement of their personality to come up with something." He recalls you telling them once.
Eventually, some of the dragons lose interest in them and walk away, and some even fly off to go elsewhere. So you decide to take the men around and show them the nest they'll be guests at for the next few days.
"Come along, boys. I'll give you the tour." You announcing, walking towards the cliff side of the clearing.
Toru didn't expect that he could be any more amazed than he already was today, but his jaw goes slack the moment he looks over the edge of the cliff.
Miles and miles of rock beds that descend upon the mountain, the fault blocks along the sloping rock that flatten out into settlements that form more clearings for the dragons to nest in. Some with openings that lead deeper into the mountain for a cave shelter, and some with their own pools of water. With dozens and dozens of dragons lounging or playing by each and every clearing, creating a rainbow of life that colors this side of the mountain.
Suddenly, Toru recalls that instance where Yahaba mentioned something about you persuading the royal council to improve the environment for dragon settlement and enrichment. Is this all here… because of you?
"Holy crap…" Matsukawa whistles among the other murmurs of awe, "I had no idea there were so many dragons that lived around here."
"Many of them are immigrants." You point out as you look out into the dragon rock beds below, "About ten years ago, none of this was here. But with the help of some dragon magic and royal government money, we were able to carve out a better nesting environment in this area for dragons to nest and hunt and play. I'm beyond grateful that we've been able to increase the dragon populous around here and I've gotten to meet so many cool new dragons."
You look out into the mountain with such warmth and pride, it makes Toru's heart ache a bit. They all simply thought of you as their trainer, but it's plain to see that your love and respect for dragons has made you into a pioneer of your generation. Who else can say that they've designed and built a settlement for the most elusive and powerful creatures in the world?
"This is astounding." Iwa-chan is the one who voices Toru's thoughts aloud, "You've studied and done more for dragons than anyone in modern history.
"I'll say!" Yahaba is more slack-jawed than anyone else as he stares out into this entire dragon civilization that you've helped build, "This is a level of impact that the kingdom couldn't ever dream of achieving! How is it that no one knows about this?"
That makes the smile on your face fall a little in melancholy. But you pose another question in return, "Why do you think?"
Many of them blink in confusion while others stiffen as they guess at the implications. Toru exchanges a look with Iwa-chan that tells him that they're thinking the same thing.
So Toru is the one who decides to speak this time, "The kingdom intends to utilize them for combat."
You give him a proud and slightly affectionate smile for voicing the answer that could very well have gotten him penalized for speaking beyond his station in another setting.
With a small nod, you continue looking out into the mountain that has become a dragon den, "Everything I've taught you all up to this point is out of my love and respect for dragons as their own entities. I took this job working for the kingdom in order to learn more about them and to protect them.
"But as I'm sure you know, the kingdom's priority is to protect itself. And while there are plenty of malicious things out there to protect ourselves from, it's not my personal wish to let them use dragons as their pawns. That is why I've done my best to teach you all to view and approach dragons from a place of respect."
You take a pause to gesture at all of the dragons living in peace and freedom in this unassuming mountain just off the cusp of the capital, like you're reminding them to take in the majesty of the place once more.
"This is something that I think is worth protecting. So I hope that as you continue your journey as dragon riders, you'll keep all of this in mind. We are being given the grace and privilege of entering this sacred place. Do not ever think that just because you know how to ride and fight alongside a dragon that you can ever forget that."
There's an air about you that feels like a higher authority, like a captain that has earned the respect of every soldier in the military. And it makes all of the knights yell out, "Aye, trainer!" in a salute on pure instinct.
Toru has not come across many individuals with this kind of aura of leadership in his life, but he knows that the ones who do have made him feel just like this — immobile with awe.
They spend the rest of the day exploring the mountain and visiting the nests, getting familiar with some of the dragons and trying to get along with them.
Toru has just about the same amount of luck getting along with the adult dragons as he did the adolescents. They all either turn their snouts at him or find a way to laugh at him. He's already despairing over the thought of having to go through yet another long period of dragon ridicule before he feels like a commander again.
Night falls over them and the knights tuck themselves into a thick patch of grass in the clearing with their sleeping pads and blankets. Many of the dragons are still active through the night, so they can still see them flying above through the sky full of stars every so often.
It seems that every one of the knights understands that this is an otherworldly experience that they would never have gotten to see in any other circumstance. It makes your words from earlier today sink in a little deeper into their bodies as they speak in murmurs to one another, as if trying not to disturb the tranquil wonder of the environment around them.
He's so focused on drinking in his surroundings that he doesn't notice the rustling from beside him, until he hears your voice say, "Evening, commander. Do you mind if I rest beside you tonight?"
Toru's heart immediately starts pounding faster in his chest. He hopes that you or the dragons nearby don't hear it.
"Yes, of course. Go ahead." He says, trying to hide the nerves in his voice.
You're only a few feet away, a comfortably private distance that parallels how far his knights sleep apart, but he's never felt this nervous sleeping beside anyone before. He tries to distract himself with something when he notices that you only sleep with your backpack beneath your head and a thin blanket on.
"You didn't bring a sleeping mat with you?" He asks, ready to offer up his own, even considers offering to share it somehow — though he quickly smacks the notion out of his mind.
"No, I'm used to sleeping outside like this. I've been napping with dragons since I was a kid, so it's just easier to find a nice soft patch of ground than carry around a mat with me everywhere." You explain, resting your hands behind your head, the picture of ease. "If I ever wanted to be extra comfortable, I would bring a hammock with me to tie up to the trees, but I don't always have the leisure time to set it all up and take it back down."
He chats with you for a few more minutes before you ask him, "So how was the den? Did you make an impression on any of the dragons so far?"
Toru snorts before he can stop himself, "I think it'll be another while coming before I'm able to find a dragon who wants to pair up with me. I don't suppose more surfing lessons will help me out this time around."
You give him a good natured laugh in response, "Who's to say? Sometimes, surfing is a good way to clear your head that's different from being in the air. I still enjoy it for fun myself every so often."
Glancing over, Toru sees you looking up towards the sky, a small smile still on your face. As much as he'd like to keep staring, he forces himself to look upwards too with a sigh, "The ocean is miles away from the mountain. I don't want to run away from the dragon den."
"It doesn't have to feel like you're running away," you remind him, "I know you work harder than anyone else around here. It's just a matter of time."
This time, when Toru glances over at you, he sees you looking back, an expression full of confidence and faith in him staring him right in the face. A look that Toru couldn't refute even if he tried.
If you're willing to believe in him to that extent, then he has to believe in himself even more.
Weeks pass by as the knights spend equal time in the dragon den and returning to their own camp to continue flying practice with the younger dragons. Some of them make progress building camaraderie with the adult dragons, Iwa-chan being one of the first, of course. And Kyotani, surprisingly, getting to mount an adult dragon as well to fly a short distance away.
"He wanted to show me a part of the mountain he liked to play in." he had said.
And while Toru is getting on well with several of the dragons to an extent, he hasn't developed any kind of deeper connection with any of them the way that his knights have been doing. All of them go on and on about how they somehow bonded over something unexpected and the rest came naturally to both of them. Toru hasn't experienced anything like that yet. At least, not outside of Bark.
Often now, he finds himself escaping to Bark's favorite spot in the forest to play by the waterfall. Toru strips down to his underwear and swims and splashes around with Bark in the river until he tires out or gets too cold. Bark, being a young and high energy dragon, never gets enough of this time spent playing around in the water. Toru sometimes wonders if he's actually more of a water dragon than a forest dragon.
"You do know that I'm actually a commander of my group, don't you? I can't play around all day!" He protests when Bark tries to pull away from his clothes and back into the river. "Besides, we're heading back into the mountain den tomorrow. I need to get my rest if I'm going to try to win over some of the adults in your flight."
Bark tilts his head slightly in an inquisitive manner, which Toru understands to be confusion. Likely in a way where this young dragon can't understand his silly human problems, so he just shrugs it off with a sigh.
"It's just that— You know, creatures like us? We have to fight and put in extra effort to get what we want. It doesn't come naturally to us like it does to others. I mean, Iwa-chan's practically another dragon whisperer like [Surname], at this point. And here I am, a supposed 'commander' of an elite military unit, spending all of my time with a kid."
Instead of giving some kind of indignant reaction, Bark tilts his head again, to which Toru shakes his own head in response.
"Never mind, it's my own problem. Obviously, I really enjoy playing with you, since you and I seem to understand each other somehow. But I can't ride you into battle. So I need to find a dragon who'll accept me as a rider to lead the pack, you know? It's not as easy as it sounds!" He babbles on like he usually does as he puts his clothes back on.
But as he's pulling his pants on, a strong gust of wind blows through the forest that almost makes Toru lose his balance.
"Ngah!" he yells, landing against Bark's body.
The wind is so strong that Toru can't even open his eyes properly to see where it's coming from. It feels like air being whipped around by dragon wings, but Toru and Bark don't often see other dragons around this area. Certainly not dragons powerful enough to create a wind tunnel like this.
However, Bark is making excited squealing noises in his dragon voice as the wind slows and the ground shakes with the landing of a large dragon on the other side of the river.
Toru has to blink and rub his eyes several times to make sure he's not mistaken. Because right there across the running water, staring down at them with the most intimidating turquoise blue eyes, is an enormous, towering, white dragon.
A white dragon.
Toru has never seen such a color on a dragon before. And he doesn't recall learning about them from any of your lessons either. As far as he knows, black dragons are the rarest to find in the world, as they're more powerful and dangerous than any of the others. But a white dragon? It's a concept he has yet to even imagine.
He stands shock still for a few moments before Bark titters excitedly over to the white dragon, flying the short distance across the river to greet the newcomer with a familiar nuzzle. And to Toru's surprise, the white dragon uses an arm and a wing to cover the young forest dragon in a protective gesture that resembles a hug.
Then for some reason, Toru feels his body relax. Perhaps it's because Bark trusts this dragon that he feels he can trust them too. Something about this picture feels like he's watching a child greet a parent who's been away for a while.
After the white dragon greets Bark, it sets its eyes back on Toru, observant and judging. So Toru does all he can to show his respect, getting down to one knee and bowing his head, "H-Hello."
He waits for a few moments before Bark's excited tittering makes him lift his head, and soon he's being nudged back and forth by Bark's large, earthy-green body, like he's showing off his new toy to his guardian. Toru can only trip back and forth as Bark plays with him before the young dragon all but scoops him onto his back with his neck.
"Aghhh! Bark, hold on! What are you—" He starts bouncing around on his feet in front of the pensive, white dragon, so Toru can only hold onto the little wedges in his shoulders than he's become familiar with to stay atop his back.
Next thing he knows, they're shooting up into the air above the trees. Bark flies a few hundred meters away before Toru spots the white dragon joining them in the sky. It's clearly much faster and more powerful than Bark, but it still flies at a leisurely pace anyway, truly like a parent accompanying a child on a walk.
Bark is making all kinds of excited, happy noises as he flies and Toru just watches as he exchanges some kind of conversation with the white dragon flying beside them, who makes rumbling, grunting sounds from somewhere deep in its core.
They fly like that for over an hour until Bark eventually tires out and has to land. They're somewhere farther west in the kingdom now, and they land by a gorge where Bark can rehydrate.
After drinking his fill, he jumps right into the water and begins splashing around, making shrieking noises as he calls for Toru to join him.
"Again? We were just playing at the waterfall earlier!" Toru complains.
He isn't about to give in to this child again, but then Bark bites onto his arm to start pulling him in towards the water.
"Wait! Wait! Stop— Okay, okay! I'll come." Toru relents, "Just let me take these off first. I don't have a second pair and I can't get sick before we head into the den again."
So Bark lets him go for a brief moment so Toru can take off his clothes and drop them on the ground before wading into the water in his underpants again. The water in this gorge is much colder and the current is stronger, but somehow, it relaxes Toru a bit. It reminds him of his hours surfing on ocean currents more.
He begins thinking about what you said to him about surfing to clear his mind. So after splashing around with Bark in the water — all while the white dragon sits from the side on land like a chaperoning parent — he searches around until he finds a large enough piece of driftwood.
After testing the strength of the wood, he manages to use Bark's body as a balancing wall to climb atop the piece of wood until he can firmly sit on top of it. And soon, the currents of the gorge bring him downstream, giving him enough space to stand up on the driftwood to begin a slow, surfing rhythm.
"Ahahaha!" He laughs loudly as Bark splashes after him in the water, "You know what, I actually forgot how fun this can be."
Bark makes an excited croaking sound that sounds like laughter as well, and they continue to play for the remainder of the afternoon.
It's only when the sun begins to set that Toru shouts about having to get back to camp. Even though Bark protests at first, the white dragon makes what sounds like a noise of reprimand and eventually, Bark climbs out of the water and shakes himself off to prepare to fly back.
Toru tries his best not to fall asleep on the flight back, since the water play really wore him out. The white dragon joins them on their flight for the first half but arcs off in another direction about halfway through with a noise of goodbye to Bark.
The remainder of the evening passes by in a blur as he returns back to camp, washes off, and falls right to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
That evening, he dreams of white wings blending in with the clouds of a blue sky.
Den visits continue to bring slow progress to Toru's relationships with the adult dragons. Many of his comrades are flying now, and he is still being introduced to new dragons by you like he's being set up on blind dates. While they all consider him and offer him some time to observe him, none of them seem particularly interested in him.
You can't seem to pinpoint why that is, since there's usually a dragon personality for everyone.
"It is strange," you muse one day as you and he are both helping prepare one of their meals for the group, "You're nothing like you were when you first started. There was almost the scent of green that came off of you, like you were a newborn fawn learning to walk."
"Thank you." He rolls his eyes.
"I had assumed that was what made you amusing to most of the young dragons. But you don't have any of that kind of presence about you anymore, so I'm wondering why it's hard for you to find a good match. I mean, some of the boys have already befriended two dragons to ride."
"Again, thank you for the reminder." He deadpans, making you laugh. He supposes that makes up for it just a little.
He can't deny that he feels like he's falling behind again though. While he's here struggling to make close friends with an entire den of dragons, guys like Iwa-chan and Mattsun are already juggling flying practice between two or three different dragons. Iwa-chan in particularly has already opted to stay in the den for more days instead of returning to camp to fly with the younger ones.
Meanwhile, Toru's best days are usually just spent playing around with Bark at the same waterfall or returning to the gorge with the white dragon they encountered before. It's still something of a parent chaperoning two children on a play date kind of situation, so Toru can't even pretend to imagine he'd be able to ride a white dragon into battle as a knight.
However, as the weeks continue to pass, and Toru and Bark see the white dragon more and more, eventually he begins to understand and communicate with the white dragon in a similar way to Bark. He can read and predict his behavior (Toru has since figured out that it is a male dragon), which makes it easier to get along with him when they're out with Bark.
There was actually one day that Bark ended up being too tired to fly back to the den, so the white dragon allowed Toru to ride on his back while he carried a sleeping Bark in his claws for the flight back.
He has to say, riding an adult dragon as majestic as this is beyond his imagination. It exceeds the feeling he first felt when riding a young dragon, or riding atop Dawnspire with you. He's up here in the sky, on his own, riding what he can tell is one of the most powerful dragons he's come across in the world.
He's holding on for dear life and can barely see without his goggles to block the wind, but it's still quite amazing.
Toru doesn't realize it, but as the weeks pass through and bring them into their fourth year of training, and his relationship with the white dragon grows, he becomes more confident in his flying once again. He can sit up straight and keep his seat the more the dragon allows him to ride him.
He's been trying to find a name to call him by, but the dragon disapproves of most of the names he comes up with.
At some point, Toru grows exhausted of thinking about it, and he's grown comfortable enough with the dragon to say, "Well, if you don't like any of these, then I'm just going to start referring to you as 'Shiro-chan'!"
Bark seems to find the name amusing, but Shiro-chan is not too fond of it. He even uses his wing to swipe Toru off his feet with a gust of wind. That makes Bark laugh even more.
Toru knows that he could ask you what his name might be, since he is a dragon of this mountain den, but he gets the sense that Shiro-chan wants to keep his presence hidden from the others. He doesn't know how he knows that, but he does, so he hasn't brought up anything about a white dragon to you or any of his knights for these past few months.
Which is kind of embarrassing, since he wants to prove that he has been progressing on a relationship with an adult dragon and learning to fly at higher, more intensive speeds. It's just that he can't prove it with any of the other dragons in the den.
Somehow, of course, you can sense the change in him anyway. You notice how he stands taller even on the ground, and he's no longer worried about keeping up with the rest of his knights like he once was.
"So who is it?" You ask one day after cornering him after training.
He should have known that you'd notice. You've always been observant and sensitive to changes in his behavior. The fact that you pay such close attention to him almost makes him a bit giddy.
Still, how he feels about you isn't enough to make him betray Shiro-chan's trust.
"I beg your pardon?" He asks.
"Who's the dragon you've been training with? I'm really curious to know who you've bonded with enough to train somewhere that even I don't have eyes on." You ask, unrelenting.
"I've just been training with Bark. He's gotten a lot faster this past year." He lies, not even convincing himself.
"Uh huh," you deadpan, "And where exactly has 'Bark' been taking you to train? Because as fast as he's growing, he still isn't ready to be flying all day."
"We don't fly all day. Most of the time, we just play." He says, which is the truth, "I mean, I know we should be flying more, since I have the opportunity to train with the older dragons now, but this is a precious time for him. I want him to enjoy his youth."
You stare him down for another minute, but eventually let him go with a shrug, "Alright. Well, I trust that you are doing what is best for you and your training as a dragon rider, commander. I hope you'll be able to show us what you can do as a leader one day."
It serves as both encouragement and a reminder; Toru is here to command a unit. You are here because you were told to train that unit. You and the dragons and even the knights are all able to live and train here because they are being supported by the kingdom.
And while he knows you don't wish to use dragons as the kingdom's weapons, you still have a job to do. And you believe in him to be able to do his.
He starts training with Shiro-chan a little more intentionally, asking if they can fly out farther than Bark can follow along. And Shiro-chan, for the most part, is accommodating. The more they train together, the more Toru begins to realize that he has won Shiro-chan's approval. Certainly, he wouldn't be letting Toru ride him at all if that weren't the case, right?
He learns that Shiro-chan is a rather old soul; very caring, very nurturing. Bark isn't the only young dragon that he cares for like a parent, because whenever they encounter other young dragons, he dotes on them the same way. Honestly, he's rather scolding and doting even with some of the adult dragons that they meet.
Many of the other dragons clear a path for them when they fly through, and they always allow Shiro-chan to fly in front, he's noticed. Toru can't tell if it's out of respect or simply because they can't keep up with Shiro-chan's speed, because he is very much the fastest dragon he's ever ridden.
Either way, it's clear that Shiro-chan has been around much longer than many of these other adult dragons. The way he flies and maneuvers through the sky makes that much clear. Toru is fairly sure that he's in a position of leadership within the flight.
Which confuses Toru to some end, since he wants to keep his presence hidden from those outside of the den. Whenever he brings you up as his trainer, and how you've helped him come closer to achieving his ambitions, Toru feels the weight from Shiro-chan's turquoise eyes zero in on him. A questioning look that resembles the feeling of someone raising a pensive eyebrow at him.
"What?" He says, defensive, "They're my trainer. And my friend. I hold them in the highest regard, so I simply want to be able to be honest to the person who's taught me everything I know about dragons."
He's given another heavy look of warning that shuts down any prospects of revealing the truth to you.
"I know, I know," he sighs in slight exasperation, "But I do want to tell them one day. Is that day ever going to come? Will we ever ride out as a pair with the other knights and dragons? These are the things I worry about, Shiro-chan. I know they may be silly little human problems to you, but I won't get to live as long as you do. I want to be proud of the life I've lived. Being able to experience flight with you is something that's made that all the more worth living."
Shiro-chan heaves a long, hot breath out of his nostrils in response, but eventually lowers himself to the ground so Toru can climb up and mount him. Toru hopes to take that as a positive response.
As their days are filled with training, only the changes in weather offer any notion of the passage of time. The seasons are milder in the capital, but atop the mountain, they're closer to the sky, so the elements feel that much harsher.
They're coming up on their fourth winter here in these mountains. While the dragons are resilient to most temperature changes, the knights have to find ways to adjust their combat practice while flying in wind protective clothing. Some of their dragons have the advantage of elemental magic, which makes it easier for them.
Kindaichi, who's befriended a sky dragon, doesn't even have to wear goggles around his eyes when flying because of his dragon partner's air magic.
The rest of them, however, are stuck in their wind breaker coats and gloves, which make it harder to grip onto their dragons. Toru's knee has also been acting up every so often even with the support of your dragon hair-cotton guard. Even with special flight uniform clothing you've been helping to develop with the kingdom's engineers, flying in the colder months remains a work in progress.
However, before they know it, their mettle as dragon riders is tested when you receive a missive from a kingdom falcon.
"There's been a report of dark magic activity inside the chapel of a town to the north." You debrief to the knights after calling them out to their main campsite, "Witnesses and authorities confirm that there's fiend activity growing from the hazard area. The closest soldiers and magicians that are qualified to contain it are in the capital, which is at least two days' ride to the town."
Fiends.
Dark anomalies that sprout from unnatural, cursed dark magic. They form from misuse or overuse of magic or an environment's resources and become strange, parasitic beings that feed off any kind of energy within its reach — land, water, animals, humans… If left to run rampant, they could eat up entire cities until they become a dry, barren wasteland.
It's been said that they could even take over dragons as their hosts for a while, turning them into cursed monsters that rampage through the land before eventually feeding off of them too.
Toru has spent a good portion of his knighthood fighting off fiends. He's lost a good number of men to fiends… They are, without a doubt, one of the greatest threats to humanity outside of humans themselves.
Some say that fiends are simply products of human evil and magical misconduct, but that's an entirely different issue.
"Because this specific case of fiends seem to be going airborne, we have been summoned as first responders to contain the growing threat." You go on, "So it looks like you've received your first mission as dragon riders."
You turn to Toru with a serious and professional look, and gesture for him to step forward to speak, "Commander?"
This is it.
It's finally time for them to prove themselves as dragon riders. To prove that all this time and effort they've been investing into this battalion has been worth it.
And it's up to Toru to lead them.
He steps forward, clears his throat, and stands at attention before his squadron of knights, "Soldiers! We have been training long and hard for this day. While we did not know it would come today, we have prepared for it nonetheless. I believe each and every one of you will form fearsome, reliable teams with the dragons you've bonded with, and bring this threat to rest."
Slamming a fist into his heart in their salute of duty, faith, and honor, he calls out, "We are the Scaled Knights! And we ride!"
"Aye!" All of the men salute in harmony with their own fists to their chests.
They all dress in riding gear in record time and run towards the valley where they usually train with the young dragons. You've blown a whistle that apparently sounds like a distress call to the dragons, calling them over to meet them.
"So?" You ask him as they all run towards the valley, "Will your companion be coming?"
Toru has absolutely no idea. Which scares him more than anything, because how is he supposed to command a squadron if he's not leading them from the front?
Shiro-chan still hasn't revealed himself to any of the other knights or you since Toru started training with him. Toru has always feared that Shiro-chan is one of those dragons that simply despises humans and refuses to be a part of their petty disputes. He supposes he can't blame the dragon for that, humanity considered. But if Shiro-chan doesn't show up for him, then Toru just might not be able to lead his knights.
With a nervous breath, Toru simply answers, "Let's hope so."
They reach the valley first, but they can all see the dragons flying in fast. Both the older and younger ones.
And there— right there, at the front of the flight, is a large white dragon leading the group to land with a loud, prominent screech.
He came.
If Toru wasn't so busy blocking his face from the wind of all the dragons landing, he'd cry from happiness.
"Shiro-chan!" Toru runs up to him, eyes all but sparkling up at his reassuringly enormous, white dragon friend, "Thank you! Thank you so much for coming. Does this mean you're going to come help us?"
Shiro-chan lowers his head with his long neck to reach down and let Toru touch his forehead with his hand. A gesture of cooperation.
Toru can feel his heart soaring straight out of his chest.
"No way."
"Is that… a white dragon?"
"A white dragon?"
"I've never even…"
"There are white dragons?"
"That's insane…"
Voices flutter around behind him in reaction to the white dragon standing before them. Toru understands their reaction. He had the same one when he first saw Shiro-chan, after all.
But when he turns around to introduce his companion to everyone, he's struck by your expression the most. You're standing there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, like you can't believe what you're seeing. You almost look more stunned than all of the knights beside you.
"Amadi…" You breathe, "You're still… You're still here."
Toru hears a crack in your voice and sees a glisten in your eyes as you take in the sight of Shiro-chan. Or wait, what was it that you called him? Amadi? Is that the name that he's always identified with?
Shiro-chan/Amadi makes a huffing sound that is clear pride and indignance, like he's telling you, of course he's still here. Did you think you'd be rid of him that easily?
"Oh my gods…" You bring your hands up to cover part of your face for a bit as you take in the presence of Shiro-chan/Amadi.
When you close your eyes, Toru sees tears drop down as you press your hands together as if in prayer for a moment.
And you whisper, "Thank goodness. Thank goodness."
Your voice is light, like finally you can breathe after having a heavy weight lifted from your shoulders.
Then you turn to Toru, giving him a bright-eyed look that could make him collapse on the spot from the heart palpitations it gives him. Especially when paired with that teary smile.
"Oikawa, I don't know how you got Amadi to trust you to ride him, but be proud. This is the first I've ever seen him let a human on his back."
"What?"
Now Toru is the one wide-eyed.
"You— you mean, even you haven't ridden him?" Toru asks, shocked.
"Never." You shake your head with a proud smile. "So hold your head up high. It looks like you were meant to be a commander after all."
Toru flies through the air feeling lighter than he ever has before.
Not only because he's soaring through the sky as the dragon riding commander knight that he always dreamed of being, or because he's riding one of the rarest and pickiest dragons to exist. It's also because he clearly managed to touch your heart in some way.
You didn't have much time to explain, but you revealed Amadi (Shiro-chan has since made it clear that it is his preferred name) had been gone for a while. Long enough for you to suspect that he was dead, even — since dragons tend not to be away from their primary flight or den for too long.
But with the urgency of their mission, they couldn't take much longer to dispatch their squadron, so once everyone was mounted on their dragons, Amadi jumped into the air right away. And all the other dragons followed behind like it was the most natural thing to do.
Even without fully understand dragon communication, Toru can tell that Amadi is sending messages to the other dragons as they split off into different flight formations to increase coverage. He studies each and every signal Amadi makes to his dragons and sees that he very much is a commander as well.
He couldn't ask for a more trustworthy partner.
They fly directly to the north, and within two hours' of flight, they spot the action coming from the chapel at the edge of town.
Clearly, the fiend has already taken over the building that was once a place of worship. Many of the surrounding buildings and homes are already crumbled into pebble and dust. And from above, they can spot the dark, moving anomalies branching farther and farther out from its main body rooted at the site of the chapel.
It resembles something of a fluid, dancing tree, its limb-like branches moving about and searching for more life to feed off of. It's already grown over a dozen meters tall, with its dark, branchy reach extending outwards several times longer. And already, its reach has taken hold of many of the birds that must have been flying through, using them as hosts to spread farther and wider.
Most of the citizens in the immediate area have already been evacuated, but many in the neighboring areas will be within its reach soon.
Toru shouts to his men behind him, hoping that somehow the message will get across in these windy skies, "Those with arrows, shoot down any of the flying hosts! Those with special abilities, spread out and find out what kind of attacks are most effective on the fiend!"
His voice sounds like it's lost in the wind, but below him, Amadi makes a grunt of affirmation. And somehow, Toru knows that means that he's sent the message to the other dragons.
"Thank you, Amadi-chan."
All of his knights and their dragons spread out towards the many different branches of fiendish energy, or chase down the flocks of fiend-hosting birds that are fly around. Those attacking the main body of the fiend focus their own specialty attacks on the black branches. Toru keeps watch for the different reactions the branches have to each one.
Immediately, he spots where Yahaba and Kyotani's fire dragons blow harsh flames at the branches, they begin to recede and eventually disintegrate.
So he taps on Amadi's neck and asks him, "Amadi-chan, can you relay the message for all the fire breathing dragons to try and torch the fiend?"
Amadi responds by a strong flap of his wings to straighten his neck and let out a loud, echoing screech — presumably, to relay the message that Toru asked of him.
And to his satisfaction, many of the dragons that can breathe flame or acid begin funneling all of their attack energy into the roots of the fiend at the chapel, including Amadi, whose acidic breath feels hot even from Toru's place on his back.
Within in the hour, they've gotten the fiend curbed, and a local magician manages to snuff out the rest of its remains to destroy it completely.
In the hours following, Toru and the other Scaled Knights aid the town with purification of the cursed magic site, evacuating or temporarily relocating local citizens, and helping gather information for an investigation on how the fiend came about.
The cleanup and reporting takes up far more time than the actual battle, so the dragons flew off to explore or hunt in the mountains and lakes nearby in the meanwhile. Which may have worked out for the better because the knights also get a chance to celebrate with the townspeople for a disaster overcome — as well as the debut of the kingdom's first Scaled Knights squadron.
Of course, there was mourning for those who were lost in the fiend's rampage, but there was also relief and gratefulness that the situation didn't turn out for the worse. If not for the speed of the dragons, the town may very well have been reduced to dust by the time help from the capital arrived.
It's late evening by the time they actually get to relax and enjoy a meal provided by the townspeople at their largest pub. But all the knights are generously fed, fawned over, praised, and ravenously questioned by all the curious citizens of the kingdom. Many of them had heard rumors of a dragon rider unit, but had never thought they'd see one for themselves.
Toru finds himself surrounded constantly by curious strangers, especially young women. He enjoys all of their attention equally, politely answering and speaking to all of them.
As it turns out, many of them have heard of his name or his endeavors, and he's suddenly reminded that he's actually a heavily decorated knight. How he had a long line of accomplishments that made him a well known name and presence across the kingdom.
It's funny how he's spent the past few years being humbled over and over by creatures he knows he can't control, but wanted so badly to get along with, that he forgot about the person he had already built himself into. It feels good to remember that he's a man well appreciated by the kingdom and its people. And getting fawned over by dozens of pretty faces is pretty nice, too.
However, as the night begins to die down and he's invited to spend the night in several rooms, he finds that he's still searching for someone.
He hasn't seen you all night. He knows that you came with them on this mission, simply as an observer and to provide support rather than to fight with them. But he hasn't seen you since they sent the dragons off on their own.
He clearly remembers Amadi looking between him and you among the ruckus, giving him an expression that was clearly pushing him towards you.
Toru could only respond indignantly, "Stop it! Now's not the time. And I'll do it when I'm ready!"
It isn't until the crowded pub begins dwindling down in numbers for the night that he finally notices you, sitting at one of the long tables laden with food and drink. You're drinking from a barrel mug as you laugh at something a local regales for you and Iwa-chan.
His feet bring him to you without him realizing it, and before he knows it, he's sat down beside you on the long bench.
"Hello, commander." You raise your mug up at him with a flushed smile, "Amazing work out there today."
"Thank you." He says simply, unable to stop himself from staring at you.
You really don't look all that different from usual. Windswept hair, lackadaisical demeanor, and frustratingly professional affection that you share with all of the knights.
But Toru knows that Amadi's appearance deeply effected you today. He'd like to think that it was in a positive way, and thanks to him by proxy, since he was the one who finally brought him out of hiding.
"So. How'd you do it?" You ask, smile a little tipsy and even a touch flirty, "How'd you get so close with Amadi?"
Naturally, he gets to talking with you about his white dragon friend, and how it really all started thanks to Bark. You listen with rapt, affectionate attention, like you're being told a lovely fairy tale as a bedtime story.
And in turn, you reveal to him the answers to all the questions he didn't even know he had about Amadi, the white dragon.
"Amadi is something of an anomaly himself because, from what I've gathered, he's actually from a family of black dragons, but was born with white scales. I always assumed it was like some dragon equivalent of human albinism, if you're familiar with that.
"So he's a rare breed among even a rare breed. He survived a long life of suffering from being different, and ended up becoming a great leader of a flight of misfits that flocked around him. That's probably why he's so protective over late bloomers like Bark. But as it turned out, Amadi became his family's strongest and longest living descendant."
You pause to take another sip of your drink, your eyes far off but your smile incredibly present and warm, "It's actually thanks to Amadi that a lot of the dragon population grew down in the capital. He brought an entire family with him on the way here to find a home."
Toru gives you a moment of pause to reflect and rejoice in the memory of such a special dragon. But he's so curious to know something else.
"Were you the one who gave him that name?" He asks.
You turn to face him again, your lips turning up higher in your smile. It makes Toru's heart skip another beat.
"I had heard of a name from the region most black dragons descend from. 'Amadi' felt special because it meant 'freedom' and 'being unbound.'" You take another pause to lean in towards him, showing a more secretive smile, "But I always liked to interpret it to mean, 'one who's destined for greatness.'"
Leaning back once more, you give Toru a considering look before finishing with, "I think it's rather fitting that he chose you to ride him."
That smile.
A smile filled with such pride and secrecy. One that is very clearly and obviously for him. One that tells him how proud you are of him, and that makes him feel like someone special to you, after all.
His heart can hardly take it anymore.
He does it. He kisses you.
It happens faster than he can even process for himself, but his hands feel so at home cupped around your face. And his lips feel so warm pressed against yours. And the sound they make, when they pucker slightly and press together again, he wants to hear it again and again.
When he finally pulls back, you look both surprised and unsurprised at the same time.
Toru doesn't know what to think until you break into that same mischievous, teasing smile you always give him, "Are you sure you're not feeling a little reckless after your first dragon riding mission? The near death experience tends to make people rather bold."
He releases something combining a sigh with a laugh of relief, then takes your face in his hands again.
"I'm sure."
When he leans in to kiss you, you kiss him back.
Over the next few years, the reputation of the Scaled Knights spreads far and wide across the kingdom as they take on more emergency missions.
They continue training with their partnered dragons, taking on smaller tasks like that first fiend attack every so often at the borders of the kingdom — places not so easily within reach of military action.
As they are dispatched more and more often, Toru's elite unit of dragon riders truly comes alive like he dreamed it would. Even as they merge back towards the path of prestige and glory as royal knights, nothing truly brings them satisfaction more than riding a trusted dragon friend through the skies.
He supposes being humbled by said dragons helps keep their egos close to the earth as well.
Yet another one of Toru's greatest dreams has been achieved, and somehow, they keep growing bigger. Thanks to all these spectacular creatures he's met, and the person who saw every part of him and took a chance on his potential, he's learned to dream bigger. To fly higher, farther than the skies can reach.
"You coming, commander?" You call out from the seashore, waiting for him with your surfboard in hand.
The smile lights up his face as he runs up to you with his own board in tow, "Coming!"
And he's also learned to take his time when it's needed. To enjoy the surf and whatever waves it may carry him through.
tags: fluff | enemies to lovers | open ended/kind of unfiinished 😭 | rintaro is kind of annoying | college setting but unspecified | unedited…
tea99 tags: a pink cup filled with blood orange cranberry tea
for: @d1strict99, become a reoccurring customer? (taglist)
You stared at your phone screen, pulling up the main page to check the time before looking at the message again.
"u up?" the message read, it wasn't like you didn't know. But it was still so annoying seeing Suna Rintaro on your screen. You typed out a message, taking a moment before deleting it. Although you immediately cursed under your breath as you watched the 3 dots return on Rintaro's side.
"So u r?'
You sighed, hearing your ring tone as Suna decided to call you instead, that ringtone you saved for him specifically so instead of blocking him you could immediately drop the call. But you never did, and never would. You answered the call on the first ring, despite yourself.
"I thought you said you were sleeping early today?"
You questioned, knowing the moment Suna said that to one of his friends he was full of shit. Suna only hummed, hearing his breath brush your ear as he adjusted in his own bed.
"So you were listening to me?"
He laughed, making you punch at the pillow you weren't using wanting to imagine it was him.
"No."
You answered, almost too quickly. You couldn't help but grimace, hearing the deeper tone of your voice exposing how little you truly had been up for.
"You just woke up?"
He asked, already knowing the answer to that.
"It's like…4 am right now, I'm not going to stay up all night like you."
You answered, taking a glance at the time again, groaning as the number passed out your lips. You reached up to rub at your eyes, feeling how dry they felt after just waking up.
"Why'd you call me?"
You asked, as if you texted much with Suna in the first place.
"Because if I don't you'll fall asleep."
You didn't answer that time, pressing your face deeper into your pillow as you debated falling asleep and leaving him on his own.
"why did you message me, what did you want?"
You asked, suppressing a yawn as you considered his own intentions. It wasn't like you ever knew Suna to be that well thought out in the first place.
"I dunno, I hit up a lot of other people before you…you were just the first to respond."
You paused, glaring at your screen as if you could imagine Suna's stupid face in your mind (because you could).
"I never responded."
You reminded him, making him hum once again.
"Fair, but you were trying to message me, right?"
"Yeah, to tell you to get the hell out of my dms."
You argued, sighing as you knew how mixed that seemed considering you had picked up when he called.
"Then why answer?"
You sighed, turning over again as you tried to consider your own actions.
"You would've just continued to harass me."
You stated, not quite believing your own self. It wasn't the full reason, and even then Suna likely would've moved on knowing after a certain point you would just put your phone on silent.
"Do you think that lowly of me?"
Suna questioned, a huff of a laugh making it past his lips as he took a glance at your profile picture. Recognizing it as being one of the pictures you had included in your recent photo dump.
"Did you edit your photo?"
He asked, zooming in to get a better look as he heard rustling from your hand, likely you snatching your phone back from where you had dropped it somewhere on your bed.
"Excuse me?"
You snapped, the most energy you had shown this whole call admittedly.
"That woke you up, huh?"
He laughed, he knew you hadn't done anything to it. But teasing you like this was fun, he couldn't remember you had last used a filter let alone going out of your way to edit your pictures.
"You being a dick, yeah, that's enough to wake me up."
Suna didn't respond, being too focused looking at your other photos you had posted lately.
"You don't post your face a lot"
He noted, thumb flicking across the screen as he looked through each photo. A picture of your food, some animal you found on the street, the sunset…littering between were pictures of you but rarely without someone else in them. Likely being asked to take them by your friends.
"I don't like my face that much."
Suna only continued to scroll, getting through to the very beginning of your feed in no time at all.
"I really don't post that much either, I forget a lot."
You answered, trying to remember the last time you had even logged on.
"I think you're cute, you should post more of you."
You couldn’t help but let out a shocked laugh, completely caught off guard by your best friend’s sudden declaration. You watched Semi with amused eyes as he settled into the chair across from you. The two of you had agreed to meet at your favorite Miyagi cafe for brunch after finally having off time that aligned with one another.
“Good afternoon to you too, Eita,” you teased.
“Good morning is more like it,” Semi grumbled. He gave you a pointed look, grabbing the menu to look it over. “And I mean it.”
“Oh I know you do. What was it this time? Another modeling offer?”
“Yep. I’m pretty sure it’s the same company the Haiba siblings model under.”
“And you turned it down?!” you exclaimed.
“Of course I did,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Oh I don’t know?” you quipped back sarcastically. “Exposure for you and your band? You could have used the Haibas as clout. Say you know them or something.”
“I’ve met them once.”
“Still could have used that to your advantage. Lev is like best friends with Hinata and Kenma too. Wait, why do you know so many famous people? And why don’t you ever use Ushiwaka? He could always recommend your band in a random tweet or something.”
“I’d like my band to make it ourselves,” Semi said with a shake of his head. “Besides we have a gig at Zepp Shinjuku next month. Well kind of. We’re opening for The Back Horn.”
“YOU’RE OPENING FOR THE BACK HORN?!” You squealed, slamming you hands on the table dramatically and shooting up out of your seat.
“SHHH!” Semi hushed you, grabbing your arm to tug you back down.
Your body went stiff and slowly you looked around you. About a dozen other people in the cafe were now staring at you with judgey eyes.
“Oh god,” you whimpered, face heating up. You sunk back into your seat slowly, head burying into your hands with embarrassment.
Across from you Semi laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I already saved you two tickets and backstage passes.”
Your head snapped up immediately. “Wait? Really?” you asked. “Do not fuck with me right now.”
“I’m not fucking with you. You and a date get to sit in the front row and then go backstage and meet the band.”
“I get to meet The Back Horn?!”
Semi let out another laugh. “Yes, yes you do,” he said. “But you also get to meet my band too, you know?”
“I literally went to university with you guys,” you deadpanned. “And Tendo.”
“And Oikawa. And it was only for what? A year? You’re a baby compared us.”
You froze at the mention of the setter’s name. “Why did you mention that bastard? Ruining my mood and shit.”
Semi snorted in amusement. “You know he’s in Japan on vacation, right?” he asked. “Apparently he’s going to be here until November. Maybe even December.”
“Yep,” you said. “And then he’s going back to Argentina.”
“I heard he’s looking around at coaching jobs here though. Since he’s most likely going to retire before the next Olympics.”
You shook your head at that. “No way in hell,” you said. “That bastard will be playing for Argentina until he’s old and crippled.”
“Not when his knee can’t keep up with training he won’t,” Semi said, voice softening. “I heard it was pretty shot after the summer in Paris.”
“Why wouldn’t he just coach in Argentina then?” you asked with a pout. You tried hard to ignore the squeeze of your heart when you heard the new about his knee.
I thought it was getting better.
“He got an offer from both Chuo and Waseda Universities.”
You blinked a few times at that. “Wait what?” you asked. “I thought Ushi got offers from them?”
“He turned them down,” Semi said. “He just renewed his contract with the Adlers for another three years. He said he wants to try to make it to one more Olympics before he retires.”
You hummed at that. “He is gonna be thirty-four…”
“Oh god,” Semi groaned. “Do not remind me of our age.”
“Hopefully you’ll be a famous musician by then and you can finally give up that damn civil servant job. Ooo! And maybe you’ll get married to a model and have pretty babies.”
“That sounds more like your dream than mine.”
You sighed dreamily. “I wanna marry a rich pretty boy that will take care of me and our kids.”
“Then Oikawa is perfect for that!” Semi exclaimed, slapping his hands together in excitement.
Your face completely fell at that. “Absolutely not. I hate that man with every fiber of my being.
“Now that sounds a bit dramatic.”
“It’s not.”
“I’ve never understood that,” Semi said.
You blinked at the sliver haired man across from you in surprised. “What? You hate him too!”
Semi laughed. “No, I don’t!” he defended himself. “Maybe back in high school I did. You know because of the whole rival schools thing? But now? I’m just… neutral.” He tilted his head at you. “Why do you hate him though?”
“Oikawa Tooru is a rich bastard with an ego the size of Russia and stick so far up his ass that Merlin wouldn’t be able to pull it out.”
“But you two grew up together?”
“Yeah because our moms’ and sisters’ are best friends.”
“So there’s never been a time when the two of you gotten along?” Semi asked.
“Nope,” you said with a pop of the ‘p’. “Not even once.”
“Then maybe you can start your enemies to lovers journey then.”
“The fuck we can.”
“It would be like the plot of one of your romance novels. Sister’s best friend’s little bother or some shit. Slow burn enemy to lovers, fifteen years in the making.”
“I think you’re losing it, Eita,” you deadpanned.
“Let me give you some advice to you, my young Padawan,” Semi said, pointing a ring clad finger at you.
You squinted at him. “How do you even know that term?” You asked. “You have never seen a Star Wars movie in your life. You’re nerdy but not that nerdy.”
Semi shushed you. “That’s not the point here,” he dismissed. “As I was saying… my advice to you is: stop fighting it.”
“Stop fighting what exactly?”
“Your attraction to him.”
Your mouth fell open and you gawked at him. “My fucking what?!”
“You’re attracted to him! Just admit it!”
“I abso-fucking-lutely am not!”
“Oh come on!” Semi groaned, throwing his hands up frustrated. “You’re telling me you’re not attracted to him at all? Not even a little bit? I call bullshit.”
“What part of ‘I hate him’ don’t you understand?” You asked, exasperated.
“But he’s hot as hell. I’d climb him like a tree.”
You couldn’t help with huff in amusement at that visual. “Go right ahead,” you said. “He’s all yours.”
“I can’t though,” Semi whined
“Why not? He’s bi too.”
“Because, I can practically see the sexual tension rolling of you two when you’re together.”
“Sexual wha—“ you shook you head. “I really think you need to get your damn eyes checked. Go ask Shirabu for a good optometrist recommendation.”
“But think about it, Y/N!” Semi said. “You two go to the show together next month and while you’re there the two can finally come to a realization of how you feel about one another. You talk it out— or fuck it out— after the show and boom! Have your happy ending.”
“Happy ending? What am I? A massage parlor?”
Semi shot you a ‘shut up’ look before rolling his eyes. “Is it a shame to want my best friend to be the man of her dreams?”
That made you actually laugh. “Man of my dreams? Tooru? Absolutely not. I will admit— even though I don’t want to— that I’m attracted to him.”
In your mindless rant you didn’t notice the way Semi’s eyes comically widened when they focused on something— or someone— behind you.
“But!” You exclaimed paying the man no mind. “The only happy ending we’d be getting is my hands wrapped around his neck.”
“Wowza. I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”
Your whole body immediately froze at the sound of that oh so familiar voice.Your eyes connected with Semi’s and he seemed just as perplexed as you.
Slowly you turned around in your seat and looked up at the tall brunette man now standing there. His brown eyes softened when you guys finally made eye contact and his large hand found his way to your shoulder.
“I missed you too, Y/N,” Oikawa said with his annoying singsongy tone that he always used to tease people. “And I didn’t know you were that kinky. Should have figured as much though.”
“Why are you here?” you asked completely ignoring his last statement.
“Vacation,” the setter said. “I’m here for the off season. Visiting family. Which I mean, you should know since our families are having dinner together on Saturday.”
Semi choked a little on his ice tea, coughing into his elbow.
“Huh?!” you gawked. “We’re what?”
“Did you forget our families’ are friends or…”
“Don’t remind me,” you grumbled. “They are the only reason I put up with your annoying ass. Takeru is my favorite.”
“Hey!” Oikawa protested with a whine. “He’s my nephew. Back off.”
“Well, he likes me better,” you quipped back happily.
“No, he doesn’t!”
“Yes, he does.”
“No! He does not!”
“God, it’s university all over again,” Semi muttered.
You and Oikawa’s heads both snapped over to him. “Shut up!” You said in unison.
Semi held up his hands in faux retreat, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Sorry, sorry.”
Oikawa crossed his arms with a huff and a pout. You almost wanted to coo at the man but stopped yourself.
“You said something about a show next month?” Oikawa asked Semi.
“Damn you heard that too?” he asked.
Oikawa hummed. “I heard most of your conversation.”
“Creep,” you mumbled.
Oikawa clapped his hand on top of your head, giving it a small warning squeeze.
“Next month my band is opening for The Back Horn at Zepp Shinjuku,” Semi said.
“The Back Horn?” Oikawa asked eyes shifting down to you. “Isn’t that your favorite band?”
You blinked a few times in surprise and nodded. He remembered that? “Yeah,” you said slowly.
“I got her two tickets,” Semi said. He shot you a mischievous look. “And I was telling her to ask if you to go. Since you were back and all.”
“Tooru doesn’t even like rock—“
“So like a date then?” Oikawa asked cutting you off.
“Yeah exactly,” Semi agreed.
“Why the hell would it be a date?” You protested immediately looking between the two men frantically.
“Eh?” Oikawa raised an eyebrow at you. “Why not? I thought you were attracted to me?”
“I am but—“ It was your turn to cut yourself off.
Oh god. No. I did not just admit that to his face like that.
Oikawa beamed at you. “It’s a date then! Where’s the tickets?”
“I have them,” Semi said holding up his phone. “They’re digital.”
Oikawa hummed. “Send one to me yeah? And I’ll plan everything else with you later, Y/N. Got to go. Meeting Takeru because I am his favorite.” With one finally pat to your head he started walking away towards the cafe exit.
“Huh?!” You gasped. You watched as the setter slipped outside completely and utterly frazzled. “What the fuck just happened, Eita?”
Semi shook with laughter. “You have a date with the Oikawa Tooru.”
“I didn’t even agree to it!” you squeaked. “And stop laughing!”
Semi clutched his stomach with one hand, wiping away tears with the others. “I can’t help it,” he said. “That was great.”
“No, no it was not.”
“You’ll really be getting your happy ending now.”
“Yeah when I strangle him to death after the show,” you grumbled, cracking your knuckles.
