High school is weird, Shoyo decides his first day of basketball practice, but still fun.
The older members still intimidate him a bit, all broad shoulders and shrieking laughs and massive hands; he counts three, maybe four other players without their head shaved or some part of their body pierce. One of the third-years even sports a black eye, eye swollen so shut that he winces when he smiles upon introducing himself.
It's hard to be scared of someone, though, after watching them wheeze and whine their way through a fifteen minute warm-up.
They start to treat Shoyo seriously after the first time he manages to dart through their defenses during the first practice match, incredulity and teasing gazes turning quickly into curiosity and even what he thinks might be approval. He's blocked and knocked down and gets up again and again, even just a bump of strong shoulders against his in midair sometimes enough to send him tumbling. The concrete scrapes his arms and legs and there's no apology waiting for him once he stands up, just a nod and a sharp slap to the back and oh, this must be what respect is like to these sorts of guys.
They're the sort of boys that make his grandmother clutch her purse tight to her chest in the subway, and it takes them only half an hour to start calling Shoyo Sparky, ruffling his hair after every successful jump or pivot and high-fiving him when he pulls off a good pass.
The outdoor court is a new experience for him, the Captain- Jin, he thinks -explaining to him and the few other first years that yes, this is their regular practice court and yeah, it gets ridiculously fucking hot sometimes, make sure to drink as much water as you can during school.
One of the older players is even nice enough to offer him knee pads afterwards, when they're all draped out across the grass nearby and chugging at their water bottles.
"They're pretty worn-down," he warns, tugging slightly at the single blond stripe that runs through his otherwise dark hair, "since they used to be my brother's and all, but they should fit okay." Shoyo thanks him furiously and assures him that yes, he will absolutely buy his own once the weekend starts up.
Another boy at his opposite laughs at that, low and scratchy. "Nishinoya's not that selfless," he tells Hinata, "just scared of blood, and your legs are gonna look like roadkill if you keep jumping around like you did today on concrete without protection."
Nishinoya clips his shoulder with a water bottle, muttering at him to shut up , and the rest of the team is off, voices like bird calls when they laugh together.
"I can talk to him for you, if you want," Reiji offers teasingly, jostling Shoyo just a little bit too hard in the ribs with his elbow.
Shoyo jostles him right back, throws his weight against Reiji's side and scowls when he barely budges.
"He's cool, okay," he says, shooting one last glimpse towards the taller of the two figures walking out of eyesight.
"He's a stringbean," Fumio counters around a mouthful of granola, "and he's volleyball ."
"Oy," Nishinoya interjects, shoving at Fumio's shoulder when he rolls his eyes. The two fall into familiar bickering, a common occurrence even just a week into practices.
Navy blue is creeping onto the far horizon, a sure sign they have maybe half an hour left to stay. They head out to the parking lot after practice sometimes, Shoyo and the other first years and whichever older members are feeling indulgent, but practicing passes tends to grow boring pretty quick, and the lights there are only a small step up from the total darkness of the court after sunset.
It has its moments, though. A sharp breeze, raking through his hair after a long day spent inside. Hideo, who always forgets his watch, twisting his head back to squint up at the sun and shout curses at it. The skin of his forearms and face, tanning quickly to match the darker tone seemingly characteristic of the team.
Being able to relax like this afterwards, stars sputtering slowly into sight above them, the wind cool on sweat-slick skin and the grass underneath soft, smelling just slightly like dirt, familiar and soothing.
Jin and the vice-captain, Santiago, always wait around until everyone else has left; they sit now just at the edge of the court, voices startlingly low in comparison to the discussion taking place a few paces away from Shoyo.
"-and besides, none of us were even students then, dipshit," Nishinoya snarks, tugging at one of the rings in Fumio's left ear and dodging the resulting swat.
"What happened?" Reiji pipes up, listening with interest. The only first-year who doesn't pull his punches around Shoyo, Jin likes to pair them up during practice; Shoyo's pretty sure at least half of his bruises come from Reiji's elbows alone.
Fumio grunts. "Used to be the volleyball and basketball teams would switch out who got the gym during the week-you ever seen the sand pit, over by the soccer field?"
Shoyo hasn't, but apparently Reiji has, which Fumio takes as assent to continue. "The girls' team still practices there sometimes, lets the girls' basketball take the gym. The guys' teams were the same; one team had a big match coming, they got the gym for most of the week, and then made it up outside the next week. Give and take, so it all worked out fair by the end of the season."
Few years ago, though, right around the time the volleyball team started to get really good, the old coach-"
"Ukai," Nishinoya interjects.
"Yeah, Ukai. Dude pulled some strings, got the gym for the year, and boom; four years later, we're still out here, and they're," he says, waving a hand in the general direction of the school, "in there ."
"He didn't just pull some strings," a quiet voice chimes in, and the whole group flails for a brief moment when Jin sits next to Shoyo, nudging Nishinoya gently over to make room for Santiago on his other side.
This close, Shoyo can taste the slight stink of tobacco that seems to follow the Captain everywhere. It's kind of weird, since he's never heard him cough even once, let alone seen him with a cigarette, and his voice is one of the smoothest on the team; it's none of his business, though, he figures, and returns the slight nod Jin offers him.
"Coach Ukai went directly to the Principal to ask for primary control of the gym."
The whole team quiets whenever the captain speaks, straining forward to make sure they hear every word he says. There's an atmosphere of authority he carries with him, one that makes even Fumio bow his head obediently when Jin corrects him.
It's so cool, and sometimes Shoyo can barely restrain himself from shouting for the sheer awe and slight envy it inspires.
"The truth is," Jin continues, "Karasuno's never been much of a basketball school. Our main selling point has always been our volleyball team- our boys' volleyball team, especially, and it's never been better than it was four years ago."
"They reached Nationals that year, right?" Santiago asks, lazy in a way that suggests he already knows the answer.
Jin hums in affirmation, dark eyes slipping shut. "Didn't win, obviously, but word is they gave a pretty damn good fight. Good enough that the administration's let Coach Ukai keep the gym for the past few years, despite the losing streak they've had. Their nickname now is-"
"Flightless crows," Nishinoya says unexpectedly, and shrugs sheepishly when they turn to look at him. "Yü spends most of his time talking about the team; hard not to pick things up."
"My brother," he clarifies when Shoyo squints at him. "Looks just like me, minus about 20 centimeters. You'll know him when you meet him."
"Or hear him," Fumio grins.
Jin blows out a gusty sigh, only just audible to Shoyo from his place at his side. "In any case," he says, quieting them quickly, "it's worth another shot now that Coach Ukai's not with the school anymore."
"Sawamaru's pretty reasonable," he muses, "so with luck we can reach some sort of compromise over the next few weeks; even just one day a week in the gym could really help during our matches."
"Yes!" Fumio's shout sends a couple of birds nearby flying off, squawking indignantly.
"Don't celebrate just yet," Santiago warns, shoulders rolling back defensively. "We've had this planned for a while now-if this shit doesn't work and the administration doesn't back us up, chances are we're going to start having mandatory weekend practices."
"What?"
Jin leans over conspiratorily when the two start to argue, addressing Shoyo and Reiji directly in a low voice.
"We're not exactly the nicest-looking bunch, you know?" He taps a finger against his brow where a single small stud lies and grins.
"People look at our team and they think delinquents. On the court it works, usually intimidates the other team pretty well, throws them off their game. Maybe not for you two so much," and Shoyo warbles in distress when he ruffles his hair, "and especially not for Sparky here, but as a whole we look pretty rough. Not a team you want to go up against, right?"
He finally turns away from Shoyo's hair, tilts his head towards where the school buildings lie a little ways away. "At school, though, it means most people avoid us. A lot of kids are afraid of us, even; or it means they think we're dumb, only good for sports."
It's a little too easy to understand the sentiment. Shoyo remembers boys a full two heads taller than him smirking down at him that first day, voices loud enough to hurt his ears and piercings flashing in the afternoon sun, and he remembers outright fear and the urge to turn on the spot and run.
He also remembers going to every practice during middle school, working drills in every spare moment he could find and still being shuffled off the court time and again because of his height.
"Fumio dislikes most of the other athletic teams just for that reason," Jin continues, eyes steady on the mentioned boy's form, "and because he thinks they should know better than the rest of the school. He's not the only one."
"I can't really blame them, to be honest. As a third-year, especially," he says, "it's frustrating to have other people underestimate us because of our looks. Still, I think most of them are used to it by now; Fumio just resents the volleyball team in particular because he got in a fight with one of their members back in second year. Don't take anything too serious from it; they're not too bad, for the most part."
Jin yawns, just once, and pushes himself up to his feet. "You guys should probably be heading home soon," he remarks casually, "you guys look like you need the rest, and it's getting pretty dark. With any luck, we might even be in the gym by next week; I'll keep you guys updated." His eyes glitter, even in the dusk settling down around them, and Shoyo feels what must be respect bubble up in his chest before he turns away, gesturing to Santiago with one hand to follow him.
