Disclaimer: I own nothing of Haikyuu!

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Rain.

I hate rain more than I have ever hated anything in the world. It took my family away from me. Even now, when I hear the pattering of water on the windows of a bus or car, shivers trail up and down my spine.

But I love rain. Because even when I felt more alone than I had ever felt, the rain was there, mourning with me far longer and far more quietly than anyone else ever had.

I have mixed feelings about rain.

It was raining on the night they died.

The evening had been surprisingly warm for a December night, especially for Massachusetts. The rain had come first, pounding against our car, and then the mist had descended like a gentle cloud around the road. We were driving home from my final volleyball tournament for the season, and I was more elated that evening than I had been all that week. Of course, that's what winning does to you.

"I liked it best when you did that rolling on the floor thing, Phoenix," Hudson had said, bouncing up and down on his seat as we hashed and re-hashed the most exciting points of the day.

"That was pretty exciting," my mother had called over her shoulder, "but I thought your straight hits were pretty good tonight."

I had blushed slightly and then slyly said "What did you think, Dad? Wasn't I the best out there tonight?"

And my dad had nodded solemnly and said, "Obviously! I would tell you how much better you were if I actually knew what happened in the game though." And we had laughed and my dad had turned his head away from the road for only a second, opening his mouth to say just one more thing to me.

He never got to say it.

Because, just as we were going past where another street joined with our own, a car smashed into our own at top speed.

They told me later that the other driver had been unable to see where he was going and had lost control of the car. He had hit our car at just the right angle so that we were spinning, spinning so fast, away from where we were meant to go and then when we stopped spinning it wasn't gentle, because the thing that stopped our car was a tree.

And when I opened my eyes, the entire front of our car was crushed from both sides and the front, and I could tell that it was only by a miracle that I was as okay as I was and that Hudson was too but then it didn't matter because Oh God was that blood? And when I looked over my little brother again and saw nothing but a few scratches and scrapes and an arm that looked like it might have been broken, but nothing was bleeding as much as is should have been to give off that much blood. And then I saw my Dad's hand still gripping the steering wheel and there was so much blood and when I croaked out my mother's name there wasn't an answer and I knew that my dad wasn't the only one who had been making the still-growing puddle of nearly black liquid on the floor of our car.

With shaky hands I called the ambulance and please, for God's sake just get here fast because I think that they're dying. And when the flashing lights lit up the the surrounding area I couldn't relax because I just knew that they were too late.

The funeral was on a Saturday. All of my parents' relatives came and their co-workers and their friends and my entire volleyball team came, even Mackenzie, who still thought I was a bitch. I had even thought about inviting Aven, even though we were on a break from being best friends, but this last fight had been so much worse than any of the others and I just knew that she hated me and she wouldn't drive seven hours just to see someone she didn't even want to be friends with.

And when the four of us children stood hand-in-hand by the coffins that were slowly being lowered into the ground I couldn't help but think that this might be some practical joke and if I wished hard enough I could get them to wake up. But as Juno wrapped Hudson and myself into her arms and Israel squeezed my hand I knew that it was too late and that they were dead.

After the burial came the hosting of relatives who came from far and wide to mourn for these people who they hadn't seen in years but they were so sorry for our loss. Most of the family stayed at the hotel nearby but our cousins and their parents would have dinner at our house and then the question of what would happen to the two children who were still underage came up.

That was the one question I had been avoiding the entire time and suddenly we were seated at our dining room table eating a ham and Uncle Tom was asking if Hudson and Phoenix would be living with Beth and I? The silence after those few questions was deafening.

"I'll come stay with them here," Juno suddenly said. "After all, we aren't going to sell the house."

"Juno, dear, we can't ask you to do that," Aunt Mary had said. "You have to finish your college. And Alabama is perfect for you. You love it there." When Juno opened her mouth to interject, Aunt Mary merely held up a hand and that was the end of Hudson and I being able to stay in our own home.

"Phoenix, weren't you going to be studying abroad this year, anyways? You could always continue with those plans and we would easily be able to find somewhere for Hudson then."

"John, you shouldn't be sending her halfway across the planet, especially at this time! She needs to be here, with her family," Uncle Tom said around a mouthful of sweet potatoes.

"No," I said suddenly. "I need to go. I want to go to Japan this year."

A few odd glances were passed around among the adults, but after a few quick nods they agreed. I would be going to study in Japan for a year and Hudson would be staying with our oldest brother Israel in Washington. And as I felt relieved that I would not be living in the house that held so many memories of my parents and that I wouldn't be forgetting that they weren't just late from work and then be reminded when I turned around and saw Hudson sitting very still that they would never be coming home ever again, I felt very guilty. Because out of the corner of my eye, I saw my twelve-year-old brother staring in horror at the table, not because he had to live with Israel but because I wouldn't be with him.

But two weeks later and I was at the airport hugging my siblings goodbye as I clenched my boarding pass and ticket in one hand and my suitcase in another. Because how could I celebrate Christmas this year without my mother making too many pies and all of us innocently offering to eat whatever was leftover and without my father wearing a handmade Santa's hat to pass out our presents?

A few phone calls had been made and soon the organization that had arranged the exchange was saying that yes, it was possible for me to come a few months early, due to the tragic circumstances. So I was heading to Japan in the middle of December instead of the end of March.

When I had settled myself into the plane seat for the trip and relaxed my head back, I found that I was suddenly very exhausted. Sleep had been elusive the past few days. Maybe it was the surprising emptiness of the room next door, but it could have been the occasional hiccup or sniffle coming from the lump on the other bed in the room that was my older sister. So I embraced the gentle call of sleep and when I next opened my eyes my neck was aching and my mouth was dry and I was in Japan.

The host family that I had been assigned to originally had said that, no, it would not be possible to host her for an extra four months, so the family that greeted me at the baggage claim was different from the other family that I had gotten to know a bit in the past few months.

The Kiyoko's were a small family of three. All of them were very attractive, especially the mother and the daughter with their delicate Asian features, glasses, and well-curved bodies. The father was loud and happy and short and stout and completely the opposite of my own dad, which suited me just fine. His wife reminded me a bit more of my own mother, with her gentle grace and warm friendliness, although where my own mother would have given a tight hug, this woman gave me a smile and a small bow.

I could tell that I would like their daughter Shimizu from the moment I saw her. She didn't speak very much, just like myself, but I could tell that her silence didn't come from being more preoccupied with her own thoughts. It was more like she was just very shy.

Their home was small. That was the first thing that stood out to me when I walked into the main living space. But unlike other places I had been in, it didn't feel cramped or crowded. Everything had its own place and that made everything flow smoothly.

When I saw that I would be sharing a room with Shimizu, I felt a bit awkward. I was, after all, living in this girl's home for 16 months. Even to begin with, that was a lot, but to be taking over her personal space felt like too much of an intrusion.

But Shimizu had already made space in her closet and her dresser and there was an extra bed in her room, so I began putting my things away silently and gratefully. The one thing I had dreaded was that this girl would be a complete and total brat, but Shimizu had done all of this without a single complaint.

Their dinner was a quiet affair, and after all of the questions about the weather, my journey, and what I was going to be doing here in Japan for the months before I started going to school had been both asked and answered, we ate in silence until I finally excused myself, claiming exhaustion.

The next day I awoke at four o'clock in the morning. I knew that I would not be getting anymore sleep that night, so I dragged myself out of the warm bed and pulled on exercise clothes and running shoes and quietly slipped out of the door, leaving a note on my bed for Shimizu if she woke before I got back.

The mornings in Japan seemed different from the ones in America, even if that shouldn't have been true. Perhaps it was because we were in the countryside now and I had lived in mostly suburban areas all of my life, but the air here seemed less heavy, and the sky seemed clearer than it had in America.

Soon I was racing along the edge of a field and the sun was peeking out from behind the distant horizon and I decided that it was time to be heading back to the Kiyoko house. After a few wrong turns, I finally made my way back to the small house and slipped silently inside.

The smells of warm rice and eggs and vegetables greeted my nose as I slipped my running shoes off and pulled on the inside shoes. When I had heard that the Japanese people ate such odd things for breakfast, I was prepared for the worst. After all, breakfast was a time for cold cereal and toast and bacon, not rice and fish and veggies! But the foreign smells greeted my nose gently in the hazy morning and, although they were unfamiliar, they were not so very unpleasant.

"Oh! Good morning, Jameson-chan!" I turned to see Mrs. Kiyoko- no, Kiyoko-San, beaming at me over a pot of steaming rice.

"Good morning," I said. "But you can just call me Phoenix. Unless it's too difficult to pronounce," I added as an afterthought. "Just call me whatever you want."

"Fu-i-ni-ku-su." The older woman slowly tasted the feel of the foreign word on her tongue. I nodded encouragingly, and she gave me a brilliant smile. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Actually," I said, "I'd rather shower first."

So Kiyoko-San taught me how to work a Japanese shower and I quickly cleaned myself off before coming out of the room and settling down to breakfast.

My first day began a trend. Every morning, no matter how early or late I stayed up, I would wake up at four o'clock and I would run as far and as fast as I possibly could until the sun started to come out at around five-thirty. When I would arrive back, Kiyoko-San would be making breakfast, which I would happily partake in along with Shimizu-San and Kiyoko-San One and Two, as I started calling them in my head to differentiate them. And after Shimizu-San and Kiyoko-San One left for school and work, I would get myself ready for the day.

I had never worn a lot of make-up every day back in America. But here, I had just started doing it to cover the bags under my eyes and the redness of my nose. Eventually I had started to wear enough makeup that it didn't quite look like I was wearing any, but at the same time it was obvious I was.

And as soon as I was ready for the day I would take my things and head to the park or a cafe or a bookshop and I would read anything I could get my hands on and maybe I would try drawing the passing people and their dogs, even though I was horrible at art. And my lack of talent would show because the people always looked sad in my drawings and the dogs, even though I would draw them barking, soon were howling in grief.

And the day would pass and I would pass shops that sold souvenirs and I would avoid looking at the silk ties and colorful jewelry in the windows of the shops because that was what they had wanted me to get them. The afternoon would fade into the early evening and I would head back to the Kiyoko house and dinner would be there. It would be quiet and I was grateful for that, but sometimes I would almost wish that there would be loud laughter and joyful yelling and screaming because I was living in silence and they shouldn't have to do that with me.

When we would go to bed, Shimizu-San would be in bed and fall asleep easily and I would be lying awake for hours until I would slip into a restless sleep at around midnight. While I would sleep, I would dream of them.

I would always be in the hallway of our home. Laughter would be trailing throughout the house, and I would follow it to the kitchen and they would be there, happy and alive. They would smile at me and I would run to them and they would hold out their arms to embrace me and just as I started to slam into my father's sturdy chest I would wake up.

I would gasp and pant and then I would cry. It was the only time I would allow myself to cry because nobody could hear me this late. And when my face was sticky with tears and my heart was both heavier and lighter than it had been before. I would fall back to sleep and dream again, but this time when I walked into the kitchen, my parents would stare at me coldly from pale, mangled bodies and they would hiss in rough, harsh voices that this was your fault.

When I would wake up again, I would already be crying. And I knew that sleep wasn't going to be coming anytime soon and so I would wash my face and put on running shoes and then my day of avoidance would begin again.

Juno called quite often, actually. She would ask how I was doing and what I had learned and if I had made any new friends and I would lie and say that I was okay and that Shimizu and I had become very close friends. And I would ask about her and she would say that she was fine, just very busy and I knew that she was lying too but we both pretended that we were ignorant. Maybe we did it because we that that if we pretended that nothing was wrong for long enough that it might become true.

/

HI!

So this idea came to me the other day and it's been bugging me. I just kind of had to write it. It probably will only be about three chapters long, and I already have the second one finished. Hopefully it won't take me too long to finish the third one.

Please note:

The Kiyoko Shimizu in this story is the manager of the Karasuno volleyball team.

Phoenix is a difficult name to say in Japanese, but I have been studying the language since the beginning of the school year and can say that, roughly, it would be said as Shimizu's mother pronounces it in this chapter. I wish that I could write out at least the hiragana for you guys, but I'm not sure how Japanese keyboards work, so I think whatever I would do wouldn't be very accurate.

Please review!