December 5th, 2012
There was something comforting about the bells that signified the end of school. They were already five days into winter, and it would be Christmas and New Year's before Shirabu knew it. The days were getting shorter, and the air chillier.
Shirabu sighed. Fuck. Cram school. He'd almost forgotten. He was self-assured enough to know that he was smarter than the average student, but his good marks could not be kept in that pristine state by natural talent alone. His worst subject, undoubtedly, was math. The equations that had once come easy to him as a child were now indecipherable without extra help. Wednesdays were the only days he had to attend tuition for math, but one day was too much sometimes.
"I wonder if it'll snow tonight?" Shiratorizawa's first year beauty, Shiroma Yubin, was asking her friends as they walked through the gate, Shirabu trailing behind them a little.
"Maybe," said her best friend, Erina, twirling her umbrella.
Snow, huh? Shirabu glanced skyward, impassive. Not exactly his favorite weather, but not a terrible thing either. He stopped outside the gate, waiting for Kawanishi to join him. Kawanishi was his only companion in cram school. They both went on Wednesdays for math class, which was total bullshit. Kawanishi was at the top of the grade in math, and Shirabu highly suspected that he only went to spend time with him.
It warmed his heart, actually, but he would never tell Kawanishi that. It would be like admitting he had a secret, invisible weakness.
Five minutes later, Kawanishi appeared, adjusting the strap of his backpack. He halted when he saw Shirabu, lifting a hand in greeting. "Yo."
"You're late," Shirabu said without preamble.
"Yeah, yeah. I had to clean up the classroom today. It was my turn."
Their shoulders bumped as they walked to cram school together. It was a small centre downtown, just a twenty minute walk away from school. They spoke of mundane things together, talking lazily and slowly. Neither he nor Kawanishi were particularly chatty people, and Shirabu was just fine with that. Loudmouth idiots like Goshiki were unbearable to be around on most days.
"Did you do the homework packet?"
"Yeah, but I didn't get the last question. Can I copy off yours?"
"Bold of you to assume I wasn't asking because I didn't do it."
Shirabu rolled his eyes. "I almost forgot you just come to fuck around." Smartass.
"Not true," Kawanishi protested, mildly.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
The sun was setting in the distance, behind the clouds; it painted the town pink and purple. They passed by a taiyaki stand—they bought one taiyaki each, the flanks of the fish-shaped pastry sprinkled with white sugar. Shirabu's had a traditional red bean paste filling, while Kawanishi's was chocolate.
"You have the taste buds of an old man," drawled Kawanishi before taking a bite out of his snack.
"Please." Shirabu scoffed. "You're the one with the taste buds of a toddler."
"Chocolate is ageless. Only old people eat red bean."
"Not only is that statistically untrue—"
A white car zoomed past the pedestrian crossing just as Shirabu and Kawanishi were about to cross. Kawanishi cussed after the driver, shaking his fist and almost dropping his pastry as a result.
"Dumbass! Watch where you're going!"
"Relax," Shirabu placed a hand on his shoulder, "Not like getting pissed is gonna stop people from being stupid."
"As if you have room to talk. You get pissed all the time."
"Did I ever say I didn't?"
Tuition dragged. At one point, the new Japanese tutor entered their classroom by accident, but that was the only mildly interesting thing that happened. Their math teacher reviewed last week's concepts, went through new content, assigned homework, and sent them on their way.
It was just another day.
When Shirabu and Kawanishi emerged from the building, it was already fully dark. The town was lit up, however, and storeowners were already starting to decorate the fronts of their shops with Christmas lighting.
"Wanna grab a bite to eat?" asked Kawanishi, scrolling through his LINE newsfeed on his phone. "Not gonna lie, I'm craving some Korean right now."
"There's a pretty authentic tteokbokki restaurant nearby," Shirabu recalled. "I'll have to text my mom, though, gimme a sec."
His mother was generally lenient with him as long as he gave her reason not to doubt him. As expected, Shirabu's mother gave him the green light to eating out with his friend, and he nodded to Kawanishi.
"Think we could sneak a drink?" Kawanishi whispered to him on the way there.
"We're in uniform, dumbass."
"So?"
"We'll be suspended if we get caught."
"Or worse: expelled." Kawanishi was probably quoting some kind of popular media. Shirabu had known him long enough to guess that, but he couldn't pin it down. He never had been into trends and such, too busy with volleyball and studies. Shrugging it off, Shirabu led the way.
The restaurant was small, but cozy. And the best thing about it was that the food was cheap. They ordered two plates of tteokbokki to share—one extra spicy and the other extra cheesy. To Kawanishi's dismay, Shirabu also ordered them two sparkling apple sodas.
"Joykill," accused Kawanishi.
"I am not letting you drink on a school night. Alcohol tastes like shit anyway."
"One day," Kawanishi said seriously. "I'm gonna make you a drink that's so good it'll feel like orgasm."
"Please never say that to my face ever again."
When their tteokbokki and sodas arrived, they immediately started eating and drinking, both boys ravenous. Neither of them spared much time for conversation as they ate, though—at one point—Kawanishi said through a mouthful of rice cakes, "Oh, hey. Yamagata's uploaded a new pic. Two, actually." He had his phone in one hand, and his chopsticks in the other.
"Show," demanded Shirabu, eyes at half-mast. Kawanishi did, flipping his phone around so that Shirabu had a clear view of the image. The first one was a picture of Semi snoring away in their shared dorm, offensive doodles and lines decorating his face. Shirabu snorted. "Typical." The most recent post of Yamagata's was him and Semi standing outside a barbecue restaurant that the team frequented, usually after intense matches with their top competitor in the prefecture: Aobajosai. If Shirabu looked closely enough, he would be able to see dark pen smudges on Semi's cheeks.
"Another year's almost over," said Kawanishi, sighing. He placed his phone face-down on the table, nibbling on a single tteokbokki. "I feel like someone just hit the gas pedal on life."
"Calm down, old man, it's not the end yet. It's only the fifth. And what do you mean? My life's been a total drag as of late." His muscles were still sore from doing the one hundred serves and diving receives that Coach Washijo had assigned them after their defeat against Aobajosai.
"Oh, yeah?" Kawanishi raised an eyebrow. "You know you'll probably be captain next year, right?"
That gave Shirabu pause. "Maybe."
"There's no 'maybe'. You were this year's main setter, and you're gonna be next year's, too, unless some prodigy turns up out of nowhere. Ushijima thinks highly of you, and I have no doubt that he's recommended you to Washijo. Besides," Kawanishi smirked, "Can you think of a better candidate? I'm too... me, and the other second years aren't even on the regular rotation."
"There's nothing wrong with you, Taichi," Shirabu stated, mildly.
"If you insist, but we both know that you're the better candidate between the two of us."
"Okay... But why are you bringing this up?"
"Are you ready?"
Shirabu set his chopsticks down, lifting a napkin to his mouth to wipe sauce away. "Ready...?"
"To lead. I don't wanna freak you out or anything, but it's a pretty heavy responsibility."
Me? Lead? Well, the idea itself wasn't laughable or anything. Shirabu had been leader plenty of times in his life. The middle school debate team ("You're a champion when it comes to bitching," one of his teammates had said one time), elementary school calligraphy club... But never in volleyball. Never ever. Being setter may have meant that he was the control tower of the team, but the one operating said tower had been Ushijima and the other third years. Uncertainty hit him like a wave, almost knocking him out of his seat, but he managed to compose himself enough to say, "I'm sure it'll be fine. To be honest, I'm not really keen on being captain, but... There's no point worrying about it. If it happens, it happens, and I'll learn on the job."
"Nice attitude," Kawanishi remarked. "Just don't end up half-assing it."
"Tch. As if you can talk about half-assing shit. You half-ass everything."
"Hence why I get to dodge the soul-sucking role of captaincy." Mockingly, he lifted his glass of apple soda. "Your move, Kenjirou."
December 6th, 2012
It was a chilly morning, and Shirabu arrived to school with a checkered woolly scarf wrapped around his neck and a pair of white earmuffs stretched across his head. A text from Kawanishi stated that he would be running late today, so Shirabu had gone on ahead without him. He was less than a foot past the gates when a strange feeling crossed him. Stopping in his tracks, he scanned his surroundings warily.
Where the hell is Goshiki? He better not jump me or anything.
Like Shirabu, Goshiki wasn't here on a full sports scholarship. He commuted to and from school every weekday, though he did get his lunches and textbooks for free from his partial scholarship. Normally, Goshiki was ahead of him, but sometimes the first year would race up to Shirabu from behind.
There was no sign of Tendou, either, which was unusual but welcome. He probably had some third year things to do.
I'm all alone, then. That's fine. Preferred, actually.
"Nice scarf, Shirabu-senpai."
He turned around. "Oh, hey... Shiroma-san, right?"
Shiroma Yubin, also by herself today, nodded. "I'm surprised you remember me."
Had they encountered one another before? Shirabu couldn't quite remember, but it seemed that they had, in the past, formally met. But why is she talking to me? Because her friends aren't with her? "Are you? Surprised, that is."
A tiny smirk. "Not really, no. You catch on quick, senpai."
"Hmph."
Shirabu trudged on, shoving his hands into the pockets of his brown winter coat.
"Hey, wait up, senpai!"
Shirabu sighed irritably. "What?"
Shiroma tossed her long, wavy silver hair back over one shoulder as she caught up to him. "Have you seen Goshiki-san? He accidentally left his homework on his desk. I found it while cleaning up the classroom."
"Oh, Goshiki?" Of course I can count on him to leave his things behind so mindlessly... "I haven't yet, but I can pass it on to him if you want." Like hell I wanna do that. But what else was he supposed to say?
Shiroma perked up. "Oh, that'd be perfect! I knew I could count on you, Shirabu-senpai."
"Stop doing the weird sucking up thing. It's annoying."
"Your scarf is ugly as fuck."
"That was fast. Did you know that I don't give a single flying fuck about your opinion?"
"That rag around your neck was basically begging to be called out, senpai. It's a fashion disaster."
Shirabu's lip curled in a sneer, one which Shiroma gladly returned.
"Fighting this early in the morning with your junior, Shirabu?"
The two of them whipped around to see Semi coming from the direction of the dorms, Yamagata trailing behind him.
"How's your face?" Shirabu asked.
"Ugh. Don't remind me." Semi glared at Yamagata over his shoulder, the latter pretending not to notice as he whistled an innocent tune.
Mischief lit up Shiroma's eyes as she regarded the third years. "Oh, I saw that!" Of course she had. Shiroma was probably following all of the even remotely attractive boys in the academy on Picstagram. "Nice photoshoot you had going on there, Yamagata-senpai."
"At least someone liked it." Yamagata grinned.
"Where's Ushijima-san?" It was a question Shirabu asked a lot, but it never got old. Not for him, anyway, though it did get collective groans from the others, including Shiroma. Had his appreciation for Ushijima spread that far?
"Tendou's trying to coerce him out of bed," Semi told him. "Apparently, he was up all night reading one of Tendou's jumbo-sized manga. All ads included, by the way. Last I heard, he was on the final five pages, so he should be out soon."
"That's honestly super impressive," Yamagata admitted.
"It's Ushijima," said Shirabu, as if that explained everything. And, in a way, it did.
"He sounds fun," commented Shiroma, and oh my god, why are you still here?
It was a struggle for Shirabu not to deck her to kingdom come.
They talked the rest of the way to the main building and to class. Luckily, they dumped Shiroma off on the first floor, where the first year classrooms were, before Shirabu was left behind on the second floor. It was strange, Shirabu thought as he sat down, having not seen Goshiki all morning. He was too used to insulting Goshiki at least three times before eight o'clock. But now he was seated in his classroom, the rest of his classmates steadily streaming inside in their winter gear. Beanies, jackets, and scarves were removed as someone in the back row turned on the gas heater. Shirabu was one of them, shoving the scarf that Shiroma had so hated into his bookbag.
The day passed uneventfully.
As the sun set, Shirabu pulled his scarf on and hiked to the gym, where the first year training camp was still taking place. That Goshiki, he thought with no small amount of annoyance, Not answering any of my texts and forcing me to come here... If the others see me, they might drag me into a practice game. Normally, he wouldn't have minded, but he was feeling in need of some alone time today.
Shirabu slammed the doors opened, yelling, "Goshiki! Come get your damn homework, you forgetful punk!"
Heads turned.
His own teammates aside, he recognized some of them.
Kindaichi and Kunimi from Seijoh, Tsukishima from Karasuno, Koganegawa from Date Tech... Never mind them! "Have any of you guys seen Goshiki?" His black bowl-cut was noticeably absent from the many heads of hair.
"Goshiki is not here," reported Ushijima in his usual monotone manner, approaching Shirabu with Tendou by his side. "It is... strange."
Ushijima thinks it's strange? Shirabu nearly did a double-take. When Ushijima showed concern, it meant that things had escalated to actually being concern-worthy rather than just being blown out of proportion.
"Wakatoshi-kun has a point," added Tendou, stroking his chin in thought. "That kid would never miss an opportunity to practice with us old boys."
The coaches, Anabara and Saitou, joined them in the mini circle they had formed. Saitou, in particular, looked exceptionally grim. It startled Shirabu. Saitou was normally easygoing and relaxed about, well, everything.
"I'm afraid Goshiki-san won't be coming to camp anymore," Saitou said in a low voice. "I'm going to have to ask you boys not to ask any questions or cause any kind of stir for now. His family has requested some privacy about his situation for the time being."
What? Alarm bells rang in his head, clear as day. "But..." Shirabu trailed off at Saitou's stern expression. "Fine. Will he be back soon? At least answer me that, please." What did you do Goshiki? What happened?
"We don't know," Saitou replied, truthfully. "Washijo will be addressing this soon as soon as he gets the greenlight. For now, boys, please don't bring this up."
"Understood," Ushijima said. "Right, Tendou?"
"Hm?" Tendou looked surprised that Ushijima had asked for his affirmation. "Oh, sure. Anything for you, Wakatoshi-kun."
Shirabu just nodded, tense.
Saitou sighed in relief. "Thank you. Your parents or guardians should be getting an email tonight about the same thing."
And that was that. Anabara invited Shirabu to participate in the camp, but he politely declined. There was something draining about Saitou's reveal, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something very wrong had happened to Goshiki.
For the rest of the day and into the night, Shirabu dutifully did his class assignments at home.
December 17th, 2012
Over a week had passed since Shirabu had last seen Goshiki. Training camp had ended, and—as far as Shirabu knew—Goshiki had not turned up for it ever since the first day. He would not go so far as to say he was worried for that fool, but...
"What are you doing here?" Shirabu asked when Semi sat down in front of him for lunch in his classroom.
"What? I can't keep my kohai company in my last year?" Semi retorted. "But..." He dropped his voice to a whisper after looking around to see if anyone was listening. "Listen, man, I'm fucking worried, okay?"
"About Goshiki?"
"Who else?" Heaving a sigh, Semi opened up his lunchbox on Shirabu's desk, revealing octopus sausages. Shirabu snagged one off him, chewing slowly and enjoying the decadent flavor.
"You should be more worried about your exams," Shirabu told him, opening up his own lunchbox. Pork cutlets with rice.
"I've been scouring online. Newspapers, even." Semi ignored his jibe. "Anything I could get my hands on, really. And..." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "I found this." He took out his phone, pulling up a photo he had screenshotted from the internet. It was from a local tabloid, detailing a hit-and-run that had happened on the fifth of December.
Shirabu's hackles rose. "Why are you showing me this? What... What are even the odds of it being Goshiki?"
"Can you be serious with me for a second?" snapped Semi.
"I am being serious!"
"Really? 'Cause all I see is you trying to deflect away from the problem at hand."
"There's no problem for me to deflect." All Shirabu wanted was a peaceful high school life. Was that too much to ask? Why was Semi insisting on bringing up Goshiki now?
"You're gonna be captain next year," Semi began, and Shirabu groaned.
"Not this again. I've already heard enough about this from Taichi..."
"Shut up and listen, will you?" Semi scowled. "Us third years won't be around anymore to keep things in order."
You never did much order keeping to begin with, Shirabu wanted to say, but held his tongue. "And?"
"I want you to look after him," Semi said, chewing rather violently on one of his octopus sausages.
"No."
"No?"
"Goshiki's a big boy," Shirabu said, sardonically. "He can look after himself. I won't treat him like a special case."
"And what if he's hurt?"
"You just said it. It's all an if. Look," Shirabu jabbed his chopsticks at Semi, making him recoil, "He probably just has a bad flu or something. It's winter. People get sick. He'll be back in all his muscle-headed glory, and you'll just look like an idiot for even trying to suggest that he might be..." Shirabu hesitated before shaking his head. "Anyway."
Semi grimaced. "What is your deal?"
"What?"
"It's like... You're trying to sweep this all under the rug."
"I'm not," Shirabu protested. "You're the one that's making a big deal out of nothing. You're considering only the worst possibilities."
"And you're considering only the best."
At that, Shirabu's lip curled into a smirk. "We're Shiratorizawa, aren't we? We are the best. Just relax, Semi. Goshiki's fine."
"Tch." Semi took one of Shirabu's slices of pork, probably to pay him back for taking one of his sausages earlier. "For everyone's sake, I hope you're right."
"Of course I am."
March 15th, 2013
Shirabu stood near the front gates of Shiratorizawa Academy, watching families and friends take photos and exchange presents and memories. It was not his graduation, but his upperclassmen's. A group of (former) third years bantered as they walked past him and out the gate, carrying their diplomas with them. Beside him, Kawanishi followed them with his eyes before saying to Shirabu, "I'm gonna miss these lugs."
"Funny," Shirabu replied. "You should tell them that."
"Nah."
"They won't know, then."
"Well, good. I'm not the type to engage in this sappy shit, and I won't be starting today."
Shirabu chuckled. "You're an idiot, Taichi."
"So are you," Kawanishi jabbed back, "Why don't you talk to them instead of just standing here with me?"
Uncomfortably, Shirabu shifted. "It'd... be like intruding, won't it?"
"Dude. Just go. You're the only second year that's close to them, anyway. Yuno and I aren't in the inner circle." Kawanishi nudged him in the side, adding, "Semi's there."
Shirabu frowned. "So?"
"He's your favorite senpai, isn't he?"
"Everyone knows Ushijima is my favorite senpai, Taichi. I thought you were better than this."
"I know you better than everyone else," Kawanishi insisted, "Even better than yourself, probably. I know you think Ushijima's swell, but... Semi's a bit different from the others for you."
"Now, where did you get that idea from?"
"I can tell just by looking." Narrowing his eyes, Kawanishi closely inspected Shirabu, leaning in. "Your face is red."
"Because it's cold!" snapped Shirabu. "God, Taichi, what are you trying to insinuate?"
"You know perfectly well what."
"Taichi. I am not in love with Semi."
Kawanishi widened in his eyes in feigned shock. "Did I ever say that? Goodness gracious me, I was simply trying to say that you have a special, strictly heterosexual connection with him because you're both setters, not because you want to bone him."
"You piece of shit! I know exactly what you were trying to say, so stop playing innocent! Fucking bastard. I'm not gay."
"You're definitely not straight, either. But we can discuss the finer points of your sexuality later. The third years are coming over."
Kawanishi was right—Tendou, Ushijima and Reon were making their way through the crowd to them. They stopped in front of the two second years, all of them exchanging short greetings.
Where did Semi go? He was with them before, Shirabu found himself thinking as he talked to Reon about the logistics of picking a vice-captain. Ushijima was engaged in mostly one-sided conversation with Tendou and Kawanishi.
"Well, we should get going~!" Tendou announced at one point, dragging Ushijima and Reon with him. "Be good, children!"
"Goodbye!" Kawanishi yelled after them, Shirabu merely waving in farewell. Once they were gone, he shook his head at Shirabu. "Missed your chance, dude."
"He wasn't even with them," grumbled Shirabu, tucking his chin in his scarf.
"Disappointed?"
"Will you drop it if I say I am?"
Kawanishi shrugged. "Perhaps."
"Then yes." His ears were burning. "But only a little." Which made sense. It wasn't like we got along swimmingly anyway. He did not, as Kawanishi had put it so crudely, want to bone Semi. He shuddered, but it wasn't entirely from displeasure at the idea. Goddammit, Taichi. Look what you've done now. "I want soup."
"Wanna get outta here, then?"
"Definitely. Let's invite Yuno, too, so he stops me from assaulting you with a hot liquid. I'm too young for prison."
"Good idea, Kenjirou, thanks for looking out for me."
And as they drank beef bone soup together in a small shop on a wintry afternoon, Shirabu did not think of Goshiki.
April 2nd, 2013
The collar of the uniform was starched with its newness.
Number one, Shirabu thought, holding up the shirt in the changerooms. Ushijima's old number.
And now it was his number.
When he emerged, Kawanishi, his vice-captain, by his side, he saw that there were an abundant amount of first years present in the gym. Try-outs were always a bore, but a necessary one.
Washijo saw him and gestured him over.
"Shirabu," Washijo started, his thick brows furrowed. "I need ya ta come to the hospital with me."
"What?" Shirabu stared. "Coach? Is something wrong...?"
"It's Goshiki. He asked for ya."
It was like a truck had hit him, smashing his bones apart and leaving him a bloody paste on the road. Goshiki... was in the hospital? Had Semi been correct, then?! No, he couldn't have been right. What were the chances? The odds? The statistics of that happening to Goshiki of all fucking people—
"Shirabu?" prompted Washijo.
"I—er, yes. Of course I'll come." What the hell is going on here?!
"Good. I'll drive ya."
"What about try-outs?"
"Kawanishi and Saitou will take care of it. I trust their judgement."
"Where are you going?!" Kawanishi called when he saw Shirabu leaving with Washijo.
"I'll tell you later!" Shirabu shouted back.
The car ride was ruled by awkward silence. Washijo was a steady driver, but wasn't one to make conversation with anyone, let alone a high school student less than half his age. So Shirabu simply stared out the window, zoning out and imagining all sorts of horrible, nasty scenarios that could have befallen Goshiki. His own morbidity spooked him, but he couldn't stop. Not when there were so many questions surrounding just what had happened to Goshiki, like a miasmatic mist.
"I think," Washijo suddenly said, glancing at Shirabu through the rearview mirror. "That you deserve to know what happened. It's not like ya ain't gonna find out eventually, anyway."
Shirabu swallowed a lump in his throat. "So... What did happen?"
"Hit-and-run. The driver was never caught, and Goshiki..." His features hardened. "Well, you'll see."
He decided he didn't like the sound of that.
The rest of the journey was all a blur of countryside scenery fading to urban landscapes to Shirabu. Washijo parked in the basement lot, and they took an elevator up to the hospital. As they walked down white halls drenched in the scent of antiseptic, Shirabu's heart pounded dangerously beneath his chest. It had been months since he had last seen Goshiki. What would he look like now? Would be be emaciated? Malnourished? Skeletal? Gods.
They stopped in front of a nondescript door. The numbers read: 1408.
Stop. You're scaring yourself. Shirabu took a deep breath. He'll look fine. He'll look normal.
Washijo knocked once on the door before entering.
Shirabu exhaled sharply at the sight of him.
Relief was the first thing he felt.
Because he was right—Goshiki looked absolutely normal, if not a bit tired. He turned his gaze over to them when he noticed them come in. "Coach," Goshiki croaked, voice hoarse with disuse. "And Shirabu-senpai... You came."
Shirabu trotted up to the bed, filled with a newfound confidence. Honestly, he didn't know why he had been so scared before. Goshiki was okay. "I heard about your little accident," he said. "Geez, Goshiki, you really oughta be more careful next time. So what's the deal? Broken ribs...?" He clamped his mouth shut when he saw how pale Goshiki had gotten. That stupid, stupid fear rose in him again. "Goshiki? Hey, Goshiki?"
"Step back, son," Washijo said, irritable. "It ain't as... simple as that."
What am I missing? Why aren't you telling me anything? Tightly, Shirabu nodded and stood back to give Goshiki some space. "I'll save you a spot, you know," he added as an apology for invading Goshiki's air before. "On the team. Once you come back—"
"That's not happening," Washijo deadpanned. "And Goshiki knows that, too."
"... What?"
Silently, Washijo lifted the blanket.
There was an empty space where Goshiki's right leg from the knee-down should have been.
"Oh," Shirabu said, softly. "Oh." Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh my fucking god. "Y-you..."
He wanted to throw up. Maybe cry. Maybe both.
How could this happen?
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
Why are you being so nonchalant about it, coach?
Goshiki offered them a wobbly smile. "It's... fine."
"No," Shirabu said sharply. "It's not."
The smile disappeared.
"He'll never play volleyball ever again," droned Washijo, almost cruel in his indifference.
Shirabu expected Goshiki to burst into tears. Scream, maybe. Anything but the ghost-like silence that he had wrapped himself in, eyes sunken, cheeks sallow and knuckles white. He'd been deluding himself before. Goshiki didn't look fine. He looked tired, weak, and broken.
Slowly, Goshiki sank down against his pillow, burying his face in his hands.
It occured to Shirabu that Goshiki had already done those things. Had already cried, and screamed, and cursed the world at how unfair everything was. He had already done all of those things without his presence.
"You said you wanted to see me." Shirabu's voice sounded hollow, even to himself.
"You were the only one," Goshiki said, "Who I thought of."
"Oh."
And, selfishly, Shirabu thought, Why is this happening to me? Why did I have to come into his mind? Why not Kawanishi? Or Yunohama? Or even any of the other damn first years! He was not equipped to deal with this. A teammate—former teammate, he corrected himself—who had lost everything in one fell swoop. How? How am I supposed to comfort him? What about his parents? Why... do I have to deal with all this?
"I admire your heart," Washijo said to Goshiki. "And your passion. But you won't convince us."
Does coach think that Goshiki asked for me so he could beg his way back to the team? Shirabu blinked at the old man, stunned.
Goshiki's lip trembled. "Will nothing work, then? Will nothing work?!"
"I'm sorry. But there is no longer a place for you on the team."
Blunt and straight to the point. Shirabu and Washijo were alike in that way. But Shirabu didn't think he would ever be able to say those words to Goshiki. Ever. They needed to be said, but... It was just too cruel. Everything was just too damn cruel.
"You insisted on him coming, and I obliged. But our decision is final."
"No," Goshiki pleaded, voice nary a whisper, "Please."
"I'm sorry, Goshiki."
The tears started. The tears that Shirabu had been started, and he couldn't look at him. Crying and pleading and unable to accept that he could no longer go back to the life he had once had. Tears formed in Shirabu's own eyes, but they never fell. He wouldn't let them. God, he begged silently, Please, stop. Please, please, please. The longer Goshiki cried, the more Shirabu realized that this was their new reality. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to have this... this damn epiphany. Why am I here? Why am I here? Make it stop. Please.
Shirabu wanted to cover his ears. Block out noise of the pain and the suffering.
Go away. Go away.
All he had wanted was a peaceful life.
Go away, Goshiki.
July, 2013 — March, 2014
Goshiki came back to school in July. He would've had to relearn how to walk again, Shirabu guessed, with his new prosthetic leg. But Shirabu didn't have time for him. He was working hard and working smart. Shiratorizawa had lost to Date Tech in this year's Interhigh qualifers, much to Shirabu's ire. How was he supposed to continue Ushijima's legacy like this?
The pressure was on. Exams and volleyball dominated his life, and he had little time for anything else. Sometimes, he would see Goshiki shuffling down the hall in the corner of his eye, but he never said hello.
Just ignore him. He's not your teammate anymore. He's not your problem.
His gut churned.
Not. Your. Problem.
Shirabu had enough on his plate to deal with. It wasn't as if Goshiki had ever been his friend or anything. There was no obligation—absolutely none—for Shirabu to continue to acknowledge him.
(Is that really true, though?)
Shut up.
Shirabu pinched the bridge of his nose as he sat through a terribly boring English lesson. The teacher was a young British man who had secured his teaching post sometime last year. His Japanese was accented, but bearable.
They didn't make it to the Spring Tournament.
That honor went to Date Tech again—it was certainly their year, wasn't it?
Shirabu decided to resign from the team. There was no point sticking around, even if Kawanishi had a few words to say about it.
"Are you kidding me?!" Kawanishi threw down his towel in the locker room one day. "We only have a few months left, so why're you quitting already?"
"Have you forgotten that we have exams coming up?" Shirabu inquired, icily. Ever since the news of Goshiki's accident became public to the school, his relationship with Kawanishi had been strained.
"That shouldn't be an issue. You're smart, Kenjirou. You're gonna become a doctor, aren't you? You already took your medical school exams—"
"I've changed my mind. I don't think I can be a doctor for the living." Goshiki's devastated, pitiful expression flashed through his mind, and he gripped the hem of his jersey tightly before pulling it over his head.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"I'm looking into forensics." Dealing with the dead would be better than the living. The dead didn't make such faces, didn't express emotions like sadness or joy.
Kawanishi gazed at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Then, he said, "You've changed, Kenjirou."
Shirabu began to button up his uniform shirt. "Hm?"
"Ugh. Forget it." Kawanishi tossed his towel in the laundry bin and hauled one strap of his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you."
Changed? Had he? It was... disconcerting to hear, at the very least. I don't think I have. Taichi doesn't know what he's talking about.
Once he had changed back into his normal school uniform, Shirabu folded up his sports clothes and stuffed them into his sports bag. He tied the laces of his sneakers to bag strap, swapping them for his indoor shoes.
Twilight was beginning to gather outside. He crossed the courtyard back to the main building, passing by the stables on the way. A mare whinnied at him. Shirabu found Coach Saitou in the faculty room and handed in his resignation form.
"Are you sure about this?" Saitou asked him.
"I'm sure. I need to focus on my studies, anyway."
His marks had been higher than ever this year. Shirabu intended to keep them that way.
"I'll process it, then," assured Saitou. "Good luck on your studies, Shirabu."
"Thanks, coach. And..." He paused. "Thanks for, y'know, coaching."
Saitou laughed. "The pleasure was all mine, Shirabu, all mine. You were an excellent captain."
"I was? Well, that's good to hear."
He sure didn't feel like one.
Shirabu was at his shoe locker, changing his indoor shoes for his normal shoes, when he noticed some strange markings on another locker. Are those pen marks? Did somebody deface their locker? The fuck? Curiosity piqued, he went over to investigate, his breath catching in his throat when he saw just whose locker it was and what was written on it.
We lost because of you.
ONE-LEGGED WONDER
LOSER
JUMP OFF THE ROOF!
Can he even do that? LOL ^
And the owner?
Goshiki.
What am I supposed to do? What the fuck am I supposed to do?!
Swearing violently under his breath, he fished out a packet of wet wipes he always kept in the front pocket of his bag. He pulled three out and began to wipe vigorously, frustration bubbling within him when the permanent marker refused to go away, instead just smudging everywhere.
Come on! Why won't it go away?!
Eventually, the words disappeared. But the remnants were still there. Listlessly, Shirabu tossed the wet wipes into the nearest bin and went home.
Shirabu graduated at the top of his year, scoring higher than even Kawanishi and a nerdy girl in his class who was known to dominate in all subjects. He was asked to give a speech by the principal, something generic about hard work and never giving up.
Everybody clapped at the end of it, but their applause was little more than background noise.
Names were read out, and awards handed.
"So," Kawanishi said as they all headed outside with diplomas in hand. "It's over."
"It's over," Shirabu agreed. "It's... finally over. Huh."
"What's up?"
"Just surprised that you're talking to me, that's all."
Their relationship had gone from amicable to nearly outright hostile. Shirabu knew they had been growing more distant as of late, but Kawanishi refused to tell him just what was the problem.
"Like we said," Kawanishi answered. "Everything's over. I... don't want to hold any kind of grudge."
"Okay, fair. But will you tell me just where the hell I went wrong?"
Kawanishi gave him a weary look. "Fine. You really wanna know? You've gotten cold. There, I said it. Yeah, you were an asshole last year, but... You were never a bastard."
Shirabu spluttered, "What are you talking about? I've always been like this."
"So you were always prepared to treat your underclassman like a disease?"
Ice enveloped him. "Excuse me?"
"I'm talking about Goshiki, just in case it wasn't clear enough." Kawanishi glared at the ground. "You've been avoiding him like the plague ever since he got back. I don't know what went down that day at the hospital, but... He needed your support."
"If he needed it that badly, that just further proves he didn't deserve a place on our team."
"This isn't about the fucking team!"
"Oh, so now we're fighting again—"
"No!" Kawanishi let out a hysterical laugh. "Fuck, Kenjirou. You're so good at gaslighting people you don't even realize, do you? Are we just faceless roles meant to revolve around you? Newsflash, Kenjirou! This isn't about you. You're not the only person in the damn world!"
"Well, why didn't you step in, then?!" Shirabu demanded. "Instead of preaching at me, why didn't you—!"
"I did! I was the only fucking person who gave a shit about him!"
Shirabu blinked at him, dumbly. "... What?"
"I sat with him at lunch every other day. I walked with him to class. I told people to fuck off whenever they gave him a hard time. Maybe... Maybe I could've done more, but it's still a whole lot better than what you did, which happens to be fuck-all!"
"You know what?" Shirabu sneered at him. "Fuck off, Taichi. If I've disappointed you this much, just leave."
"Fine. I will." Kawanishi marched forward. "Go fuck a corpse, doctor."
"Go get shit-faced at a bar, fucker. God knows that's all you're good for."
Kawanishi never looked back.
Shirabu turned away.
Good.
He didn't look back either.
The March winds were colder than usual today.
