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the injury of finally knowing you.

fic masterlist!

chapter 1: everything in its right place

You’ve always loved sports. Growing up, you tried to play every single one your school offered, even the less known ones. One could, of course, blame your older brother for this- he was obsessed with them, so you naturally followed in his footsteps. He played football, you were his training partner; he played basketball, your shots didn't reach midway to the hoop, but you had spirit and that’s all that mattered.

At first you just wanted to spend time with him, but then that feeling turned into truly and genuinely enjoying sports; whether it was those where you had to be in a team and you could make friends, or individual ones, you didn’t care. It gave you drive, purpose, and it was an escape from mundane life things like homework and house chores.

When you were eight, you discovered your true love, volleyball, while walking around a nearby park with your mother and at the time, baby sister. You saw a group of older girls playing, so you sat on a bench and spent hours watching them. Your mom had to physically drag you back to the house. You were enthralled because they looked so alive: ponytails swinging around, screams of euphoria whenever the ball touched the other side, high fives and real laughs.

That's when you fell in love with it.

To tell the truth, that love never left—you feel so strongly and passionately about it that even now, at twenty six, it is your full time job. It wasn't an easy journey, but you worked your ass off at university to achieve it. You're not a player. Sure, you played in school, but it became pretty clear that you preferred the theory, the study of it, how the players moved, how the body gets stronger and how it recovers.

(too much sports injuries in the family also influenced you)

And that's how you ended up studying kinesiology, to no one's surprise. Even after graduating, you still love to learn tricks and techniques, so you went on to get a few more certifications.

And because of all this, you're sitting cross-legged on the floor in your one-bedroom apartment living room, planning training sessions for none other than the MSBY Black Jackals volleyball team.

The Black Jackals are three time champions of the V. League, so when you got the call to join them last year, you didn’t hesitate. You packed your bags and moved to Osaka, to the apartment they rented for you that neighbors the players’. Since then, you’ve all been working your asses off to become champions again, aiming to dethrone the last champions, Tachibana Red Falcons.

There’s so much to do that you’re not surprised by the amount of papers spread out around you. Your laptop sits quietly on the coffee table with a half-finished spreadsheet coded with colors that only make sense to you. There’s a forgotten mug of coffee somewhere to your left, coffee gone cold.

Your pen taps rhythmically against your notes as you scan through your player notes, cross-checking with the last season’s data.

Pre-season means a fresh start, forgetting about the last season’s results and getting a new chance to win. It also means rebuilding with both old and new players. There are a lot of things to plan like conditioning, recovery plans, both individual and team adjustments. Everything needs to be better this year.

Perfect.

And when you want perfect, you’d do anything to achieve it. You check your notes for the third time.

Hinata Shouyou #21

Wing Spiker/Opposite Hitter.

Explosive. Always positive. Endless stamina, a tad reckless if left unsupervised. Work to adjust jump load, reinforce cooldowns. Eager to work and get better, but sometimes forgets that rest is part of it too. Loves teamwork. A ray of sunshine.

Sakusa Kiyoomi #15

Wing Spiker/Outside Hitter

Meticulous. Controlled. Responsible and ahead of most recovery baselines because of his hyper-laxity. Could be prone to injuries if he wasn’t who he is. Target high-impact, repetitive jumping and overall plyometrics. Very straight-forward. Hates getting sick.

Atsumu Miya #13

Setter

Brilliant. Also brilliantly annoying. Pushes past limits just to see where he can reach, which can be great, but also not. Likes to push teammates sometimes in unsavory ways, but he wants them to reach their full potential. Loves to take care of "his spikers". Mandatory rest days. Non-negotiable.

Koutarou Bokuto #12

Wing Spiker/Outside Hitter

Stable. Reliable. Brings high energy and positivity, both on and off court. Can have mood-dependent performances (better every day). Loves to ask questions, likes to take care of himself because injuries would bring him down. Regular check-ins. Also a ray of sunshine but does not play around if someone messes with his teammates.

These check-ins with Bokuto aren’t just volleyball-related, they’re personal. Because you know him, and he knows you too-probably too well.

After a while, you lose track of time. Your pen moves almost automatically as you organize your thoughts into neat columns and bullet points, and everything else fades into the background. The apartment is quiet, but that’s not unusual, you prefer to work in silence.

This means you don’t notice the time, you don’t remember the (now cold) coffee, and you definitely don’t notice your front door opening.

“Hey.”

You jump, stopping mid-note.

“What the fuck?”

You look up with your heart still slamming in and out of your chest to find Bokuto leaning against the doorframe, already dressed for training.

“What the fuck, Kou. You scared me.”

“I’ve been here for three minutes,” he says. “Called your name. Called you before heading over too.”

You shrink a little. Right. Your phone. Where is that, actually.

“...Shit.”

“You didn’t answer,” he continues, pushing himself off the frame. “So I came over.”

He has a key to your place, which he’s always had—you gave him one the first day you moved in and have never questioned his reasons for coming over. Not that he needs a reason, anyway. You sigh, dragging a hand down your face.

“Is it time to go?”

He ignores your question completely and walks further inside instead, dropping onto your couch. His big golden eyes flick once over the scattered papers, the laptop and colored pens, then they focus on you.

“Did you sleep?”

You freeze for half a second. “I did.”

He tilts his head. “More than five hours?”

You exhale, shoulders dropping slightly.

“I can’t lie to you.”

Bokuto snorts knowingly.

“I’d know even if you tried.”

You push yourself up from the floor, stretching your arms above your head, back popping and giving you a sense of relief.

“I’m fine, Bo.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze moves again, now slowly, from the mess of your notes, to the coffee you haven’t touched, to the way you crane your neck from side to side.

“You’re gonna pass out someday, bug.”

You know he means it when the nickname from college makes an appearance, so you turn to him, smiling gently.

“I promise I’m fine, Kou.”

He studies you for a moment, like he’s deciding whether to push you. But even you know that sometimes, that’s a losing battle. You’re not oblivious to your friends’ concern, but if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it.

He decides.

“...yeah. Alright.”

You know there’s a silent for now at the end there.

“I’m gonna go change,” you say, already moving. “Be right back."

You rush to your bedroom and change quickly, muscle memory guiding you through the motions. Mental checklist: Black Jackals polo and pants. Socks. Shoes are by the door. Hair tie on your wrist. All good.

Your bag is heavier than it needs to be already, and that’s without the laptop, notes and backup notes. But it’s the first day, so you take your stash of snacks, your new scissors and resistance bands (Hinata broke your last ones) for your desk. By the time you step back out, Bokuto is already on his feet. You get everything you had laying around into your bag and straighten up.

“Yours or mine?” You ask.

He grins, holding up his hand and jingling his keys. They make such noise because it has a couple of keychains hanging from them- one from you, one from Kuroo and Kenma and one from his partner, Akaashi.

“Alright, let’s go!” he says, practically bouncing on his heels. “I’m so pumped for today. I even dreamed about volleyball last night.”

You roll your eyes, smiling as you lock the door behind you.

“Bo, you dream about volleyball every day.”

And it’s true, though sometimes he’s playing on the moon, or with a giant ball, or while flying.

“I know!” he beams, heading toward the car. “But this one was cooler. Akaashi and Kuroo were there too.”

“Hell yeah, that does sound cool.”

He nods seriously.

“It was.”

Bokuto barely waits for the car to stop before he’s out of it. The door slams, his bag already halfway off his shoulder as he jogs toward the gym with energy practically spilling out of him. You don’t even try to follow at his pace because that too is a losing game. This is why you drove today, he couldn’t stop bouncing in anticipation.

You laugh under your breath, shaking your head as you reach over to grab your own bag, and his water bottle, which he of course forgot. It’s covered in stickers- volleyball jerseys, balls, his sister’s dog, an onigiri, and a couple of owls. You turn it once in your hand, smiling faintly at them before stepping out of the car.

And it’s not that you’re not excited, of course you are. Pre-season is always exhilarating—getting back into the groove, reuniting with colleagues and possibilities all around. But your best friend is a giant golden retriever in human form, and compared to him, everyone looks calm, even when excited. You’ve always loved that about him.

You’ll never forget the day you met him, or more accurately, the days you met Bokuto and your other best friend Kuroo Tetsurou.

You met the latter first.

You were desperate. Barely managing your first-year schedule, overloaded coursework, and chemistry of all things (you were never good at it) threatening to ruin your GPA. So you did what any sleep-deprived, frustrated student would do—you scribbled a need chem tutor note, pinned it to a bulletin board and hoped for the best.

(if you were crying in your dorm at three a.m just before, it’s no one’s business but your own)

What you got was Kuroo Tetsurou. A sports management major who was annoyingly smart all around, and an apparent genius in all things chemistry related. His hair was kind of weird, but you ignored that.

He helped. A lot. He explained things in a way that actually made sense, he was patient and never judged you, stayed longer than he needed to, too. Somewhere between formulas and equations and very late study sessions, he became your friend.

Which is how you ended up walking across campus with him one afternoon.

“You’re gonna love him,” Kuroo had said, hands shoved in his pockets and way too amused about something you didn’t understand yet.

“Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me?”

He just shrugged and continued on smirking. Halfway to where you were going to meet his best friend, you felt something land on your shoulder. You froze.

“...Kuroo?”

“Yeah?”

“...there’s something on me.”

“Okay.”

“It’s moving.”

He leans slightly to look and then—

“Oh.”

You didn't like that “oh.” At all.

“What kind of oh is that—”

“It’s a beetle.”

You screamed sharply, a horrified noise that made your entire body jolt, hands flying up as you tried to brush it off—which actually made it worse, because then it flew to your hair.

“Oh my god, oh my god—get it out—get it out!”

You were fully flailing, waving your arms like a maniac and half spinning in place while Kuroo lost it. Like, fully lost it. He’d bent over, shoulders shaking with that awful hyena laugh echoing across campus—all while you were actively experiencing what might have been one of the top five worst moments of your life.

“You’re not helping!”

“I can’t—” he choked out. “I can’t! This—this is incredible.”

“I’m going to kill you!”

Then—

“Hey hey hey!”

It was a blur of movement, but you faintly saw a large figure run towards you before stopping just in front of you.

“Don’t move!” he said, hands hovering near your head.

You froze instantly. You did not know this man, therefore you didn't trust him, but you were immensely desperate, so you obeyed. The first thing you noticed is that he was careful despite the sheer size of him—broad shoulders, strong arms—his movements were precise and gentle as he carefully disentangled the beetle from your hair.

“Got it,” he murmured, stepping back slightly.

And instead of flicking it or dropping it to crush it (like you wanted to) he just let it go, watching it fly off with big golden eyes. You blinked up at him and his grin was so bright and easy that it immediately disarmed you. Your shoulders dropped in relief.

“You’re good!”

“...thank you.”

“No problem!”

Kuroo, the asshole, finally recovered enough to stand upright again, still snickering as he gestured between you.

“Perfect timing, Bo!”

Bokuto beamed. You sighed, dragging a hand down your face.

“Great. Love that that just happened and that apparently this is how I meet people now.”

“Bug,” Kuroo choked out as he started to laugh again. “Your face.”

You turn slowly. “Don’t.”

Bokuto lit up immediately.

“Bug! That’s cute! I’m calling you that.”

“No.”

It stuck anyway, of course.

You huff out a quiet laugh at the memory as you reach the gym doors. Some things never change and you silently hope they never do. You push the door open, step inside and smile immediately.

You love the training facility. The court is the first thing you see—empty, untouched. The wood gleams from a recent clean, reflecting the overhead lights that are bright, but not blinding. For now, the air smells like rubber and disinfectant. You think for now because it won’t last long. In a couple of hours, it’ll be all sweat and movement and noise. A chaos you love, but you also enjoy this.

You turn right, heading toward the hallway where the locker rooms, the gym, and the offices are. Yours is the third door, right next to the gym. There’s a small plaque outside with your name on it, something you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

You step inside, closing the door behind you, and just like that you settle. This is your space, your safe haven. These four walls hold more hours of your life than anywhere else. Honestly, if it had a bed, you could probably live here without much complaint. Bokuto didn't let you.

There’s a massage table on the far right with a stool tucked underneath it. Your desk faces the door, two chairs placed in front for players who inevitably end up sitting here—either willing or reluctantly. Behind your chair are two large windows that let in natural light. It might be your favorite part.

You walk over and drop into your chair. For a second you just sit, basking in it, the feeling you get here. Then your eyes drift to the desk where a few framed pictures sit.

The first is your graduation. You and your family, everyone smiling and posing with your diploma.

The next one is from last season. You’re in the middle, barely visible under a mess of long limbs as Hinata, Bokuto, Sakusa and Atsumu crush you into a sweaty group hug after a win.

Then the last photo is you, Bokuto and Kuroo, passed out and basically cuddled up in the back of a car in the most uncomfortable position possible. It was taken by Kenma and Akaashi during a roadtrip. They thought it was cute, but also hilarious because they knew you three would wake up with sore necks.

You reach for your bag, pulling your things out one by one and placing them where they belong. It might be methodical, but it’s comforting too. By the time you’re done, everything is exactly how you like it.

You’re focused on today’s to-do list when a knock breaks your concentration.

“Come in!”

The door opens, and you brighten immediately, not caring about the intrusion at all.

“Coach Foster, good morning.”

You stand, offering a small bow. He smiles in return, a warm grin that crinkles the corner of his eyes.

“Morning.”

You gesture to the chairs. “Please, sit.”

He closes the door behind him and takes a seat, his gaze flickering briefly over your laptop and the spread of notes across your desk.

“Already working, huh?”

You smile sheepishly. “You know me, coach.”

He chuckles, nodding, then leans forward slightly and interlaces his fingers on the desk.

“Alright, let’s go over goals for the year. Personal and professional.”

You nod, closing the laptop and turning your attention fully to the older man in front of you.

“Win the league.”

He laughs softly. “We’ve got that one in common. Go on.”

You smile and continue, counting on your fingers.

“Get the team to actually come in for treatment before their injuries get worse. Improve team dynamics. Help them manage frustration better. Manage my own frustrations better.”

A small pause.

“And… stop being mean and sarcastic to the press.” You grimace slightly. “They just get on my nerves.”

He nods knowingly. “They can be… persistent.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Persistent is the nice term for it, coach.”

He shrugs, but smirks. “Those are good goals. Do you have any personal ones you’d like to share?”

You tilt your head. “Those are personal too.”

He shakes his head gently.

“No. Those are work related.”

You frown, thinking.

“Get my CPR recertification."

He sighs, but it’s not an annoyance, it’s patience. It reminds you a little too much of your parents back in high school and Kuroo back in university.

“Also work.”

You blink.

“...Oh.”

“Why don’t you think about those and get back to me?”

You nod slowly, a little thrown off. “Yeah. Okay.”

He straightens slightly.

“My turn,” he says. “Win the league. Maintain a good relationship with players and staff. Guide the younger ones. Hide my exasperation when they get annoying a little better.”

You smile.

Then he adds, softer, “and personally—I want to spend more time with my wife and daughters. Learn a new language. Read more.” A small pause—

“See?” he says gently. “Not work.”

“I see.”

He places his palms on the desk and stands.

“Good. You've got a few minutes of quiet before the chaos starts. Enjoy them.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I will. See you out there.”

He smiles once more before heading out, the door closes quietly behind him. You’re left alone and sitting there thinking. Personal goals. You lean back slightly in your chair, staring at nothing in particular.

Maybe… see your friends more? You frown, you already do that.

Get a plant? You glance at your desk, actually considering for a second, but that would probably die.

Whatever. You’ll think about it later.

By the time you finish reviewing your plans and transferring your notes from the laptop to the team tablet—your phone buzzes.

MSBY Black Jackals

Coach Foster: Meeting room in 5.

You see a bunch of thumbs up multiplying as the team reacts. You do the same and grab your things, and Bokuto’s water bottle, and step out, heading to the room a couple of doors down. The moment you walk in, bright orange wavy hair fills your vision.

“Hi! It’s been so long!”

You laugh immediately, a usual occurrence around him.

“Shou, I saw you last week.”

Hinata grins. “Exactly!”

You shake your head, smiling, before glancing past him where Sakusa stands a few steps behind, mask perfectly placed and with a calm expression.

“Good morning,” he says with a small nod. “How are you?”

“Hey, Sakusa. I'm good, how are you?”

“I’m okay,” he replies. “Despite Mita already managing to annoy me.”

You laugh, but a voice behind you cuts in before you can answer.

“Annoy ya? I just said ‘hey’, Omi.”

Atsumu Miya’s arm drops over your shoulder before you can turn around. Kiyoomi just stares blankly at him and the setter groans like he gets the meaning behind it.

“...fine. Sorry.”

Kiyoomi nods once, apparently satisfied, and then turns away to take a seat. You snort and glance up at the blond twin.

“Hello, Atsumu.”

He looks down at you, flashing his usual charming grin.

“Well, hello to you too. Enjoyin’ the chaos already?”

You sigh dramatically. “I am, but I would enjoy it far more with some onigiri.”

He recoils.

“No! At least say ya missed me before bringin’ up that ugly bastard.”

You nudge his arm off your shoulders with a laugh.

“First of all, I saw you last week. Second—you have the same face, so you’re ugly too.”

He smirks.

“No. I’m the pretty one.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, Atsumu."

“Knew ya agreed!” He grins as he walks over to sit beside Kiyoomi, who immediately glares at him.

Across the room, Bokuto is mid-conversation with another player. You make your way over.

“Hey, Inunaki-san—sorry to interrupt.”

He smiles easily. “Hey, all good.”

You hand over the bottle.

“Here. You forgot this.”

Bokuto lights up.

“Knew I was forgetting something. Thanks. You’re the best.”

You smile, gesturing towards the seats.

“I know. Now go sit, coach is here.”

They nod, heading off.

You sit on the three main chairs that face the rest of them, where the entire roster is already sitting, chatting idly. Coach Foster walks further inside with assistant coach Mukai Kaito and conversation around the room gradually quiets down.

Well, except for Bokuto who is whispering something to Hinata while Atsumu listens in.

Coach Foster sits and claps once.

“Alright, listen up.”

The room settles fully at that. You glance around automatically, taking in the familiar sight of all of them together again. Some are sprawled in their chairs, leaning back comfortably, while others lean forward with focused expressions. Still, there is the unmistakable buzzing energy under everyone’s skin.

Coach folds his arms. “First things first—welcome back, It’s nice to see you all. Hope you enjoyed your break. Now let’s get to business. Last season was good.”

Atsumu mutters a smug little damn right, earning himself a harsh nudge from Sakusa. A common occurrence.

“But,” Foster continues, “good isn’t enough for this team.”

Atsumu pouts. The room sharpens immediately.

“We are not here to be good. We are here to be the best team in this league.”

That earns him a few grins, a few nods and a Bokuto fist pump while Hinata practically bounces next to him. Coach gestures toward the screen behind him, where the season schedule appears.

“This pre-season is gonna be packed. Conditioning, media obligations, sponsor events, exhibition matches.”

A collective groan immediately fills the room after media obligations. You snort quietly.

“Don’t complain yet,” Kaito says dryly. “You haven’t seen the full schedule yet.”

The next slide appears. Photoshoots, interviews, sponsor appearances, community events.

“There’s three photoshoots?” Captain Meian asks while the others groan.

“Four,” you correct, already having the schedule memorized from when Kaito sent it a few days back.

The room erupts.

“What?!” Atsumu cries out.

“Do we have to wear suits again?” Hinata asks, defeated.

“Yes,” Coach says immediately.

Sakusa visibly deflates at that, and you have to hide your smile behind your tablet.

“Well, good news is,” Kaito says. “One of the sponsors requested a casual shoot.”

The atmosphere improves immediately.

“See?” Bokuto says proudly, “they wouldn’t do us like that.”

We ignore him. Coach continues, switching slides again.

“Now, as for pre-season matches.”

The room stills slightly and you know this is the part they actually care about. You love watching them suffer through photoshoots and interviews, but seeing them play is a million times better.

“First exhibition match will be against EJP Raijin.”

You sneak a glance at Bokuto, Sakusa and Atsumu, knowing they have friends, in the case of Koutarou and Atsumu, and family, in the case of Kiyoomi, that play at EJP Raijin. They turn to each other, smirking.

“Second will be Schweiden Adlers.”

You knew this was coming. The shift in the room is immediate, almost palpable. The Adlers were your greatest rivals and competition last season, going back and forth on all sets played. There’s excitement, especially in Shouyou’s eyes, undoubtedly thinking about his best friend (and rival) Kageyama.

“Oh, that’ll be fun.” Atsumu grins.

“If we win,” Kiyoomi mutters.

Coach continues before things can escalate.

“And finally, the Spanish club team Madrid Volley Elite will be coming to Japan at the end of pre-season.”

Hinata’s eyes practically light up. “International? Seriously?!”

“Yes,” Kaito replies. “The JVA wants international collaboration before Olympic selections begin.”

Coach glances toward you briefly, signaling it’s your cue. So you straighten in your chair, setting your tablet down and looking around the room. Restless eyes, focused eyes—athletes who love this sport so much it consumes them, no matter how much they sacrifice for it. The sentiment applies to you too.

“You guys were incredible last season,” you start honestly.

“Ya hear that, she loves us.”

“Don’t make me take it back, Miya,” you reply flatly, earning a laugh from around the room.

Then you continue.

“You worked hard. Harder than most people could ever know. You pushed through injuries, exhaustion, frustration… and still made it to the top three. But—”

That one word sharpens everyone again.

“You can do better.”

They know you mean it without being offensive or overly-critical. Plus, you know they can take it.

“You know your weaknesses, you know when communication is needed and you know what to do when pressure gets to you. Those are good things. Still, you don’t become champions by pretending there’s nothing to improve.”

You pause briefly and smile.

“And who doesn’t love getting better? We all are so into about volleyball that it’s actually a little concerning sometimes,” you say dryly, earning a few laughs. “We use that. Push each other, trust each other. Let this season be hard, let it be challenging. We can take it.”

There’s silence for a second as your words get through to each of them. Of course, Bokuto breaks it with a shout.

“Hell yeah!”

The room bursts into noise immediately after. Hinata’s fired up, matching Bokuto’s screams, Atsumu’s grinning and poking Sakusa’s arm, who looks very solemn (which means he’s excited too).

Coach Foster shakes his head (the three of you do that a lot) with a small smile.

“Alright, alright,” he says over the noise. “Not that she’s got you all fired up—go get changed. Assessments start in twenty.”

Chairs scrape loudly against the floor as the room erupts into motion. You sit there, next to a grinning Kaito, watching them all come alive. As everyone rushes toward the locker rooms, conversations overlap over each other.

“We should start with serves today.”

“Why are ya already taping yer fingers?”

“Because some of us care about longevity, Miya.”

“It’s been twenty seconds, Omi!”

They won’t even touch a ball for a while since physical assessments and medical check-ins are first (just like every season) but they don’t care, they’re excited.

So are you. There’s no denying it.

The room empties until it’s just you, Kaito and Foster gathering papers on the table. You’re still seated when Kaito turns slightly toward you and says your name softly enough to pull your attention away from your tablet. You glance over.

“What’s up?”

You and Kaito work closely together. Long hours, constant communication, shared responsibility—it was easy to fall into familiarity with him. Part of you thinks he might have a small crush on you, but the other part thinks spending fourteen-hour days together probably creates said familiarity.

He taps his fingers lightly against the desk.

“Have you heard anything about the Adlers?”

“The Adlers?”

“Rumor is they’ve got a new athletic trainer this season." You tilt your head.

“Oh really? I hadn’t heard anything.”

Kaito shrugs. “Might be false. Just figured I’d ask.”

You hum thoughtfully, leaning back slightly in your chair. “If it’s true, I don’t think it’s anyone I know.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

You nod once. “Keep me updated.”

He laughs quietly, shaking his head.

“You’re so competitive.”

A slow smirk pulls at your mouth.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not when we’re on the same team.”

You laugh softly just as Coach approaches, folders neatly tucked under one arm.

“That’s exactly why she’s on my side whenever we play cards,” he says.

Kaito groans immediately.

“Oh my god, not this again.”

You raise your fist toward coach without hesitation. He laughs, bumping his knuckles lightly into yours.

“You two are too smug,” Kaito points.

“You only say that,” you say, standing and grabbing your tablet, “because you lose every time.”

“That’s because Coach cheats and you distract everyone while he does.”

“I strategize,” Foster corrects.

I nod.

“I’ll win someday and you’ll never hear the end of it.” Kaito mutters, standing as well.

You grin as the three of you head toward the gym floor, following the noise of the team that’s already echoing through the facility. It’s loud and familiar, and makes you feel so alive.

Minutes later, you’re setting up everything you need in the gym room for the initial assessments—cones, recording tablets, reaction lights, heart rate monitors. The team is usually too excited to focus on anything except getting back onto the court, but that means the gym assessments tend to move quickly. They can be disciplined when they want to be.

Unfortunately, they’re also idiots.

You connect your phone to the speakers, one of your many playlists, carefully curated to keep the energy high but aggressive enough to motivate them. The voices echoing from the locker room starts getting closer as the players start flooding in.

Shouyou jogs in, stretching his shoulders while talking Kiyoomi’s ear off, who looks only mildly impressed at whatever the conversation is. Atsumu and Koutarou enter having a debate about something completely nonsensical. Everyone gradually settles into a loose circle around you.

“Alright,” Atsumu says before you can even get a word in, grinning lazily, “who’s gonna break my record today?”

“You ask that every time,” Sakusa mutters.

“And every time, no one does.”

You clap your hands once before the usual spiral happens whenever these two get into it.

“Okay, enough. Let’s get to work.”

Baseline assessments go smoothly enough—heart rates, oxygen saturation, blood pressure during intervals. Then strength testing. Height, weight, fatigue resistance. Followed by vertical jumps, reaction-time drills using the colored lights that flash across the wall.

You genuinely enjoy this part, not just because you studied all this and know that data matters, but because the players care. Even if they act ridiculous about it. Every new measurement becomes a challenge against themselves, against last year, against each other.

Against you, even.

“You cheated!”

“How does one cheat a vertical jump, Tsum-tsum?”

“I dunno but ya did, Bokkun!”

“I just literally jumped.”

On the side, Hinata practically bounces with excitement as he hypes both Atsumu and Bokuto equally.

“Do it again!”

Beside him, Kiyoomi analyzes the numbers quietly, pretending not to care while actually measuring how much he has to jump higher to beat their records. You catch the tiny narrowing of his eyes when Atsumu beats on his reaction times.

You’ve always found those two interesting.

Across the room, Kaito watches the chaos with a trained level of calm. Captain Meian Shugo keeps trying to reprimand the team every five minutes.

“Guys, seriously, settle down—sorry,” he says to you immediately after.

You wave him off with a laugh every time.

“It’s fine, Meian-san.”

At one point you have to stop recording entirely because half the team notices the camera and immediately starts striking ridiculous poses behind Bokuto who is trying not to laugh while he bench presses. By the time it’s over, hours have passed and the players are sweaty, energized and somehow more excited to get onto the court than they were this morning.

It’s a dangerous amount of energy, honesty.

Still, they help clean up without complaining, carrying equipment back into storage while striking conversations around the room. You’re organizing things near the far end when Bokuto appears beside you carrying a stack of cones.

“Hey,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “We’re still on for tonight, right? Keiji’s excited.”

You glance up immediately. “Of course, I miss my Keiji-kun.”

Keiji Akaashi—Koutarou’s partner and one of your best friends—lives in Tokyo working full time as manga editor. He visits Osaka whenever he can, but between schedules and away games, it never feels like enough. He’s spending a couple of weeks here on vacation, which means Bokuto has been reminding everyone of this approximately every hour.

Speaking of, he gasps dramatically.

“He’s my Keiji! You have to stop saying stuff like that. One day he’s gonna leave me for you.”

His expression is mournful enough that someone unfamiliar with him might believe he truly believes what he just said, but both of you know better.

“He would never,” you say fondly, always in awe of the love those two share.

Bokuto brightens.

“Right! Akaashi’s the best!”

Atsumu suddenly leans into the conversation.

“Me and Samu are bringin’ Keiji-kun his favorite onigiri tonight.”

You snort immediately.

“You mean Osamu is, and you’re just roaching off of him.”

Atsumu clutches his chest in offense.

“Ya wound me, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes affectionately.

“Go tape your fingers. Both of you.”

Atsumu straightens immediately, saluting as if you were a high-ranking officer, which Bokuto copies a second later.

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.”

Then they walk off together, Bokuto immediately launching into another excited rant about his Keiji, while Atsumu listens and nods back with the same enthusiasm, always a good friend.

You watch them go with a small smile.

Watching the Black Jackals right now, someone unfamiliar with them would probably think this was a championship final instead of the first practice of pre-season. They’re fully locked in. The team had been split by Foster for scrimmaging, and somehow it already felt like no break had happened at all and they hadn't spent weeks apart during the off-season.

Especially after Kaito had announced the teams. Putting Atsumu and Hinata against Bokuto and Sakusa had immediately changed the atmosphere. Coach Foster had shared a look with you the moment after the announcement. You know it was a silent here we go.

Everyone, even people who aren’t into volleyball, knows that those four are inseparable. Best friends, teammates who trust each other completely. That only made them more competitive.

“Shou-kun!” Atsumu’s voice cuts across the gym as he launches a beautiful set, a love letter to his spiker.

Hinata answers by jumping instantly and there it is—

The shift in his eyes. You love watching it happen. The second he’s in the air, it’s like everything else disappears and his focus sharpens into something almost electric- all skill, trust and utter joy wrapped into one explosive moment. His spike lands hard against the floor and the sound echoes through the gym even over the shouts of the opposing side. He lands smoothly, already grinning while Atsumu yells in triumph beside him.

Across the net, Bokuto watches them celebrate with a dangerous little smirk on his face.

Oh shit. He’s taking that personally. Good luck to everyone involved.

The scrimmage goes on like that for a while—fast paced, intense and way too competitive for day one. You sit beside Coach Foster and Kaito at the bench, tablet balanced on your knee while the three of you exchange observations between plays.

“Sakusa’s timing improved,” Kaito notes quietly.

You nod without looking away from the court.

“Mhm. Hinata’s landing control too.”

Coach hums thoughtfully beside you.

“Atsumu’s getting cocky again.”

“Surprise,” you mutter sarcastically.

On the court, Atsumu proves Foster’s point by yelling-

“Try that again, ya cowards!”

Bokuto yells back, not missing a beat-

“We will!”

Sakusa sighs beside him.

Eventually, after several rounds and way too much screaming, Atsumu and Hinata’s team wins the final set. Just barely.

Everyone’s flushed and panting afterward, hands braced on their knees while sweat drips onto the polished floors. You stand from the bench, nodding in approval.

“That was good, guys. Let’s stretch and hit the showers.”

The collective groan is immediate, which in turn makes you laugh loudly.

“You’re the ones who went that hard on the first day.”

Hinata wipes sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, smiling tiredly.

“We didn’t even go that hard.”

You point toward the younger recruits, “Tell that to them." The two newest players immediately straighten.

“That was so cool,” one of them blurts out.

Shouyou’s smile softens into the bright and genuine way that only he manages.

“I know! You guys did great! We’re glad to have you.”

Your chest warms. You nod toward them.

“That we are. But stretch now, or tomorrow you’ll forget how amazing today felt.”

They nod quickly before dropping onto the floor to start stretching properly. You glance back toward Foster and Kaito.

“I’ll be in my office.”

They nod, but before you’re completely out, Coach calls after you in his full coach voice-

“If you’re not out of here in an hour, I’ll make Bokuto carry you out.”

You keep walking, waving a hand and smiling.

“My door’s open!”

Back in your office, the quiet welcomes you like an old friend almost immediately. You exhale softly and pull your ponytail free, sighing as your hair falls down around your shoulders. Then you sit, and reopen your laptop. Videos from practice play across the screen while you type rapidly, organizing notes by player, color-coding in your own system their strengths, points to strengthen, movement and recovery concerns. Your focus narrows so much that you barely notice time passing. It feels like twenty minutes at most.

So when you finally glance up because there’s something that’s tugging at your awareness, you find four men standing in front of your desk, you blink in genuine surprise.

Right.

You’re glad that Coach Foster and the rest of the staff don’t particularly care that you’re close friends with some of the players. That had been one of your biggest concerns when you first interviewed for the position—Bokuto had already been your best friend for years, and through him, you’d known Hinata too.

But the staff had only cared about two things:

No romantic relationships

No favoritism.

Simple enough.

As for rule number one, that was impossible. You had cringed internally at the thought of dating any one of them. The second rule was achievable because you’re a professional. Everyone’s accepted the dynamic, especially because Bokuto would rather die than act normal around you anyway. He knows when it’s time to treat you as his best friend, and when it’s athletic trainer time.

Standing in front of your desk now, Kiyoomi breaks the silence first.

“We will carry you if needed."

Beside him, Atsumu nods seriously.

“Well, Bokkun will. My arms are kinda tired.”

You snort softly.

Bokuto suspiciously says nothing. Instead, his eyes drift over your desk just like they had this morning. Then he catches your gaze and smiles anyway.

“C’mon,” he says. “Keiji will be here soon.”

Your expression softens at the reminder.

“Give me two minutes to organize everything. Sit.”

Shouyou and Atsumu race towards the couch instantly while Koutarou and Kiyoomi sit in the chairs in front of your desk. You work quickly after that—saving files, organizing folders, and stacking papers until your desk looks manageable again.

“All done. Let’s go.”

The drive home is loud. Bokuto drives this time while you shit in the passenger seat, Atsumu follows behind with Kiyoomi and Shouyou in his car. One of Bokuto’s playlist, throwbacks to sing in the car, blasts through the speakers while the two of you sing along horribly. Like, genuinely horribly.

At the red light, you prop your phone against the dashboard and record a quick video of both of you butchering the chorus. You send it to the group chat.

walmart one direction (pre break-up)

you: video attached.

keiji: please don’t crash before I can eat my onigiris

tetsu: keiji why is that your priority tetsu: also hell yeah carpool karaoke!! tetsu: how was the first day back?

keiji: why wouldn’t it be? keiji: osamu-san sent me a picture and i've been salivating on the train

tetsu: i mean, valid

you: we’re home safe!! waiting for you keiji. you: first day was exactly how you’d expect, tetsu. you: giant men being bossed around by the best trained ever aka me.

tetsu: i couldn’t be bossed around by you you’re 5’4

you: uhh sure you: not like kenma bosses you around even tho he’s shorter than you

tetsu: he doesn’t! tetsu: i am my own man

kenma: your messages are interrupting my tomodachi life stream

tetsu: sorry kenma, we’ll shut up.

kenma: ok

you: ok tetsu stay delusional you: kenma i’ll watch you: did my mii fall in love with anyone yet

kenma: you fell in love with leon kennedy

you: fuck yeah does he like me back

kenma: no

You: oh You: that fine You: didn’t care that much anyway…

keiji: I'll be there in 20 minutes

kou: OH MY GOD!!!!!! OKAY!!!!! kou: miss you tetsu and kenma

tetsu: miss you more bro!!! tetsu: we’ll drive down soon

you: you have to come when we play the spanish team, no?

tetsu: yep

You: yay

kenma: yay

kou: YAYYYYYYYYY

You barely make it through the front door before Bokuto disappears into your kitchen.

“Don’t touch anything!”, he yells immediately.

You blink slowly as you toe your shoes off.

“...it’s my kitchen.” “No, it’s not,” he calls back. “It’s our kitchen.”

You don’t bother arguing, instead you drop your bag near the couch and let yourself fall face first into the cushions. The apartment already smells warm and familiar. The others come in moments after. You let them argue among themselves around the kitchen while they heat-up the food you prepared yesterday, since you wouldn’t have had time to do so today. You smile, listening to Kiyoomi boss everyone around.

You reach for your phone, thumbing through it as you click Kuroo’s private chat.

you: hey tetsu

tetsu: hello my fav bug

you: my finger is hovering the block button

tetsu: NO!!!! tetsu: hello one of my fav people

you: you know anything about the adlers new athletic trainer, perchance

tetsu: you cant just say perchance tetsu: also no tetsu: if i did i couldnt tell you anyway

you: …

tetsu: ok i would but i don’t know anything

you: its alr you: kaito mentioned a new one and i was curious

tetsu: oya? feeling threatened?

you: why would i?

tetsu: oh no no reason tetsu: its not like you're one of the most competitive people i know tetsu: and all my friends are/were volleyball players

you: well sue me

tetsu: someone definitely will someday

you: you’re lucky you’re my best friend, you know?

tetsu: oh trust me, i thank the god im not your enemy tetsu: ive seen it

you: if you mention college or you know who, our friendship is over

tetsu: i would never, i value my life

you: love you

tetsu: love you too tetsu: now go make sure bo and keiji don’t have sex on your kitchen counter

you: shit you’re right you: have a good day at work you: call you later

You close your eyes for a few seconds, just to rest. But then—

“Why are ya puttin’ the oven that high!”

“It’s how Samu told me to do it!”

“That scrub ain’t know shit!”

“Miya, you’re five seconds away from dropping the tray, please put it down.”

You sit up immediately and rush toward the kitchen before your apartment gets absolutely destroyed. Rushing into the kitchen, the door swings open and shut quickly as you take in the scene in front of you.

Shouyou is focused on preparing rice, Atsumu and Koutarou are still arguing passionately about oven temperature while Kiyoomi calmly organizes cold dishes on the counter like he’s pretending the others aren’t even there. You clear your throat loudly and everyone looks at you.

Hinata smiles immediately, Koutarou stares at you wide-eyed like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, Kiyoomi doesn’t even look up at what he’s organizing and Atsumu points at the brownies.

“Bokkun, please trust me on this.”

Bokuto sighs dramatically.

“Fine. But if we end up without brownies, you’re going out to buy some.”

Atsumu pumps a fist into the air. You snort softly.

“Kou, come help me set the table.”

Bokuto nods, abandoning the brownies without hesitation to gather plates from the cupboards and utensils from the cabinets. You head into the dining room first, spreading the tablecloth smoothly across the dining table before setting cups down one by one. You count automatically in your head up to seven. A moment later, Bokuto emerges balancing the plates and silverware in his arms. You immediately step closer before disaster strikes, because he might be amazing at volleyball, but he can be clumsy sometimes. You take the utensils and napkins from the top.

“You know, normal people make two trips."

“I’m built different.”

“Okay, Mr. I'm not like other guys.”

You both start setting everything down, moving around each other easily from years of familiarity. The silence between you is comfortable, always has been. Then Bokuto breaks it by speaking quietly-

“You think he’ll like it?”

You glance up. There’s something softer in his expression now, less loud excitement, more nervous anticipation. You know this look. A small smile tugs at your mouth as you finish placing a napkin beside a plate.

“Of course he will, Kou.”

You look at him fully now.

“It’s Keiji. We could serve him literal rocks and he’d still be happy because it came from you. Even while being a glutton.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen slightly, golden and big and earnest.

“...yeah,” he says softly. “You’re right.”

His whole expression melts afterward, all signs tension disappearing from his shoulders. Three minutes later, the apartment smells incredible and the kitchen has finally settled into organized chaos instead of impending disaster chaos. You're setting up the speakers when the doorbell rings. Your head lifts automatically, but you don’t move because Bokuto is already sprinting out of the kitchen.

“Keiji!”

The front door swings open hard enough to make you wince, and there he is.

Akaashi Keiji.

From where you stand, you can physically see his expression soften the second he looks at Bokuto. It’s subtle, tiny, but so full of love it almost feels intrusive to witness.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says softly.

Bokuto practically launches himself forward, wrapping Akaashi into a tight hug immediately. Despite being fairly tall himself, Keiji disappears slightly against Bokuto’s broader frame, arms circling around him without hesitation. You look away, just enough to give them a sliver of privacy. You know Akaashi isn’t huge on PDA, but around close friends, he’s always been more openly affectionate.

After a few seconds, they pull back just enough for Akaashi to loop his arms around Bokuto’s neck and kiss him. In return, Bokuto’s hands settle at his waist. You smile faintly to yourself.

When they separate, both are smiling quietly. Then Akaashi gently pushes at Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Now let me go say hi to my wife.”

Bokuto laughs brightly and steps aside immediately, as he should. Akaashi toes off his shoes by the entrance, leaves his luggage beside the door, and that’s your cue.

“Keiji-kun!”

Akaashi laughs softly just before you crash into him. His hug is warm and grounding in the way only old friendships can make you feel. Soft sweater fabric, slightly smudged glasses from the kiss, it’s all very Keiji and you love it.

“How was the first day?” he asks as he steps back slightly. “Did they trouble you too much?”

You laugh. “It was fine. Nothing that I’m not used to.”

Akaashi snorts knowingly. Behind him, Bokuto immediately joins the conversation by draping himself against his boyfriend.

“C’mon,” he says excitedly. “The others are finishing lunch.”

Akaashi looks at you suspiciously. “Is it edible?”

You laugh loudly, already pushing them both toward the kitchen.

“I made the food, they’re just helping.”

He sighs in relief. “Good.”

Lunch turns out amazing. Not because the food is life-changing—you’re good in the kitchen, but you’re not a Michelin-star chef, and you’re definitely not Osamu. Still, you’re proud of it.

Speaking of the brown-haired Miya, he showed up ten minutes after Keiji did, carrying one of Onigiri Miya’s paper bags carefully in his hands. The second he placed it on the counter, everyone burst into laughter by the message written across in thick black sharpie.

FOR AKAASHI-KUN

NO TOUCHING

ESPECIALLY ATSUMU AND HIS PISS HAIR

Atsumu immediately looked offended.

“My hair is not piss-colored.”

“Yes it is,” Kiyoomi said instantly.

“It is,” you agreed, only to bother Atsumu, of course.

Hinata nodded seriously, but with a hint of humor in his eyes. “A little.”

“Why am I surrounded by haters?”

“Because yer annoyin’ and deserve it,” Osamu replied without even looking up.

Now, much later, everyone’s still seated around the table with full stomachs and loose limbs. Every plate looks like they’ve been licked clean. The brownies had turned out well too, which Atsumu has mentioned at least seven times already.

“Ya know,” he says again around a mouthful of brownie and vanilla ice cream, “it’s amazing how nobody believed in me.

“Because you set the oven to practically volcanic,” you reply.

“And yet—!”

“And yet they survived. Yes Miya, we’ve established this.” Sakusa says, deadpan.

Atsumu pouts.

The apartment hums with conversation and low background music. You love this, the laugher, the conversations, the way your best friend’s happiness infects the entire room so everyone is smiling too. Volleyball naturally becomes the topic eventually, but not in a work way—no stats or schedules or training. Just old stories of old friends and nostalgia.

You glance toward Osamu from where you’re curled up in your chair, one knee up and balancing the brownie on it.

“How is Suna, by the way.”

Osamu smiles immediately.

“He’s good. Complaining about waking up early for pre-season.”

Atsumu snorts.

“He’s always slept too much. You’d think bein’ a professional athlete would change that.”

Beside him, Sakusa sighs quietly.

“Not everyone wakes up at five a.m to run with Hinata.”

Hinata beams. “I like the sunrise.”

Bokuto bursts with laughter.

“I remember in high school Shou used to jump around so much during practice they couldn’t wake him up the next day.”

Hinata points accusingly. “That’s because you guys practiced after-hours.”

Bokuto puffs his chest proudly.

“That’s how it had to be, my disciple.”

Akaashi shakes his head lightly, smiling into his spoon. “Those camps were a mess.”

You grin. “I can only imagine you getting fed up with Kou and Tetsu.”

Akaashi goes completely serious.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Bokuto gasps. “Keiji!”

“What?”

“You loved us!”

“I still do,” Akaashi rolls his eyes jokingly. “Unfortunately.”

Bokuto collapses sideways against Akaashi in fake devastation while his boyfriend continues eating his dessert like nothing happened.

Hours later, the sun has fully set, leaving your apartment washed in soft golden light from the lamps scattered around the living room. Shouyou, Kiyoomi, Atsumu and Osamu left around ten minutes ago, retreating to their apartments next door and Osamu to his place. Hinata and Atsumu sharing a place works pretty well, so does Bokuto and Sakusa living together.

You finish loading the dishwasher before dragging yourself back into the living room with a tired sigh, collapsing onto the couch beside Koutarou and Keiji. Akaashi’s seated in the middle, so you naturally lean sideways, resting your head against his shoulder. He glances down at you immediately.

“You tired, bug?”

Somehow you only like the nickname when he and Kenma say it.

(that’s a lie, you enjoy it every time)

“I’m fine.”

Bokuto snorts loudly from the other side.

“Oh, so Keiji can call you bug but I can’t? I see how it is."

You crack one eye open to look at him.

“Keiji says it with love. You and Tetsu say it like I’m an actual insect.”

“That’s not true!” Bokuto protests. “I say it lovingly.”

A beat.

“... I dunno about Tetsu though.”

You laugh quietly, but as you do, you press two fingers lightly against your temple, which Akaashi notices right away.

“Headache?”

You hum softly, eyes closing again for a second.

“Maybe a little.”

Bokuto immediately leans forward to peer around Akaashi at you.

“That’s because you don’t rest.”

You sigh.

“Don’t start, Kou.”

When you open your eyes again, both of them are looking at you—concerned and unconvinced. You straighten slightly.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, more firmly this time. They clearly don’t believe you, but they also know when to let things go. So eventually, they nod.

Bokuto reaches for his phone.

“Let’s call the others.”

You smile faintly and sit up properly, moving away from Akaashi’s shoulder as Bokuto starts the video call. The phone rings until—

“Tetsu!” Bokuto yells.

Kuroo appears on screen, grinning immediately.

“Bo!”

“Bug!”

“Tetsu,” you warn instantly.

He ignores you completely.

“Keiji!”

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi says with an exhausted tone that always seems to come out when Kuroo’s involved.

Bokuto props the phone carefully against the vase in the center of your coffee table so everyone fits into frame.

“How was work?” Bokuto asks immediately.

Kuroo shrugs loosely, smiling. “Same old. How was the trip, Keiji?”

“Long,” Akaashi says simply. “But fine. Calm.”

Kuroo nods in understanding.

“Yeah. Travel sucks.” He glances away from the phone. “Hold on, let me see if Kenma’s free.”

You all watch as he walks through the apartment, eventually poking his head inside a room. Even through the camera, you recognize pieces of it. You can see it clearly in your mind-Kenma’s setup. Monitors glowing, controllers scattered around, streaming equipment everywhere, and that ridiculously chair you’re jealous of.

“You streaming?” Kuroo whispers.

There’s a pause, you can also imagine Kenma shaking his head because Kuroo immediately walks in properly.

“Look who wants to say hi.”

A few seconds later both of them appear on screen together.

“Hey guys,” Kenma says softly, smiling in the way that is reserved almost exclusively for people he loves.

“Kenken!”

“Kenma!”

“Hey.”

The three greetings overlap.

“You streaming again later?” you ask.

Kenma nods once. “Yeah. I’m making Tetsurou play another horror game with me.”

Kuroo groans dramatically, head falling back in despair.

“Noooo!”

You burst out laughing and Akaashi nods approvingly.

“Good idea.”

“You guys are so mean to Tetsu,” Bokuto says, deeply betrayed on behalf of his best friend.

Kuroo points at the phone immediately.

“Thank you! At least someone cares about me.”

Bokuto pauses thoughtfully.

“...but it was really funny last time.”

Kuroo gasps.

“Bro! Traitor!”

Everyone laughs and Kenma lets out a soft huff of amusement beside him. Kuroo pouts as he drops himself into the second chair beside Kenma. The conversation keeps flowing rapidly afterward—work, movies, games, Kenma’s company, Bokuto’s sponsorships, Kuroo’s plans, Akaashi and Tenma’s new manga and your travel schedule for the season. Time flies easily.

A soft alarm goes off somewhere on Kenma’s desk and he glances toward it immediately. Bokuto blinks.

“Damn, it’s nine already?”

Akaashi looks over at him fondly.

“You know Kenma’s streaming schedule? Cute.”

Bokuto beams instantly.

“Of course! I know all your schedules.”

Kuroo makes exaggerated kissing noises, even grabs the phone and brings it close to his lips.

You smile softly at both Bokuto’s thoughtfulness and Kuroo’s behavior.

“Alright,” you say, stretching slightly as you stand. “I’m gonna shower and watch the stream from bed.”

You glance toward Bokuto and Akaashi.

“You guys can stay as long as you want. Just lock up before you leave so I don’t get murdered in my sleep.”

“Creepy,” Kenma comments.

You shrug, looking back toward the phone.

“Love you, Testu and Kenma.”

Kuroo grins. “Love you too!”

Kenma mutters a quiet, “love you.”

Warmth blooms softly in your chest. You lean down next, hugging your friends.

“Love you. See you tomorrow.”

Akaashi murmurs his I love you too softly against your shoulder, while Bokuto practically yells his directly into your ear.

Later, freshly showered and tucked into bed, your laptop rests open beside you. Kenma’s steam plays quietly in the background while Kuroo screams dramatically every few minutes during the horror game. You smile sleepily into your pillow and as laughter and the familiar voices of two of your best friends fill the dark room, you fall asleep feeling cozy.

a few weeks later

Today is a rest day for both players and staff.

You know, in fact you’ve studied, that rest is essential for athletes, just as important as training itself, if not more. Recovery days lower injury risk, aid in soft tissue repair, regulate hormones like cortisol, dopamine, norepinephrine… you know all the physiology and neurology behind it. But still, that doesn’t mean you’re good at actually resting.

Even during the off-season break you’d spent most mornings pacing your apartment aimlessly before eventually giving up and going to the gym or on a run. You never really know what to do with yourself when volleyball/work isn’t involved somehow.

Your brain doesn’t shut off easily—it likes movement, activity, routine, schedules. You like having purpose.

Today’s free day has been planned thoroughly by Bokuto and Akaashi, who always insist you’re not third-wheeling because “ou’re literally one of our favorite people” and they don’t mind you being there with them.

You argued, of course. In turn, they ignored you.

So now, after being violently awakened by Bokuto screaming in your ear “get up or we’re going to miss the good picnic spots!”, you find yourself in Nakanoshima Park on a sunny Saturday midday.

It’s nice—crowded, yes—but nice nevertheless. Children run freely through the grass while their parents watch them with small smiles on their faces, or cameras pointed at them. Teens crowd around card games and board games with konbini snacks or toss around a football or volleyball around. Elderly couples sit together reading newspapers under the shade.

You sigh contentedly as you stretch out across the picnic blanket beneath the shade of a tree, eyes slipping closed for a moment while the happy couple wander off toward a nearby convenience store. The breeze is soft, the distant chatter is soothing and for once, your mind feels quieted off. A few minutes later, you feel someone sit beside you, probably Akaashi looking for some shade too. But when you open your eyes, already turning to ask what they bought, you sit up immediately—becuase it’s not Akaashi. It’s not Bokuto either.

It’s Kuroo.

You blink once, twice, trying to determine if you fell asleep and you’re dreaming. You know it’s not a dream when Kuroo grins lazily, so familiar and warm that it cannot be replicated accurately in dreams.

“Hey, bug.”

“Tetsu?!”

You practically throw yourself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. He lets out a startled huff but catches you easily, laughing as his own arms close around you. It’s a cute moment before you pull back just enough to smack his shoulders.

“What the fuck?!”

Kuroo rubs his shoulder.

“This is how you greet me? Giving me a false sense of security with a hug and then launching a sneak attack?”

You laugh brightly, still a little in disbelief.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs easily.

“Missed you.” A grin pulls at his mouth. “So I convinced my boss to send me here for the Adlers match. Promotional stuff, you know. They’re hot. The JVA would be stupid not to capitalize on that.”

You snort, but unfortunately, he’s right. They are hot and volleyball fans are terrifyingly dedicated—photo cards, chibis, posters, edits—you’ve seen it all.

“So you planned this with Kou and Keiji.”

Kuroo confirms with a nod.

“I wanted to slip into your apartment and scare you awake like you did to me that one time in university,” he says bitterly, still not over it. “But they wouldn’t let me.

Then quieter-

“Said you’d probably punch me “accidentally”.

You snort loudly.

“Nice quotation marks.”

You glance around.

“Where are they, by the way?”

Kuroo stretches out beside you, settling comfortably onto the blanket with his hands behind his head.

“Since you’re now in excellent company, they went on an actual lunch date. They’ll meet us later.”

You smile softly.

“Good. They deserved one. I kept telling them.”

You settle back down beside him, shoulders brushing slightly. It’s like no time has passed at all since the last time you saw him.

“Kenma couldn’t make it?”

Kuroo sighs, shaking his head.

“Turns out being a CEO involves actual work.”

You frown.

“Ah.”

A quiet beat passes between you before you turn your head slightly toward him.

“He happy?”

His expression softens immediately, the way it does when he talks about Kenma.

“He is.”

You smile.

“Good.”

For a while, the two of you just exist together in the best way possible. Comfortable silence as the park ambient noise fills it, shared space that is never too wide (Kuroo is a cuddler), its familiarity that only comes after so many years of actual, genuine friendship.

Then Kuroo’s stomach growls loud enough to interrupt the peace and you burst out laughing.

“Alright,” you say, sitting up. “Let’s eat, you giant baby.”

You pull the picnic basket closer and start unpacking the food the three of you prepared earlier that morning and conversation slips naturally into place after that. You notice little things while he talks your ear off.

The way his haircut is a little more tame now compared to your university days. The familiar rise and fall of his shoulders when he laughs. How his grin softens whenever he’s genuinely listening instead of teasing.

You hope you always notice things like that about the people you love.

Life feels different now than it did back then, definitely busier too. Conversations have changed too. Now it’s sponsors, schedules, plans for the future, traveling and work. Not complaining about professors, cafeteria food tier lists or deciding whether karaoke night was worth skipping class the next morning.

(you and Kuroo never skipped)

And it most definitely isn’t furious rants in chemistry tutoring sessions. You remember those especially well.

They usually went something like this:

years ago at a cafe near campus, approximately seven p.m.

Kuroo is already sitting at the table by the window when you arrive. The two of you love this place because all the menu items have terrible puns for names.

You’re late. Again.

He looks up just in time to see you storm through the tables like you’re seconds away from spontaneous combustion. You drop your bag onto the empty chair and collapse into the seat across from him with an aggressive huff.

“That fucker is seriously the worst,” you say immediately.

Kuroo calmly takes a sip of coffee.

“Hello to you too.”

“Like yeah, he’s smart,” you continue, ignoring him like he never spoke at all, “but that single redeemable quality he may have is hidden behind his stupidity and complete lack of empathy. Seriously, how is anyone friends with that guy?”

Kuroo hums.

“That was a little harsh.”

“I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy.” You pause, now speaking lower as you come to a realization. “...actually he might be my worst enemy, so that logic isn’t sound.”

That gets a little snort out of him.

“So,” he says carefully, “what did Iwaizumi do this time?”

You glare at him like the question itself offended you. Which it kind of did.

“I had that presentation today, remember?”

Kuroo nods.

“Well obviously we had peer review afterward and that asshole said my recovery research was ‘good in theory but had weak practical application'.”

Kuroo blinks.

“...that’s what you’re mad about?”

“Yes!”

“Because…?”

“Ugh! Because he said it so casually!” you complain. “Like it didn’t take me days to compile everything. He knows how hard research papers are!”

You slump farther into your chair.

“And he said it in front of everyone.”

A beat.

“And he might’ve been right,” you mutter bitterly.

Kuroo watches you for a second longer, then smiles slightly.

“Ah.”

You narrow your eyes immediately.

“What does ‘ah’ mean?”

“Nothing." “That was a measured ‘aw’”

His grin turns sly.

“It’s interesting.”

“What is? Being an asshole?”

“That you seem to care about his opinion more than anyone else’s."

You point at him.

“Don’t psychoanalyze me because you took one psych elective.”

“It was three, actually.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, tapping the notebook between you, “you still come to me for help.”

You stare at him.

“Don’t throw that in my face. You know chemistry is out to kill me."

“Mhm. Sure.”

You roll your eyes as you start getting your materials out of your bag. There’s a silent moment before he casually says-

“Iwaizumi is actually not that bad."

You stare at him in betrayal.

“What.”

“He was really nice in high school.”

“I don’t care. This is university.”

“He was Seijoh’s ace.”

“Oh, is that why he has a superiority complex?”

Kuroo laughs.

“I’m serious! People liked him.”

“That’s concerning.”

“He has friends and everything.”

“People should check on themselves.”

Before Kuroo can get another word in about how apparently amazing your enemy is, you point at him.

“From now on, we don’t say his name."

Kuroo deadpans.

“What.”

“He doesn’t have a name anymore. He doesn’t deserve one.”

You lean across the table and muster the most serious and threatening expression you can. You think you look pretty scary.

“If we must refer to him, we call him ‘you know who’”

There’s a microsecond of silence before Kuroo bursts into full-body laughter.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. I’m serious."

“Yeah, I know.” he wheezes. “That’s the problem.”

You cross your arms stubbornly. “You agree or not? I can’t have my tutor be a traitor.”

“Did you just demote me from ‘friend’ to ‘tutor’?”

“Yes. You’re back to ‘friend’ when you agree.”

“Oh my god, I agree.” he laughs. “You’re way more entertaining than any other person I’ve studied with.

You finally open your notebook with a dramatic sigh.

“I know. It’s tiring, being this fascinating.”

“Your constant suffering is what’s fascinating."

“Traitor.”

“Dumbass,” he says, and you think you notice there’s a hint of fondness there.

Back then, you genuinely thought university rivalry and chemistry was the most exhausting thing life would ever throw at you. Looking back now, it almost feels small, and almost funny. Almost because you haven’t thought about Iwaizumi Hajime in a long time. Almost because that man is your forever enemy.

But your life is good now. Full and busy and fulfilling in ways a younger you could only dream of. Laying there beneath the summer sun beside your best friend, listening to the sounds of Osaka around you, you feel happy.

But still, hours later still in the shade as Kuroo naps beside you, your thoughts wander for a moment to him.

years ago, second year of university.

Your morning starts terribly. Actually no, it was fine until your roommate threw their coffee all over your favorite hoodie, which immediately ruins everything.

“You bumped into me!” you complain while desperately trying to scrub the stain in the sink.

Your roommate, who you have a nice relationship with (most of the time) looks completely unbothered.

“It’s not the end of the world.”

“That hoodie deserves better than this cruel end.”

Unfortunately, the universe continues conspiring against you after that. This time it’s the rain, and normally you love the rain, how the pellets sound as they hit your window, how it makes you want to cuddle up in bed with a movie.

Today, however, it's cold and miserable and actively mocking you while your stained hoodie sits abandoned in your dorm room.

Then, because people can’t do their outdoor training, the gym is packed—like completely packed. And of course, he is here. Of fucking course. Fucking Iwaizumi, already using the equipment you wanted. Sweaty and focused and looking entirely too smug for someone just lifting weights.

You narrow your eyes and somehow he senses you and glances up briefly. And the bastard smirks! Like actually smirks!

You turn around instantly and walk right back out before you commit a felony today. You could probably go to jail if you beat the smirk off his face with that same dumbbell, right?

Right. So you’ll come back later. Like a peasant.

So overall? Awful morning. But at least, at least, you have your favorite lecture in two hours. Sports rehabilitation 201 with Professor Kento, the only one on campus who makes lectures worthwhile.

You’ve been actually looking forward to it.

Which means, naturally, that the universe ruins that too. You wonder who you pissed off for this bad karma.

“Class is cancelled?” someone near the lecture hall says excitedly.

“No way, really?”

“Yes! Professor Kento is sick!”

You stare at the classroom door in betrayal. No.

No no no no. You had notes prepared!

Now you’re sitting alone in the cafeteria with your lunch and a podcast playing through your headphones loud enough to discourage anyone from attempting conversation with you. You’re not in the mood. You stab aggressively at your food.

Something in the universe makes you look up at the cafeteria doors as they open up. And unfortunately, there he is again.

You narrow your eyes as Iwaizumi walks inside beside one of his friends (that he must have paid to be his friend) laughing about something. He doesn’t notice you, but you do. Because apparently today is the day for all things annoying.

His stupid hair looks damp from the rain, or a shower.

His stupid smile is relaxed, which is unfair.

And his stupid shirt stretches across his stupid biceps very nicely.

You huff sharply and turn the volume on your headphones up to the maximum because you are not going to spend your lunch watching him and ignoring the amazing athlete on your podcast.

Absolutely not!

Which is why it’s incredibly irritating when your eyes accidentally drift toward him two minutes later.

Stupid, annoying, athletic asshole.

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