No copyright infringement intended.

—

i.

another one of those days

—

I think being an artist or whatever you want to call it has changed my perspective on people. Maybe not the way I see them, but the way I look at them, like, when I happen to glance at strangers on the bus or while I wait for my food at the McDonald's drive thru. I can't help but wonder if the girl carrying a hundred dollars worth of art supplies majors in art or if she got duped into taking one of the most expensive classes in university; if the dude wearing Vans appreciates the aesthetic or actually, you know, skates.

Because I'm curious? Or because I'm bored. Or because I like to romanticize things just as much as I love being a cynic, I don't know. The point is that as much as I want to know everything about everyone, I never really bother thinking of a name. Names make things complicated, because with a name comes a story, and there are times when I don't really need to hear yours so much as I need to create my own. And then the magic and the mystery fade because as friends, as acquaintances, as mutual-name-knowers, I can ask questions and get answers and not have to wonder—

"'But as a tortured artist voluntarily taking an introduction to philosophy class, I realize that I can't have that. I don't need the truth. I need to be inspired.' A little dramatic, but I like it."

I snatched the paper away from the boy next to me and slapped him upside the head with it, silencing his snickers and amplifying my own. The wounded puppy look he threw my way should have made me feel guilty, but I knew Takahashi Reo better than most. It took a lot more than that to actually hurt his feelings, and I took pride in the fact that I didn't do much to ever really upset him.

We met in fifth grade when he asked if I wanted to use his sixty-four pack of crayons, and I, like any sane ten year old, said yes. As a token of my thanks, I drew a picture of my favorite Pokémon just for him. He kept me saved as Eevee in his contacts from the moment his parents gave him his first flimsy flip phone and reminds me every couple of years that his decision to do so solidified our friendship for life.

"It's supposed to be dramatic," I said, shuffling my essay and its designated folder into my backpack. "I'm contemplating my existence. It's a college preparatory class. I don't think it gets any more dramatic than that."

Reo hummed (more of a yeah, sure, whatever you say than agreement) and turned his attention back to the magazine in his hands. It was the last physical issue since the company became a digital publication a few months earlier, and he bought it online for an absurd forty-thousand yen just to read a half-page feature on Vincent van Gogh.

"'The exact sequence of events which led to Van Gogh's mutilation of his ear is not known,'" Reo read aloud, frowning. "Does that sound like it came from Wikipedia to you?"

"A little bit."

"Fuck."

"Here," I said, taking out a tupperware set filled to the brim with okonomiyaki. "I was craving it last night and made way more than I can eat."

"You're craving comfort food because you're stressed," Reo pointed out, adding a cheery thanks! when I offered him my spare cutlery. "That's why I tell you to get out more," he paused after his first bite. "I should invest in reusable spoons instead of using all of the plastic shit they give us in the cafeteria. Did you get this online?"

"I hope this isn't you trying to convince me to go to the café this weekend. And no, Daiso."

"Got any extras?"

"Yeah."

"I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to do that."

Reo perked up, a grin stretching across his face. "Does that mean you'll come?"

"The best friend card is for emergencies only, you know, carpool and free lunch and stuff," I said, frowning. "Blackmail not included."

"Fine, but you know what is? Hanging out with your best friend," Reo dragged out the last couple of words. "You spent all of last December at home all sad and alone!"

I shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth. "You came over every single day."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Unlike some people, I have a life."

"Tell that to the stack of polaroids I have of you sprawled on my bed because you said you wanted to 'preserve our memories of youth.'"

"'Sad and with company' doesn't have the same ring to it. Isn't that a thing, though? Misery loves company? Don't you want to be miserable with people out in the real world instead of watching Real Housewives?"

"This season was kind of boring," I admitted, sighing in glum resignation. Reo nodded in sympathy, but I noticed the slight curl of his lips and felt the need to make things at least a little bit hard for him. "Won't a part time job stress me out even more?"

"Not while I'm there."

"My hair is turning gray as we speak."

"Now you're just being rude," Reo said, using the opposite end of his fork to poke my forehead. "Come on, I'll take all of the same shifts so we can head home together after!"

I swatted at his hand, brows furrowed as if in thought, but we both knew I had my answer ready ages before the conversation even started. "I want free lattes for a month."

"That's great because now you can make them yourself!"

"Yeah, at home."

"Unless I make them for you with the little bunny art and everything," Reo added in the same breath, quickly offering me the last bite of the okonomiyaki for good measure. I let a grin slip, and he groaned. "Damn it! 'Blackmail not included,' my ass!"

Five years and some months ago, my family and I moved from the capital city of Japan to a humble prefecture a little ways north of Tokyo. It didn't take long for me to make new friends in middle school, but Reo kept in touch until both of us ended up at Karasuno High. His parents recently separated, and though Reo does his best to split his time between them, his dad's work required quite a bit of traveling, which brought Reo to Miyagi with his mom.

Like me, Reo enrolled in college preparatory classes, but contrary to popular belief, he had much better time management than I did. It made sense for him to get a part time job if only because I knew he could handle the stress of school, work, and a social life, though Reo admitted he deliberately kept himself busy to take his mind off the divorce. I just laze at home with no productive purpose. Fortunately or not, the café seemed all but impossible to find.

"It's kind of hidden," Reo told me yesterday, pulling up a map on his phone. "Well, it was. I bet you'll see it from a mile away with all the people crowding outside."

Every time I thought about turning back, I heard his voice nagging me in the depths of my mind. After about an hour of aimlessly wandering around the neighborhood, I noticed a group of girls gathered on the sidewalk across the street and decided to take my chances. As I tiptoed past them, I wondered why they wanted to spend their weekend staking out such a sketchy building, but my interest waned when I spotted the sign pointing at a small café tucked behind the wall.

I heard a subtle chime once I stepped inside, echoing my arrival to an otherwise empty establishment, but I stood by the entrance for a few seconds, surveying my surroundings with a bit of awkward apprehension. While I suspected I looked thoroughly out of place, the high ceilings and wide windows invited an ample amount of natural light to permeate the room, and the mismatched furniture created a warm atmosphere that made such a foreign place at least feel a little more familiar.

"Iced matcha with soy milk?"

Startled, I spun around to see a woman standing by the counter. The glasses perched low on her nose reminded me of my own, but the similarities in appearance seemed to stop at that. From where I stood, I admired her tattoos and lamented about how ordinary my short black hair must have looked in comparison to hers, also on the shorter side except dyed a striking scarlet. It took me another second to realize I continued to stare without even attempting a response.

"I would rather swallow a fork," I said, like an absolute fiend.

Despite my lack of finesse, the woman appeared more amused than affronted. "That's a little morbid even for a teenager."

"Yeah, sorry, I had a pretty terrible experience with green tea that left me just short of traumatized."

"First year of middle school, lukewarm, unsweetened, and served in a cracked cup that leaked it all over your clothes?"

"Maybe," I said, squinting at her in suspicion. "Should I retract my apology? Because I don't mind offending stalkers and potential serial killers."

"Reo told me to expect you today," the woman said, shaking her head with a chuckle.

In an attempt to practice a bit of poise, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Why did it have to be the matcha story?"

"I wrestled it out of him," the woman said, beckoning me over with a wave of her hand. "It's tradition around here to guess what kind of drinks our new employees enjoy the most."

"What," I said.

The woman grinned. "You're hired."

"Aw, Akane, I thought this was a democratic process!"

From the back room came a figure carrying a cluster of coffee filters. His face remained hidden behind the stack in her hands, but I recognized that voice anywhere and any time, prompting me to greet him with a less than polite salutation. In response, Reo dropped the box onto the counter, revealing a shit-eating grin.

"As if the matcha wasn't bad enough," I said, hiding my middle finger behind my back before the woman, Akane, witnessed the obscene gesture. "Soy is my least favorite dairy alternative, you know."

"Is the attitude necessary for someone who just helped you get hired?" Reo asked, turning his nose away.

I almost stomped my foot to spite him, but decided against it when I realized I would have probably looked like a tantruming toddler in front of my new boss. "You walked in here advocating for your right to vote me out."

"Sure I did, but I'm, like, ninety-eight percent kidding," Reo said, shrugging. "If there's anyone you have to win over—"

"You're the rookie?"

Another employee emerged from the back room, close to our age, albeit half a head taller. The corner of his mouth curled into something of a smirk, but his surprise at the sight of me standing on the other side of the counter seeped through his smug expression. Forced by habit, I glanced at the badge pinned to his shirt, but considering we were in the same class, I had no need to learn his name.

"You work in customer service?" I shot back, brows raised.

Tsukishima managed a strained smile. "I hate everything about it."

"What's with all the negative energy?" Akane asked, nudging the blond. "Since you already know each other, you can skip the ice breakers and go straight into wearing adorable matching aprons."

"Kill me," Tsukishima and I said at the same time.

Reo stuck out his bottom lip. "Why can't we get green ones?"

"This isn't a Starbucks," Tsukishima said, looking the most disgruntled I had ever seen him, as if the mere implication that he worked at a multinational chain of mediocre coffee shops sucked his soul dry.

I narrowed my eyes at him for a moment, then gasped. "Unbelievable."

"What?"

"You grind whole coffee beans at home with an electric burr and use a brewing scale to measure the exact amount your ceramic Hario V60 needs to make the perfect pour over."

"I quit," Tsukishima said, pulling his apron over his head. "Good luck with the demon children, Watanabe-san."

Reo broke as soon as I mentioned the Hario V60, while Akane burst out laughing after Tsukishima slapped his name tag down onto the counter. I brought a hand to my mouth in hopes of hiding my smile, mostly because the blond looked borderline murderous, but I failed to smother my snort, and that only annoyed him more.

"That's exactly how he makes his coffee," Akane said, holding him in place with a vice grip on his shirt.

Reo leaned on the abandoned box of coffee filters, visibly struggling to breathe. "He drinks them out of—"

"I'll spit in your cold brew," Tsukishima deadpanned.

I raised a hand, blatantly ignoring him. "A porcelain mug from a vintage shop in Arita."

"No."

"Imari?"

"That's the thing, dude, you'd think he drinks them out of fancy shit, like, gold plated pottery—"

"Takahashi," Tsukishima hissed, eye twitching. "Shut the hell up."

"—but his favorites are actually novelty mugs he gets as souvenirs from tacky tourist shops!"

"I want a raise," Tsukishima said, turning to the redhead.

Akane let out a cough to cover her chuckles. "I thought you quit."

"Let's call that a lapse of judgement due to severe stress," Tsukishima said, shooting me and Reo a dirty look to silence our own snickers. "I can't leave them alone now that they both know my secret."

"Relax, Batman, we're not snitches," Reo said, holding out a fist.

I bumped his knuckles with mine. "And it's not like we have any other friends."

"Um," Reo said, frowning at me. "I'm pretty popular."

"Of course you are," I nodded.

His jaw dropped. "Traitor!"

"What, I agreed!"

"Say it like you mean it!"

"Settle down, demon children," Akane mused, shaking her head. "As fun as that was, I still need to make it official. All in favor of hiring…"

"Tachibana," Tsukishima said after a pregnant pause.

I looked at him. "What?"

"Kana," Reo added.

"What?"

"Say your name," the two boys emphasized in unison.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "Oh, shit."

"All in favor of hiring 'oh, shit," Akane said, grinning. "Say 'aye.'"

"Fuck yeah!"

"Ugh."

"… close enough."

"Wait," I said, blinking. "I'm starting now? Like, right now?"

With impeccable timing, the bell at the door rang once, twice, and a couple more times after that. Tsukishima massaged his temples and let out a heavy sigh, while Reo excused himself to replace the coffee filters at last. As customers trickled into the café, Akane ducked into the stockroom, returning not a minute later with a white button up and a black apron identical to her own.

"Yup," Akane said, tossing the uniform at me. "Right now."

Not even five minutes into our lunch break, Tsukishima went up to Reo and told him, with an impressively straight face, "I am going to fucking kill you."

"While I don't doubt I've done something to deserve that, can I ask what brought this on, uh, specifically?"

"You invited the entire boys' volleyball team to the café for free drinks?"

"Oh," Reo said in realization. "That."

Tsukishima's eyes twitched.

"Most of them didn't believe me," Reo added, holding up his hands in protest. "If I remember correctly—and as you know, my memory is exemplary, thank you very much—the only people who agreed to come are the other third years!"

As of today, I knew exactly three things about Karasuno's boys' volleyball club. First, Tsukishima was one of five third years on the team. I had heard from a friend that the Fukurodani Group invited them to a training camp in Tokyo some time next month. Last but not least, they had a couple of cute members. Like, the kind of cute I would not be opposed to staring at for the duration of my shift.

"Those morons are the worst ones," Tsukishima said, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

I decided against voicing my innermost thoughts, particularly the one about how all of this seemed a little on the dramatic side, even for someone as dramatic as me. "Which morons are we discussing here?"

"Ask the other moron," Tsukishima muttered, motioning at my best friend.

Reo humphed away from him, should humphed classify as a verb. "Yamaguchi is definitely coming, which means you can't actually get mad at me."

"Fine," the blond relented.

"And Hin—"

Without warning, Tsukishima walked away, grumbling, "I can get mad at you all I fucking want," on his way to the register.

"Hinata Shōyo?" I guessed, biting into a half-peeled banana.

Reo nodded, looking thoughtful. "The guy's a little hyper, sure, but I think he's cool."

"I was in his class our second year," I said, humming in agreement. "Yachi likes him a lot."

"Like, as a friend, or the way you like Kag—"

I chucked the banana peel at his face. It hit him in the eye, eliciting an exaggerated yelp from my target and an overdue eye roll from me. No, I did not like Kageyama Tobio, at least not in the way my best friend implied I liked him. As far as high school crushes went, I thought he was out of my league, which, frankly, was the only reason I ever spared him a glance in the hallways. With the third trimester of our senior year looming ahead, I had a hundred and one priorities positioned above 'boyfriend,' and I refused to allow any distractions to sway me.

"Not even a handsome young man considered a genius in his sport and guaranteed a successful career as a professional athlete?"

"I have got to stop rambling out loud," I said, groaning.

Reo patted my shoulder. "It's totally normal for a person your age."

"Talking for ten minutes without even realizing you started speaking is totally normal?"

"No, that's weird as shit," Reo said, fondly. "I was talking about having a crush on a cute boy, you funky little freak."

"Although I do not confirm or deny these accusations, I will acknowledge the fact that he's the most physically attractive in a potentially non-platonic way."

"Beauty is subjective."

"I acknowledge the fact that I, in my humble opinion, think he's the most physically attractive in a potentially non-platonic way."

"That sounds more correct than the first one."

"I don't like the implications either way."

"I'm just saying it's kind of impressive that you've harbored this puppy crush ever since he offered you the last carton of milk in the second trimester of our first year despite never initiating conversations with him," Reo said, tossing the discarded banana peel into the trash. "If that's not love, I guess I'm never getting married."

"Actually, you're never getting married because you think marriage is a social construct designed as an economic proposition to enforce capitalistic tendencies in the middle-lower class."

"It is," Reo said, shrugging.

I shrugged back. "You're not wrong."

"My point is that you're kind of a hermit, yeah?"

"Convince me that was a compliment or I will throw another banana at you."

"You know what I mean," Reo said, rolling his eyes. "Adults encourage us to dream big throughout our childhood and then out of nowhere expect us to follow a straight path towards the white picket fence shit, but what's the purpose in reaching the destination if it means we're miserable the entire time we're headed there? It's one of the reasons you're so stressed—"

"I'm not that stressed."

"Vee—"

"Seriously, Zo, you might be right about the white picket fence shit, but I'm perfectly fine," I said, holding his gaze without wavering.

Reo looked away first, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. "You can't say I didn't try."

"I'd rather you teach me how to make matcha."

"Oh, God, now she's dissociating."

"Is this not progress?"

"I suppose facing one of your fears to avoid another you're more afraid of is considered 'progress' somewhere."

"Baby steps," I said, tying my apron a little too tightly around my waist. "Just don't expect me to taste it or I will throw up on your shoes."

"The woman over there is Watanabe Akane, our manager. Bakahashi's somewhere in the back, and this is Tachibana Kana."

"We've met," I said, then shook my head. "That came out a little passive-aggressive, sorry."

"It's true, though, we have met a couple of times," Yamaguchi said, smiling good-naturedly.

Tsukishima rolled his eyes, spinning around to start on his friend's drink. "Have at it, then."

"Nice to properly meet you," I said, mustering a smile of my own. "Feel free to skip the honorifics."

"Same to you, Tachibana."

"Well, Captain, your iced latte is coming right up," I said, dusting off my apron as if I was the one making it.

Yamaguchi let out a chuckle, sheepishly ruffling his already unruly hair. "You heard about that?"

"It's pretty much the only thing I know about volleyball," I admitted. "I'm not familiar with it or really any other sport."

Before Yamaguchi, or for whatever reason, Tsukishima, could respond, I heard the door chime with the appearance of another customer. Yachi Hitoka stood by the entrance, the strap of her tote sliding off her shoulder as she all but keeled to catch her breath.

"This is the place you told me about," Hitoka wheezed. "It never even occurred to me that the café Tsukishima-kun worked at had the same name!"

"Are you okay?" Yamaguchi asked, rushing over to the frazzled blond with unconcealed worry.

Hitoka waved off his concern. "You got here really fast, Yamaguchi-kun."

"I thought you were busy this afternoon," Yamaguchi said, grabbing her bag off the floor. "I would've waited if I knew you were free to walk here together."

"It's my fault for forgetting today was Saturday," Yachi groaned, shaking her head in exasperation.

Tsukishima momentarily took his eyes off Yamaguchi's iced latte to raise a brow at her. "What about Saturday?"

"I don't have classes at the academy on weekends," Yachi explained, taking her things from Yamaguchi with a whispered thanks. "Guess I got confused because we had practice this morning. I would've probably gone all the way to the station if Kana-chan didn't text me."

"You attend the same art academy?" Yamaguchi asked, blinking at her and then me.

Hitoka nodded, beaming. "I met Kana-chan there before we even found out we both went to Karasuno!"

"Who's Kana-chan?"

"Me," I said, looking over at the entrance. "Who's asking?"

Although I didn't recognize the voice as quickly as I would have recognized Reo or even Tsukishima at this point, the orange hair gave away the answer before I even got my question out. He had grown a few inches since our second year, but his smile seemed to blind me all the same.

"Me," Hinata grinned. "Hey, Tachibana, I haven't seen you in a minute!"

I opened my mouth to respond, but for the umpteenth time, I heard a familiar chime. Since Hinata hadn't moved from where he stood in front of it, the door smacked right into his back. He stumbled forward a couple of inches, shifting his attention away from me and toward the scowling, dark haired boy behind him.

"You dropped Yachi's stuff in the middle of the street, dumbass," Kageyama said, holding up a paper bag.

Hinata smacked his forehead. "Crap."

"Thanks so much, Kageyama-kun!" Hitoka gasped, hands flying to her mouth. " I was supposed to give that to Kana-chan!"

"Who's Kana?"

Hinata and Hitoka pointed in my direction. Kageyama turned his head, following the trail to find me already staring at him. After glancing at the paper bag in his hands, he made his way over to where his friends congregated by the register and set it down on the counter.

"Thanks," I said. "I hope it wasn't too heavy."

Kageyama gave a little shrug. "What's in that thing?"

"Some tubes of gouache and oil paint brushes. Maybe a few bottles of turpentine, too. I asked Hitoka to bring me some since I'm about to run out, like, yesterday," I said, turning towards the girl in question. "You're a total lifesaver."

"Sorry it ended up on the sidewalk," Hitoka said, ducking her head in embarrassment.

Hinata let out a nervous laugh. "That one's my bad."

"Among other things."

"Bakageyama-kun, shut up!"

"Stop calling me that, Hinata-boke!"

"I ordered an iced latte," Yamaguchi said, smiling sweetly with an undertone of sit down or I'll kick your ass. "What about you, Hinata-kun, Kageyama-kun?"

Hinata immediately straightened beside Kageyama, who pursed his lips and fixed his eyes on the menu. Their reaction made me snort, while Hitoka hid a smile behind her hand, and Tsukishima brought said iced latte over with yet another roll of his eyes.

"We're out of matcha, by the way," I said, breaking the sudden silence.

Tsukishima frowned at me. "No, we're not."

"Don't believe him because he wears glasses and therefore cannot see whether we still have matcha or not."

"You're literally wearing glasses right now."

"And?"

"And your prescription is twice as bad as mine!"

"It's fine," Kageyama interrupted, shaking his head. "I hate matcha."

For all the people who loved matcha, at least one person in the world must have hated it just as much. Nothing out of the ordinary. Even Hinata confessed he didn't like the flavor of it. And yet, I could not stop gaping at Kageyama. Worst of all, if I plugged my ears and buried myself six feet into the ground, I knew I would still have heard Reo's incessant cackling reverberate in my mind.

The Karasuno third years stayed at the café for approximately an hour and four minutes. Aside from Yamaguchi and the occasional insult hurled at the so-called 'freak duo,' Tuskishima pretended to ignore them, but I could tell he had listened to every conversation. Although it proved the blond wasn't as unapproachable as he tried to portray himself at school, I realized he wasn't the type of person I could befriend without a bit of extra effort, and I had yet to decide if that end justified the means to get there.

"How the hell do you deal with them everyday?" Reo groaned, flipping the open sign to closed.

Tsukishima only had the energy to click his tongue. "To think that wasn't even all of them."

"I had a blast," Akane said, slapping a towel at each of their backs. "You wouldn't think it just by looking at him, but Yamaguchi is pretty hilarious."

"Had fun on your first day, Rookie?" Reo asked, turning chairs over on the opposite side of the café.

I stopped scrubbing at a stubborn stain to nod, though he couldn't see it. "My favorite part was when Hinata dumped an energy drink into his cold brew and chugged the entire thing."

"That," Akane called out from the back. "Was disgusting."

"How did that look impressive to you in any way?" Tsukishima asked, his expression contorting into one of revulsion as he put away the last of the dishes.

I shrugged, adjusting my grip on the sponge. "The fact that he did it without blinking should be recognized."

"You're chaotic evil, but I knew that," Reo said, bobbing his head as if to reassure himself of the truth. "It's the Gemini rising."

From the kitchen, I heard Akane burst into giggles, followed by sudden clattering and a damn, my bad! I wanted to deny it, but all I could do was grin. It was kind of fun watching the chaos unfold.

"Yeah," I said. "Whatever that means."

postscript

hello! this story has gone through a couple of rewrites, but probably none as drastic as this one. while i had no complaints about the original, or at least had far fewer complaints compared to drafts of my other works, having been in college for a few years made writing about high school experiences in multiple stories got a little exhausting, if only because i felt like i kept recycling a lot of the themes. as a result, i had every intention of changing the setting of this story to university, but for entirely selfish reasons, i decided to write about the first years as third years instead, specifically because i wanted to write about yamaguchi as captain :') the original second and third years from karasuno and a handful of the other schools will make appearances in future chapters so don't count them out just yet, but in the meantime, i hope u enjoy reading this first glimpse into the new brlmt. as always, i made a playlist for the story on my spotify, which u can find on .co. thank u so much for ur patience and support!

p.p.s. i still need to proof read oops