#electricprince

 ***

 The way to deal with the riptide is not to battle against it, but to swim with it. Do not take on the current, swim parallel to the shore, embracing its power. Or else allow yourself to tread water because the surge is shortlived, and will pass as swiftly as it came.

The swimmer might find they’re in a different place from where they started, but they’re then in a position to summon for help, or make their own way back to shore.

‘Oya!’

Jerking out of the contemplation of his geology homework, Keiji’s eyes flickered to the chat box that had just opened. He grinned, delighted by the interruption, and something inside him flipped over in his stomach.

‘Bokuto, hi there, how are you?’

‘im cool. hows the team?’

Keiji snorted at the predictability because Bokuto always asked after the team first, before talking about himself, and way before he got around to asking how things were with school.

‘The team is good,’ Keiji tapped out, playing along. ‘We’ve got a practise match against Shinzhu coming up. How’s university?’

‘fine.  hows onaga doing? Practising hard i hope.’

Keiji leant forwards, narrowing his eyes. ‘He’s doing well.’  He paused before continuing. ‘His cross court spiking’s improved and there’s a lot more power there. ’

‘shaping up to be the Ace huh?’

‘Mmm, yes, not as good as you, of course, but then you had to go and graduate, didn’t you?’

‘sorry. Not my fault tho i thought id be kept back a year’

‘Uh ... that was a joke, you daft owl.’

‘yea.  hey tell onaga to try narrower angles’

‘I will.’

‘ Akaashi?’

‘Yes.’

‘u know when u get to nationals, im coming to watch u.’

He said ‘when’, every time. It didn’t seem to have entered Bokuto’s head that with last year’s team gone, Fukurodani might struggle. Sure, they were still strong. A championship school attracted the best, and the new crop of first years were promising, but it was blending them that was the problem. A clash of talent against time, the currents from the past threatening to tug them all under.  And Keiji feared that he didn’t have the temperament to inspire them. Not like Bokuto had.

 Phringgg. Phringgg.

Huh? Oh ...  Skype call. Seeing a familiar and very welcome name, he quickly clicked accept. “Hey!”

A boy sitting on a sofa appeared, raising a hand as if to wave, then sheepishly putting it down when he remembered he was holding an apple.  “Keiji, how’s it going?”

“Uh ... fine.  What’s up?”

“Not much. Just got back from practise, house is empty, so thought I’d see if you were around.  Did you finish that essay?”

“Geology?  Nope, still doing it. I’ve got the weekend. ” His eyes flicked down to the chat with Bokuto, noticing he was typing. Unless he’d left something unsent, and wandered off, which had happened before now.  

‘IF we qualify, you can have a front row seat,’ he typed, hitting send just as Bokuto’s message came through.

‘Were r u?’

‘Sorry, Skype call.’

‘who’

‘Ennoshita.’

‘o ill leave you then.’

‘No you don’t have to.’ He typed, but Bokuto had logged off.

“Damn!”

“What’s up?”

“Ah, sorry, Bokuto was messaging me. He’s gone.”

“Bad connection?” Chikara asked, looking sympathetic, but it was often hard to tell with Chikara exactly what was going through his head. Not like Bokuto, whose every emotion screamed across his face

Would be better if he Skyped me.That way, I’d know ...

“Uh, yeah, possibly,” he replied, and shook his head in order not to dwell on it. “How are you, anyway?”

“Uh...”  Chikara ran one hand through his hair, dislodging his headphones, and laughed ruefully. “Tired. Being captain is ... hard.”

“Ha, yeah, don’t I know it!” Keiji grinned at Chikara, liking the fact that Chikara smiled back almost immediately. His smile lit him up, the perpetual sleepy expression banished. His eyes would crinkle at the sides, Keiji could see that on the screen so clearly, and he’d look different, confident, and not at all like the faltering boy, he’d made stumbling conversation with on the last day of training camp.

“You at least had a year of being vice,” Chikara was protesting.

Keiji flapped his hand. “Not this again!”

“And you were a starting player!”

“Hey, stop with the self-pity! Captains aren’t allowed that.”

Chikara fixed him with a look, a brooding look, that one time would have made Keiji pause, but now he smirked again.  

“It’s not self pity,” Chikara mumbled.

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow, and shot an intense expression back at Chikara.

Something in the face staring at him changed. Keiji wasn’t sure what had happened, but Chikara’s expression lightened, as if something had flipped in his head, and he grinned, this time ruefully. “Okay, it is a bit. But you’ve got to admit, being vice captain must have given you an advantage.”

“Not really. I was more of a Captain-handler. Bokuto antithesis – bit like you and Tanaka. We’re the damage controllers, don’t you think?” Keiji stifled a yawn. He was about to mention the loss of the team, but that did sound like self-pity, especially when Fukurodani had a full strength squad and others desperate to play, whereas Karasuno were still scratching around for members. “Bokuto’s a horribly hard act to follow,” he finished lamely.

“Yes, I -” Looking away, Chikara exhaled, puffing out his cheeks, then returned. “Ah, let’s not talk about volleyball. Did you read that book?”

“Nearly finished. Loving it. Thanks for the rec.”

“Tch, hurry up, I want to talk about the end with you.”

“Well, I would finish it, but someone keeps chatting to me, and I get distracted.”

“Oh!” Chikara’s face fell, he got to his feet and started to remove his headphones. “S-sorry, I’ll-”

“NO! It’s a JOKE! Don’t go.”

Chikara snorted, his expression changing immediately. “You’re easy to wind up tonight, Keij.”

“Git! I’d throw something but I might crack my screen.”

They chatted a while, mostly books and movies, their usual conversation, touching on school, but not volleyball.  Sometimes it surprised Keiji that they didn’t talk of volleyball more, for not only was that how they’d met, but as captains, and captains of teams that were now bearing the weight of expectation after last year’s successes, they only had each other to confide in.

But then Keiji appreciated that not everything was about volleyball with Chikara, just as Chikara knew Keiji had other dreams that didn’t revolve around the court.

“Seriously, if I am keeping you from your essay, tell me to piss off. I won’t mind.”

“Nope, I’m good. I told you I had all weekend.”

“Cool.” Chikara licked the right side of his lower lip, a sign, Keiji had worked out that he was about to ask something that might be sensitive. Usually it wasn’t, at least Keiji never minded answering Chikara’s questions, but occasionally he’d throw him the kind of question that drifted towards him like a jump float serve, and swerved away.

(Do you have a girlfriend? – that had been one. And there’d been a kind of bashfulness about Chikara when Keiji had admitted that no, he didn’t have a girlfriend, and although he could have left it there, he’d found himself spluttering that he couldn’t see that happening.

‘What, never?’ ‘Um, no, I mean, yeah ... uh ... I’m sort of not interested.’

His answer had hung in the dead air between them, as Chikara had taken in the implications that Keiji only half hoped he’d drawn. And then Keiji, having received the monstrous serve of a question, had returned it, with all the expertise of a Setter, straight to Chikara.

He’d blushed -it was evident even through the tiny laptop picture - and admitted he wasn’t interested, either.

‘Tanaka and Noya, they’re so ... uh ... vocal, you know? And the girls in my year are ... well, I guess they’re pretty, but it’s um ...’ He’d coughed. ‘Can’t talk to them. Not ... um ... like this.’

And then it had been Keiji’s turn to blush, because for a flutter of a moment, Chikara’s eyes had bored into him.)

Keiji waited patiently, impassively for the question.

“What did Bokuto-san want?”

Ah...  “Uh, I don’t know. He was asking me about the team. Keeping tabs on us. Doesn’t Sawamura-san do the same?”

“Um ... no, not really.” Chikara coughed and wriggled a little on his sofa cushion, upsetting the precarious balance between his laptop and the sofa’s arm.  He looked comfortable enough, though, in his training kit, and munching on his apple. “I’ve got his number, and he’s said I must call him if I ever want any advice but he doesn’t contact me, at least...”

“What?” Keiji rolled his shoulders, trying to get comfortable on his chair, but unlike Chikara, he was still in uniform, the shirt chaffing on his skin.

“Suga-san calls. He chats a bit, and I guess as they’re ... uh ...”

“Together, yes I know that,” Keiji said, and smiled a little at the sudden husk in Chikara’s voice.

“Mmm, yeah, right. So, in a way, Daichi-san does keep in touch, but it’s more subtle. He doesn’t want to breathe down my neck, I think.” He coughed. “Uh ... so it was just about the team, was it?”

“Not sure. As I said he logged off.” He stopped speaking, and wriggled again.

“Keiji?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, bit uncomfortable, that’s all.”  He stood up, stretching his arms above his head.  “S’cuse, I should get changed.”

“Oh, I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, you’re fine.” He unbuttoned the shirt, still talking over his shoulder, as he threw it across the room into his washing basket, then pulled out another from his drawer.

“What else would he ... um ... call you about?”

“Huh?” Tugging on the t-shirt, Keiji flopped back in his chair.  For a fleeting moment, he thought Chikara was staring at him, but when he looked back, the other boy’s attention was to the side.

“What do you talk about?”

“With Bokuto?  Um ... volleyball, really. Training camp stuff. Stupid TV programmes. Manga – that sort of thing.” He eyed Chikara with a hint of suspicion. “Why are you asking?”

Shrugging, Chikara shifted forwards and picked up a bottle of water. “He likes manga?” he asked, twisting the cap off the bottle.

“Prefers anime, but, yeah, I got him reading a few, he got me into some things. I found it stopped him obsessing too much over volleyball.” He stopped speaking, watching as Chikara tipped the bottle towards his lips, taking a mouthful and a swallow. “Why are you interested?”

Fiddling with the water bottle lid, Chikara didn’t quite meet Keiji’s eyes, but he shrugged and took his time before replying, “You mention him quite a lot. You must talk often.”

“He’s a friend, and was my captain. Of course I talk to him.”

Chikara winced, at least that appeared to be what his expression was doing, but then he looked down and swilled some more water.

“And he’s not breathing down my neck,” Keiji protested, when Chikara stayed silent.  “Why wouldn’t he be interested in the team, when it’s what made him who he is? It’s important, even if he has left.”

“Sure, sure.” Chikara raised his hand, the one with the apple in, and peered at Keiji through his sleepy, heavy lidded eyes. “I’m not criticising, honest.”

‘Aren’t you!’ he wanted to snap, but Chikara appeared genuine, even if recently he’d asked a spate of similar questions.

(‘Do you speak every night?’ ‘Usually.’ ‘Isn’t that ... um ... intimidating?’ ‘No, why would it be?’ ‘Well, he was a big presence, so ... uh ... casts a long shadow.’ ‘He’s thinking of us. It’s good.’

Chikara’s face had pulled an ‘is it?’ type of expression, but he’d said no more on the subject, steering Keiji onto a film he was going to watch that weekend.)

“I’ve got to go,” Keiji said instead. “Mum’s calling.”

“OH ... er ... okay.” Chikara’s eyes stared back at him, for a moment wide until he did a slow blink, returning his face back to passivity. “I’ll ... um ... be around later, if you need to ... um ... well, whatever.”

“Sure. Bye.”

He clicked off the chat, walked from the room and into the kitchen, and opened up the fridge door. Swigging down some orange juice, he watched out of the window where his mum was currently planting flowers.

“Be nice to get my garden back,” she’d said, showing him the plans for the decking which would take over half the lawn.  “You won’t be practising here anymore, not with Koutarou-chan away.”

“Mum, he’s the other side of the city. It’s not like I’ll never see him again.”

“You’re not on the same team though, are you?”

“No, but he’s still ...” He’d broken off, partly because his mum had pursed her lips, and partly because he wasn’t sure quite what to say.

The term friend – even close friend - seemed altogether inadequate and also too much. Despite their different years, Bokuto had often approached Keiji, sitting with him at lunch, or walking along the corridors to class, usually giving the pretext that he needed to ask him about volleyball, but then the conversations would descend into idiocy, and Keiji had had to bite his lip in order not to laugh out loud. (He’d soon leant that if he laughed, if he showed any weakness – at all - then Bokuto’s joke telling spiralled, and he wouldn’t let up for days.)

But friends confided in each other, didn’t they? And that’s where they fell short. There was never any question that Bokuto could confide in Keiji, but then, whenever something was wrong, the whole damn world knew about it, not just Keiji. Bokuto didn’t or couldn’t keep secrets, it was something that endeared and endangered him.

Back at his desk, Keiji continued with his homework, but every so often, his eyes would flick to the computer, wondering if either would call back, unsure which light he wanted to appear.

Stop drifting, you idiot, he thought. Make contact first.

‘Oya, Bokuto-san, are you there?’

No answer. Keiji checked his watch. It was seven o’clock. Bokuto would still be at volleyball practise, and had probably not charged his phone. He’d mentioned to Keiji that he usually grabbed something to eat with the guys after, meaning he wouldn’t be back in his room for a while. He’d try again at nine.

At nine, there was no answer.

He tried again at ten, then half an hour later, but Bokuto didn’t reply.

 ***

 Chikara didn’t initiate contact the next night. That wasn’t altogether unusual. They didn’t talk all the time, but he was usually online. The fact that he wasn’t, made Keiji frown a little and he mulled over the last conversation in his head. Had he been rude? Exasperated was more the word.

Maybe Chikara was invisible. He clicked on Skype, chewing at the side of his thumb while he waited. And then, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, for there was Chikara, his face behind a piece of paper.

‘HAVE YOU FINISHED THAT BOOK YET?’  it said.

Giggling, Keiji quickly scribbled his own reply.  ‘NOT YET!’

‘NOT TALKING TO YOU ‘TIL YOU DO’

‘PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL FINISH THIS WEEKEND’

Chikara lowered his notepad, and smiled sleepily. “Okay. Hi there.”

“Hi. How are you today?”

He waggled his hand from side to side. “Stressed. Kageyama upset one of the first years. They practically came to blows.”

“How?”

“Dumb fight over nothing, but the new kid’s from Kageyama’s old school, so there’s a bit of history there.  Kageyama was shouting out insults, and not realising that some people really do take offence. We’re kind of used to him being rude and tactless, so I guess we tune out his obnoxiousness. Telling the boy his receives were worse than Hinata’s did it. He threatened to quit. Took me, Tanaka and Yamaguchi a good half hour to dissuade him.”

“Maybe you should have let him go,” Keiji replied.

“He’s 185cm,” Chikara said bluntly. “We lost Asahi-san. This guy might turn out to be a decent Wing-Spiker.”

Keiji considered. “I know you don’t have that many players, but if you have to appease someone continually, it’s not-”

“Uh ... what?”

“You don’t know he’ll be decent. If he’s going to cause trouble when his ... well ... face it, Kageyama is his senpai, so if he’s going to have a strop over that, then maybe he’s not a team player.”

“Um, isn’t that what you did around your former ace?”

“Bokuto? He was the captain. And that’s different.”

“Why? You had to accommodate him all the time – even when he wasn’t captain.”

“Uh ... Chikara, we’re talking about two completely different things here. Bokuto was our ace. He was top five in the country. And, whatever you think of him, he was a team player. Of course we were going to –”

“And this guy might turn out to be great. He’s fiery. I like that. I think he’ll be good.”

“Then you did the right thing,” Keiji stated.

“But you don’t think so?”

“No... that’s ... uh ...” He closed his eyes, not really understanding what this dispute was about, but he was weary with it already. “I’m jealous,” he said.

“What?”

“You’re a good captain, you know that,” he murmured, and then tried a smile, curving one side of his mouth upwards as he opened his eyes.

Chikara parted his lips, then pressed them together. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “You are, too. And you know what you’re talking about. Sometimes I think I’m treading water, you know. I’m not sure how to keep everyone in line.”

Keiji laughed, a little bitterly. “Yeah, I know. I don’t think I have your patience, Chikara.”

“Even after two years dealing with your Captain. I thought it would be entrenched by now.”

Maybe it should have been. Perhaps Keiji should have been using the past to forge his future, but like Chikara, he felt as if he were treading water, waiting for the current to throw him in the right direction.

Beep boop.

Bokuto?

“You okay?”

“Phone message. Might be Bokuto,” he replied and reached for his phone.  It was one of his kouhai’s – a new Setter. “No. My mistake.” He frowned.  “I should contact him, though.”

“Uh, sure.” Chikara licked his lips, then he sniffed. “I should go, but ... um ... did I tell you about Golden Week?”

“Huh?”  Keiji looked up from his phone, but continued to scroll through for Bokuto’s number.”

“Doesn’t matter. Hey, I’ll leave you in peace. I’ve got a stack of work to get through, and ... um ...Tanaka wanted a chat.”

“Oh ... okay. I’ll um ... um ...” He stared at Chikara, puzzled because usually they talked for longer than this. “I’ll finish that book tonight, I promise.”

“Good.” The smile was fleeting, but it was there, and though it should have reassured Keiji, he wasn’t altogether convinced that he was happy, but then again, Ennoshita Chikara was very hard to read.

 ‘Oya, Captain. How are you?’ Keiji typed, lounging on his bed until Bokuto replied. He could finish the book, he supposed, but it was hard to concentrate when he was waiting for a response.

‘hows the team. Do u need hlep’ came an almost immediate reply.

‘The team’s fine. I wondered how you were.’

‘gud. Have u played ur practise game yet???’

‘No, that’s on Thursday. Have you got a game coming up?’

There was a longish kind of pause; Keiji’s finger hovered on the buttons wondering whether to repeat the question, but then Bokuto’s reply pinged to him.

‘might have on wensday. Depends if im picked.’

Keiji laughed at Bokuto’s sudden flash of modesty. ‘Course you’ll be picked. You’re the ace.’

‘yea but theres lots of guys here who r gud and they rotate so we all get turns just so they can see whos the best.’

‘You are,’ Keiji assured him. ‘I’m sure you’ll be playing for the first team soon.’

‘no the older guys r strong’

‘Oh, sure, that makes sense. So first years don’t make the first team, then?’

He could more or less feel Bokuto’s shrug, and for some unaccountable reason, the picture of his former Captain’s face, not bright and beaming, but downcast – in full dejected mode – sprang into his mind.

‘kuroo and sawamura made second team and theres a setter whos verry strong.’

‘Another genius like Kageyama?’

‘yea may be’

‘You’ll make the team, Bokuto-san. You know you’re good. Be patient.’

‘mmm how r u?’

‘I’m fine, and the team’s good. We’re looking forward to Golden Week.’

‘GOLDEN WEEK!!!!! AH, I BET THATS GONNA BE LOST OF FUNNNNNN!  Make sure u all hav a morning jog dont let them slack off. ’

‘I won’t. I promise.’

‘ur gonna miss me admit it Akaashi.’

‘We already do, Bokuto. It’s far too quiet here.’

‘:D :D :D. gah gt2go bye!!!!!!’

 And although it had been a text conversation, and the only sound had been the faintest of beeps from his phone and a buzz as it vibrated, the silence after Bokuto had gone was palpable. He stared at the ceiling wondering how someone who wasn’t even in the same room, same house, same street, left such a gaping hole when they left.

 ***

The bus stopped outside the university just after five, and so, hoisting his bag over his shoulder, Keiji stepped off and onto the pavement. It was a mild evening, all the promise of a fine Spring in the air, and with daylight still upon him, he could see his surroundings and signposts with no real problem.

‘I’ll meet you by the gate,’ had been the instruction.

But it wasn’t Kuroo who met him. Instead it was a very flustered looking, but still with a smile on his face, Sugawara Koushi. Keiji blinked, because the last time he’d had seen him, Sugawara been decked in his black Karasuno kit, looking solemn,  but now in jeans, a pale blue t-shirt and a brown jacket that looked rather too big, he appeared younger and more light-hearted.

“Sugawara-san, are you here for me?” he asked, and bowed down.

“Ah, yeah, Kuroo asked if I’d meet you. He’s warming up. Would you like a coffee, or something?”

“Is there time?”

“We can take it with us and sit down and watch until they’re fully warmed up.”

“Aren’t you playing?”

Sugawara winced, his hand touching his leg. “Thigh strain. It’s a whole level above here, and I wasn’t as fit as I thought.”

Taking in the information, Keiji wetted his lips. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted coffee, but maybe the chance to talk to someone who was also in the loop and wasn’t going to either judge or assume he could perform miracles, was exactly what he needed.

 (“You’re going where today?” In his uniform, the stiff gakurun jacket done right up to the neck, Chikara looked formal and far more intimidating than when he was in his volleyball kit. Ready early, he’d been killing time before the school bus came, logging on just to say ‘hi’ he’d said.

“To see Bokuto,” Keiji replied, stung at the incredulity on Chikara’s face. “So I probably won’t be around tonight.”

“You’re skipping both school and practise?”

‘Two lessons and one practise.’

“You’re college prep, Keiji, and you’re the Captain. Seriously, what do you think you can do?”

“I know Bokuto.”

“So only you can cure this ... what ... this block and make everything all right because you’re  ... special?”

Tightening his laces, Keiji scowled, the fact that Chikara was right, wasn’t going to stop him though. “What’s your problem, Ennoshita? This hasn’t got anything to do with you. I’m not on your team or even at your school. We don’t even have to speak every night. We just do.”

There was a whistle sucked between teeth, and for a moment, Keiji thought Chikara was going to end the chat, but he stayed put, his face expressionless. “Fine. No, you’re right. It has nothing to do with me, except ...” He licked his lower lip.  “Keij, we’re... friends, yeah?”

“Mmm.”

“Then ...look, I don’t want to speak out of turn, but I still don’t get why you’re rushing to him? He’s not your captain anymore. You don’t play for the same team, so why?”

“H-he ...” Keiji swallowed. “He needs me.”

“Really. Why you? He’s got the whole college and a sports scholarship committee looking after him.”

“He just does.”

Chikara stared at him. There was a muscle going in his cheek, and his voice when it emerged from rather thin lips, sounded strained. “Keiji, is ... Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead.”

“Is Bokuto more than a friend?”

“What?”

“You know what I m-mean.”

“Um, no, I don’t. Say what you actually mean, Chikara, instead of using a bloody euphemism.”

“Fine. Is Bokuto your b-boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Was he?”

“Uh ...” He inhaled through his nose and stared at some indeterminate space in the distance. Then after pulling the loops on his trainers, so each was equal, he glanced back at the screen, not at all surprised to see Chikara motionless before him. “Not the way you think.”

“Now who’s being euphemistic!”

The explosion was sudden, startling himself more than Chikara, who visibly retreated at the anger. “Well, what the fuck do you want me to say? That we screwed or something? Is that what you want to hear?”

“N-not really. B-but if it’s the truth and if you want to tell me, then yes.”

“I don’t want to tell you. Think what you want.”)

 “It’s good of you to come all this way,” Suga said. He handed over a card to the barista, smiling as he did, and handed one cup over to Keiji. “Did it take you long?”

“About an hour.” He sipped at his coffee, taking too big a slug through the tiny plastic hole and winced when it scalded his tongue. “Do you think I’m crazy coming here? Or ... um ... arrogant?”

Suga stared at him in surprise. He shook his head. “Uh, why would I think that?”

“Because ... well ... I am just a high school kid and... ” He trailed off, burying himself in his coffee again as he waited for Sugawara to answer.

“You know Bokuto-san better than anyone,” he said sagely. “That was clear from those practise sessions in Tokyo.”

Clamping his hand on Keiji’s shoulder, he steered him across the campus, pointing out the Hall of Residence where Bokuto lived, and further across the field, the gymnasium.

“You don’t live on campus,” Keiji stated.

“No, I share a flat with Daichi, Kuroo and Morisuke,” Sugawara replied, and licked some froth off his upper lip. “Bokuto’s welcome to come over whenever he wants, he does know that. And he’s been over a lot, until recently.”

Giving Sugawara a side glance, Keiji took the mild rebuke because yes, he had started to think that Bokuto was isolated. But he did have friends, that was clear from Kuroo’s replies and now Sugawara’s concern.

( ‘im leaving.’

‘Leaving where?  Halls? Oh, have you found yourself a flat share?’

‘college i don’t like it’

‘WHAT?’

‘dont fit in and the class is hard.’

‘You’ve barely been there a month. Bokuto ... uh ... what are you talking about?’

‘theyll kick me out anyway cuz im not on the team’

‘Look, they’re going to give you time to settle in. Don’t be daft, Bokuto.’

‘im dumb u all think so’

‘No. We all think you’re great. Hey, you’re the ace.’

‘not anymore’

‘You can’t expect to slot into the first team straight away. You know that. You said yourself that first years don’t get on the first team, but you can practise and work your way there.’

‘no point’

‘STOP THIS!’

‘its the truth’

‘Bokuto-san. You are the most dedicated and hard-working player I’ve ever met. You have a heap of talent, too.’

‘i skipped practise don’t wanna go anymore’

“Well, that’s not going to get you anywhere.’

‘the setters not like you i keep missing spikes and kuroo laughed’

‘Kuroo laughs at everyone. You’ve got to blast past him and stop him. You know that.’

‘may be.’)

 “Bokuto is at practise, isn’t he?”

Sugawara nodded. “Daichi and Morisuke called round to fetch him. Kuroo thought it best he stayed out of it. They ... um ... had a bit of a spat. Kuroo’s really sorry, but you must know what he’s like.”

“Provocation expert, yes, I know.” Keiji glanced around the campus. It was big, bleak and full of grey buildings. Not at all like his Tokyo suburb, which despite being part of the capital, had a warm and colourful appearance. “Bokuto mentioned a Setter. He says he’s very good.”

“Ah, yes,” Suga replied. He raised his cup to his mouth, then thought better of it. “Oikawa Tooru – he’s ... um ... exceptional.”

 The gymnasium wasn’t as flash as Keiji had expected. It was bigger than the one at Fukurodani as it housed four practise courts, but it was shabbier with an old battered wooden door, and paint peeling on the windows. As he followed Sugawara, making his way through the rows of seats, he scanned the players, searching for Bokuto. He found him, finally, among a group of five, not a grey spiky-haired figure leaping all over the court, but one who looked bedraggled, tiredness dogging his every step, not jumping high enough, and failing to connect.

“JUST TELL ME!”

Keiji’s attention whiplashed away from Bokuto and towards another figure.

“WHAT TYPE OF TOSS?”

Bokuto was shaking his head as the boy shouted. He was a fraction shorter than Bokuto, and with less bulk, but had the sort of athletic frame Keiji knew he’d never achieve. Pushing the hair that was flopping over his face, off his eyes, he stormed up to Bokuto, not the least intimidated.

“WAS IT TOO HIGH?”

“N-no.” Bokuto was faltering, stumbling and Keiji’s stomach twisted painfully.

“TOO LOW?”

“No.”

The Setter took a breath, his hands behind his head. “Do you want it closer to the net? Or further away? Faster? Slower? Medium?”

“I ... uh ...”

“I CAN’T READ MINDS!”

“Don’t badger him,” Keiji whispered. He twisted to face Sugawara. “Is that Oikawa?”

“Mmm.”

“If he’s exceptional, then why’s he picking on him? Can’t he just try a few things?”

“He has,” Sugawara said, very gently, and patted Keiji on the knee. “Oikawa’s desperate to find an Ace. It will help both of them gain a place on the team – the first team, even – if they can form a bond. And ... from what he’d heard of Bokuto, Oikawa thought he could be that Ace, but ...”

“Bokuto’s messing up.”

“Mmm, he’s in permanent ‘dejected mode’, as you used to say.” Placing his coffee cup on the floor, Suga shrugged off the brown jacket, and leant forwards on his seat.

“That Setter must be used to playing with different players, though. Why isn’t he adapting?”

“Ah ... well ... he would. I know Oikawa from High School. He is without doubt the best player I’ve ever played against. He’s amazingly strong, and is extremely good at not only drawing out someone’s optimum talent, but pinpointing an opposing player’s weakness.”

“Then why is he shouting at Bokuto instead of helping.”

Sugawara sighed. “Leaving his team has affected him, too. There was a guy he played with, their Ace, and ... uh ... he’s not here. They had an almost uncanny connection.”

“FORGET IT!” screeched Bokuto, suddenly and violently throwing the volleyball at Oikawa, who, to Keiji’s surprise, laughed and ducked.

“Some fire at last! Do you play better when you’re angry, Boku-chan?”

“FUCK OFF!”

“Oh-kay, let’s get down there,” Sugawara murmured.

“What?  No, I’ve only just turned up.” And what the hell am I going to say? Why would he listen? Chikara’s right. He has a whole gang of players here who want to help and I’m ... “Sugawar-san, I think I should go-”

But Sugawara wasn’t listening. He’d got to his feet and was waving his arms.  “How about a time out, then ... um ... a three-on-three?” he shouted.

The players on that court all looked across, one Keiji recognised as Sawamura, who smiled up them.

“Is your thigh okay? Are you playing?”

“Nope.” Suga shook his head. “I’ve brought another setter.”

“Count me out. I quit,” yelled Bokuto, tearing off his bib as he stormed to the side of the gym.

Keiji stopped his ruminations. He stopped pitying his former Captain, and stopped questioning his own motives (Chikara had done enough of that, goddamn him). Standing up, he peeled off his jacket and placed his hands on his hips.

Chikara doesn’t see colour – not the way others do. It isn’t that he’s colour-blind. He doesn’t view the world in monochrome, or see red and green as one muggy shade of brown. But colour isn’t the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, or when he looks on something new. What Chikara first notices about a place, or an object is the light and shade, how the shadows play out, disguising or emphasising ugliness.  Or beauty.

Chiaroscuro. It is a word his art teacher bandies about in class, exhorting all her students to experiment. Most of the class don’t understand, at first, but Chikara does. And his eyes widen when he realises that he’s been viewing the world that way since before he knew there was a word.  Chiaroscuro becomes something beautiful to him, and he lets it melt on his lips.

He can distinguish shadows, so when he sees players on the opposing side of the court jumping, Chikara can tell which one has raised his hand, which one jumped first and which one will duck out, just by watching the grey shapes as they form then fly. He wonders if he can calculate how fast Seijou’s ace will spike a ball by watching the grey shade take a run up. Or if the Grand King’s serve will strengthen as his shadow elongates when he leaps into the air.

Not that he has a chance to put any of this into practise. Chikara stays on the sidelines, watching his teammates, the guys who surpassed him, and tries not to feel regret. (But Tanaka ... Tanaka has his place, and Chikara never realised the guy had that much fire and light inside of him because in the early days, he’d only been loud.)

When Suga says ‘Let’s Go’, Ennoshita doesn’t even think but follows the Vice Captain onto the court. He is struck by the dark, at how Karasuno’s mood is blacker than the shirts they wear, how even Hinata and Nishinoya are no longer balls of light and sunshine, but grey matter, still and suffering. How even their tears are off-white and dull.

Seijou now have the light, and there’s no contrast, no grey, just bright, white and silver, sunlight bursting through a mass of clouds illuminating their smiles. And Seijou’s tears glimmer gold.

    Ryuu and Noya chatter too much. He gets stern because he knows it’s expected of him. They want to go to Tokyo, and he wants them there. Even if Ryuu not making it means Chikara will get a chance, he wants everyone there. So they can connect. So he can be around them. Because if Chikara spends more time with Ryuu and Noya, talking rather than observing, he might understand a few things about them.  He might understand, for instance, why they’re so obsessed with Shimizu-san.

“Because she’s beautiful,” Noya sighs.

“A g-g-goddess who graces us with her presence,” Tanaka adds.

Chikara raises one eyebrow and states the opinion that if Tanaka could wax that poetically about the book they’re studying and not about the Manager, then he’d have a much better chance of making the trip.

“How come you can talk to her, Chikara-san?” Tanaka demands. “I only have to look at her, to sense her, and my tongue trips me up.”

Shrugging, Chikara doles out the pens and practise papers. “She’s ... um ... nice.”

“NICE?  NICE!” the pair of them roar, looking furious.

“Uh ...” He backpedals. “I suppose being on the sidelines has given me more of an opportunity to see what she’s like,” he says at last.

Maybe that’s true. He’s not intimidated by Shimizu Kiyoko, not like they seem to be. She is a beautiful girl, one with a perfect symmetrical face (apart from the beauty mark) but it isn’t beauty per se that appeals to him.  His aesthetic, he thinks, is contrast.  

(Ryuu’s sister has contrast in spades. Blonde choppy hair, a smile and a scowl that light a room and charisma screaming ‘look at me’. And yet, he wonders idly, Saeko-Neesan doesn’t make his breath hitch, doesn’t make him behave like an idiot whenever she saunters into a room, and he certainly feels nothing more for her than gratitude because she makes Ryuu squirm and lightens Noya to the point where he’ll concentrate again.)

The thing about beauty, Chikara’s worked out, is that after a while it becomes the same as everything else. Shimizu-san will always be beautiful, but ... but ... it’s like staring at your reflection in a mirror, stare for too long and the face becomes a blur. Every face becomes a fuzz of colours, no longer delineated - smudged. Capturing the moment before it becomes a blur is why he carries a camera, why film is important to him. Permanence rather than transience becomes his mantra. An obsession to record the contrast.

***

  Then Chikara sees him.

And he knows with utter certainty that everything he’d previously declaimed about beauty, ugliness, lines and smudges is a lie.

He has to be mistaken. It’s a trick of the light, someone has cast shadows where there should be none, for the planes of the face currently assessing Karasuno from the other side of the net are too angled, too sharp, too perfect and beautiful to be real.

I want to light you.  

The thought jolts him out of his reverie, and he twitches his head, scared he’s shared the sentiment out loud. But Kinnoshita’s watching the match, cheering Narita on, so Chikara’s safe.

For now.

The trouble is, the Fukurodani Setter is beautiful. There is no getting away from that, not even when he’s sweaty from a match, when he’s concentrating hard, when his mouth elongates into an oval as he urges his Ace on.

Some people, he knows, look better on camera full face, while others are better in profile. He remembers his film studies mentor telling him stories of Hollywood greats, how the industry in its early days developed lights to suggest mood, to create beauty. How Greta Garbo was known as the world’s most beautiful woman because it was impossible to light her badly.

The Setter, like Garbo, has no bad angle.

I want to light you.

But wanting and doing are two different things and Chikara knows it can never happen.

There are no real smiles, except around the Setter’s eyes, slanting eyes, heavy-lidded like Chikara’s, but no one could mistake his expression for sleepiness. He doesn’t have the skills of a Kageyama or an Oikawa, but he has a confidence, and assuredness,  a belief in his own worth on court that Chikara’s never been able to muster.

He enters the fray and fumbles, too transfixed by cheekbones and lazy lidded eyes, by a mess of hair, and long limbs. No one notices, or maybe they do, but they assume Ennoshita-kun is suffering the same way as them, outclassed by a superior side and an Ace whose power is frightening.

While he completes his lap of flying falls, the Setter is sitting on the sidelines, swigging water from a bottle. His teammates are congratulating the Ace, but he’s silent, intense, as his eyes slide from his team, to their next opponent before finally resting on the team they’ve just beaten. Chikara catches him looking, then with burning cheeks he gets to his feet, pulling down the shirt that had ridden halfway up his torso. When he dares to look back, the Setter’s face is covered with a towel.

  Later that evening, after cleaning his teeth, scrubbing so hard his gums bleed, Chikara concentrates on his reflection. He sucks in his cheeks, wondering if that would make him more interesting to look at. He opens his eyes wider, flicks his hair off his face, tries a scowl, practises a smile, assumes a deadpan expression, gurns, winks, smirks and pouts, but there’s no permanent change. His face settles back into the blur of nothing, putty features, malleable but ultimately forgettable.

  ***

Akaashi Keiji.

He’s found a volleyball magazine featuring the High School teams that made it to Nationals. There’s a feature about their Ace, and Chikara can understand why because he’s a personality. He has charisma, loud and brash, roaring his presence to everyone on court.

There’s a footnote about their Setter, and a small photograph. The magazine mentions that Akaashi Keiji has the personality to cope with fluctuating moods. He’s calm, he’s unflappable, and rides the ebb and flow of each game with ease.

He’s a second-year like Chikara, who seems to have a special relationship with their Ace. Chikara’s unsurprised. Bokuto draws people to him, while he stands on the sidelines, usually ignored.

His fingers trace the snapshot. Even small, even in the middle of a game, even sweating, Akaashi Keiji is beautiful and Chikara aches to light him.

***

  “K-Karasuno, yes?”

“P-Pardon.” Chikara glances up from his plate of food to find he’s looking straight into a pair of slanting, almost black eyes staring down at him.

“Uh ...” He’s shuffling on his feet a little, then gives a smile. “You’re from Karasuno, aren’t you?  I noticed you that first day when you were doing the penalty. Uh ... Sorry.”

What is he sorry for?  “Yes, I’m from Karasuno. And you’re ... you’re Akaashi Keiji, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” The boy laughs, the sound sticking a touch in his throat, but the smile becomes a little wider. “How did you know?”

He could have lied, said he’d heard someone use his name, but Chikara isn’t good at lying when it matters, knowing he’ll blush and stutter instead, so picking up his glass of juice, he says, “I saw you in a volleyball magazine.”

“Oh.” And now he’s blushing. “The feature about Bokuto. That was a few months ago. You’re very ... um ... methodical in your research.”

“Yes.” It’s all he can think of to say, and he’s wondering why Akaashi’s still standing there because Chikara’s awkward and not the least welcoming. He swallows, but his throat is dry so he glugs at the juice, then splutters when it goes down the wrong way. And again he’s gauche and wishing he was on the sidelines, behind a lens, anywhere but here and confronted with this perfect face.

He’s being thumped on the back, a flat palm patting him whilst he coughs out the rest of the juice, now spurting out of his nose. And then, he’s handed a napkin, and after wiping his nose and mouth and eyes, Chikara looks up to say thank you, only to find Akaashi’s joined him on the step and is chewing away at a piece of steak.

“I don’t know your name,” he says. “Only your team. And the position you play. Oh, and I saw that play where that Russian guy’s spike caught your cheek. Did that hurt?”

“Uh...” His mind is a blur. What play? What spike? What Russian guy?  Oh, Lev, he supposed. “I can’t honestly remember. I expect it did at the time.”

“And your name?” he prompts again.

“Ennoshita Chikara,” he supplies. Close up, Akaashi Keiji is just as beautiful. He has hollows in his cheeks and smudged purple circles under his eyes. There’s also a faint bump on his nose, which takes away from the symmetry, but adds to the interest. To the contrast.

“Ennoshita Chikara.” Akaashi repeats, “And you take pictures, don’t you?”

“Uh ... yes, but doesn’t everyone,” Chikara replies, indicating Kuroo and Bokuto who are snatching up phones and taking selfies, proclaiming them souvenirs for everyone.

“Proper photos,” Akaashi qualifies. “I’ve seen you with your camera, in the mornings.”

“Really?” He’s surprised because it had been very early in the morning, when he’d woken and not wanted to disturb the others. “I never saw you.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to be disturbed,” Akaashi said, grimacing when Bokuto starts to holler his name. “I imagine, like me, you relish the quiet times.”

“AKAASHI, TAKE A PHOTO OF ME AND KUROO. PLEASE? PLEASE? PLEASE?”

“Oh, gods, save me from idiots,” Akaashi mutters in exasperation. “I’d like one meal in peace.” But he gets to his feet, and takes a step towards Bokuto, and Chikara realises that if he doesn’t speak now, he’ll have lost his chance. Chance at what, he doesn’t know, but he can’t stay on the sidelines all his life.

“Hey, Akaashi -san, will you-”

Akaashi turns. He’s shaking his head as Kuroo joins in the yelling for attention. “Excuse me, I need to deal with them, but ... um ... please, will you stay where you are? I’d like to ...um ... talk to you some more. I-if that’s all right.”