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Shiratorizawa dies with a whimper, completely unlike the bang that everyone always thought it would end with.
It’s a sobering thought. Shiratorizawa dies with a whimper, and after a couple months the only team anyone can talk about in the prefecture is Karasuno and their ticket to nationals, and Semi can barely stand the thought of it.
Despite and after it all, Semi never really wanted to accept the outcome he was presented with at the beginning of his third year. He’d been set aside in favor of the second year that he’d been eyeing with distaste and fear alike ever since Shirabu came in, starry-eyed and young and ready to give everything he had to set to Ushijima. Semi was a little too prideful for that - a little too sure of himself, and unwilling to compromise for the giant that loomed over them all.
Now, Semi can’t help but wonder if only - if only he were willing to swallow his pride - would they have made it to nationals for their final year? Would they have died with a bang instead?
It was a question that plagued Semi for the rest of his last year in high school and then some more. The world went on, even though to Semi it felt like it should have ended when something so monumental came to its end so abruptly, so unlike how it should have.
He folded away this bitterness as best as he could, because it was not something that he wanted to taint his last year more than it already had. In hindsight, there would be plenty of things he wished he’d done differently in his last year, but this wouldn’t be one of them. Semi folded away his bitterness, and that let him play a couple last games with Reon, serve a couple more times with Tendou cheering, and even mentor Goshiki for a little longer.
Nonetheless, that bitterness festered within him, and eventually, when he saw Hinata and Tsukishima in the Shiratorizawa gym for the training camp, it showed a little.
“Hey,” Semi said one day, apropos of nothing, to Ushijima. He was trying, and probably failing, to keep an even voice. “Why did Karasuno get to have this? Why now?”
Ushijima was silent for a long while. The sounds of serving, passing, setting and spiking echoed throughout the gym. Ushijima didn’t respond until the ball they were both following with their eyes bounced on the ground and into Hinata’s waiting arms.
“Because we weren’t strong enough,” Ushijima had said, simply.
The answer had made Semi’s teeth grind together. As if it’s that simple. As if being stronger was just a matter of trying a little harder, conditioning a little longer.
As it was, Semi simply let out a short laugh. He tried not to make it sound derisive, but he was sure, even then, that Ushijima picked up on at least a little bit of it. Semi tried not to blame him - after all, for people like Ushijima, whose futures were (and still are ) brighter than the rest of them could ever begin to imagine, his one track would almost definitely bring him success. All he had to do was train his strength in the way he’s always known - more practicing, more conditioning. He wouldn’t understand. For people like Semi, on the other hand?
He didn’t even know what major he wanted to pursue in college.
Ushijima had opened his mouth to say something, but he then decided against it. Semi had tried not to feel too relieved. He didn’t really want to think about it, anyway.
There was nothing to think about.
There still is nothing to think about.
It doesn’t matter that Semi now lives in a room much smaller than he ever envisioned for himself, even with the fact that he ended up a college dropout and a civil servant stuck in a job he doesn’t really want. It doesn’t matter that Semi hasn’t talked to Reon in ages, hasn’t bantered with Tendou in ages, hasn’t checked up on Goshiki in ages. It doesn’t matter that Semi can see Ushijima’s face plastered anywhere there is volleyball news, that Semi cannot be free of all his classmates in professional volleyball, eight years after that fateful final qualifier.
There is nothing to think about here.
[Recording: June, 2010; from: Mother]
“Eita! I saw on the news that your school won the Interhigh! Of course, uh, I know that you probably expected this, since your school has won for the past… how many years was it? I don’t remember exactly, only that you were very excited about making it into the team. Congratulations! I know you weren’t- playing on the court for very long, of course, but I recorded what time you had. I’m very proud of you. And your sister- your sister has been very, very excited. Say hi to your brother!”
“Hiii, Eita! Good job, Eita!!”
“Yes, run along now, dinner will be ready soon. Yes, very soon. When will you get home? Call me back and, uh, let me know. I’m sure you boys are off celebrating somewhere with- dinner, or maybe just with snacks, but- don’t get too carried away! Get home earl- at least before the sun sets. I, uh, picked up some Tekka Maki for you at the family mart. If you still have any room left in your stomach once you’re home, it will be in the refrigerator. Even if not, it should be- hmm, yeah- should still be good for tomorrow at lunch. Um, have fun with your friends! Get home early.”
Click.
There is nothing to think about. It’s easier to not think about it, is the thing. Semi knows that he could be doing more, that he could be more, but it’s easier to not think about it. It’s easier to wake up early and go to his job, be a model citizen, and go home late to his cramped apartment, one that he pays too much for, for how much space he’s getting.
Maybe there’s some comfort in it. Being in a small space, where he can catalogue everything in his room with one sweeping glance. He doesn’t have many personal belongings to his name anymore. At least, he doesn’t have much that is out in the open for everyone to see.
When he’d first moved to Osaka, filled with dreams of making money quick and retiring early, he really hadn’t imagined, even at his lowest, that he’d be stuck in a space where most of his belongings - medals, small trophies, and even everything he had for volleyball - wouldn’t fit on a shelf or a desk somewhere. As it stood, when he got this small apartment with the little money he got from a job freshly dropped out of college, there was so little room for even his own suitcase and boxes that he eventually put all his memorabilia back into the boxes where they were and shoved it in a corner of his closet.
It’s still there. The box. When Semi occasionally decides to pull back the curtains and let the city lights flood in through the window, there’s a lamppost outside that usually illuminates the box, if he turns off the inside lights and sits on his bed and stares for long enough.
(He sits on his bed and stares off into the distance more often than he’d like to admit, nowadays.)
There’s a lot in that box. Stuff that he used to love, when he still enjoyed being more than someone simple. He barely remembers what’s in there anymore. He hasn’t seen its contents for something like four years. Maybe five.
(It wasn’t always like this.)
A notification sounds from his phone, because his boss always likes to be able to contact him even after-hours. Semi almost dreads checking, but he checks anyway, because he will have to eventually.
To his surprise, it’s not his boss.
Tendou Satori
Semi-Semi! Found this T-shirt. I think you would like it!
[Image attached]
That does bring a small smile to his face. He opens the message, and sees the shirt in question - a graphic tee, with a sleeping Pikachu printed on the front. It’s kind of cute.
He shuts off his phone, lying back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. Well, it’s not like he has a lot of money to spare. Not for silly things like that.
His phone buzzes again.
Tendou Satori
I can see your read receipts! Don’t leave me on read!!
Tendou Satori
How have you been?
Something in Semi’s throat closes up when he reads that last message, and he doesn’t make the mistake of opening up the messaging app this time.
How have you been?
It’s always the same. Every one of them, even the stilted conversations with his parents and his sister and all of his teammates, people that he once called his closest friends. They ask him how he has been as if they ever bothered to ask further than those same four words.
Every time, Semi replies the same thing:
Good. As usual.
It wasn’t a lie, once. Semi’s not sure when it became a lie. It’s not good anymore. Not really. It’s just fine. And as usual, as always.
(When did it go wrong?)
The box in his closet seems to stare at him accusingly. Semi’s sure he’s imagining it. He draws his curtains shut and prepares to sleep, already upset at himself for staying up too late for his early wakeup tomorrow morning.
His phone buzzes a third time, but Semi doesn’t check this time.
He doesn’t feel like lying today.
[Recording: October, 2010; from: Ohira Reon]
“Uh, hello, hello. Hope this is working. Um, team’s planning to go out for a celebratory dinner at the ramen place down the street. You know the one- the one we go to? Sometimes. After school. We went ahead, I know you’re still looking for your shoes. We’re gonna get a table first. Everyone’s here. Join us whene- hey!”
“Hey!! Semi-Semi!! Hurry up and find your shoes, we’re going to be done by the time you’re here! I’m not waiting before I- ack-”
“-sorry about that, Tendou got the phone. Don’t listen to him. I’ll, I’ll wait. We can order our usual together. But do hurry up a little, if you can.”
Click.
He considers it, sometimes. Talking to someone. Asking if they feel just like how he does - tired, chasing something he doesn’t understand, waiting for something to get him out of this strange fugue he has found himself in.
But every time he considers asking, reaching out, texting hey, ever think of quitting your job? All the words he wants to say catches in his throat, and he can’t bring himself to ask. Who is there to ask? He was never close with his upperclassmen. His college friends did not get close enough to him before he decided that college was not for him. He can’t be asking his underclassmen for advice. Who does that leave?
All the people who were in Semi’s year in Shiratorizawa.
And how the hell can he ask them?
An irrational bout of anger rises in him when he thinks about asking them. Because Semi is undoubtedly a failure compared to them. He can’t go two steps in the volleyball scene without hearing something about Ushijima, and Tendou’s already become a renowned chocolatier. And Reon?
Reon’s the closest Semi has to someone who is not off doing something insane. In theory, Reon should make him feel better about his situation. But in reality, it’s Reon who Semi cannot stand the thought of asking.
Because Reon was just as ordinary as Semi was. Reon had no grand aspirations, no plan to fly to France. And now, because Reon has somehow refused to give up on trying to initiate conversations with Semi, Semi knows that Reon is working at a sporting goods company and playing with the Kiniro Sports Jumpers on top of it. In short, doing much better than Semi is.
Most of the time, it just annoys Semi. Sometimes, when it’s late at night and he’s staring at that same box again, it makes him feel worse than he already is. In rare instances, he gets a strange bout of anger he doesn’t know how to explain to himself.
How does he explain it? The anger of feeling like you are doing so much worse than everyone else, that you have been left behind by people who promised to play with you?
(Maybe Semi got left behind long ago, when he became the only one of the four of them that would not be in the team’s regular rotation. Maybe Semi got left behind when they gave his position to Shirabu, leaving him as a pinch server, on for perhaps one-tenth of the game if he’s lucky, and Semi has been lying to himself this whole time. Maybe Semi was just too delusional to see that they left him a long, long time ago.)
It’s an anger that he folds away, much like he did for his bitterness in their last year of high school. It doesn’t serve him in any way, either. Therefore, he has no need for it. He has no need to let these ugly feelings out, because they will push his remaining friends away more than he already has.
(When did it all go wrong?)
[Recording: November, 2010; from: Tendou Satori]
“Semi-Semi! Happy birthday! I got some strings for you. Guitar strings! You play guitar, if I remember correctly! If I didn’t it would be really unfortunate. But you should reply soon! Or you’ll find me at your door with your birthday gift in hand!”
“Tendou.”
“Ahhh, Wakatoshi, I was just messing around! Okay, fine, fine. Text me, but if you’re busy, I’ll just see you at practice tomorrow! And you’re going to get treated to a happy birthday song from yours truly. Pick your poison!”
“Tendou.”
“Okay okay, coming! Coming!”
Click.
Semi hears a knock at his door, which is already a surprise. No one ever comes to visit him.
Then again, it might be a maintenance notice of some kind. He has submitted a request to get the plumbing fixed. Maybe they’re here with pertinent information about his water situation for the next few days - or maybe he’s getting evicted. He really hopes it isn’t the latter.
Sighing, Semi pulls himself to his feet. It’s not like he’s doing anything. The kitchen still smells faintly of the tonkatsu he had for dinner - picked up from the family mart, as always. It’s not a presentable apartment in its current state by any means, but Semi sincerely doubts that the repairmen would care.
He opens his door, a greeting on his lips-
“Semi-Semi!”
-and promptly shuts it right in Tendou Satori’s face.
“Hey!! That’s not very nice of you, Semi! Open the door, I know you’re in there now!! Semi-Semi!!”
He needs a moment.
Why is Tendou here? Isn’t he in France?
All of a sudden, Semi is infinitely more aware of the mess that is his apartment. The clothes he hasn’t put in his laundry basket. The book he started and gave up on a week ago, still lying pages open and face down on the chair. The laptop he never bothers to shut down, only put to sleep, its cooling fans whirling. A million small things that all seem indicative of his failure to be- to be-
(To be what?)
“Helloooo! Semi-Semi!!”
Semi takes another grounding breath. He turns around, steels himself, and opens the door.
“Tendou. I was not expecting guests.”
“Psh, I’ve told you before! You should expect me anytime!” Tendou kicks Semi’s front door a little more open so he can get in, and Semi doesn’t really have the heart to stop him, especially when he gets a better view of Tendou and can see the crate of oranges he has lugged in. “I brought gifts! Fruits!”
“In this economy?” Semi asks incredulously. He hasn’t had fresh fruits in- in-
(His mother, cutting up fruit for him after an argument. They weren’t particularly cheap that day, either. It was always her way of apologizing without too many words. He didn’t start feeling homesick until his second year of college, but when he did, that was one of the first things he missed.)
Tendou sets the crate down with a heavy thud. “In case you have forgotten, Semi-Semi,” he sing-songs, “I make my money in Europe! I’ve got plenty of it to go around as it is. Take the gift! I won’t be here for your birthday, so consider it an in-advance birthday gift!”
“Tendou, my birthday isn’t for another five months.”
“Yeah, well.” Tendou seems to sober at that, which is uncharacteristic. “I gotta fly back soon. Won’t be back for at least a year. So I’m hitting my bases when I can.”
Something in Semi’s stomach twists at that. “I didn’t even know you were in Japan. I’d suspected, with the shirt you sent me. It didn’t seem like something you’d find in Paris.”
“You’d be surprised!” Tendou lets out a chuckle, but it sounds more forced than anything else, which makes it worse. “Nah, I flew back for my birthday. You know, a month ago. To spend time with family and friends. It’s a shame I won’t be here for the Olympics, everyone in our old circles has been talking about it.”
Shit. Semi had forgotten about that. Tendou’s birthday, and the upcoming games - the biggest reunion of the monster generation since… two years ago.
Tendou eyes him carefully as he stays silent. Even without seeing it outright Semi can feel his gaze, and it feels… judgemental, almost. Even though Semi knows Tendou doesn’t mean to judge him. He never has. Their relationship in high school was built almost entirely off an exchange of not caring about the other’s eccentricities.
Even so, it’s easy to see pity.
Anger flares up in Semi again. “You came at a bad time. It’s not always like this.”
Tendou doesn’t say anything, but Semi knows he doesn’t believe him.
Instead of unpacking that, Semi spins around and walks to his kitchen. “I don’t have a lot of food in the pantry. Just had my dinner, so I’m afraid I can’t help you with that either.”
“It’s okay. I ate already.”
Why does it sound like Tendou is treading on eggshells around him? It’s never happened before. Tendou was the one person that would tease him no matter what.
What changed?
(When did it all go wrong?)
“I’ll crash here tonight,” Tendou says suddenly.
Semi’s hands jerk from where they were drifting to the pantry door. “What?”
“I mean, it’s late enough that the sun has gone down. And you know me, I haven’t been in Japan in a while. I’m not sure I remember how the transit works here in the city.”
“Bullshit,” Semi calls out immediately. “You got here just fine.”
“And would you look at that! Your couch looks very comfortable.” Tendou spins around dramatically, flopping down on it with a wide grin on his face. Even so, his usual dramatics feel forced, somehow. “Come onnnn, Semi-Semi! You’re not going to be so cruel as to leave me all alone in the city with nowhere to sleep, right?”
He weighs the decision for a surprising amount of time. Tendou looks at him pleadingly the whole time.
Semi sighs. “One night.”
“One night, promise!”
[Recording: January, 2011; from: Ushijima Wakatoshi]
“Hello. Coach asked me to call you to inform you that we will be starting our next match within the next thirty minutes. Please respond to this message when you can. Nationals are a place where we cannot afford to be down any member, even if they’re not our starting setter.”
Click.
It is not just one night.
Tendou cancels plans with Ushijima. Talks with Goshiki on the phone and apologizes, saying he’ll be back later. Calls his boss and says something in French, but all Semi knows is that one day he accidentally looks over and sees Tendou’s laptop screen, and he’s looking at flight rebooking.
It makes something curdle in Semi’s gut. It’s even worse when Tendou calls Reon and Reon shows up at his door.
“There is not enough room on the couch for both of you,” Semi says.
Reon seems to find that amusing. Tendou grins at him and pulls out a sleeping bag.
Semi squints. “Don’t you work in retail? Where are you finding the days off for this?” Maybe some part of him is desperate to get them out of his home. He doesn’t understand why.
“Something about rest. To avoid injury.” Reon shrugs. “Apparently coach said my knee is getting a little bad. Shouldn’t become permanent if I just don’t strain it for a while.”
Right. Professional volleyball. There it is again - the flicker of anger, the one that Semi always tries to temper down but can’t.
“Well, a sleeping bag isn’t exactly the best place to rest a knee.”
“Which is why he will be taking the couch, and I will take the sleeping bag,” Tendou declares, like it’s that easy. Like it’s that easy for the two of them to worm their way back into their lives as if Semi hasn’t spent the better part of a decade wondering if he had lost them permanently.
Anger, again. But this time, it’s tempered by something different - something he doesn’t understand.
(Or, rather, something he doesn’t dare understand.)
“Do whatever you want,” Semi mutters, turning away and trying to hold back the vestiges of blame that he knows is clinging to his words.
(Because his back is turned, he doesn’t see the look that passes between Reon and Tendou, a look that says why didn’t you tell me and another that says I didn’t know it was this bad. In many ways, it has always been this - Semi, blind to others’ concerns, either out of circumstance or out of anger. Both of them know that Semi had Shirabu visit him fairly often, but don’t yet know that that is a relic from four years ago, a time when the books weren’t left unread on the armrest and the kitchen didn’t smell of convenience store food.)
Semi sidesteps the box of something or another that is tucked away against a wall, making his way into his small bedroom. He turns off the lights, doesn’t bother drawing the blinds, and tries to pretend like the lamplight isn’t streaming in. He tries to pretend that it’s the moon instead, but the light is too strong and his box of memorabilia feels like it is staring at him.
He sits there on his bed until the quiet conversation of Reon and Tendou peters out. The rain that was forecasted for this evening begins to pour down in earnest, drowning out whatever Semi might’ve been able to overhear. Some of the raindrops linger on the glass of his window, and before he can see the glaring lamplight refract through them, he draws his blinds.
It used to be easier to fall asleep if there was rain. Now, each wave drums in his ears, a pounding sound in time with the beating of his heart. He doesn’t get much sleep that night, but that much isn’t new.
(When did it all go wrong?)
[Recording: June, 2011; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“Hey. Sorry for what I said earlier. I just kinda got angry, I guess. And thanks for the apology. I get that it’s probably frustrating. Uh, team’s asking after you. But I know you probably want to be away after the sub-in during the final set, so… Uh. Yeah.”
Click.
It’s awful. This is awful.
(Everything has been awful for a very long time. Semi just didn’t know how to admit it to himself.)
Every morning he gets up, bright and early, and Tendou is snoring away on the floor without a care in the world. Reon’s usually awake and in the kitchen trying to make something or another. They’ve made an effort to stock his fridge. And his pantry. Semi doesn’t have the heart to reject Reon when he offers him breakfast, even if it will make him late to his office. Reon isn’t a very good cook, and his eggs are slightly more burnt than Semi likes them, but he swallows it down, because he hasn’t had someone cook for him in a very long while.
When he gets to the office in question, his manager reprimands him for a long while. His colleagues don’t bother hiding the fact that they’re staring. Semi apologizes profusely, bows as low as his body will allow him, and goes to his desk dutifully.
He stares at the spreadsheet in front of him and tries to remember what he is supposed to do. Something about applications. Checking which ones have been filled correctly or which ones have completely outdated documents. He forgets, sometimes.
He gets a text from Tendou around noon.
Tendou Satori
Where’s your office again? We have lunch!
Semi shuts off his phone and pretends he didn’t read it. There’s no point, anyway. He’s not hungry enough for lunch nowadays, so he doesn’t bother eating it most of the time. He survives off the company’s snacks and coffee and holds it together until he clocks off, after the informal overtime that no one likes to talk about is over.
His suit feels like it’s fraying at the seams, even though Semi knows it’s in perfect condition. His shoes feel like they’re falling apart, even though Semi knows that they are perfectly presentable. He feels like a marionette that has failed to pique the interest of its master, and his body takes him to the subway, on the right line, and out the right station, limbs repeating the same motions from a time when he was something more than simple.
Like clockwork, Semi goes to the convenience store and buys a microwave meal. The cashier is used to seeing him at this hour, and doesn’t say anything as he scans his items. It’s a silent exchange worn down by time and reuse: the cashier thanks him for visiting the store and Semi is out and up the elevator to his apartment, and he puts his key in-
There is laughter. Warm, bright laughter that filters through the door, a sound that nearly takes Semi right back to feeling eighteen again. Tendou cackles loud and bright at something Reon has said. Reon says something too muffled by the door to make out, and Tendou responds in kind. The faint smell of something good wafts through the cracks.
All at once, Semi is possessed with the desire to press his ear against the door, stood right outside his home like a fool. Something faint makes itself known to his emotions again - it’s not fear, anger, the emotions so familiar to Semi he can taste them on his tongue even without the presence of them - it’s a warmth of the hearth that Semi remembers, he is eighteen again-
His hand betrays him, continues the motions of a puppet twitching from the dying nerves of muscle memory, and the key turns in the lock, and he opens the door.
Tendou spins around, dramatically, like he has always done. “Semi-Semi! We’ve made-”
He stops in his tracks, seeing the microwave meal in Semi’s hands. Reon is in the kitchen again, and the faint smell of spices he has forgotten how to use hits him all at once, pungent in its accusation.
They’re looking at him. Semi knows that no one else in his office can see the way his suit frays, his shoes fall apart, and his wooden limbs stiffen, but for some reason it feels like Reon and Tendou both are seeing it, tracking every ripped seam and seeing past it, inside him, into the cracks of a heart that Semi has very carefully hidden away.
Semi clears his throat. “Uh, sorry. Force of habit.”
Reon chuckles, but it’s forced. “Right. Well, it’s here if you want it. I’ve made enough for the three of us.”
Semi nods, and folds away everything, tries to pretend like the microwave meal in his hands is not a blaring alarm that he shoves into his fridge, an effort to shut it away where no one can look at it. Tendou starts his chatter again, and Reon finishes cooking, and they both wait for him before they start eating.
It’s awful, but Semi doesn’t understand why.
[Recording: October, 2011; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“Hey. Uh. Good job with the setting today. I was going to congratulate you on the good game today, but there didn’t seem to be a time where the team would leave you alone, haha. And thank you for teaching me. For helping me set better. You didn’t need to do that. I don’t know why I’m saying all this instead of just telling you in person - you know what? Just, just ignore this. I’ll see you at practice on Monday. Thanks again.”
Click.
Hushed whispers, deep into the night. Semi shouldn’t be up. He has to wake up earlier tomorrow, earlier than usual. There is a performance review. He can’t be late to his performance review.
But in the silence of the night, when there is no sound outside his door but the shuffling around of his impromptu roommates, it becomes difficult to not make out what they’re saying. They probably think he’s asleep. He’s not sure.
“I don’t know. I can’t stay for much longer, you know. I took a month off already. France is great with off and vacation days, but I can’t be so mean to my employer as to leave him for that long. And I worry. That he’s not getting better.”
“He’s not going to get better just by us being here.”
“Well! Well. I. I don’t know. I thought it might’ve helped. Maybe.”
Helped what? What do they think they’re helping?
(He knows. The box stares at him accusingly from the corner, even with the absence of the lamplight. Semi glares in that direction and doesn’t admit to himself what everyone in this apartment knows.)
“Even if it does, he’ll be resistant to it for a while longer. We can’t rush these things. You should go back, if it’s urgent. I can stay a bit before my wife and daughter come back from their bonding trip.”
“Wellll, it is a busy season, but they can deal without me. And if we leave he’s just going to… sink back. Pull away again, maybe even worse.”
Semi doesn’t hear what Reon says in response to that, because the air conditioning starts whirling, and Semi is trying not to cry.
He reaches for his phone, and an instinct he thought he killed brings him to Shirabu’s contact information.
He stares at it for a very long time.
He hasn’t talked to Shirabu for years out of his own design. Shirabu is blocked on every single platform imaginable, and Semi intends to keep it that way. And, you know. Fundamental disagreements on the way they should live their lives tends to spark disagreements on a big scale like that.
Semi shuts his phone again and pretends like he isn’t itching to hear his teammates’ voices - real voices, not distorted through a phone microphone or through the thin walls of his apartment. Real voices that will tell him that they’re waiting to swap him on for one more set.
Stupid, he chides himself, harsh as always. Stupid. The performance review. You can’t screw this up. You need the money.
The air conditioning stops whirling. Reon and Tendou are still speaking, but they’ve moved to hushed whispers, and Semi can’t make them out. He’s not sure that he wants to. He’s heard enough, he thinks.
It doesn’t matter. None of this will change. It doesn’t matter that it’s not good anymore, because it’s just fine, and that’s how it has always been and how it will always be. He needs to convince Reon and Tendou that he’s not - that he’s not annoyed or lost or three steps removed from quitting his job, getting himself evicted, and- and-
It doesn’t matter. It can’t change. It’s too difficult for it to change.
(Shiratorizawa died with a whimper.
Semi sinks into a restless sleep soon enough, but he does remember, even in the morning after, that he thinks he will die with a whimper too.)
[Recording: June, 2012; from: Mother]
“Hey. You did well today. I know you don’t think so, with your pinch server position and all, but I am proud of you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it this morning. Please come home before dark. Your sister would like to see you. It doesn’t matter if the coach thinks- if the coach thinks you’re not a good setter. You’re the best setter in her eyes. And in my eyes. Come home soon, please.”
Click.
Semi inputs a year on his spreadsheet, and is suddenly stricken with the realization that Shirabu must have graduated from medical school by now.
He doesn’t know why this thought comes to him when it does, and it distracts him enough that there is a misinput that manages to crash the system. He gets another reprimanding for it and apologizes, as always, taking overtime to compensate and help fix the issue. He gets back to his apartment and Tendou and Reon are there.
Semi hasn’t asked them to leave yet. He knows he won’t have to. They can’t stop their lives forever just because Semi has. They have things they love to get back to, lives that are fulfilling, that will end with a bang instead of Shiratorizawa’s whimper.
It’s awful living with them. Semi didn’t dare admit it at first, but now it has been three weeks and Semi has stopped buying convenience store food, has stopped waking up too late to both have breakfast and get to the office on time, has stopped skipping lunch, and understands now why he hates them being in his apartment. They’re a taste of a life he abandoned a long time ago - because he believed that if only he stayed in this simple routine he has carved out for himself, one day it will be enough to leave everything behind and do everything he has ever loved, and he will catch up to the rest of them.
But now, as Semi twists open the doorknob and Tendou waves at him and Reon gives him a nod, he realizes that he had created caricatures of them in his mind, and they have broken out of the molds, leaving ceramic pieces everywhere and tearing all of his suit’s stitches. They have grown and run forward, strengthening themselves, living their best lives, and Semi has been stuck stagnating, attempting to put together a lump sum great enough to retire early, and he hasn’t gotten a raise in years and continues to do poorly at his performance reviews. Reon and Tendou fill his cramped, cheap and messy apartment with laughter and the smell of home-cooked food, fresh fruit, and the books are gone from the armrests and the kitchen has stopped smelling of the same microwaved meals every night. There is life here, now, and Semi realizes he hates them because he will have to let them go back to their own lives, and Semi will never get this again.
The date of Tendou’s flight creeps closer. Reon reaches the end of his allotted medical leave. None of them break the metaphorical silence between them, and none of them broach the topic of moving back out. Tendou has clothes joining Semi’s in his laundry. Reon hangs his coat where Semi usually hangs his own, and they switch so much they no longer remember whose hook was whose.
It’s going to be gone.
Stupid, he chides himself again, harsh as always. There are tears prickling at his eyes again, but he doesn’t bother entertaining them. Stupid. You knew. You hated them all this time for being better and you don’t want them to leave.
Maybe he got left behind a long time ago, and didn’t want to admit it.
(When did it all go wrong?)
[Recording: October, 2012; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“Hey. Can we talk? Call me back when you’re available.”
Click.
[Recording: October, 2012; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“Hey. It’s fine. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I mean, Ushijima said enough. Will you come to practice on Monday?”
Click.
[Recording: October, 2012; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“Hey. Nevermind. I think we should talk. I mean, I keep thinking about it - if you had been setting instead, if you could’ve maybe outwitted Kageyama and not lost us the second set. Maybe you wouldn’t have been pressured by Tsukishima. Maybe you would’ve done better and we’d be at nationals and coach would put you back on as the starting setter and we’d win nationals like everyone said we would. Maybe you would’ve been stronger. I don’t know. Nevermind. We don’t have to talk, this was stupid.”
Click.
Semi keeps making mistakes at work, which is really his own fault, so he gets back much later than usual. He’s tired enough that he just wants to go lay down on his bed, maybe get a bite to eat if he feels particularly inclined - and for the first time in a while he simply turns the key in the lock without lingering outside.
This might be why he is so shocked at the image of Tendou playing his guitar.
For a moment, Semi freezes. His hand is still on the door, his coat half-hanging off his shoulders. He’s in the middle of taking off his shoes. Reon looks up at the sound of the door opening, a greeting on his lips. Tendou looks slightly like a deer caught in headlights, but not as surprised or guilty as he should have because Semi packed away that guitar four years ago and-
“Put it back,” Semi says quietly.
Something about his tone must give away the anger he feels, and this time it is not a hot flash that leaves his scrambling for control - this time it’s a slow, simmering thing, the purposeful stewing of a resentment that Semi hasn’t realized has built up into something ugly. Tendou obliges quietly, which is uncharacteristic of him.
Tendou treats it with care. That’s strange, Semi thinks. Last time he himself touched that guitar he hadn’t treated it so well.
“I’m sorry,” Tendou apologizes, still quiet, and it drives Semi’s nerves up the wall. “I just thought that you’d be… okay with it. You were okay with teaching us.”
“Well, things change, Tendou,” Semi snaps. He almost regrets it because of the way Tendou flinches, which is also strange. There it is again - the reminder of the invisible eggshells the two of them have been walking around, eggshells that Semi has crushed beneath his pristine shoes far too many times to count. “You couldn’t tell, with how the strings were all out of tune? I haven’t touched it. I don’t need to.”
Tendou doesn’t reply. Semi isn’t sure that makes it any better. He continues taking off his shoes, throwing his bag off his shoulder with more force than strictly necessary, and his laptop makes a dull sound when it hits the floor. He shrugs off his coat, hanging it on the nearest hook, begins to make his way to his room-
“What is happening, Semi?”
The outburst shocks them all. Semi freezes in place a second time, and from the corner of his eye he can see Reon stiffen, because Tendou’s voice has risen to a shout.
Tendou does not have such qualms about this, apparently. He’s done playing safe. “I know- I know that you wanted to start a new life. Hell, moving to Osaka would’ve been evidence enough. But- but this? Semi, you hated it when I would come over and make a mess of your things. You weren’t the type of person to- to stop trying to show your talents to everyone else-”
“Drop it, Tendou.” Semi cuts him off sharply, a warning in his words. “I told you. Things changed. Sorry you weren’t there to experience it, being in France and all.”
“Well, I tried damn hard to!” Tendou snarls, and there it is - Semi can see the frustration in Tendou peeking through too, an ugly thing that rises to meet Semi’s ever-festering bitterness. “I tried! All the messages that you read and never responded to. All the voice messages we all left! What- what happened?” His voice seems to crack at that last word, and Semi doesn’t know what to make of it. “You used to love teaching us guitar. You had so much fun doing it, even when it was Shirabu asking-”
“Shirabu?” Semi laughs, and it sounds derisive even to his own ears. “Things change. I know it might sound crazy to you, Tendou, but people drift apart and stop indulging the hobbies they did when they were younger! You should know, huh? Seeing how you left all this behind to fly overseas-”
“Don’t lecture me about how things change as if I am a stranger to it!” Tendou yells, this time, and that should send alarm bells ringing in Semi’s head. They have always bickered, every exchange barbed with insults, annoyances and mannerisms they were used to, but that is a relic of eight years ago, back when Semi was eighteen without the weight of being twenty-six bearing down on his shoulders, and- and-
Reon stands up, this time. “Hey,” he starts, voice purposefully gentle. “Hey, how about we all cool down a bit-”
“Don’t.” Tendou whirls around to point a finger at Reon, this time. “Don’t. We need to have this conversation.”
“This conversation about what?” Semi is tired of this. He’s had a long day, and he just wants to rest-
“About everything!” Tendou stops. Despite his dismissal of Reon’s words, it seems that the sentiment of it sinks in, and Tendou takes a deep breath, trying to control his words into something else - something that is easier to unpack. “Please, Semi. This isn’t like you.”
Well.
“I’m afraid, Tendou,” Semi says quietly, “that if you think this isn’t like me, then you have become much more of a stranger than you think.”
Even to himself, he sounds resigned.
Somehow, that just serves to make Tendou angry again. He opens his mouth to say something, but Semi doesn’t bother waiting this time, walking into his room and shutting the door behind him. The bitterness that had festered at seeing Tendou and Reon take joy in something he has forgotten melts away, suddenly, and he has no more energy for anything.
There were leftovers on the table. Tendou needs to leave early for his flight back to Paris, and leaves an apology note next to his breakfast, as well as one in Semi’s text messages.
Semi pretends he sees neither of those things, and barrels out of the door before Reon can stop him the next morning.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Mother]
“Call me back immediately.”
Click.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Mother]
“I’m serious, Eita. Call me back. We need to discuss your choices.”
Click.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Mother]
“Eita. You seriously need to reconsider. I’ve called the university already, they said they’re willing to take you back. You’ll only need to repeat one year. Wasn’t this your dream? You moved so far away for it.”
Click.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Mother]
“Eita, call me back.”
Click.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Ushijima Wakatoshi]
“Semi. Your mother has called me asking to talk to you. I’m not sure why she would be under the impression that you would be with me, but she seemed to be worried. Has something happened? We may not be in Shiratorizawa anymore, but we are still friends. Please call back.”
Click.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Mother]
“Eita, just explain to me, please. I don’t understand. You wanted this, right? You said you wanted to work hard and retire early, and do everything you want. A civil servant? How are you going to do this? I don’t understand.”
Click.
[Recording: March, 2015; from: Mother]
“Eita, can we talk? You’re worrying me.”
Click.
Tendou leaves behind silence between Reon and Semi.
Reon still cooks, just for two instead. Semi continues to eat his food. They don’t say anything, and it surprises Semi at first, because without knowing it he has gotten used to the sound of Reon’s voice responding to Tendou.
The sounds of the wooden spatula scraping against the sides of the pan are familiar, at least. The smell of comforting food is good. Semi’s just used to… more, that’s all.
They sit down, and say their greetings, and start eating, and it’s still silent between them.
Reon finishes first, standing up and picking up his bowl. Semi can hear the sound of the running water, indicative of Reon washing it to put on the drying rack.
“You know,” Reon says suddenly, “I thought you seemed fine. Two years ago.”
Semi’s hands pause from where they were picking up rice.
Reon doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. “The Jackals vs Adlers game. You seemed like you enjoyed yourself. You didn’t talk about Shirabu or anything, though. I thought that was weird, but maybe it was just natural drifting apart. I thought you’d found other people in your circle, and it was nice that you’d bothered to come to an informal reunion at all.
Semi stares down at his bowl of rice. It feels unappetizing now, for some reason.
“You cheered on Ushijima. Pretty loudly, in fact. I remember that being reassuring.”
Semi remembers that, too. He remembers it in that detached way where he remembers performing the action, and the feeling of a throat gone hoarse from screaming. He remembers saying hi to friends and laughing, catching up. He doesn’t remember the emotions underpinning them, anymore.
Had he been hurting then, too? Was the rot already there? Was he just too blind to see it?
Reon keeps going. “I can’t help but think about it. How happy you looked. Since that game, I haven’t seen you laugh like you did back then.”
“You haven’t exactly been here since then.” The words come out in starts and stops. “I can’t imagine that you’d know me very well.”
“Yeah, well. That’s the thing. I thought I did. Tendou thought he did, too.” Reon shuts off the sink, shaking his bowl a little. Semi can hear the telltale clink of ceramic against metal.
Semi sets down his chopsticks. He’s shaking, he realizes. He doesn’t understand why.
“I,” his voice cracks, “I don’t know. How I felt that happy. I must have, right? Felt happy? To have cheered with everyone else. To have caught up and not felt like I was suffocating.”
It’s the most honest he has been for a very long time.
Reon watches him carefully. He can’t see it, but he can feel it. There it is again - the eggshells. Semi understands, now. They must have seen this honesty long before he could admit it to himself. They must have seen that his shoes were falling apart and the sharp edges were digging into the soles of his feet as he smothered them and pretended they didn’t exist.
“I must have felt like I was on equal footing with you,” he continues, a little desperate. “I must have felt like I wasn’t left behind. I don’t know how. I would think I hadn’t been feeling those things. Why was I happy then?”
It feels too much like a confession. The stitches are ripping, the seams falling apart. His wooden limbs jerk with a nervous energy that has finally died, long after the body.
“You must have been very strong, to hide everything like that,” Reon says. He’s still so quiet about it. So gentle. He’s always been like that. His hands are calloused differently, his haircut a little different, and his facial structure has aged - but somehow, this hasn’t changed. Enough hasn’t changed, yet, for Reon to feel like a stranger.
Semi laughs. It sounds derisive again. But this time, it feels like it’s a barbed wire he’s putting to himself instead: a self-flagellation vulnerable in its hatred. “Strong?”
The question hangs between them, implication clear.
“I think a lot about our last game,” Semi continues. “About how we weren’t strong enough.”
Reon presses his lips into a thin line and says nothing. It’s a silent prompt, and for the first time in a very long time, Semi finds himself responding.
“It feels like I died that day,” Semi admits, lamplight finally peeking through, shining on the box that contains his last volleyball, all the medals that he has collected at Shiratorizawa, the court shoes he has never again worn. “I kept thinking, you know. That it was a fitting way for me to die. Weak. Not enough.”
He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t dare. That doesn’t stop him from hearing Reon walk over, each step like a hushed whisper in the dead hours of the night, drowned out by the sound of cheap air conditioning and rain drumming against the windows.
“I think you have strength of your own, Semi.” Reon sets a hand on his shoulder, and Semi can’t see the expression on his face, but he can imagine it. “I think you just need to find it.”
Semi tries, again, not to cry. He’s pretty sure he fails.
“And for what it’s worth, I think you were genuinely happy at the Adlers’ game. I’d like to think I’m pretty good at reading people, you know. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.” Reon stops here, as if pondering his next words. “If you can’t remember… we can try going to the Olympics. It’ll be the same. Bigger, even. Ushijima will be playing. Goshiki will probably be there. Shirabu, too.”
The mention of Shirabu has Semi flinching again. Nonetheless, it doesn’t deter Reon.
“I think it’s worth finding out if we can bring back that feeling again.”
Semi stares at the rice he hasn’t finished. It has probably gone cold.
He can’t say he hates that idea. He doesn’t like lying, after all.
[Recording: November, 2015; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“Hey Semi! A reminder that I will be at your place by 6. We’ll do a late birthday celebration! I’ve brought the cake!!”
Click.
When Reon leaves his apartment, Semi opens his box again and starts tuning his guitar.
The strings are in awful shape. His amplifier has collected dust in areas he never thought was possible. The pegs feel like they need some sort of oil to get working again. Semi strums a chord experimentally, and his fingers hurt from pressing down on the strings wrong. His cuticle begins bleeding, because he couldn’t find a pick.
There was a notice earlier. In the office. He’d seen it on the little corkboard for everyone on display, a calling card for a guitar player to complete a band. A casual thing, a side gig. Something to have fun with.
Semi didn’t tell Reon about it. He’s not sure if he can even play anymore, after all.
(Muscle memory, the twitching of fingers that he doesn’t quite remember as his own anymore. All of the callouses on his left hand are gone. His fingers are raw when he tries to fingerstyle again, and he orders a pack of nice electric guitar tabs to be delivered to his home. He forgets the name of the brand that he used to favor, and orders whatever the internet says is good for its price. Maybe he’ll remember the old brand later.)
The chords come to him easily.
(It’s true what they say, about things taking just as long to unlearn as they do to learn. Semi has been a guitar player for a very, very long time. Four years did not change that. Four years will never change that.)
The next day, Semi fries an egg for himself, serving it on some rice. He grabs a coffee to stash in his bag and rushes on the subway, earlier than he usually does. He meets the man who’d put up the notice and they have a talk, and Semi has a rehearsal booked for himself at the end of the week.
He practices for a very long time that night. It’s a strange feeling, taking joy in something he has forgotten.
He texts Tendou an apology, too. Tendou replies immediately, and tells him about the rest of Shiratorizawa gathering at Goshiki’s place after the Olympics. Tendou sends him a picture of another Pokemon shirt, the price in euros and written in French clearly visible. Semi smiles.
He’s late to work the next day. His manager scolds him again. Semi bows, apologizes, gets his work done, takes overtime, and comes home and makes dinner for himself.
[Recording: January, 2016; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“...”
“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk. I know what I said was out of line. What you said was out of line too, but the difference between the two of us is that I will actually apologize for it. Sorry. That was kinda uncalled for, too. I don’t know.”
Click.
[Recording: January, 2016; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“You can hate me. That’s fine. I know you’ve been having a bad time after the pay cut, and the overwork. Which is stupid of them. I’ll give you space, I guess. Call me if you want. Or don’t.”
Click.
“Are you scared of dying?” Semi asks suddenly, the night before the first game of the Men’s Volleyball Olympic event. He’s in Tokyo, the sounds of an unfamiliar city keeping him up. Reon’s apartment is small, and he’s on the floor in the same sleeping bag Tendou left behind at his apartment two months ago.
He can hear Reon shift a little on the couch. He’d insisted on sleeping out here to keep Semi company. “I suppose I am. Isn’t everyone?”
“I wasn’t, for a time.”
The silence isn’t the same as the one that had stretched between them at Semi’s apartment. It’s different, now, not so filled with all the words they don’t dare say, all the broken threads of a life Semi had pretended was what he wanted.
He continues. “You know, for a long while, I wondered what would become of me if I just vanished. If I’d just stopped responding to everyone. If I’d gotten evicted or laid off and forced to rebuild my life, sell off all my possessions to survive another day. A lot of the time it felt like I’d just fade away silently.”
Reon is quiet.
Semi shrugs, even though neither of them can see him do so. “I was angry a lot. I didn’t understand it, at the time. I think I knew that I couldn’t keep doing what I was- what I am doing. Being this. Whatever this is.”
“What do you think this is? Whatever you are?” Reon asks.
“I don’t know.” Semi hesitates on the words. “A failure, I think. Someone who is left behind as a footnote at the end of the page.”
The confession is heavy in the air between them.
“You mentioned that you joined a band recently.”
It’s the clumsiest subject change Reon has ever tried to make. For all of his merits, Reon was never a particularly good conversationalist. Semi has discovered recently that, for all the things that do change, there are some things about people that stay consistent. Semi tried on his volleyball shoes yesterday, intending to wear them to the Olympics. They fit perfectly. It feels poetic, somehow.
Semi lets out a breath in the dark that could almost be a laugh. “I did. They needed another guitar player.”
“Is it fun?”
“It is.”
Reon leaves it at that.
Somehow, it feels like an answer to a question Semi didn’t dare ask him.
Look, Reon seems to say. It’s already happening. You’re finding that strength already.
[Recording: July, 2021; from: Mother]
“Hey, Eita. Sorry I couldn’t pick up your call earlier, I was still at work. Call me back? I’d love to hear from you again.”
Click.
The stadium is louder than Semi expects.
There it is, again. The heart-pounding sensation of being in a grand stadium. Thousands of spectators line the stands. Japan is playing Argentina, and he can spot Goshiki from where he and Reon are making their way down to their seats. Goshiki waves enthusiastically, and despite it all, Semi finds a smile on his face as he waves back.
Shirabu is already there. He’s sat with a much better posture than any of them. Semi nods at him, and Shirabu nods back. Stilted, awkward, and strangely very reminiscent of their first meeting, years ago, when Shirabu was a starry-eyed first-year and Semi was a threatened second-year.
The speakers blare, the announcers letting everyone know of the approach of a new game. Ushijima leads the Japanese team out, and the crowd roars in approval, but no one cheers louder than Semi does.
It surprises Shirabu, he knows. Last time they spoke to each other, they’d hurled insults, hiding concern behind derision and hurt behind hatred.
It surprises himself as well. This feeling of pure joy, something he thought he lost.
The volleyball shoes he’s wearing aren’t as worn as he thought they were. They still fit just fine. When Semi jumps from his seat like everyone else in the crowd, he can almost imagine being on court again, a beautiful set at his fingertips, the pounding of his heart in his ears and the sound of a ball cutting through the air - pinpoint, exact, the greatest show of skill he can possibly muster.
Reon looks over but does nothing more than give him a knowing smile. Semi searches within himself and can’t find the jagged edges of hurt - at least not in this moment, not when the first serve comes over from the Argentinian side, the receive perfect on the other, the set-and-spike nearly faster than Semi can follow. Points rack up. The scores are nearly tied. Shirabu asks him about how his job has been. Semi tells him about joining a band, instead. Shirabu gives him a stilted smile and tells him about residency at hospitals.
Something flickers in his chest - the warmth of the hearth.
(When did everything stop feeling wrong?)
For this moment, everything is perfect. Eventually, the game will end, and the result won’t matter, because Ushijima will meet with the four of them if only for just a moment, and Shirabu and Semi will have an awkward conversation that ends with a promise to get back in touch and a quiet unblocking of all of Shirabu’s contacts. Tendou will video call them, and say hi, energetic as always, and Ushijima’s usually unreadable expression will have an undeniable touch of fondness to it, and it will set off an ache in Semi’s chest, because he will have finally, finally remembered how much he missed this.
They will have dinner together. In the coming days, Goshiki will invite them all to his house, or more likely, he will be volunteered to hold a gathering at his house. They will put a stupid feature on TV featuring Tendou as one of the world’s top chocolatiers, and he and Ushijima will do the most serious and stupid declaration of being best friends that has ever graced the screen, and Semi will laugh so much it hurts.
Tendou will fly over again, and drop by Semi’s apartment unannounced, and remind him that he should practice, and go to rehearsal, and finish reading his books once in a while. Shirabu will start visiting him again, and they will get into shouting matches, and apologize, and rebuild what they have lost over the immeasurable distance of four years.
(It’s true, though. What they say. It takes just as long to unlearn something as it does to learn it, and Semi has had six years, not four, to learn what he has since tried to forget.)
[Recording: March, 2022; from: Mother]
“Sorry Eita! I got busy cooking dinner for you. I’ll pick you up at the station! Your sister will be here to say hi!”
Click.
[Recording: April, 2022; from: Tendou Satori]
“Semi-Semi!! You are cordially invited to my birthday celebration! There will indeed be alcohol, before you ask. And some chocolates and a chocolate cake by yours truly! It’s just going to be us third-years, our juniors are still much too young for this, and I’m sure you would agree. You better be here! It starts at 18:00 sharp, and I will be sure to provide enough cots for everyone to pass out on. Or at least Wakatoshi will! Since he is hosting and all. Okay bye!”
Click.
[Recording: June, 2022; from: Ohira Reon]
“Hey Semi. Unfortunately I am not able to make your concert, my daughter has been quite sick. I will be sure to get Goshiki to send me a recording. Stay well.”
Click.
[Recording: September, 2022; from: Shirabu Kenjirou]
“I’m beginning to think that you never pick up your calls. I am outside your door. Let me in whenever you’re done taking your nap.”
Click.
He is celebrating his twenty-eighth birthday soon. It’s a strange feeling, being twenty-eight. Two more years, and then he will be thirty.
Shirabu is here already. Tendou and Ushijima said they’d be late. Reon is picking up some tekka maki . Semi has just gotten off the phone with his mother, and stares at his living room, cleaned up as best as can be for his guests.
The volleyball medals hang on the walls, supported by push pins.
When did it all become… good again?
“Hey, Shirabu?”
“Mm?” Shirabu’s typing away on his phone. Maybe another friend. Maybe just his work colleagues, knowing him.
Semi takes a deep breath. “Do you ever think about dying with a bang?”
The question doesn’t phase him, as out of pocket as it is. That’s something Semi has always appreciated about Shirabu.
Shirabu appears to give the question some thought, though he doesn’t look up from his phone screen. “Sometimes. But it’s not really that bad to die without a bang, you know. Doesn’t mean you’re any less strong for it.”
Of course it is Shirabu who makes for the heart of the issue immediately. Semi can’t even feel mad about being called out.
He looks around, again. His suit still hangs from the steamer stand. His books are neatly shelved, bookmarks to pick up where he left off. The dryer is still running. Semi hopes it will be done before the others arrive, because combined with the whirling of the air conditioning and the absolute downpour going on outside, it’s a rather noticeable sound.
So much to think about. So much to do. Books he hasn’t finished. Songs he hasn’t practiced. Concerts he hasn’t booked. Birthdays he hasn’t celebrated.
“I think you’re right,” he says instead, hoping that the sentiment comes across. “About strength.”
He’s remembered what brand of guitar picks he used to like. He makes a mental note to order it later.
A ping from his phone. It’s his boss. It’s not a notice about a raise, so Semi shuts off his phone.
Maybe there is a strength in this, too. A quiet life no one will ever talk about as more than just a footnote, friends gathered in a cramped apartment to celebrate a birthday and an unspoken promise to see each other in the near future. Maybe there is strength in knowing that he will never be anything like Ushijima Wakatoshi, captain of Japan’s volleyball team, and standing tall beside him anyway, because he is his friend.
Semi is staring at the door, so he doesn’t catch the look Shirabu gives him, but it’s a fond one.
[Recording: November 2022; voice memos.]
“Happy birthday, Eita. You’re twenty-eight. It’s the tenth year since your high school graduation. You’re terrible at volleyball now, but no one seems to mind.”
“Remember this feeling. It’s worth it.”
Click.