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Ushijima Wakatoshi and Tendou Satori aren’t sure why they started kissing each other good luck before matches, but they don’t see a reason to stop doing it. Their first kiss, a soft peck before Nationals their first year, leads to a win in round one. Never mind that they are knocked out of the tournament eventually. Never mind that the kiss before the third round leaves them both breathless —

“For luck,” Tendou whispers, pressing his lips softly to Ushijima’s temple. It’s maybe the fourth kiss he’s given in his life, but he’s not about to let Ushijima know that. He still wants Ushijima, this beacon of masculinity and power, to think he’s cool. That he’s maybe kissed like ten super hot girls and not just the one who took pity on him in junior high. It’s the first time he’s had such a close friend and Tendou aims to please: wants to impress the person who has started taking meals with him, throwing his bedroll next to Tendou’s on trips, and partnering with him during warm ups.

“For luck,” Ushijima says back in his own attempt at a whisper. He’s bad at whispering just like he’s bad at kissing, but when he kisses Tendou hard on the mouth, hands finding the small of Tendou’s back to pull their bodies flush, it steals the air from both their lungs and leaves them with the lingering sensation of intoxication. Ushijima’s kiss tastes like when you flop back into a field on the first warm day of spring, or when the first bite of chocolate cake hits your tongue, gooey and melting and rich enough to leave the taste lingering in your mouth for hours.

The taste of Ushijima’s tongue lingers in Tendou’s mouth for hours.

Kissing before matches is a tradition now. Like all traditions, like wearing a certain pair of underwear or eating a certain meal the night before a match, it doesn’t need to be questioned or explained or shared with anyone beyond the two of them. 

Maybe they started kissing because of Tendou. He likes to touch people (now that he has people to touch). An arm slung across Semi’s shoulders; a slap on the back for Yamagata after he digs up a brutal cut shot; a compliment that requires sliding a hand against Ohira’s biceps at the gym; a foot running against Ushijima’s leg at the dinner table. Probably it started because of Tendou, because he likes to be near his new best friend, because it feels right to touch his new best friend at every chance he gets.

His new best friend Ushijima is real and solid and warms up with him before practice. His new best friend Ushijima took one look at Tendou and didn’t think monster or freak but instead thought he seemed like a good volleyball player. His new best friend Ushijima does not say anything when the squeeze of a shoulder before a match becomes the brush of hands becomes the soft whisper of lips on a cheek becomes the wet warmth of lips sliding against lips.

“For luck.” 

And that was the start of it. 

The end of it goes like this: one day, it dawns on Tendou Satori and Ushijima Wakatoshi that you aren’t supposed to kiss your best friend like that. One day, it dawns on Tendou Satori and Ushijima Wakatoshi that the kissing can become more; a dizzying joining of bodies; a hot flush of skin against skin; a tangle of long, muscular legs against long, muscular legs.

But we are not to the end yet.

“Oooh, you’re a fiery one!” the boy says, all red hair and smiles as he kills Ushijima’s first spike during their first high school practice. Not: You were the number one middle school spiker in Japan! Not: Woah, your spikes are going to take my arms off!

Ushijima likes it when people say his spikes will take their arms off. Likes it when people acknowledge that he is, in fact, the best. He’s not sure he likes what this boy says. Fiery one. 

The red eyes that stare wide and unblinking at Ushijima hold curiosity, not fear. Fascination replaces wounded pride and when the boy asks if they want to warm up together next practice, Ushijima says yes. 

He says yes the next ten, twenty, thirty times Tendou asks as well. 

“You’re my best friend,” Tendou says one day as he slides into the chair next to Ushijima at dinner.

“‘Kay.” 

“Yay! I’m so happy, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou was fast to use his given name. Ushijima does not mind the informality. He nods and takes another bite of pork. 

Ushijima stiffens slightly when he feels the soft brush of a hand against his. 

“First match comin’ up. You ready?” Tendou asks. The pinky finger of his left hand is pressed up against the pinky finger of Ushijima’s right. Their dominant hands are tied up in eating. Ushijima would like to grab some water with his offhand, but isn’t sure if it’s appropriate to move when someone is touching you like that. 

“I am…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Adequately prepared.”

“Think we’ll win then?” Tendou moves his hand to grab his own drink and the contact ends. It’s now socially acceptable to move, although Ushijima keenly feels the absence of warmth. 

“I need to study more match footage of our opponents, but I believe our play style is superior to theirs.” Ushijima takes a sip of water. 

“What if they just get lucky?” The side of Tendou’s foot rubs against Ushijima’s ankle. The feeling is not unpleasant. 

“This is why we have multiple sets: to prevent luck from determining the outcome of the match.”

“Ahhh!” Tendou stretches and yawns. “I guess soooooo… still,” he says, looking at Ushijima with a smile. “Never a bad idea to have a little luck on our side.”

Ushijima supposes this is true. He is convinced it’s true, as the weeks fade in a blur of practice and falling leaves and practice and silent, snow-covered nights and practice and soba on New Year's Day and practice and Tendou’s kisses on his face. Tendou’s back against the wall.

Ushijima places both hands against the wall on either side of Tendou’s chest. He leans in and steals one, two, three kisses. He opens his mouth on the third kiss and wonders how to make kisses less wet. Tendou squirms, but Ushijima wants to keep him pinned a little longer. He presses a fourth, fifth kiss to Tendou’s lips. Tendou rests his hands on Ushijima’s waist. His eyes are wide. Somehow this makes Ushijima want to kiss him more. A long sixth kiss. Tongues have been difficult to figure out, but Ushijima thinks he’s getting the hang of running his own between Tendou’s lips, licking into the hot wetness of his mouth.

He needs to try again just to be sure.

The seventh kiss breaks only when they both need air. 

“Seven times the luck.” Tendou sounds breathless and Ushijima hopes he will be well enough to play in the coming match. “Good idea, Wakatoshi-kun!” 

Ushijima had certainly thought so. 

As first-years they were boys play-acting. By second year, when voices deepen and growing pains fade, their play becomes dangerous. 

“Someone's coming,” Ushijima says flatly. Tendou looks up, unsealing his lips from Ushijima’s pulse point. They’re in the supply closet this time and the impending match is less a match than a practice game against a local university team. Still, they want to win. Still, they kiss for luck. 

Only the kisses have started straying lower than temples and cheeks and lips. Only necks feel as if they would bring better luck. If only they don’t get caught. 

The magic only works if it’s done away from prying eyes: in a backroom, a closet, that dusty room that’s never used in the hotel they stay in for trips to Tokyo. It only works if, once they leave the room, they never, ever talk about the kisses.

Ohira opens the door. “Oh, hey guys.” He’s cheerful. They have broken apart and hidden redness under sweatshirts just in time. “I think the other team has arrived.”

Their next official match brings with it a new danger, never before considered, when Semi arrives dangling blue paper on a string.

“Who’s the omamori from?” Tendou asks slyly.

Semi reddens. “Um. You know, um, Class 2 with the Very Long Hair?” Semi has been staring at Class 2 with the Very Long Hair a lot this year. Lately, she’s been staring back. 

The boys, save for Ushijima, whoop and cheer. Tendou elbows Semi playfully.

“Knock it off,” Semi says, but he doesn’t sound that mad. 

“Ahh,” Tendou sighs, “she’s friends with that class 2 girl with the glasses, right? Think you can introduce me to her?”

Ushijima decides he hates the class 2 girl with the glasses even though he’s never seen her before in his life. They’re playing with fire with their little ritual, he realizes. 

The thought fades the second he steps onto the court. Everything fades the second he steps onto the court, save for the squeak of sneakers on laminated wood and the thrill of chasing victory.

Ushijima buys an omamori before their next match. He picks out one for success. He picks out one that is red for no reason, he thinks, other than the fact that the color signifies strength. The second he and Tendou get alone among the brooms and the dust he holds out his hand, letting the amulet dangle without a word.

“Oooh!! Same idea, Wakatoshi-kun!” Tendou says, voice far too loud and too bright for such a sacred act. He pulls out a purple charm, victory printed on the side. They trade and Ushijima wonders if this is it; they’ve given each other physical symbols of success, of luck. This time, there is nothing more they need to do. 

Maybe Tendou’s already gotten some good luck from the class 2 girl with the glasses.

And then Tendou moves in closer, pressing his forehead to Ushijima’s. They stare at each other and Ushijima starts to feel foolish for giving someone with red eyes and red hair a red omamori.

Only he likes red now. Thinks it’s his favorite color now. Tendou’s lips are red already, but could become a darker shade of red if bitten and sucked at. Ushijima closes his eyes and gives in to the danger, indulging himself and drinking in all the wonders Tendou’s red, red lips have to offer. 

“For luck,” Tendou whispers, rubbing the omamori between his thumb and forefinger. “Good luck, Wakatoshi-kun.” 

Ushijima cannot push away the dawning realization that his name on Tendou’s lips is the only blessing he will ever need. 

Tendou makes a muffled noise against Ushijima’s mouth and the opening allows Ushijima to slip his tongue in. Tendou makes another noise, deep, unlike anything Ushijima has ever heard. He surprises himself by letting out one of his own; groaning into Tendou’s open mouth. 

It takes all of Ushijima’s willpower — built over years of long, boring stretching routines, pre-dawn runs when his bed felt so soft, protein shakes when he really wanted sweets — to break the kiss. For a second, Tendou stares at him, panting. For a second, Ushijima knows that they need to talk. That this is ridiculous, really, playing at ritual when they both know that they’re just chasing the high that comes from breathing someone else’s breath. 

His thoughts turn to static when Tendou drops to his knees in front of him. Instinctively, Ushijima brings a hand to Tendou’s hair, ready to twine his fingers through it. His other hand goes to his lips, ready to muffle sounds. There’s a ghost of a breath against Ushijima’s thigh and then—

“Your shoelace was untied.” Tendou’s voice sounds hoarse, raw and controlled. So unlike his usual bright, bubbly sound. Ushijima feels as if he is hearing him through a glass wall. 

“Thank you.” Safety first. 

They leave the closet. 

The thrill of victory, the red sting of a spike, and the brute force of a serve are not enough this time to quell the growing storm. Ushijima has the strength to walk calmly back to his room, to think of lifting weights. One rep, two, three. Ushijima imagines the pressure of a heavy squat rack against his back. Four, five, six. He has to prevent those too-thin athletic shorts from highlighting any feelings he doesn’t want others to see. He has the control to lock the door; to make it to the bed and grab tissues.

Cautiously, Ushijima allows his willpower to crumble and calls to mind the memory of Tendou on his knees in the supply closet. Only this time his shoelace isn’t untied. Only this time Tendou’s breath on his thigh turns to Tendou’s lips on his thigh turns to those lips traveling higher and higher up his leg; Ushijima’s left hand travels lower and lower down his body. He runs his hand across his own chest, his stomach. He takes off those too-thin athletic shorts. 

The release is fast and hard and he has to bite his lip to keep from groaning out the name that lingers on the tip of his tongue. He closes his eyes for a second afterward. He realizes that there is a sacrifice to be made soon. 

Soon. But not yet. Ushijima wants both volleyball and Tendou for a little while longer. He knows which one he will choose, between volleyball and Tendou, but never in his life did he think the decision would be this close.

Never in his life did he ever think a person could make him feel this weak. 

Tendou laughs as he takes another picture. 

“It looks so funny on you. It’s too tight across the chest. You’ve really grown in the last year.”  

Ushijima is trying on his old uniform one last time. It will be replaced soon with that much larger, much coveted captain’s jersey with the big, purple “1” on it. He’s filled out completely over the course of their second year: highly-defined muscles stand out on his already broad chest. Ushijima takes the old uniform off and Tendou snaps another picture. 

He’s not sure why he keeps taking these pictures. He can look at pictures of any hot actress he wants, when he’s alone in his room. Still does (at the start). But lately hot actresses just aren’t enough when he’s really hard and desperate for release. When he’s lust-addled and not thinking straight in any sense of the word, it doesn’t feel weird to use a ridiculous photo of his best friend taking off his shirt, revealing abs and pecs and biceps crafted over years of training to just come already.

Tendou feels more curiosity than shame afterwards. Knows he’ll do the same thing again next time and wonders why.  

“You’re going to be a great captain,” Tendou adds for good measure. 

Ushijima nods and puts on another shirt, followed by a sweatshirt. Ushijima knows he’s going to be a great captain and doesn't need Tendou to tell him that. The confidence fits him well, just like his new captain’s jersey will. 

“Anyway.” Tendou hops off the bed and twists his torso a few times; goes to the wall and uses it to go down into a backbend. Ushijima ignores him, goes back to packing for his trip home. “What are you doing over the break?”

As athletes they’ll come back to school early to begin training. The thought soothes Tendou. He doesn’t want to go home: Shiratorizawa, the court, his friends, his best friend are the place settings for his paradise. He stands up out of his backbend. There isn’t a lot of room to do contortion in a dorm room, particularly if you’re a large man and half the floor space is taken up by an even larger man.

“Train. Visit relatives. Help my mother.” Ushijima pulls off his shorts to try on a pair he found at the back of his drawer. They draw tight over his bottom. “These are too small. Would you like them?”

Tendou shakes his head yes over and over and over. He’s not sure if he wants the athletic shorts. Not sure what he’s nodding for. Not sure if he can tear his eyes from the way the fabric strains against Ushijima’s skin, the way it highlights the firm lines and round curves of his ass. 

Ushijima takes off the shorts and throws them at Tendou. Ushijima dresses and checks his phone. 

“I should go to bed. I want to get to the train station early tomorrow.”

Tendou sits down on the floor. “I don’t wanna leave. Do you, Wakatoshi-kun?”

“We’ll be back here in a week. A week is not that long.”

Tendou will be counting the seconds. The distress on his face must be pretty apparent because even Ushijima seems to be able to sense his discontent. He sits next to Tendou. Tendou leans his head against Ushijima’s shoulder, feeling it rise and fall with Ushijima’s breath. Ushijima moves and Tendou whines.

“Don’t get up yet.” But Ushijima isn’t getting up: he’s reaching, turning, twisting until Tendou’s cheek is against his hand and he’s lifting up, up Tendou’s lips to meet his.

There’s no tongue this time. There doesn’t need to be: the pressure of lips sliding softly against lips is enough. 

“For luck. For the journey home.” 

Ridiculous, Tendou thinks, resting his head against Ushijima’s shoulder once more, he’s already home. Shiratorizawa is his home. The volleyball team is his home. 

Ushijima is his home.

When Tendou returns from vacation, Ushijima has been replaced by the Captain. The Captain tells them to run laps; to keep a log of their food to make sure they eat the perfect balance of protein, fat, and carbohydrates; to lift weights every other day; to stretch after every practice.

The Captain is still Tendou’s best friend. They watch anime together, create a manga together, sit together at meals. 

“I have to meet with Coach before matches.” Ushijima’s eyes are not apologetic. “We cannot walk over from the dorms together.” A pause, Tendou mentally fills in the words that are missing: whatever we had before stops now. “I will meet you on the court. Please do not forget to bring your court shoes.” 

The Captain is still Tendou’s best friend. Nothing more. 

They both know, now, secretly knew for a long, long time that the kisses weren’t just for luck. They both know a line was crossed when Ushijima brought his lips to Tendou’s on the dorm room floor. A line Ushijima is walking quickly backwards from.

Ushijima’s room is easy to break into, but Tendou just can’t bring himself to steal the omamori back. He feels wild and reckless, but when he takes the trinket in his hand he realizes it’s just paper and sits it back down. He wants to steal something, though, other than the scent of Ushijima on his pillow. He grabs one of those ridiculous handkerchiefs Ushijima uses to dry his hands. 

Today, Tendou hates how methodological Ushijima is at everything: hygiene, training, breaking hearts. He performs each task as if it is some solemn duty he alone is equipped to carry out. 

Tomorrow, Tendou will have to let this go. He loves playing volleyball. He loves having friends, loves having a best friend. He has his team for one last year. He doesn’t want to be greedy or lament a broken heart when there is so much fun to have.

Tomorrow, he’ll sing songs with Semi, flirt with a girl, eat dinner with his best friend, the Captain. Practice blocks and laugh and mock relentlessly when he shuts down Shirabu’s setter dump and Goshiki’s line shot.

Today, Tendou runs his hands over Ushijima’s sheets, pockets the handkerchief he has stolen, and debates stealing more. Looks at the floor and remembers. Talks himself out of staying just to frighten Ushijima. Leaves the room.

The cheerleading squad is practicing soon. That might be fun to watch.

This is what it means to be Ushijima Wakatoshi. 

You are not destined to be a star: you are one. It is a fact you’ve known since childhood. You take every precaution to ensure that star doesn’t fade: careful training to prevent injuries, a well-balanced diet, thinking through each action to ensure you’re the model athlete Japan deserves. You got lucky, being born a star, but that doesn’t mean that luck alone is the reason for your shine. 

Maybe you grimace a little when you think of luck. What you used to do in dark rooms for luck.

You are lucky to be tall; you are lucky to be strong; you are lucky your father allowed you to remain left-handed. You have to work at everything else. 

There is balance in all things. For every gift there is the curse of dark fantasies you can’t control. Of wanting to beat others at volleyball for the sick thrill of hurting them. The struggle to remain the picture of sportsmanship when the pleasure of opponents’ sorrow is just so sweet. 

The sorrow on Tendou’s face is apparent enough that even you can tell he is hurt (and you have been told reading others is another skill you need to work on, another crack in your veneer). The sorrow on Tendou’s face is not sweet. It does not give you a thrill, not like that. You’ve imagined other emotions on his face, some of them pain tinged with pleasure inflected by your own hand. Those images give you a wave of desire that nearly knocks you over. But the sting of rejection is not laced with anything but devastation. 

You’ve learned the social cues, memorized how to act. You want to let graciousness outshine the pride. 

You thought you knew the societal rules on how touching worked. Most people in your world do not touch each other. Most people in Japan are polite, bow, and remain at an arm's length. Men, male athletes, might slap each other on the back after a win or touch a leg to help with a stretch. These touching rules are easy for you to follow. Most people you have no interest in touching. 

There is one person you want to touch; one person you want to break so gently, so sweetly, and who you so badly want to break you. One person who makes you feel deliciously weak where all you’ve ever felt before was strong.

You add these thoughts about Tendou to the list of things you need to work on. Another curse to bring balance to the boy who has everything. Another flaw to methodically and patiently train out until your star shines brighter than ever. 

The ending of one chapter starts like this: one day the Shiratorizawa Academy Boys Volleyball Team loses an important match.  Ushijima and Tendou stretch together, and Ushijima tries to ignore the wounded pride at losing to an untrained team.

Karasuno is going to Nationals because Karasuno got lucky.

Maybe there is something more than luck behind Karasuno’s win. Maybe. Ushijima will train harder for next time. 

It feels good to serve one hundred times. It feels good to wear out muscles and distract the mind. It feels good to hurt. 

“Night,” Ohira waves, “good game.” Everyone is turning in for the night after they take their baths. Everyone still looks a little down, but there’s nothing they can do about the loss now.

Ushijima is left alone with Tendou in the hallway. He unlocks his door and steps inside his room. Tendou follows Ushijima in and sits down on the floor. He’s been talking the entire time and Ushijima feels it would be impolite to tell him to leave right in the middle of a story. Besides, Tendou follows him around a lot, so Ushijima doesn’t think much of it. 

“I thought you’d get less wound up after the match.” Tendou stops his story to stare up at Ushijima, who is putting away his things and turning down his bed covers. 

“I am not wound up.”

Tendou makes a face. “Yes, you are. You’ve been super tense lately. Was it all Number Ten’s fault?”

Ushijima snorts: he had already forgotten about Karasuno’s Number Ten. He pauses, reflecting. He blinks a few times when it dawns on him: he’s been denying himself more, lately. Eaten fewer treats, pushed himself on longer runs, woken up before the dawn. Ignored the pangs of lust when they arose and distracted his mind with thoughts of work and volleyball.

Ushijima knows consciously that balance is healthy. But whenever he gives in his thoughts turn to Tendou and Tendou is danger. Tendou is the fire that almost burned him at the end of last school year. That fire was fun to play with for a while, but now, especially now, after the Karasuno loss, he has to shine so, so bright. Cannot let the scorch marks show. 

Only now he’s thinking about Tendou. Thinking about how he’s in his room and Tendou’s in his room with him and everyone else has gone to sleep. And that match against Karasuno was exciting in a way: his body had burned brighter than ever before for a second, left him not relaxed but fired up.

“You’re like, crazy tense right now, Wakatoshi-kun.” Tendou stands, moving closer, he rests one hand on Ushijima’s shoulder. “You gonna look at me or…?” 

Ushijima supposes he’s staring at the wall. Ushijima supposes his hands are balled up into fists at his sides. Ushijima supposes he’s trying really really hard not to look at Tendou, because Tendou’s presence alone is driving him crazy. Makes him aware of all the nights where he lay in bed and thought about volleyball and weight lifting until the need faded and he could sleep and all the mornings where he went for a brisk run in the cold air instead of getting off to the mental image of his best friend hot and sweaty after a match, bending and dancing this way and that, letting his shirt ride up to reveal a strip of pale skin just above his waist and, oh, he’s so slender, so captivating, so peculiar and unlike anyone Ushijima’s ever seen before—

“Was the loss against Karasuno really that bad? I mean, it sucked like, I still feel like someone punched me in the stomach, but was it really that terrible?”

Ushijima does not look.

“‘Cause you’re really sweating right now.” Much to Ushijima’s dismay, Tendou places one hand on his forehead. “And kinda red and kinda—”

“Do you remember how we used to kiss?” Ushijima asks, in part because it’s hard to stop himself and in part because ignoring the problem has obviously not worked.

“Uh yeah, dude. We made out at least once a week for two years. You are still the only person I’ve ever French kissed. So weird, right?”

“Kiss me again.” 

The words ring out through the room and Ushijima realizes just how loud he’s been. Tendou stares at him in shock, as if he’s expecting Ushijima to say something like ‘just kidding.’ 

Tendou exhales. “You always mean what you say, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Why now, though?”

“I need you now.”

“You needed me before the match. Could’ve used a little luck there,” Tendou says conversationally. Ushijima thinks he might be trying to change the subject and is surprised when Tendou slowly lifts one leg then the other onto the futon to sit. He scoots toward Ushijima and, in one surprising and fluid motion, straddles Ushijima’s lap. As if from a great, great distance, Ushijima watches his hands drape around Tendou’s back. He watches vibrant red eyes come closer, feels Tendou’s hands against his hands and Tendou’s forehead against his forehead.

“If you don’t want me, let me know and I won’t continue,” Tendou says, voice low for once, serious for once. It’s the worst thing he could have said: if you don’t want me. Not, if you don’t want to be kissed. 

If you don’t want me.

Because Ushijima could give or take kisses; could’ve been kissing most of the girls in the school for the last three years if he wanted, but he can’t give or take Tendou. He knows that if kisses and touches didn’t exist, if love were made by consuming the other person piece by piece he would let Tendou swallow him whole. 

“I want you.” It’s the only answer there ever was to Tendou’s question. 

The onslaught of hungry kisses tastes as good as cool water after a long, hot run. 

“I sorta wanna eat you,” Tendou says, working his mouth along Ushijima’s jawline. Ushijima nods; he knows exactly what Tendou means. A wicked grin crosses Tendou’s face. “I could, you know. Eat you.” Ushijima starts and moves to push him away. Tendou laughs. “Not like that. I mean… I’m not actually a cannibal. Although I have always wondered what your skin tastes like.” 

Ushijima tries to make sense of Tendou’s words, Tendou’s laughter. He seems, if anything, embarrassed. 

“I don’t understand.”

Tendou grins, less wide and more sheepishly than usual. “I mean. Blow jobs? You know, like, uhh, sucking your dick like candy?”

“What, exactly, do you plan to do with me?”

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou slips off his lap, lowers himself down until he is kneeling between Ushijima’s legs. “I am offering to put my mouth on your dick. No actual consumption will be involved. Well,” Tendou smiles his full, wild smile, “except maybe at the end.”

Ushijima thinks about Tendou’s proposition, but not very hard. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Tendou. Please suck my dick.” Ushijima is excited now. Can’t remember why he didn’t want this to happen in the first place.

But Tendou makes a face. “You’re still gonna call me by my family name? Now?”

“Tendou,” Ushijima says firmly. Because, to him, that’s who this person sitting in front of him is. Ushijima can’t remember ever calling someone by their given name. The formality feels safe, like a worn but warm coat. 

“‘Kay, if that’s the line you wanna draw.” 

Ushijima worries he might have offended Tendou. He thinks about calling him Satori if only to make him happy. Forgets all about it when he feels long, slender fingers tugging at the elastic waistband of his shorts. Forgets all about everything when he feels that mouth he has seen so many times turned up in a smile for him, just for him, seal around him. Gives in to the push and pull and wave of sensation; the heat in his gut, the searing where Tendou’s hands dig into his hips, the softness of Tendou’s freshly-washed hair in his hands.

Sweat beads against Ushijima’s brow as he holds himself back from taking more, as he watches those wide eyes, strangely innocent as they tear up at the effort, the strain, looking up to meet his. The fit is imperfect; Ushijima thinks about another place they might join where the fit would be better, perfectly tight and perfectly joined as one body. The way they were meant to be.  

And then he thinks about nothing at all.

It is almost better when it is his turn to be on his knees. The ebb and flow is still there, but he controls the pace now. Just like the last three years on the court when Tendou jumped and set and spiked when and only when Ushijima needed him to jump and set and spike, he can bring Tendou pleasure with just the touch of his lips, his tongue, his hands. The basic rhythms of the game he lives for merges with the rhythms of the man he thinks he might love. 

Ushijima Wakatoshi is strong, unyielding, relentless. He has never felt so weak, trembling, pliant, until the moment Tendou cries out in pleasure and bucks against his mouth. 

“I want to do more than that,” Ushijima says as they lie in each other’s arms and kiss each other so, so softly. “I want to have sex with you.”

“That was sex.”

“Real sex.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Really.” Ushijima sits up to pull on his pajama pants. 

“Ummm… Wakatoshi-kun?” Tendou asks, flopping back onto the bed as he pulls on his own sweatpants. “What do you define as ‘real sex’? I just wanna check.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, like, when two guys have sex it’s kinda gross, right? Like, you know all the details? And you still wanna do it?”

“I have worked out some of the details,” Ushijima says flatly.  

“Okay, okay,” Tendou exhales. “Okay. Yeah. We can do that.” Ushijima studies Tendou; his long legs slide gracefully into his sweatpants. But, when he catches Ushijima watching, he begins to flail an unnecessary amount of times on the bed, as if to amuse Ushijima with his theatrics. He becomes quiet and tender when Ushijima lies down on the bed next to him.

Ushijima does not mean to fall asleep, would not normally give in to such delicious and risky temptation as sleeping with his lover, but as Tendou presses his face into the crook of Ushijima’s neck and slings one hand across his chest it is impossible to do anything else but drown in the richness of the growing dark. 

Coach announces Ushijima’s contract with the Adlers. Tendou beams with pride, as does the rest of the team (except Goshiki, who is clearly mentally calculating the stats he needs over the course of the next few years to sign with a better team, until Shirabu reminds him that the Adlers are the best team). Tendou meets Ushijima’s gaze, sees the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at Tendou. He has it all now, Tendou knows; volleyball and love. Did not have to sacrifice one to gain the other. 

The first person Tendou tells, aside from his rather reluctant parents, (they give their blessing eventually) about France and his apprenticeship and pastry school is Ushijima. Tendou has an ulterior motive for telling Ushijima right away. They’ve both had their dreams come true in the last week; both taken a big step towards adulthood and their futures. There is another big step they had talked about taking together. Another ritual of adulthood that might happen once Tendou gets to Ushijima’s room and they’re alone and happy to be alive and in need of so much luck for the next steps. Tendou tells Ushijima the news quickly, then scans his face for his reaction.

“....”  

There’s so much to discuss, but Ushijima says nothing. His face doesn’t even darken with disappointment. He simply stares at Tendou. 

“Didja hear me, Wakatoshi-kun? Let’s celebrate making our dreams come true together!” Tendou can read Ushijima’s hurt and reluctance despite the blankness of his face. But he’s just not sure what went wrong, this time. 

“.... I am supposed to talk to Coach about finding an agent to negotiate pay…”

“Surely you have time to celebrate?”

“Some other time, perhaps.” Ushijima stands and ushers Tendou out the door. “I am happy for you. I think you will be an excellent chocolatier.”

They are alone again only once more before Tendou moves halfway around the world. The morning of graduation dawns cool, but the sun promises warmth later, if only you are patient. Somewhere, the cherry blossoms are blooming. Somewhere, the birds are gathering sticks to make their nests.

Ushijima’s room faces west; it is still dark and chilly, in these early hours. Tendou is bleary-eyed with sleep, but he has a few things he needs to get from Ushijima’s dorm before he leaves. 

Ushijima has already run and is stretching now; his legs are drawn out in an awkward V on his dorm room floor, awkward insofar as he has to dodge his suitcase and the desk chair and the desk itself to get them to fit. 

“Guess we never got to do that thing you wanted, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Ushijima twists to the side to ensure the door is closed. 

“Is that what you’re here for?” His voice is flat. His voice is always flat, but this flatness means something colder and darker than the filtered dawn light that barely hits Ushijima’s window. 

“Nope, just wanted to grab the manga and CDs you borrowed.”

“I didn’t borrow them. You left them here.”

“Yeah? Well, I want them back.” Tendou shuffles from foot to foot, pretending to search the room for his stuff, watching Ushijima out of the corner of his eye. 

Ushijima stands with a sigh and grabs Tendou’s CDs and that copy of Shonen Jump he really wanted Ushijima to see off of his desk. He hands them to Tendou.

“You will want these things in France. To remind you of home.” 

Tendou’s eye catches the slight tremor in those usually steady hands. He takes the stuff from Ushijima. Junk, really. Nothing he actually needs back.

“I’m not sure if I’ll have room to bring all this stuff.”

“You should bring the manga. It’s a good chapter of Assassination Classroom .”

Tendou’s eyes lit up. “You read it?” 

“I always do.”

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou begins, bright demeanor dampened by the dark, by the ceremonial nature of this day, by graduation. “We’re still best friends, right?”

“Distance doesn’t stop best friendship.”

Tendou’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I see how it is. I’m actually relieved. I thought you hated me and I didn’t know why.”

“For a moment, I did.” Ushijima lets out a breath and continues. “I thought by choosing to leave Japan, you were choosing to leave me. I know it’s foolish—”

Tendou doesn’t even have to move to kiss Ushijima, just has to lean forward. Ushijima’s lips are still so soft, despite the hardness of the rest of his body. 

“Good luck in the V-League, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Good luck in France, Tendou.”

They talk on the phone sometimes. Months slip by between calls. It’s Ushijima’s fault, mostly. He’s busy with training and traveling and buying books and CDs to learn foreign languages and then not reading or listening to them. He’s also hurt by Tendou’s decision to leave him, despite the months between now and that decision. Hurts whenever he remembers all the signs throughout the years that Tendou was never as serious about him as he was about Tendou. That Tendou was just having fun with the kisses — doing, as he always did, whatever felt good — when Ushijima had meant something by his actions. Ushijima had wanted more, been ready to offer more, when Tendou had decided to move so far, far away.

But whenever Tendou’s smiling picture appears on his phone, he answers.

One night, Ushijima is preparing for bed when his phone rings the special ding-a-ling-ling for a video call instead of the vrrrr vrrrr for a voice call. Ushijima answers quickly.

“Wakatoshi-kun! Or, I guess, Wakatoshi-kun’s floor.” 

Ushijima presses the button to rotate his camera so that it’s facing him. 

“That’s so weird, I thought the camera default was facing toward you.” Tendou’s hair is short and he’s smiling. 

“I’m sorry. I’m not great at operating it. You look good.” 

“Ah! You haven’t seen my new haircut yet, have you?!?!”

Ushijima shakes his head.

“You like it?” Tendou asks.

“It suits you.”  Ushijima has not thought of Tendou in any way that might compromise their friendship since a few hot and shameful weeks after their… experimentation. It’s been months since images of Tendou on the ground, smiling up at him appeared behind his eyes. But now, with his new, short hair, Ushijima can’t help but wonder what it might feel like against his hands, if Tendou were to kneel in front of him once more. 

“Didja hear me, Wakatoshi? I asked if now was a good time to talk. I uh, have something kinda important to share.”

Ushijima shakes his head, clears his mind of inappropriate fantasies. The real Tendou is talking to him; he has forgotten his manners. 

“Sorry. I’m listening.”

“Great! Hey, so, uh, there’s this beautiful girl in my class, right? And she’s sending super weird signal like, not like the girls in Japan at all, and then one day—”

As a child, Ushijima’s grandmother had taken him to see the Japanese Philharmonic Orchestra. Ushijima hadn’t enjoyed it; too much sitting, too much noise. At the very start, right after everyone had walked onto the stage, one instrument had played a note and held it. Slowly, and then all at once, the other instruments joined in, hitting the same unwavering note. Ushijima had dutifully clapped when the note stopped. His grandmother had dampened his hands with her own.

“They are just tuning their instruments.”

Ushijima hears that note now, as Tendou speaks to him over the phone.

“And women here are a lot more casual about, well, you know. So, anyway, after the first date, we went back to her flat…..” The tuning note grows louder and louder. “... going out again tonight. I’m sure you’ll see the pictures on…” Only, now the instruments aren’t all playing the same note but making discordant noises that beat in a pulse of sound through the air. The squeak of shoes on court, the bounce of the ball — Ushijima tries to think of those sounds instead. Safe, familiar sounds to drown out the growing cacophony. 

Tendou’s voice had once been a safe, familiar sound. 

Tendou’s voice has stopped and there is nothing in the air but silence. Ushijima knows he should respond.

“‘Kay.” He isn’t sure why Tendou is telling him all this. “Best of luck with the girl.” Wrong words. He regrets them instantly.

“”Kay,” Tendou echos. Something in his face has changed; Ushijima is not sure what. “I’m sure you’re tired. ‘Night, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Good night, Tendou.” He hangs up and remembers that it’s actually midday in France. Ushijima sits his phone down with a sigh. He wonders, not for the first time, if there were other people Tendou kissed in high school. Ushijima has still never kissed anyone else.

He wonders if the things they did together ever meant much to Tendou at all. 

It will be a while, Ushijima realizes, before he hears from Tendou again. Maybe that’s for the best; he’s not strong enough to hear about Tendou’s life moving on without him. 

Tendou smiles as the woman powders his face. 

“Sir, close your mouth. You don’t want to eat this,” she says in French. Wearing makeup is a delight and having cameras all over his shop is more fun than attending a festival and being told he can buy whatever treats he wants. The best part about the documentary, however, is watching Ushijima loom awkwardly in a corner. It has been a few years; Tendou had assumed they would spend more time together now that Ushijima is in Europe as well, but they both stay so busy.

But now they are together and happy and healthy and Tendou’s brand — his own brand! — is doing so well that he’s the one starring in a documentary with Ushijima appearing as his best friend.

“We’ll want something dynamic for you two to say at the restaurant,” the director says in her clipped voice. Tendou translates this to Japanese for Ushijima. 

Ushijima frowns. “What does she mean by ‘dynamic’?”

“Fun. Cool. To be used in promotional videos.” 

“We should talk about how we’re best friends.”

Best friends. That feels right. Tendou smiles wider as he thinks about it. 

“Please,” the makeup artist begs, “close your mouth.”

He plans to take Ushijima around Paris later. Wants to show him that bridge where couples take pictures while kissing; to drink coffee with him under an awning over cobblestone streets; to ride the elevator up to the top of Montparnasse Tower, with its stunning views that far surpass those from the more famous Parisian landmark. 

He’d seen two men kissing on top of the tower once, when he’d taken a now ex-girlfriend there. It was weird to see at first. Tendou always hated how stifled things were in his culture: few people touched or physically showed affection. He had always touched his friends in spite of the unwritten rules. But, it was still strange to think about kissing another man as something that might be done in public.

After the documentary dinner, Tendou goes to talk to the director and set up everything for the shots at his bakery tomorrow. 

Ushijima walks up to Tendou and politely waits to speak. Tendou can tell he is in a hurry and turns to him.

“Forgive me, I need to get back to my hotel now. I have to catch the train back early in the morning.” 

“Ah, well,” Tendou plasters a smile onto his face. “I wanted to take ya to see some sights, but I get that you’re super busy. Thanks for appearin' in this film!”

“Do you still have a lot of footage to capture?”

“Yeah. I’ll be done here in about half an hour, though. But I get that you gotta go now.”

“Good —” Ushijima stops himself, but Tendou can already see the word ‘luck’ forming on his lips. “Good night.”

“'Til next time, Wakatoshi-kun.”

And yet, Tendou sees the way Ushijima pauses at the door. Sees him twitch. Hopes, for a second, that he'll turn back around. Tendou opens his mouth to call out, to ask if he really needs to leave, now or ever. If perhaps he could stay this time. Forget bridges and cafes and towers and go straight to Tendou's flat, fall right onto Tendou's bed and taste something new together, something more delightful than chocolate or being a star.

"Excuse me," the director begins. Tendou closes his mouth without a sound, turns to face her. 

The bell on top of the door chimes and Tendou knows without looking that Ushijima is gone.

Here is the truth of it: Ushijima Wakatoshi is the best volleyball player in Japan. Ushijima Wakatoshi is not even close to being the best volleyball player in the world. In Poland, he is on the shorter end of height and around average strength for a professional volleyball player. Left-handedness is less taboo in other cultures. Men in Europe grew up playing against others with his gift. 

Here is the truth of it: Ushijima Wakatoshi is not a miracle. 

Tendou still calls him a miracle, though. Still grins wide whenever his face appears on the phone screen. 

Here is the truth of it: Ushijima Wakatoshi is still in love with his best friend.

There are no podium finishes for Olympian Ushijima Wakatoshi. Some trophies, marginal fame. There’s a shelf in an apartment somewhere covered in accolades. Ushijima never even looks at the shelf except to dust it when guests are coming over. Even then, it’s not about the guests seeing the awards so much as them not seeing the dust.

Luck plays the biggest role in both his successes and failures: he’d be luckier if he had been born Brazilian or Russian. Conversely, he’d be unlucky if he had been born a woman.

Once, Ushijima dated a Polish woman who played volleyball. She had short red hair and complained a lot about unequal pay.

“If I had been born a man, it would be easier to make my living doing what I loved,” she had said. Ushijima had agreed with her. “If I had been born a man, I think you might like me better as well.” Ushijima wasn’t sure if he agreed with that statement, but he did agree it was time to break up. 

“That’s so weird,” Tendou had said. Ushijima hadn’t told him the full story, just the part where she dumped him right after talking about the gender pay gap in sports. “Was she jealous of you or something?”

More like jealous of someone, Ushijima would have thought if he had a better sense of irony and a better grasp on the situation at hand. He didn’t have either, so he simply shrugged.   

“You gonna stay with me for a bit after the Paris Olympics?” Tendou asks on another call a few years later. The years have flown by in a cycle of matches and training and interviews and advertisement deals and flying to tournaments and trying and trying and trying and failing to move on, to find someone else. 

“I’ll stay If you want me to.”

Tendou shakes his head. “Do you wanna stay with me or not? That’s what I want to know. What you want.”

“Yes, I want to stay.” Stay means stay. Means hang out, go out to eat, see the sights. On his last visit, for instance, stay had meant spending all his time with Tendou and Tendou’s friends, including that woman who Tendou liked to touch too much, who he sat too close to at dinner, who didn’t react when Tendou slung his arm over her shoulder. 

In the months that follow, Ushijima searches the photos Tendou shares for any sign of her. He sees her, at first, but gradually she features less and less in Tendou’s stories. When Ushijima doesn’t see her for a month, doesn’t hear Tendou mention the word girlfriend, he decides that on his next visit he will try one last time to see if Tendou is willing to be as serious about him as Ushijima had always been about Tendou. He decides that it’s easier now; they both live in Europe. Certainly, Tendou could open a store in Poland. Certainly, Ushijima could sign with a French team next season.

The only barrier left is Tendou’s heart. Ushijima suspects that Tendou would agree to a hot and sweaty and ultimately loveless night together; Ushijima knows it would feel amazing for a moment and so, so sickeningly painful in the morning. He cannot go further, no matter how much a part of him wants to, until he knows he has Tendou’s heart the same way Tendou has always had his. 

They briefly see each other before the start of the ceremonies. Tendou looks great; he’s thirty, had his birthday a few months back. Ushijima had taken the train in from Warsaw for his birthday, and gone out with Tendou’s friends. They hadn’t gotten to talk much, then, the friends got in the way again, but Tendou looked as if he were glowing on that night. He looks even better now. Ushijima feels bold; he’s at the top of his game, captain of the Japanese National Team. He’s also learned a thing or two about romance in the last few years. Memorized the things to say to make girls respond a certain way.

Tendou looks so much better than any of the girls Ushijima ever made giggle with rehearsed lines. Tendou’s eyes are so bright, his mouth so pretty, soft and red. Ushijima lets his gaze linger on Tendou’s mouth for long enough that Tendou must know what he’s looking at and why. He leans a little closer and places a hand against Tendou’s shoulder.

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” Ushijima says the words without a trace of irony. 

Tendou just laughs. “This is why you play multiple sets: to prevent luck from determining the outcome of the match.”

The Games are over: Ushijima and the Japanese National Team have failed to place once more.

“It’s already midnight in Japan,” Tendou says, flopping back onto his bed. “Happy thirtieth birthday, Wakatoshi-kun!”

Ushijima nods his thanks. “Where are we going tonight?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“I need to know how to dress for it.”

“Oh, um, anything is fine. We will be walking a lot.” 

They do walk a lot; to the place by the glistening river where they have wine and bread; around the monument with some history Tendou doesn’t remember and Ushijima has no interest in knowing; through the high stone arches and across the cobblestone streets of an ancient, foreign city to get dinner, more wine. Ushijima doesn’t usually indulge like this and the world feels misty around the edges. The only thing that is clear is the bright redness of the man at his side.

They come to a bridge. They’re at the river again. Tendou places his hands against cool stone and stares out over it. Ushijima watches and wonders, not for the first time, what makes Tendou so stunning. This was how he was meant to be seen: at night, under the glow of electric lights. You look scary, people teased back in high school. You look like a monster. Ushijima thinks about their words; you look like a freak. You look—

“You look beautiful.”

“Hm?” Tendou turns his head. Ushijima worries for a second that he didn’t hear. “Never had anyone but you tell me that.”

“Not even your exes?”

“Nah.” Tendou turns back to face the water. “Never really tired to look beautiful.”

“You don’t have to try.” Ushijima steps closer. When Tendou does not move, he places a hand against Tendou’s lower back and removes it again. Steps back and feels his heart pound like he’s on set five of the longest match in his life.

Tendou sighs, turns to face Ushijima. “We’re too old to make up excuses for being close. If you wanna kiss me just ask.”

“Very well. May I kiss you?”

“What if I say no?” All the same, Tendou shifts, closing the gap between them. They stand almost eye to eye and Ushijima can feel Tendou’s breath against his lips. “Would I get a lifetime of bad luck?”

“I would leave. I would never try again.”

“Your heart would be broken.”

Ushijima imagines his heart splitting in two. “My heart is strong: it will be fine. My stomach might hurt for a little while, though.” Ushijima pauses. “Is that your answer then? No?”

“Wakatoshi-kun,” every time Tendou has ever said his name, even in jest, even in anger, it feels like a shared secret between the two of them, “I think we’ve given each other enough stomach aches to last a lifetime, huh?” Ushijima is not sure what Tendou means. He moves to step away but is stopped by long arms encircling his back. “My answer is yes. It’s always been yes. I love you. I’ve always—”

Whatever words Tendou was going to say next are swept up in Ushijima’s embrace as he lifts Tendou to be just higher than his head and melts into their kiss. 

From the first moment Tendou kissed him back in a supply closet at that hotel for Nationals their first year, the feeling of his lips, wide and often chapped, had given Ushijima nothing but years of good luck. Years of volleyball and jokes and having a best friend who listened and made him laugh and was always by his side. Years of the best kisses he had ever received. 

And now Ushijima knows for certain that they were years of mutual love and the kiss tastes so much sweeter.

He regrets the wasted time between them. Regrets going a decade without kisses. Does not regret that he can be a much better partner, now, at thirty, than he ever could at eighteen. He thinks Tendou will be a better partner too, for all their years apart. 

A boat rolls by in the darkness. The kiss breaks with a soft parting of lips. Ushijima remains still. He wants to live in this moment forever. Tendou has something else in mind. 

“Let’s get back to my flat.” Hand in hand, they start to walk. Tendou swings their arms in the space between them.

“What was the actual plan for the rest of the night?” Ushijima asks, glancing sideways at Tendou.

“Hm? Oh, this was always the plan. The bridge, you kissing me.”

“You guessed that I would kiss you?”

“Wakatoshi-kun, I didn’t have to guess.”

Ushijima isn’t sure how they reach the bed, how they take off their clothes. All he knows is the taste of Tendou’s skin; like chocolate and sweat and wine and something else, rich and heady and entirely unique. Ushijima picks Tendou up, flips him onto his back, leans in to kiss Tendou everywhere at once; wants to mouth at his lips and his ears and his neck and—

“I know you’re excited, but why don’t you let me take the lead?” Tendou asks. Ushijima sits back and scowls. Tendou leans up to kiss him softly on his unhappy mouth.  “You have no idea how bad I wanna feel you inside me, but… you ever done this before?”

Ushijima looks down, shakes his head no. Embarrassment turns into a churning, painful jealousy when he realizes the implication of Tendou’s words.

“But you have.” Ushijima wants to take the pillow in his hand and tear it in two; imagines another man kissing Tendou and it stings so, so much worse somehow than all the ex-girlfriends he’s been forced to hear about over the years.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Tendou’s voice is gentle. “I can’t unkiss any lips. I wouldn’t want to. But, I can make it so yours are the only lips I kiss for the rest of my life.”

Tendou’s next kiss is hard enough to smooth over the pains of Ushijima’s jealousy like a wave over muddled sand. He unclenches his jaw, opens his mouth when Tendou nips at his bottom lip and allows himself to be guided ever-so-gently back onto the bed. 

“You nervous?” Tendou asks as he kisses against Ushijima’s neck, works his hand between Ushijima’s legs.

“No.”

“Good. I’ve been waiting for this for, like, a decade. I want us both to be able to relax and enjoy it.” 

He brings that wet red mouth down, down, kissing and licking and sucking everywhere and at everything and Ushijima wishes he had the ability to be embarrassed or ashamed or pay Tendou back, somehow, but all he can do is stare and grip the sheets, nerves blazing hot white electricity through his body. A bright, fierce pleasure spreads from his core to toes that curl and a back that arches and a mouth that makes new sounds which Ushijima muffles with his hand. He’s never been taken care of like this before; so tenderly, as if Tendou wants to memorize each centimeter of skin, to know its taste, its smell, its shape. Each time Ushijima makes a noise, he can feel Tendou smiling. There, Tendou is thinking, he’s learned something new about the man he has always been able to read like a book.  

And Tendou takes his time; presses tongue and fingers slowly and shallowly but it’s enough, more than enough, and Ushijima had to keep from pressing in too hard with his thighs. Ushijima trusts Tendou completely.

After a while, he wishes that Tendou were less gentle, moved faster and harder. He growls. Tendou looks up from between his legs. 

“What a noise!”

“I want you now.”

“That eager, hmmm? Okay!” Then, softer. “Okay.” 

And when they finally join, softly, slowly, and then, all at once, there is an awkward new fullness that feels right. Within seconds, the awkwardness fades. Within seconds, everything fades. Tendou leans down over him, large hands catch and clasp and, when Ushijima looks up to meet Tendou’s eyes, he sees that they are wet with tears shining on flushed pink cheeks. Ushijima is momentarily worried.

“I— I” Tendou says, voice breathy and low. “I’m not sad. I’m so, so happy.” He’s giddy, vivid, alive and Ushijima lets his worries fade with the next thrust.

Ushijima brings one hand to Tendou’s cheek, to pull him down into a kiss, to slide his tongue into Tendou’s mouth. There. Now they’re joined at two places; Ushijima wishes they could be joined in more places, grips onto Tendou’s hand like a lifeline. Presses his knees up and in so he can feel the slow, lazy movements of Tendou’s torso. Pushes up himself, because he doesn’t want slow and lazy but deep, so deep so they can get lost in each other. So he can feel complete. 

He’s on top, now, just remembers pulling out briefly and the aching emptiness deep inside, the startling wrongness of not being filled. Flipping Tendou over and using his hand to position them again so that he can be the one controlling the pace and he can be the one leaning over Tendou and kissing so fiercely at his face, his neck and reassuring him “I love you, Satori.” Then, “come for me, Satori.” He bears down, letting them kiss through one orgasm, feels long fingers, surprisingly steady despite the way Tendou’s hips tremble, dragging out his own. 

He’s spent but not satisfied. Won’t be satisfied until they’d fucked once for each of the days spent a world away; until they’d been joined for more hours than they’d ever been apart. 

“I love you,” Tendou whispers, when they are both cleaned and lying drowsily in each other's arms.

Ushijima runs his hand across Tendou’s head, his shoulder, and down one long arm.

“I love you too, Satori.” Tendou looks up with a jolt. Ushijima runs his hand down Tendou’s back. “Satori,” he says again, because he likes the way it makes Tendou’s eyes widen. The name "Tendou" had sounded like his best friend; the name "Satori" sounds like his lover. “I’ve loved you forever. I’ve thought those words to you since high school.”

“I must be kinda a shit mindreader, then. Coulda saved us a lot of trouble if I'd known that ages ago.”

“Yes, you’re much better at kissing than reading minds. Please, show me that tongue trick you tried earlier again. I’ve forgotten how it went.” 

There are no true endings; if you fail one serve, you will be back up to serve again. No loss is the final loss, no victory is the final victory.

Still, something must end in order for something else to begin. What comes next might not be better; careers may take a hit, when the gossip gets out (and it always gets out) that a world-famous athlete is engaged to a world-famous chocolatier.

Still, nothing ever truly ends. There are new contracts to sign with new teams. New vows are sealed with a kiss in front of friends and former teammates. Despite it all, some things stay the same; Shirabu looks annoyed but is able to send a generous gift with his new doctor’s salary;  Semi whoops with joy, offers to play a song at the wedding and is pushed by Tendou for his brashness; Ohira gives them both a hard slap on the back; Tendou is pretty sure the ever-competitive Goshiki tried to dress as nicely as possible, to upstage the grooms. He’s also pretty sure he saw Goshiki wipe away a tear during the ceremony.  

Coach Washijo cannot make the trip, but someone (they guess his wife) sends them both food and treats from back home. Tendou imagines Coach howling with laughter when he heard the news.

The beginning of the next story starts like this: Ushijima Wakatoshi and Tendou Satori are wed. Their chapters written together are far, far longer than the chapters written apart. The pages are numerous; they span a lifetime. Most are happy. 

Most.

One happy chapter opens like this: one day, after years of challenge and trial and heartbreak, a little redheaded girl slides into a jersey. 

“It is too big for me, Papa.”  

“You will grow into it.” Her papa is smiling which helps her relax. Dad says nothing but she’s learned to understand his moods and can tell he is happy. His face seems to glow as he looks at her in her jersey with the number 1 on the back and the tiny picture of the volleyball on the front. 

“I’m scared. What if I mess up my first serve? What if I fall into the net when I go to block? What if—”

Papa presses a kiss to her cheek and motions for Dad to do the same.

“What’s that for?” She makes a face, wipes the kisses from both her parents off in the petulant way of a child playing at adulthood.

“For luck.”