anna moon!

You shook your head. No, what were you thinking? There was no world in which he was interesting. But now, as you sat on your couch and staring at Argentina’s roster, you saw that your brother was once again playing with the star setter from your high school days. Suddenly, you were thinking about that day. The day that Aoba Johsai lost to Karasuno.

Up until that day, you didn’t think a man could look so beautiful while looking so absolutely crushed. 

You swapped over to look at Japan’s roster. You quickly scanned the list, almost surprised as you realized that your brother would be going against some of his toughest adversaries from his high school days. Not only would that red-headed speed goblin make an appearance, but so would his matching pair. If there was anything else you remembered from that last match, Hinata and Kageyama made for a formidable duo. 

No wonder why your brother so desperately wanted you to go. 

You pulled up the email once more, clicking on the PDF attached at the bottom of the surprisingly long-winded email. Most of the words were “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE” with the occasional “PRETTY PLEASE,” sprinkled into the mix. 

Not only that but the ticket also promised prime seats, ones right behind the coaches. Plus, as if to sweeten the deal, your brother had mailed you a special VIP pass that ensured that you would be able to meet with the players afterwards. It had arrived the day after he called you. So far, it stayed in its package on your kitchen counter, only serving to get in your way whenever you went to make a meal. 

But now, it piqued your interest. Why was it in such a big box? You were sure a lanyard shouldn’t have taken more space than a regular white envelope. What else did that little shit send you?

You scrambled off your couch, cursing as the blanket that was draped over you tangled between your legs and caused you to fall forward and smack your face onto the carpeted ground. You groaned as you rolled over, pressing a hand to your nose, which had taken most of the impact. Luckily you managed not to do any major damage and your nose just ended up feeling sore. 

You stood slowly, shaking the blanket off as you went. For a second, you thought about burning the cheap sheet of cotton before shaking your head. That would be a ridiculous thing to do. Even if the blanket had caused you a broken nose, it would have been your fault anyways. No need to set your entire apartment ablaze over a minor incident. 

No matter, you would still be keeping an eye on the offending article of comfort. After all, this wasn’t the first time it had unceremoniously dumped you onto the ground like you weren’t worth the dirt under its shoe. As if you were a peasant.

You blinked, reconsidering your current train of thought. You needed sleep. Badly. 

Regardless, you got yourself off the floor and over to the package. It was taped up inexplicably well, the tape following the folds of the box and then sealing off the ends. It was then tapped over and over again, as if to keep something from escaping. With a kitchen knife, you sliced through all the cellophane and revealed the hidden contents.

But you weren’t in just yet. After pulling back the cardboard flaps and sifting through the tissue paper that rested on top, you unveiled the VIP lanyard and yet another box. You were beginning to get irritated. It was one thing for your brother to incessantly beg you to watch his game but it was another for him to annoy you with a package. If he thought that this would increase your chances of attending, he got it wrong.

You removed the second, flatter box from the bigger box and discarded all the previous packaging. It was a white box, one that looked similar to the ones that the department store down the street would give you for clothes that cost more than an arm and a leg. It was taped much more conservatively than the last box, giving way when you tugged gently to separate the top from the bottom. 

It was a light blue jersey, emboldened with the number thirteen and your shared last name across the back in white. The color struck a resemblance to Aoba Johsai’s current sports regalia and reminded you of simpler times. But the number… it was the number you once wore way back in middle school and had since held onto. While your brother chased his dream of playing volleyball professionally, you had stopped just before you entered your high school years.

You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It was almost unbelievable that he remembered your number from all those years ago. Along with the jersey was a note. It was nothing special, just a standard piece of printer paper that had been folded in half to preserve the writing written inside. 

It held your brother’s notoriously messy handwriting, stating, “You were my first role model. Just in case you can’t make it to the game, I wanted to say Thank You. I asked our manager to have this specially made for you. Still, I hope to see you at the game!”

The jersey was a sweet gesture. And the note did bring tears to your eyes. The game wasn’t for another week but you knew your brother was already in Japan. The team had arrived two or so days ago, the flurry of texts sent by notifying you of his return to the mainland. He was recouping the time difference at your family home back in Osaki. You just hoped that your parents were taking good care of him. 

As they approached the age for retirement, you knew that they were spending more and more time at home. Your mom, at least, had taken to sending photos of her sprouting garden last Spring and had even gone as far as sending you fresh produce that she had cultivated herself. 

You sighed, putting the jersey back in the box. You still had a week to decide. Checking the time, you decided that it was too late for you to be cooking up a meal and would have to resort to eating out for the fifth time that week. As the days grew shorter with Winter approaching, you felt less and less inclined to leave the house for groceries and instead often visited one of the many restaurants that lined the streets below your apartment. 

You slid on your shoes and shrugged on a jean jacket before making your way down the stairs, passed your neighbor’s cat that often roamed the halls, and out the front doors that lead to be busy streets of Tokyo. You considered your choices. You knew you didn’t want anything too heavy, so the steakhouse was out. You’d been trying to eat healthy so the place with the many salads didn’t really pique your interest. Your only other options at this point would either be ramen or to grab a bunch of snacks from the bakery next door.

Considering it was 7PM and you went to the bakery every morning, you finally decided to give the ramen shop a visit. Besides, the carbs from the ramen didn’t count because of all the vegetables that came with it.

Making your way over to the shop, you took in the city’s steady thrum of noise. It wasn’t loud but it was exciting. There was a certain electric feeling that ran through the air that Osaki didn’t have. But you could admit that it did get to be overwhelming. Silence was a rare treat for Tokyo. At times like those, you missed the gentler sounds and the general quiet that the life in the country gave you. 

The door’s bell jingled as you pushed it open, stepping out of the cold and into the warmth of the ramen shop. You enjoyed coming here not just for the ramen, but for the singles booths that they had for customer use. That way, you could eat alone without interference from others.

You put in your order shortly after sitting down. Your phone buzzed consistently since you had sat down, the vibrations letting you know that your brother was finally awake after having fallen asleep on the phone earlier in the morning. The messages ranged from, “Did you open the package yet?” and “Mom’s making me eat this weird vegetable, is this safe?” accompanied by a photo of what seemed to be her latest attempt at growing a carrot. 

You finished your meal in silence, occasionally sending a text back to your brother. He seemed excited to be back home, which made you question why he left in the first place. Out of everyone, he is the only one who had actually left the country. Furthermore, to even play for the Argentinian team, he had to revoke his Japanese citizenship. You couldn’t imagine ever self-destructing your own life like that, even with the slim chance of signing on with a major sports team. 

You supposed that was just a risk he was willing to take. You were certainly less courageous than that. Moving to Tokyo was already a stretch. If you were any less ambitious career-wise, you would have settled for the Sendai branch of the company. 

Finishing your meal, you fished a couple of bills out of your wallet. Ensure that the amount would be enough to cover your meal, you inserted it into the faux leather book that they had left at the top of your booth. You shoved your phone into you back pocket and moved to stand, but as fate had it, your foot had decided not to listen to the rest of your body and remained motionless. It snagged on the bottom rung of the stool and you began to topple backwards. You swore, scrambling to grab onto the edge of the table to help you regain your balance. 

Instead, your hands grabbed the table and the placemat on top. The placemat, which had not been a very good placemat to begin with, slipped off the top of the table and only aided in your backwards fall. You squeezed your eyes tight, and brought your arms up to your head, bracing for a rough impact with the hardwood floors. Great, you thought, yet another fall for the clumbsiest person on Earth! You were frustrated with your lack of coordination that caused you to fall twice in one day. Normally, you were fine and gravity worked with you but it was as if the Universe wanted you to fail today for whatever reason.

But instead of the expected hard impact with the floor that you expected, your fall was short and the impact came when you were still relatively vertical. You took a minute to debate wheter or not you had just gained some sort of superpower to freeze time. 

“Are you okay there?” a familiar voice asked. It was coming from above you. 

Slowly, once you were sure you didn’t gain a new superpower, you opened your eyes to meet your savior. You had to look up to even meet their eyes.

Their brown eyes. That met brown hair. Which, when travelled downward, met with a smile you knew all too well. A smile that had eluded you since your last day of high school. 

The next time you saw him, or rather, noticed him, was next to you in your math class. Oikawa was wearing glasses, something you didn’t realize he needed, and he was struggling with a question that you would consider almost easy. You refrained from helping him, not that it would help. You’ve been told that your explanations were messy and convoluted and that they would have been better off without your help.

The third time you saw Oikawa was at an official match. It was the Interhigh Tournaments. In support of your brother, who was also on the Aoba Johsai team, you went to as many official games and practices as possible to support him. With your parents always working and the other siblings living their own lives in other countries, it was up to you to show familial support. 

You watched as they beat every team before them, taking intense notes in your head to relay back to your brother after the game. If not for your brother never shutting up about the sport, you might have been able to fit more space in your head for other, more important things. Things like school, and college, and, oh yeah, your own sport.

Nevertheless, you were happy to be there, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of yourself and your time. You weren’t nearly as dedicated to anything as your brother was to volleyball, and it showed. He spent every moment of his life either at practice or begging you to practice with him at home. It was honestly very annoying. Even if he didn’t need to sleep, you did. And with the late-night practices, it was taking a toll on your body and mind. 

The last time you saw Oikawa was in the Spring Tournament. Karasuno had a second chance, and here you were, silently cheering for the underdogs. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Aoba Johsai to win because you did. Instead, it was that you needed some sleep. And if Aoba Johsai lost… That meant your brother would finally shut up and let you get a full night’s for once. 

It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t have another year. While you were in your third year, he was in his second. That meant he still had a whole ‘nother year to improve. And with finals coming up, he needed to focus on his studies. And so did you if you expected to be able to get into any reputable college in the fall. 

But somehow, when the ball finally did touch Aoba Johsai’s side of the court, your heart broke as Karasuno celebrated their win. Karasuno would move on to the finals, which meant this was the end of the road for Aoba Johsai’s third years. You watched the team line up before the stands, bowing down to thank you all for coming. Your eyes connected with your brothers, though there were no tears. Instead, a look of determination was solidified on his face. You waved, shouting that he would take them to Nationals next year. 

As they stood back up, you couldn’t help but stare after their team captain. Oikawa Toru. The only high schooler with a fanbase that could rival a local pop star. It annoyed you to no end, especially when you were in the library at the same time as him. The whispers of the girls that flocked to him collided to create a cohesive low hum resembling a swarm of angry bees. 

But today, his fan club was silent. He was silent. It was strange not hearing his fan girls screaming his name. It was odd not to see the look of confidence and bravo that usually graced his features. Instead, he looked crushed. Not only that, but he was crying. You had never seen Oikawa cry before. In the moment that they all bent over, thanking their supporters, you realized that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. With tears streaming down his face, you realized that he looked beautiful—a strange thought to have. 

You felt like you were suffocating. No, it felt like you were drowning. The longer you stared at him, the tighter your chest grew. You could barely breathe. It was as if someone had a vice grip on your heart or had sucked all of the air out of your lungs. You could hear the blood rushing through your ears, growing louder than the cheers that broke out around you. It was an unexplainable feeling. How could someone with whom you barely shared a single word make you feel like this?

Then, it was silent.

After that game, though, you became more used to that silence. You no longer heard his fan girls buzzing their way through the halls, raving about him and his accomplishments. You no longer heard his boisterous voice bouncing off the halls of your school. You no longer heard him. It was as if he disappeared after that fated night, never to be heard again. It was strange.

Nevertheless, you finished school with little effort on your end. After that night, you were finally able to get some good sleep. The volleyball season was over. The rest of the world fell into place as you continued your journey through college. 

Time continued to pass.

You continued to attend your brother’s official matches, and eventually, your brother’s last year of high school passed as well. But for some bizarre reason, you still couldn’t shake the feeling you felt that night you last saw Oikawa. You couldn’t get his stupid face out of your head. 

✦ .

It had been a few years since high school. You graduated within the middle of the class, perfectly average at best, and continued to sail through college without incident. You decided to take the easy route and major in business. That way, you were assured a job later on in life and would still manage to maintain the lifestyle you desired. Your brother, on the other hand, chose to jet off to Argentina as soon as he graduated. Unlike the rest of your siblings, he wanted to leave Japan and enter the big, wide world. 

That was five years ago. You had both since graduated from your respective colleges. You could no longer remember the feeling you felt all those years ago. 

You found a cushy job with a well-known company based in Tokyo, and slowly but surely, communication between the two of you became limited. He only ever reached out when he needed financial help, and you… You wished him a Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year. 

You should have won an award for Best Big Sister of All Time. 

But, for what it was worth, your whole family was like that. You only ever saw your parents on major holidays and only ever saw your two other siblings on Christmas. Your family wasn’t exactly the type to get too attached. Growing up, you probably only ever saw your parents home from work once or twice a week. You only ever saw them home together once in a blue moon. And even those sightings were a gamble. You and your brother had to be each other's support for the longest time. 

This made it weird when your brother decided to reach out to you on a completely unassuming Tuesday night. Or Wednesday morning, if you wanted to be precise. Usually, when he called, it was during normal business hours for you. The twelve-hour time difference didn’t exist, according to your brother.

“Hello?” you answered, unsure where this call would go. The last two times he called, it was because he needed money, and, well, you would be fresh out if he chose to ask again. “I hope you’re not calling for more money because I am not shelling anything out. I still have rent to pay, you know.”

Your brother made a noise that sounded like something between a choke and a cough before he assured you that that was not the reason he was calling.

“I’m actually calling to see if you would want to come watch my first volleyball game since high school,” he explained. “I know you kind of hate volleyball, and it’s kinda my fault, but it would mean a lot if you came.”

You blinked once, and then twice. Wasn’t he in Argentina? You barely had enough money to cover your rent by the first of the month, let alone afford a flight to Argentina.

“Before you say no,” as if he read your mind, “the match is actually in Tokyo! It’ll be my first professional match, and it would mean a lot to me if you came. I’ll even buy you dinner after too!”

You snorted, “With what money?”

That was a mistake. With that question, your brother launched into a long-winded explanation about how his drafting bonus with the team had finally hit his bank account and that he could now afford to treat you to fancy dinners. He even offered to pay back the six hundred USD he had borrowed from you earlier in the year. He explained that he actually didn’t need the money to cover rest and whatever other bullshit excuse he used. Instead, he used the acquired funds to purchase new volleyball shoes and several other things he deemed necessary to secure a place on the team. 

You listened absently as you cleaned your apartment. Since moving out of home and into the big city, you had significantly reduced the number of items you owned. You were the proudest of the new bed you had bought. The thought of it made you shudder. Since when did you find buying a new bed exciting? You were getting old.

“Listen, Ren,” you folded a towel as you talked, “I miss you, I really do. And I would love to come and watch your game, but we’re in the middle of tax season. The office is about to get extremely busy, so I doubt I will even be able to get the time off.”

In reality, you thought you might have a mental breakdown if you had to go and watch yet another volleyball game after five years of not having to track a ball through the air. And you couldn’t afford to have another one, especially since you just had one last Thursday. And from experience, you knew these professional matches could take up to three hours. Even in high school, a single game with only three sets could run for at least two. 

“Will you please at least consider it?” Ren begged. You could hear sneakers squeaking in the background, with a man shouting for his teammates to gather around. There was some shuffling over the phone as Ren called back to, presumably, his team captain, that he would be just a moment. “Hey, I’ve got to get back to practice. Our break is over. I’ll send you a ticket, and you can decide later. But please. It would mean a lot to me if you came, even just to see us win.”

With that, the phone beeped, and the line went silent. You lowered your phone from your ear and stared at the dark screen. Within a moment, the device buzzed to life with a notification: an email from your brother, the subject line reading “PLEASE COME, I AM BEGGING.”