Chapter Text
Twenty
All that can be heard is the wind around you, blowing around stubborn leaves on mostly barren trees.
“Kei,” you say, stern but soft. “What are you running from?”
He swallows hard and looks down at you. A gust of wind blows his hair over his eyes, obscuring you from view. He fixes his scarf, tossing it back over his shoulder. It threatens to come undone again.
You, he wanted to say. It’s you who he’s running from.
—
Eighteen
In the space between high school and college, time slows to a crawl. Everything is bathed in a hot, golden glow as a group of friends can almost physically feel their lives about to change. When the future looms ever closer, waiting for a vulnerable moment to drag them forward, what else is there to do but wait? They choose to spend that time together.
“Where do you think you’ll be in five years?” Yachi asked the group with a can of coffee in her hands, sitting cross-legged on Kei’s desk chair. His place was the hangout spot this time, as his friends (mostly Hinata) complained that he wasn’t pulling his weight when it came to hosting. Their afternoons looked like this most days, either finishing up school work or just to spend time with each other. Kei hates to admit it, but this group of rowdy kids wormed their way into his heart over the years.
Silence was hard to come by with his friends, as both Kageyama and Hinata answered immediately from across the room by his bedroom door, insisting that they would be pro players back then and continue to compete with one another.
“I wish I had plans as concrete as that,” Yamaguchi lamented, “I want to go to college, but I have no idea what for.” He sighed as he fell back onto Kei’s bed.
“How about you?” Yachi asks, turning her chair towards you. You hummed as you thought about it, finger on your chin.
“I’ll probably still be here, I have plenty of commitments here, and the schools here are plenty nice, and have the program I want,” you defended your choice to the room, inspiring murmurs of agreement.
“I don’t know where I want to be yet.” Kei started, not waiting for Yachi to ask him. “I’m still waiting on a few schools, so it’s still up in the air for me. And I don’t know if I’ll play volleyball after college.” All eyes are on him, including yours, an unreadable expression in your eyes. You shifted in your spot on the floor.
“Any ideas on what you want to study?” You broke the silence, focusing on the rug under your feet.
“Paleontology, I guess. Maybe art history. I’ll be on a volleyball team too, at least for college.”
“Dinosaurs, huh? Guess it’s good to know your own kind.”
“Shut up,” Kei shoves you lightly with his shoulder, almost knocking you off balance. You smile and shoves back harder. He can't find it in him to be upset, not if it’s you. Never if it’s you.
You two, together, on his bedroom floor surrounded by noise from your closest friends as they discussed their not-so-distant future. The window was open, the sun shining so brightly that he could see specks of dust through its rays, disturbed by the movement in the too-small room.
You were next to him, leaning against the side of his bed with your legs pulled up to your chest, your hand resting in the space between your bodies, hardly any distance from his own. At the sight of you smiling and laughing at something Hinata had said, hardly anything else could matter. Kei’s mind goes quiet.
He could feel the molecules between your hands shift, his entire side feeling sparks. He looked down. His hand moved to intertwine itself with yours like it was a lifeline, like he had no other choice but to be close to you.
Two inches, an inch, almost no space at all. His pinky hovered above yours. Closer and closer still.
He pulls away.
—
When the excitement had winded down and all that was left in his bedroom was a couple snack wrappers, his best friend had her legs stretched perpendicular to his in the middle of the room. You ask him a question.
“Will you keep in touch when you leave?”
When? Kei feels the temperature in the room drop, unexplainable even with the sun setting outside his window bathing the room in a dark orange light, shift unexplainable before the sun had fully gone down.
“Who says I’m leaving?” He snapped his head up to look at you. The look on your face was something he doesn’t see often. You looked reserved as you played with the hem of her skirt, shoulders hunched like you wanted to shrink into yourself. A far cry from the sunny personality you often displayed with your group of friends, or the sly, playful look you had when you lightheartedly argued with him about something or other.
You shrugged once, “I think we both know that you weren’t meant to stay in this town, Kei. You’ve always been meant for more than this. Meant to be more than the other Karasuno grads, no offense to them.”
“Hey,” Kei said gently, not wanting to break the air around you, “I’m not going across the world or anything,” he scoffs. “Way too much work. Besides, everything I give a fuck about is here.” A small smile appeared on your lips, finally.
“Kei, have I finally worn you down? Only took me ten years,” You teased, looking up at him with the setting sun shining in your eyes. You reach over to ruffle his hair.
He didn’t need to be worn down, he thinks, anyone with eyes and half a brain cell could see that he’s had a soft spot for you ever since you were kids. He would never treat anyone else like he did you, much to the disappointment of the rest of the volleyball club whenever they saw him being nicer than usual.
(“Should I disturb them? Can I disturb them? I really need his help.” Hinata says impatiently right by the door of his classroom, completely ignored.
“Best not to,” Yamaguchi replies as he turns around to look at you two engrossed in your class’ latest math homework. Your desk completely turned around to connect with his. The conversation looks heated, you two look like you're arguing about how to use the new equations.
Yamaguchi turns back around to face Hinata, seeing him get paler by the second. “I’m not as good as Tsukki is, but I can try to help!” He consoles Hinata. He sits down by Yamaguchi and Kei thinks he can hear him grumble something about “favoritism” and “special treatment,” he ignores this.)
Ten years, huh? It feels like yesterday that she moved to his neighborhood into that house with the red door the next street over, like it’s been no time at all since his life was turned upside down, since the sun shone just that little bit brighter– not that he’d ever admit it.
“You wish,” he retorted, nudging his socked foot against your hip. “I meant what I said, alright? You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Promise you’ll call?”
“Of course.”
“Send me pictures from the city?”
“Obviously.”
You paused for a moment. “Write me letters like we’re in the olden times?”
“...Are you serious?”
“Incredibly.” You scoot a little closer, your shoulder almost touching his. “I think writing letters sounds cool, and I’ve never had anyone live far enough to justify sending one. I’ll put fun stuff in them too! Like cool stickers I find or printed out photos.”
“So, trash?”
“Sentimental trash! You’ll be glad to have it, just wait and see.” You smooth down your shirt and look around at his room, more dark than light at this point. “Maybe you’ll put them up on your wall wherever you end up, this room has always been so bare.” You tease, knowing full well that Kei prefers his space clean and clutter-free, always saying it helps me focus. Kei shrugs it off and makes no commitments.
They fall onto lighter topics, but the air around them is still a little too heavy to be comfortable, something unsaid hanging around them. Will we really stay the same? Are we supposed to?
Kei’s stomach turns a little at the thought. Everything he’s ever known has been here, in his room, around this town. All his lived experience is colored by the people he’s grown up with, who have seen him since the beginning. Is he really ready to let that pass? Will he ever be?
“I’m gonna miss this one day,” He says, breaking the silence.
“You said you didn’t know you were leaving yet?”
“I know what I said, I- '' Kei takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “Even if I don’t leave, this is never gonna happen again, yknow? Sure, we can meet up again, but this,” He gestures around his room, “Isn’t going to be the place, we aren’t gonna be these people much longer.”
You look stunned into silence turned to face him, one shoulder on his bed frame. Kei feels his mouth go dry. He doesn’t think he’s said this much at one time all afternoon, he thinks himself embarrassed.
“Do you remember breaking that old couple's flower pot when we were ten?” You say, looking directly into his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably.
“Yes? What does that have to do with anything?”
“And you remember how we never apologized or owned up to it?”
“Yes- I swear to god if you make me get up and go apologize to them right now-”
“I won’t!” You laugh as you settle him back down to his position on the floor. “My point is, do you think we’d do the same thing now?”
“Given the right motivations…”
“Kei.”
“No, we would not.” He conceded, there’s no point in arguing with you like this. Truly, he should know better by now. He fights to keep the smile off his face, but he must be doing a bad job, considering you’re starting to smile too.
“So, you agree we’re not the same people we were back then?”
“I guess we’re not?” Kei feels himself start to get it.
“See? We’re not the same people we were when we met, not when we broke that pot, not last year, not yesterday,” You emphasize with a little shake to his shoulder.
“As long as we’re alive, we change. That’s the one thing we can’t change. And we’ve still stuck together, haven’t we?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Be nice, I’m being heartfelt and shit!”
“Okay okay, I get it. No need for the speech.” He makes a show of pushing up his glasses and running an exasperated hand through his hair. “Look at you, so full of wisdom,” He says mockingly.
“I’m absolutely brimming with wisdom!” You say proudly, sitting up and putting your hands on your hips.
“Brimming with bullshit, maybe.” Kei says under his breath.
“Kei, I really will make you go knock on their door and apologize I swear-”
“Nevermind! Do you want ice cream? We still have some in the freezer.”
“Ugh. Yes.” You fall back on the teasing, and you both move with great effort to the kitchen, joints cracking from underuse.
He leans against the kitchen island with you, like you have many times before, and really takes it in. The cold of the ice cream, the heat of your skin when you catch a drop of it before it rolls down his wrist.
You take the saved drop and swipe it off your finger with your thumb absentmindedly, returning to your own cone. Kei watches, silent. Not saying anything about the drop or you licking it off your fingers. This, he believes, is once in a lifetime.
And if he says a silent goodbye to this version of you two, the version that sits in his kitchen talking about nothing until well after both your ice cream wrappers end up in the trash– well, that’s for him to know.
—
You’re beside him, silently working side by side as you pack up the rest of the things he’s taking with him to Tokyo. He’s set to leave later in the afternoon, his brother agreeing to drive him down and help him unpack. You asked to come, but he said that they needed the space in the car for his stuff, Akiteru’s car was already tight as it is, leaving him only enough room in the trunk and backseat for the barest of essentials for living on his own. Not entirely untrue, but mostly it’s how he doesn’t think he can handle seeing you drive away, as opposed to him watching you get smaller in the rearview mirror.
The air is tense, and maybe a little sad. Not many words have been exchanged since you got here in the morning. He watches you tape up a box from the corner of his eye.
“Can you come here for a sec?” he asks after calling your name, dusting his hands off on his jeans and standing up. You hum an affirmative and stand with him. You two stand in silence for a beat, staring at the boxes stacked at Kei’s feet.
He swallows once and squeezes his hands into fists once, twice.
“You know I’m not leaving forever, right?”
“Of course I do, Kei. You’ve said as much before.” You shoved his shoulder lightly, his skin prickling at the almost-nothing contact with yours.
“So why are you so… forlorn?”
You scoff at his choice of words, he’s almost sure you would say something about it, hell, he’s hoping you say something about it and give him reason to believe everything’s okay, but you don’t.
“It’s hard to imagine a life without you next to me.” You whisper, quiet enough that Kei instinctively leans in closer to you so he could hear. He is taken aback by your confession, not expecting your honesty or sincerity. He thinks his heart breaks a little.
He turns to face her fully and sees her still staring intently at his packed boxes. “I’ll still be around.” His knuckles tap against yours once, silently asking for you to look at him. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” He tries for a smirk, but feels it might just be a smile.
Your lips twitch up once, but your brows stay furrowed. “It’s not the same.”
“It isn’t, but you’ve tolerated me this long. Now I’ll just bother you from your phone instead of your front door.” He tries to lighten your mood again..
She huffs a laugh, “I really have worn you down, huh? What would the boys say?” You look up at him fully now, eyes lit up at the chance to make fun of him.
There you are, he thinks fondly.
“I haven’t even left yet, and you’re already thinking of spilling all my secrets? Some friend you are.” He huffs lightheartedly with exaggerated exasperation while you laugh at his reaction. He keeps his eyes on you. The room stills.
Your eyes look back into his, the smile on your face making the room feel a little brighter. No more words are said and you’re left just… looking.
How easy would it be, he thinks, how easy would it be to kiss you?
You, in what’s going to be his bedroom for only the next couple hours, boxes in stacks around you, holy ground separating you from him. The cardigan on your shoulders, the hair in your face.
There can’t be more than a foot between you and him. His hands ache to cup your cheek, his feet almost shuffling closer to you. How easy would it be.
He breathes steadily with blood rushing to his head. He looks at your face, and wants.
Too little too late, you break him out of his stupor when you step forward and hug him around his midsection, face in his collarbone. His first thought is if you can hear his heartbeat, erratic.
His second thought is oh, quiet in his mind as he feels your breath shift the fabric of his shirt.
In the decade you’ve known each other, you two have never been touchy, almost definingly so. The only contact between you was shoves and jabs, and the few times he’s held your hand in elementary school, per the requirements of the buddy system. He can’t recall if you’ve ever hugged him before, though he’ll give himself the benefit of the doubt and say that he wouldn’t be able to recall much of anything at the moment. His skin burns where he can feel your warmth over fabric.
He places a hand on the back of your head and keeps the other at his side, afraid that if he touches any more of you, you’d pull away.
He draws a shaky breath and makes peace with this, with you. If he can’t be with you in the way he wants, he can be with you in the way that you do.
He fights the urge to press his lips onto the crown of your head. He hardly remembers what comes after.
—
All of his boxes are in the car, and you’re downstairs with his mom, indulging her in a cup of tea before everyone leaves for the day. As he sits on the steps of his childhood home, he feels an itch under his skin, an incessant nagging of a task yet to be accomplished. He lies to Akiteru, saying that he forgot something in his room. Truth be told, he just wanted to see it one last time before he goes.
The sun is starting to set, the windows left slightly open. A light breeze ruffles his hair. Kei takes stock of the room he grew up in.
No amount of posters or knick knacks you’ve given him for his birthday ever make it onto his walls, though he never threw any of them away. They’ve all been tucked neatly into the back of his closet or in a shoebox labeled appropriately in his uniform handwriting, placed under his bed. His eyes landed on the wall across where he sat.
All except one thing.
On the shelf above his desk lives the one photo of her he keeps displayed, placed in its own simple white frame on the bottom right. The picture is several years old and has begun to weather around the edges– the sun’s mark made known by the fading colors. He takes it off the shelf to take a closer look.
It’s of the two of you on an elementary school field trip to a large natural history museum. You're right in the middle of the photo with him, standing next to each other, backs turned to the camera as you look at a wall filled with preserved bugs and butterflies. Colorful clips decorated your short hair, face completely out of view of the camera. Kei wears a purple hoodie with his hands in his pockets.
However, he isn’t looking at the display in front of them, with all its pinned up butterflies in glowing blues and oranges, he’s looking right at you, as you point up at something the camera can’t see.
—
“Why that one?” You asked when you noticed it for the first time, leaning over his desk as he tried to study. You slipped his headphones off his head and he tried to swat you away.
“Your socks didn’t match,” Kei answered simply, not looking up from his work. It always ended up like this with the two of you. Him, diligently trying to get his work done, and you, distracted ages ago, trying to get him to entertain you. You both made it out just fine every time.
“Wha- really?” You said incredulously. “The only proof of our years-long friendship in this room is up because my socks didn’t match?”
“Did you expect literally anything else?”
“I… guess not.” You sighed and pushed off his desk. “That’s cold, Kei.” You huffed and crossed your arms. He leaves you to your tantrum and slips his headphones back on.
Of course, it’s not there because you made a mistake getting dressed that morning. It’s there because he believes that it encompasses perfectly who you are to him. A force all on your own, leaving him no choice but to be drawn into your orbit.
—
Kei’s hand grips the frame tighter, heart aching at the life he’s leaving behind. He thinks of taking the picture with him, but decides that if there was any time to get over it and move on, it’s now. You are here, he is not.
He places it gently back on the shelf, careful to run a finger over the top of the frame to get the dust off.
Years later, that same photo stays in his childhood bedroom, frozen in time. The two of you attached at the hip, on a high shelf above his desk. A reminder useful to no one of how they used to be.
The room grows silent. The curtains are drawn. Dust gathers.