Chapter Text
Yamaguchi Tadashi was only slightly ashamed to say that he was excited that the high school he was attending was only a former volleyball powerhouse.
Of course, it would be great if he and Tsukki were joining a really good team so that they could win all their matches and go to nationals, but Tadashi had never cared too much about those sorts of things. He just liked to play on the court with Tsukki and his other volleyball friends. And if the team was small and kind of bad? Well then, Tadashi might actually be a starter this year.
Tadashi had only ever been a starter in the second half of his last year of junior high. He was pretty tall now, but up until quite recently, he had been tiny. When Tsukki had first saved Tadashi from the bullies that tormented him in elementary school, Tadashi had barely been half Tsukki’s height. Granted, Tsukki had always been tall for his age, but Tadashi had also been ridiculously short at the time. Tadashi remembered basically jogging next to Tsukki in attempts to match his pace back then.
For the first two years of junior high, Tadashi remained average height—if not a bit on the short side—with both him and Tsukki growing at a slow, steady pace. But for whatever reason, midway through his second year of junior high, Tadashi started a massive growth spurt, painful and quite intense. He found out through Googling that most growth spurts added eight centimeters to someone’s height over the course of a year. He had gained six centimeters in as many months, and showed no signs of slowing down. He went from being one of the shortest players on his team to the third tallest by the end of his second year, and was eagerly awaiting his starting position that was surely guaranteed in his third year.
His hopes were crushed, however, when he realized a major downside to his sudden growth: his brain had yet to catch up with his body. He tripped on stairs that were suddenly too short, ran into walls and doorways that seemed to come faster than before, knocked elbows, forearms, and wrists into desks that were surely closer than before. He added the aches of dozens of bruises to the already omnipresent growing pains, to the point that Tsukki thought he was getting bullied again.
“Yamaguchi, you’re not still letting those boys push you around?” One day, Tsukki would have to learn tact, but for the time being, Tadashi was fluent in Tsukki, and understood that he was attempting to express concern at the moment, not blame him for being a victim of bullying.
“Oh, no Tsukki! I just keep running into things! I’m hitting my arms and legs on desks and tables and stuff. Oh! And my mom actually had to move my bed down two notches on the loft, cause I kept hitting my head on the ceiling when I sat up in the morning!” Here Tadashi proudly lifted his bangs to show off a small but impressively multi-colored bruise at the top of his forehead from his misadventures in waking up.
“Oh,” Tsukki said after a rare moment’s hesitation, flushing a little, likely from embarrassment at misinterpreting a situation. “Well, you can tell me if anyone does bother you. And be more careful.”
“Thanks, Tsukki!” Tsukki let out a little huff of air to show how little he cared, but if the years Tadashi had spent interpreting Tsukki didn’t give this away as an act, then the remaining pinkness in Tsukki’s cheeks certainly did the trick. “How did you keep from getting all banged up when you had your growth spurt?”
“Well, it wasn’t hard for me. Nii-san was tall, too, and he knew what to do. And besides, my growth spurt was more gradual than yours.”
“Really, Tsukki?”
“Duh. You’re growing too fast. Your body can’t handle it. I’m worried you might even pass me.” Tsukki’s mouth snapped shut with that last comment and he pulled his headphones onto his ears, ending the conversation abruptly. Only the renewed blush on his face indicated to Tadashi that he may not have intended to voice that last part. Tadashi had grinned to himself as they parted to go to their separate homes.
Though Tadashi was looking forward to using his newfound height in volleyball, his lacking coordination held him back well into his third year. Before this sudden increase in height, he had at least been pretty good at receives since he was small and compact. He was often used as a stand in libero in scrimmages. His serves had also been above average despite his height, since it was one of the only things he could practice. Now, he felt useless. No matter what he did, his arms didn’t do what he wanted them to, and his legs were even worse.
It took him half the year for his growth to slow, and for him to adjust to his new lankiness. Now standing at a proud 177.6 centimeters, he was a shoo-in for a starting middle blocker, especially given his receives were suddenly significantly worse. Tadashi was thrilled that he finally got to regularly stand on the court with Tsukki and his other friends, and wore his jersey with pride, not sparing a thought to the second year whose spot he had stolen. He was a starter, and he was going to enjoy it, especially after all the work he had put in. And with his intended high school’s volleyball track record, Tadashi was expecting to enjoy his starting position for quite awhile.
That expectation was not diminished when Tadashi first stepped into the Karasuno gym. There were only six upperclassmen present, and Tadashi noted with pride that he was taller than every upperclassman but one, a meek looking boy with a shaved head who was doing receiving drills in a back corner.
Including Tsukki, that made Tadashi the third tallest person on the team, as a first year. He might get to be a starter all throughout high school! Tadashi was thrilled at the thought.
Then he played against the genius setter and the superhumanly fast spiker and thought, Well, fourth tallest is also pretty good. But in their first practice match he was benched, shorter club members than him starting. In fact, Tadashi noted with a start, the shrimp is starting when I’m not. Then, with a growing sinking in his gut, every first year but me is starting.
Tadashi did his best to cheer Tsukki on from the sidelines, but he noted with horror that he was holding back tears. This is dumb, he thought. It’s a practice match, and the shrimp can barely play. I might still start, or at least get subbed in often. Besides, I didn’t even start for most of junior high, so it’s no big deal if the same thing happens in high school, right? Tadashi knew that thinking logically about his situation almost never calmed him down, not in the way that it did for Tsukki, but his eyes did start feeling less wet, to his relief.
Still, Tadashi knew that if he started to fixate on the thought he would be in danger again, so he looked subtly at his fellow teammates on the bench, noting that the pretty grey-haired one was a third year. He was a little ashamed that this made him feel better. He also noticed with relief that the upperclassman who was taller than him was also benched, as well as one more boy with curly, light-colored hair.
The three upperclassmen seemed to be quietly chatting to each other as they watched the match, interspersing shouts of encouragement towards the players and the grey-haired third year occasionally talking to the team advisor. The third year glanced over towards Tadashi, and then brightened when he made eye contact. He nudged the teammates next to him with his elbow and beckoned Tadashi over with a grin.
“Yamaguchi-kun, right? I don’t think we’ve really been introduced given all the chaos of the past week. I’m Sugawara, the vice captain. Please call me Suga!” Sugawara said with a kind smile. Somehow, Tadashi felt better.
The tall boy, upon being fiercely elbowed by Sugawara, piped up. “It’s nice to meet you Yamaguchi-kun. I’m Narita Kazuhito.” With another poke of the elbow into his side, he added, “I’m a middle blocker.”
Tadashi gave a tentative smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.” He turned to the remaining player, who was still watching the match intently. As Tadashi opened his mouth to introduce himself, the boy spoke.
“If Tanaka spent half as much time on his serves as he did on maintaining his hair and ‘threatening aura,’ he might be able to aim a serve literally anywhere else than right at the libero. But no, Ryuu, by all means, tell me more about your razor settings and the time you spend running through dirt for your aesthetic.”
Tadashi shut his mouth, shocked at the brazen insult from a teammate. He noticed Narita facepalm, while Sugawara valiantly attempted—and subsequently failed—to hold in a snort. Tadashi turned his shocked look to Sugawara; he was vice captain, so Tadashi expected a reprimand, not an encouragement.
Narita followed in Sugawara’s footsteps and dug an elbow into the other boy’s side. The boy whipped his head around in confusion, and when he noticed Tadashi, he rapidly colored and stammered out “Oh! Um, Tanaka and I are actually really close! He’s my friend! He just, well, he needs to be insulted sometimes!”
“Kinoshita-kun—”
“That’s not to say that people deserve to be insulted! But Tanaka definitely needs it sometimes, he thinks maybe a bit too highly of himself. Not that he’s not talented!”
“Kinoshita-kun.”
“Hisashi—”
“Oh, but I think his ‘tough boy’ persona is probably a cover for his insecurities, so maybe I should be supporting him? Oh no, have I been a bad friend for a year? Ryuu must hate me—”
“Kinoshita-kun!” Sugawara snapped.
The boy who Tadashi presumed was named Kinoshita shut his mouth and looked at Sugawara in confusion.
Sugawara rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Why don’t you introduce yourself to your underclassman, Kinoshita-kun.”
Kinoshita blushed and did so, avoiding eye-contact with Tadashi. “I’m a second year wing spiker, Kinoshita Hisashi. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Ah, you too.” Tadashi was still reeling slightly from the barrage of information he had just been hit by. There was a silence amongst the group of teammates that was leaning into the “awkward” range, until it was broken by Sugawara.
“That observation was quite astute, Kinoshita-kun. Perhaps Tanaka-kun is aiming his serves towards the libero on purpose?”
Kinoshita’s eyes flitted towards Tadashi before he hesitantly replied, “That’s a fair point Suga-san. Maybe he’s trying to intimidate the libero.”
“Well,” Narita added in, “seeing someone serve pitifully is always disheartening. Maybe having to receive so many bad serves will depress their libero!”
Tadashi stared at the upperclassmen.
“Well then I have to congratulate Tanaka-kun!” Sugawara said. Tadashi noticed for the first time that Sugawara’s smile was not the kind one that had greeted him, but rather one that seemed more… wicked. “Another impressively detailed strategy implemented.”
As the upperclassmen snickered, the team advisor, Takeda-sensei, got Sugawara’s attention for another question. The other two started shouting encouragements at the players again, and, after a moment’s hesitation, Tadashi did the same for Tsukki.
Then the Aoba Johsai Captain showed up and started targeting Tsukki, and Tadashi was sufficiently distracted, putting the odd interaction from his mind. Maybe the upperclassmen just hated Tanaka-san? That didn’t seem right, but he’d only known his teammates for a few days, so he couldn’t really get a read on them.
Later, he was walking home with Tsukki in companionable silence. The two usually had some sort of conversation when walking together, but they had been friends long enough to know awkward silences from content ones. This was an example of the latter type, until Tsukki broke it.
“You know,” he began, not looking at Tadashi, “the shrimp played badly today. They might not end up using him.”
Oh. Tadashi had been thinking about math homework, and not the subtle ache in his chest that had been present since the starting order had been announced. But now that Tsukki brought it up, the disappointment was back in full force. Tadashi looked at the ground as Tsukki continued.
“He can’t do anything but jump and run. Anyone with better technique would be more valuable. He’s annoying anyways. And he riles up the King.” Here Tsukki’s unwavering stare forward broke a little as he glanced at Tadashi quickly.
“Thanks, Tsukki.” Tadashi steeled himself. “It’s okay if I don’t start! I’m still growing a little, you know, and I still run into things. Probably for the best that I don’t play right now when I can't even receive properly!” Tadashi scratched his cheek. “I’m fine with being benched, really.”
Tsukki broke his stare forward and redirected it at Tadashi, who balked under the weight of it. After a pause, Tsukki said gravely, “Shut up, Yamaguchi.”
Tadashi sighed and looked down. “Sorry, Tsukki.”
Tadashi was fine with being on the bench. He was.
* * *
If you knew Sugawara Koushi, you probably knew that there were two very important facets to his personality. One was that he was reliable. He was smart, and in multiple ways; he did his homework and was anticipating getting into some good colleges, but his emotional intelligence was also top-notch. He could read people pretty well and was good at saying the words that they needed to hear. Koushi could be counted on to collect homework, to keep a secret, to contribute to a group project, to keep your goldfish alive, and to make strategic plays in both Connect Four and volleyball.
The second thing that anyone learned about Koushi was that, despite his reliability, he was simultaneously an agent of chaos. He was known for punching negativity out of teammates. He once infamously kidnapped a cat from an owner that was feeding it a vegan diet. He made ironic but annoyingly good edits of members of kpop groups that he spammed in group chats. Once, a widely hated math teacher was found superglued to a toilet, and though no one has been able to prove it was Koushi, the whole school knew it was him who orchestrated it.
Koushi was aware of the dichotomy that was his personality, and often operated by letting one side shine through more strongly when the situation required it. When Asahi needed a presence to tell him not to worry, Koushi let his more playful side through to put him at ease. When Daichi was struggling with balancing his school, home, and volleyball responsibilities, Koushi allowed himself to be more responsible to support him. Koushi had gotten good at compartmentalizing himself, and it was definitely a handy trick.
Sometimes, however, he knew that he had to be responsible, but desperately wanted to act like a gremlin instead. Normally this happened with small annoyances, but when Aoba Johsai wanted the new, angry first year to replace him as starting setter in a practice match, it had killed Koushi to remain mature.
He had wanted to throw something, hit something, scream out his frustrations. Instead, he calmly said that he wanted what was best for the team, and that if that meant Kageyama-kun starting, then Kageyama-kun would start. The first year had looked so relieved that Koushi wasn’t angry at him, so he had given the boy a reassuring smile and had talked amicably with the team until they headed home, but inside he was seething.
Koushi had worked hard for his starting position. He had never been the tallest, and had never been much of a heavy hitter, so he had done his utmost to make his precision and strategy valuable. He was a great setter because he understood both his teammates and his opponents, and he knew how to use his assets to affect competitors. He had never been a starter in junior high, where height really was king, but in his second year of high school he became the starting setter at Karasuno. He loved his team, even if they didn’t succeed as much as he wanted them to. Koushi had immensely enjoyed starting, but although no changes to that had occurred officially, he had a feeling that he could kiss his position goodbye. He stood no match for a genius, especially if Kageyama ever learned to trust his teammates.
Koushi knew what people would be saying about him, because he was already saying it about himself. “Oh, the poor guy, replaced by a first year.” Koushi knew there was a possibility that he would continue to start, but he could see the spark in Kageyama and Hinata. He knew that he was back on the bench. Eventually he knew he would accept that, but at the moment all he wanted to do was put blue dye in Daichi’s shampoo, or TP the vice principal’s car. Or create a separate, better volleyball club with him as the setter.
As Koushi stood with the other benched players, he was reminded of a point halfway through his second year when he had gotten an injury in his ankle, and had to be benched for a month. That month was painful, but was made better by interacting with the then first years with him on the bench. At first they were mostly quiet, yelling at the players and not doing much else. Then, after a timeout, Narita-kun had muttered “finally, let’s get this ball rolling” and the benched players had all stood in shock at his quiet pun. The tension had broken and they began to talk amongst themselves during matches.
Koushi had left them when he was healed, but it was remarkably easy to slip back into that dynamic as he returned to the bench for the first practice match of the year.
“Chikara looks like he’s about to shit himself,” Narita remarked as the play commenced on the court.
“Which is ironic,” Kinoshita said as his eyes brightened, “given that he is the least likely person on that court to be murdered by someone at the moment.”
A surprised snort tore out of Koushi. “Oh, do expand upon that, Kinoshita-kun.”
“Gladly, Suga-san,” Kinoshita said as his face settled into a familiar look, one that indicated he was wholly enjoying the banter he was about to start. Narita and Koushi were very familiar with this face. “Obviously, Kageyama-kun is prepared to murder Hinata-kun at any moment given his current skill level. Kageyama may not even have to, if Hinata-kun continues to insist upon receiving the ball with every body part but his arms.”
“Very astute, Hisashi.”
“Oh yes, please continue.” Koushi and Narita glanced at each other in amusement.
“The beanpole, Tsukishima-kun, is playing fine, but if he keeps insulting Kageyama-kun and Hinata-kun, the force of glares alone might render him dead.”
“Too true.”
“There isn’t much explanation needed for Ryuu, he’s just always on the precipice of being murdered by Daichi-san.”
“And of course,” Koushi cut in, “Tanaka-kun would never go down without a fight. He would probably end up killing Daichi as Daichi killed him.”
“That’s an excellent point, Suga-san,” Narita said with false solemnity.
“Intelligent as always, Suga-san,” Kinoshita added, matching Narita’s tone.
“Yes, you’re absolutely right, Kinoshita-kun,” Suga declared. “Our darling Ennoshita-kun has nothing to fear as long as he can keep his bowels under control.”
“And his tear ducts too, I expect,” Narita added.
As the boys chuckled, Koushi’s attention was stolen by Takeda-sensei, their well-meaning but largely incompetent advisor. Perhaps incompetent was too mean a word. He was ignorant, which limited his usefulness, but he tried hard enough that it almost made up for his lack of knowledge.
“Sugawara-kun,” Takeda-sensei began as he held out a whiteboard with player icons arranged on it, “the rotation moves every time we score and we get to serve, correct?” Koushi nodded. “So with Tsukishima-kun in the front right now, we have a strong block.”
“That’s right, Take-chan.”
“Excellent!” Takeda-sensei brightened as he noted his observations in his notebook. Koushi appreciated everything that their advisor did for the team, and it was obvious how much he cared, but Koushi missed having a real coach. It shouldn’t be his and Daichi’s responsibility to write and run warmups, drills, and scrimmages. They also would never be able to improve their own playing if they spent all their time trying to improve their teammates. Takeda-sensei tried, he did, but Koushi knew that without a coach, Karasuno would stagnate.
As Koushi quietly panicked about the future, he noticed the last new first year looking at him. This first year was pretty tall, and attached at the hip to “Tsukki,” but Koushi could already tell that he felt out of place. To be expected, he thought with a grimace, when you’re the only first year not starting. Koushi beckoned Yamaguchi-kun over, and introduced himself and his teammates, and then watched with amusement as Yamaguchi discovered that the bench was not at all the paragon of support that it looked like from the outside
After a rather dramatic ending to the practice match, Yamaguchi-kun approached Koushi as they waited for the bus. Koushi glanced at “Tsukki” and noted that he had his headphones on and was staring bitterly at his arms where they were red from Oikawa’s serves.
Yamaguchi hesitated as he reached the group of third years that Koushi was standing in. He scratched at his face and said, “Um, Sugawara-san—”
“Suga.”
“Suga-san, how, well... how do you handle being benched if you were starting before?”
Oh, kid. “It isn’t easy,” Koushi said with a trademarked Reliable Smile™, one that was known to put anxious first years at ease. “But,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially, “we have our fun on the bench, too.”