Happy Birthday, Ushijima! And happy left-handed day! I wanted to show a little bit of the realistic struggles lefties face in the world (like scissors - ugh, bane of my existence), and I hope I got that right!
"He's left-handed." says the doctor with a beam. "Quite rare. Your son will be something else for sure!"
The expression on Natsumi's face is something twisted and angry, Takashi notices out of the corner of his eye. It flickers for a brief second before smoothing back out into the sweet smile he'd fallen for. Takashi frowns a little in worry.
Fifteen minutes later, after all the reports on Wakatoshi's health – apparently excellent for a two-and-a-half-year-old boy – have been filed, the consultation fee paid, and with a huff and a curt 'thank you', Natsumi strides out rudely, leaving Takashi, arms full of his innocent little son, to stagger out with an apologetic smile sent to the doctor.
"Natsumi!" he hisses once they are strapped into the car, Wakatoshi safely wrapped up in the car seat, fast asleep with his volleyball patterned blanket draped around him. "What was that?"
"What was what?" she replies, avoiding his gaze, lips pursed.
"That! What you pulled back there!"
She looks at him then, eyes dark and serious and furious.
"I will not have my son being left-handed, of all things," she says angrily. "It's not natural. He'll change, of course. He isn't unnatural. And if he persists, then I'll force him into switching. It can't be that hard, surely,"
Takashi doesn't say a word. His gentle wife, his lovely wife, his sweet wife would never do such a thing. Her rages are all bark and no bite. She wouldn't dare to change something so fundamental to their wonderful little son's being.
She wouldn't.
He lets Natsumi fume all the way back home. It's harmless anyway, isn't it?
Two years later and Wakatoshi is four, showing no sign of being right-handed, much to Natsumi's rising anger. She grows more furious day by day.
"He will grow up to be a righty," she insists.
Takashi remains mute.
She moves over to their son, squatting down by him, pulling the crayon out of his hand.
"Wakatoshi," she says gently. "Come on, do it with your right,"
"Why?" he asks. The innocence in that one single word breaks Takashi's heart.
"Because I want you to," Natsumi says, forcing a smile. "Come on, sweetie," she tells him, putting the tool in his other hand.
Wakatoshi begins clumsily to colour, lines going everywhere. He frowns unhappily.
"I don't like it, Mommy," he says to her. "It was nicer wi-my other hand."
His lisp is almost fully gone, but a shadow of it remains, and Takashi can't help but fondly smile at him.
Natsumi forcefully pushes the crayon back into their child's right hand.
"No, Wakatoshi," she snaps. "You're using your right, and don't try to argue!"
"Natsumi!" The word bursts out of Takashi's lips before he has a chance to think over it.
"What?" she says, visibly irritated.
"Don't – don't change him. I don't care if it's a practice in your family or whatever, but please. He's going to be so amazing, I just know it! He's going to grow up to be the best boy ever, Natsumi. That left-handedness will be his strength! I swear to you!"
Natsumi looks disconcerted and angry, but then she sighs and gives in.
"Fine, but I'm only doing this for you," she says in a very put-upon tone.
Cut to four years later, and Natsumi and Takashi have finally decided to part ways, both seeing that it was nothing more than one simple fling.
"What about him?" Natsumi says, jerking her head towards their son. "Will you keep Wakatoshi?"
The look in her eyes, despite her having a continued animosity towards his handedness, is pained and wretched. Takashi himself knows that he cannot care well enough for his son, being busy as he is.
"No," he says, seeing his ex-wife's face smoothen out in relief. "I'll visit. If that's okay with you."
Natsumi nods. "He needs a father."
And so it is agreed. Takashi stays for an hour more, one last game of volleyball with his son before breaking the terrible news.
Wakatoshi blinks.
"Because of me?" he asks. "I've heard you fighting – about me being left-handed, and, and stuff – is it my fault?"
Takashi rushes to comfort his son. "No, no! Never!" he says hurriedly. "Your mother and I just stopped… being in love."
They hug one last time, and Takashi promises to visit every other month.
He stops, after a while.
Too busy, he says over the phone each week. That slows down too, gradually fading away.
Wakatoshi ends up growing up without a father.
Wakatoshi joins the volleyball team in his fourth year of elementary school.
When he is handed the ball after being shown how to serve, he attempts clumsily with his right as the coach has instructed.
"My god, that is a horrible serve," mutters an upperclassman.
Wakatoshi blushes furiously. He really wants to be good at this! He knows how to do a good serve with his left arm, dad said he did! But the coach had told them to use their right hands – maybe he has been doing it wrong all these years. Maybe… maybe he is wrong in doing anything with his left hand.
To his surprise, a warm hand comes down heavily on Wakatoshi's shoulder.
"What's your dominant hand?" asks an upperclassman with a kind smile. Light glints off his glasses. "You definitely aren't right handed, that I can see. I'm a leftie, too," he says gently. "Come on, try serving with your other hand!"
Wakatoshi nods, switching the ball to his other hand.
He serves.
The ball arcs and lands on the other side of the net just perfectly.
Everyone stares, stunned, but the upperclassman just laughs and swings an arm around Wakatoshi.
"Come on," he says. "This world isn't made for us, but I guess we can forge our way through it."
Wakatoshi thinks about his choices, sitting on his bed. It's eight years after that one upperclassman inspired him to use what everyone had taught him was a weakness as a strength.
"This world isn't made for us, but I guess we can forge our way through it."
And that's what he ended up doing, isn't it?
He pushed his way to the top. He picked Shiratorizawa and did well, he's become feared for his left-handed spike… he did what his middle school upperclassman told him to. And even though they lost to Karasuno, he's happy. Playing volleyball makes him happy. And he surely wants those two boys to win. Kageyama and Hinata - they are excellent, and they can do anything together.
Wakatoshi looks carefully over the list of colleges in his hand. Of course, he's going to continue playing in university. He's been scouted to a bunch of colleges, but the one that stands out the most is Tokyo Uni.
He grabs a pen and fills up the form quickly. He's supposed to cut it out, and has never been particularly good with tearing.
"Tendou, pass me the scissors," he calls to Satori, who gives him a huge grin and tosses the pair onto his bed.
Wakatoshi snatches them up and on reflex tries to cut with his left hand.
Ugh. This is why he hates scissors.
"I hate scissors," he grumbles.
Tendou's too-sharp ears catch the words. He jumps over, smirking.
"Oh, did you just express your hate for an inanimate object, Wakatoshi?" he says slyly.
"This world is made for people like you," Wakatoshi replies in an uncharacteristic (of him) show of petulance. "Right-handed people. I should consider buying a pair of those left-handed scissors or something."
Tendou laughs.
"So that's why you always galre at scissors," he says.
"What? I do not," Wakatoshi protests mildly. How he wishes Goshiki were here to do something comical to divert Tendou's attention from him.
"Yes, you do."
"I do not."
They argue for a little while until Tendou stops and grabs a purple-wrapped box off his desk.
"Anyway, I got you a present. You know, since we aren't going to the same college and all." Tendou says with a small, wistful smile. He hands Wakatoshi the large, oblong box.
Wakatoshi opens it curiously and sees a pair of scissors labelled 'for left-handers'.
He smiles a little and opens them with a quiet, sincere 'thank you'.
They work much better than the other ones.