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The seemingly random invitation in the form of a text had initially confused him.
He’d noticed it as he was getting ready to leave after a fitness session with his team at the gym. His eyes had immediately flitted to the lit up screen laying on the bench beside his canvas bag, widening in surprise when he saw the name that appeared.
牛島 若利
>Do you happen to be free anytime soon?
The message stopped him in his tracks as he slowly lowered the roll of tape in his hands and fumbled for his phone.
牛島 若利
>I will be in Italy next month.
>Would you like to join me on a weekend hiking trip?
>I apologize for the sudden invitation and understand if you are unable to due to such short notice, an inconvenience on my part.
It was hardly ever the first time the older man had reached out to him; after all, they had been teammates for over half a decade now, from the top of Japanese club volleyball to the world stage of the Olympics. Sure, they’d gone out together for the occasional lunch or weekend drink but this was… different, to say the least.
It wasn’t that Kageyama wasn’t comfortable around Ushijima, far from it in fact, but maybe it was just the idea of being in close proximity for an extended period of time outside of volleyball and its occasional lulls.
Hiking , Kageyama thought to himself. He’d never taken Ushijima to be a man of the wilderness. He isn’t much of one himself. He does a quick check of his calendar.
Maybe that would change.
<I should be
<No worries
<I’m looking forward to it
…
The journey to Cortina d’Ampezzo takes about six hours in total from Rome, by both plane and car. Ushijima meets him halfway in Venice, waiting outside the airport. He’s leaning casually against a rental Fiat, frowning at his phone over the rim of his sunglasses.
“Ah, Kageyama,” is his greeting along with a slight nod of acknowledgement, pocketing his device. The younger man holds up a hand in reply, quirking his lips in what he hopes is a polite smile.
They decide to go for lunch before beginning the journey up to the small ski town. During the short meal, they discuss volleyball, as they always do; the recent staff shuffle at the JVA, updates on their current and former teams as well as a few moments of shared homesickness when Ushijima mentions the refurbishing of the Sendai City Gymnasium.
After, the drive up to Cortina is a quiet one, filled mostly with soft, jazzy tunes. And it’s just as well, because all Kageyama finds himself doing is staring out the passenger seat window, mouth slightly agape as the Dolomites seemingly grow closer to the sky with every kilometre they advance.
When he admits that this is the first time he’s gone on a proper trip aside from travelling for games since he’d arrived four months ago, Ushijima nods understandingly.
“Likewise.” Though he’d arrived in Europe just a couple months earlier than his fellow Japanese national, settling in hadn’t been the most smooth-sailing process.
Ushijima has always been a man of habit, which is why Kageyama had taken to forming a comfortable relationship with him more than anybody else when he’d first stepped into the world of the pros. In the fast-paced world of athletics, it was nice to have something, or in this case some one so solid just an arm’s length away.
So it isn’t unusual when they eventually find themselves trading their stories of moving-in mishaps, language difficulties and alienation throughout their time in their respective new homes thus far for the remainder of their travel north.
Just as their conversation dies down, they find themselves passing by the welcoming sign board of their destination. Cortina d’Ampezzo welcomes them with warm sunlight and rolling green hills dotted with wooden villas.
…
Their hotel is a little ways away from the bustle of the town, nestled on a hill with the only other neighbouring buildings being private villas littered sparsely around. After checking in, they agree to meet up for an early dinner.
Kageyama flops onto the single bed in a heap, coat and shoes and all, letting out a big sigh. There it is, that silence that buzzes in his ear as the air around the room settles around him. It’s a feeling he’s experienced many, many times over the course of his years as a professional athlete.
A taste of the true, neutral peace he didn’t know even existed until he’d felt it himself. He allows his eyes to flutter close, just as the sounds of the resort town around him begin to seep in through the sliding doors that lead to the balcony...
He wakes with a start, body jolting awake to the sound of knocking on his door. Leaping up and jogging over to the entrance, he pulls the heavy block of wood open to reveal Ushijima waiting expectantly.
There is a moment of awkward silence as Kageyama wills the sleep out of his mind, blinking.
“Are you ready?” Comes the elder’s baritone as he quirks an eyebrow. The raven-haired man sputters, nodding and accidentally closes the door in his senior’s face, only to swing it open a second later, eyes wide in distress.
“Just gimme a minute,” he says before promptly closing the door once more and diving into the bathroom to fix his hair and change into a new shirt.
The sky had already begun to dim considerably by the time they made their way down the hill, into town. Now, as they walk through the narrow, winding streets lit a muted orange, all that is naturally visible around them is the dark, jagged outline of the mountains surrounding them against a deep, indigo canvas.
Kageyama steals a glance at the elder man. Ushijima is looking forward, as he always is with that stick-straight posture of his. His shoulders are set, the motions of his arms at his side are purposeful as they walk on. He’s unwavering, even while taking a leisurely stroll through a scenic town.
“Ushijima-san, where are we going?”
“I don’t know.”
The cafe they randomly duck into is a cozy, homely little space. There are only two waitresses, who speak little to no English. Kageyama steels himself and manages to order for the two of them without having to repeat himself. He finds Ushijima’s gaze fixed intently on him, a strange look on his face.
“You’ve improved your Italian.”
Kageyama blinks, taken aback by the compliment. But then again, last time they met he could barely pronounce the names of his new teammates.
“I’ve been trying my best. It’ll take a lot longer before I can communicate comfortably.”
( It’ll take a lot longer before I can truly settle down, he thinks in the back of his mind.)
“What about you, Ushijima-san?”
By the looks of it, not so great, because the other man visibly stiffens and begins jerking his knee up and down, eyebrows knitted in a frown.
“I’ve been… struggling. It’s not exactly a language that rolls off the tongue,” he explains simply. There’s a momentary pause as Kageyama waits for him to continue. He doesn’t.
Their food comes then, fresh out of the kitchen, hot off the stove. The smell of basil, tomatoes and onions fill the quaint space.
One of the most surprising things about Ushijima that Kageyama had learned within a month of being on the Schweiden Adlers was that he was a lightweight.
Almost embarrassingly so.
The team had gone to a bar in Roppongi, one of those swanky expensive ones. Coach Suzaku had purposefully let slip that it was Ushijima’s 21st birthday to their captain. As expected, the older members of the squad took to the information like a swarm of vultures and as soon as they were out of the stadium after a month-long undefeated run at the top of the league, they headed straight for the alcohol.
Kageyama had, of course, been left out of this late-night outing. However, that did not stop him from chuckling as the nonsensical videos and blurry pictures poured into their group chat, most of which depicted Japan’s Cannon with a fist tightly wrapped around the neck of a half-empty bottle of tequila, shirtless and decidedly out of his mind.
(A couple years later, when he was finally officially inducted into the Schweiden’s Old Boys’ Club, he would experience firsthand what dealing with a drunk Ushijima Wakatoshi would entail.
Turns out, it was a lot of heavy lifting and firm handling.)
Now, as they head back to their hotel on the hill, slightly buzzed from a couple bottles of beer, Kageyama notices that their shoulders are brushing. There is no actual contact, with their woolen sweaters and layers underneath, but it’s close enough for him to notice.
Another surprising thing he’d learned throughout their time as teammates; Ushijima Wakatoshi was a rather affectionate person.
He’d never initiate a hug or any sort of overt skinship in the way their other teammates did, but sometimes when they celebrate a point or win a particularly gruelling game, Kageyama would find a warm, large hand pressing into the small of his back or gently squeezing the nape of his neck. Or maybe something as simple as brushing shoulders or thighs if they sat beside each other.
It wasn’t shocking, just unexpected. Somewhere along the line the setter had concluded for himself that it was merely a habit picked up from being in a boarding school.
“We should leave by six tomorrow,” Ushijima says just before they part ways to their respective rooms.
“Okay.”
“Remember to set your alarm,” he adds pointedly, but not unkindly. Kageyama gives in to a small smile.
“Yes.”
He finds himself idly fiddling with his phone an hour later, leaning against the railing, half a glass of wine in hand. He scrolls through his gallery. It is glaringly absent of any pictures of just the two of them, especially among the countless group pictures. He finishes the last of his drink and settles in for the night.
Another thing he hopes to change on this trip.
…
At first, when he wakes up, he almost isn’t sure he really has. But the irritating alarm and the digital clock glowing on the screen of his phone confirms that yes, it is 5.30 A.M. and it’s time to get up.
He takes his time in the steaming shower, having already packed the night before. After one last check of his backpack, he heads down to the lobby with five minutes to spare where he finds Ushijima waiting for him in the seating area.
The short drive is completely silent. There isn’t much to see this time so Kageyama takes to staring at the headlights on the road as they speed across it, much like the platform of a treadmill.
There is already a steady trickle of hikers when they arrive at the trailhead. Without another word, they begin their journey, unintentionally matching each other’s pace, quickly falling into step.
It is a paved pathway for the first few hundred meters before they begin the steeper ascent. Even then, the trail is very much visible and well-trodden. It is just as well because Kageyama soon finds his head in the clouds, just as he did in the car a day prior.
His gaze wanders to the flora looming around them, barely visible under the unbroken dawn. He takes deep, slow breaths, feels the gravel crunch under his heels. The air is crisp. Achingly so. It reminds him of his morning jogs over the mountains back home, in Miyagi. But then again, that can’t compare to the virtually untouched nature of his current surroundings.
As they trudge on however, he finds his gaze trailed on Ushijima’s back and falls into a sort of trance. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the elder’s broad back, guarded yet poised. His footsteps are sure and again, unwavering.
An image flashes across Kageyama’s mind; one of Ushijima in an all-too-familiar red and black jersey, the stadium lights shining bright around him like a halo as they exit the tunnel onto the court…
“Kageyama, would you like to stop for a rest?” The man’s deep voice cuts through his thoughts. Kageyama blinks into focus a pair of olive green eyes, etched with concern. He nods.
“Sure.”
They sit on a fallen log by the side of the path, shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh, as they have hundreds of times before on the bench courtside. But this isn’t courtside. This is the Italian countryside, hundreds of meters above sea-level, overlooking a misty forest...
His thoughts clear as warm liquid trickles down his throat. The aroma of honey and lemon immediately overpower his senses. He relishes the taste as his body is rejuvenated on the spot.
“Ushijima-san, I feel like I could scale this entire mountain right now,” he says without thinking. He feels the older man relax beside him, his chuckles reverberating under them.
“We’ll find time for that.”
The sky begins to lighten about eight kilometres in. The forest landscape spreads out below them, just over the steep cliff edge like a carpet of moss, with patches of murky brown, signalling the coming late autumn. It is vast, frighteningly vast, Kageyama thinks as he begins to notice the dull, faraway outlines of the mountain range stretching out endlessly before them.
It feels like he’s treading through some sort of in-between realm as the mist partially fogs up their visibility. It’s Ushijima’s warm, considerate eyes checking on him over his shoulder that keeps Kageyama’s head firmly on his shoulders. He gives a reassuring nod every now and then as they brave the trickier part of the hike through narrow pathways.
They begin a slight descent down the side of a ridge, just a couple kilometres away from their destination. The mist is lifting now, more of their surroundings becoming visible. The snow capped tips of the surrounding mountains are tinted a pale purple-gray.
Every step they take fills Kageyama with a familiar sort of exhilaration, one similar to when he’s starting a game and the ball is poised in the palm of his hand. He keeps his breathing regulated, taking slow, deep breaths. The leaves rustle as a chilly breeze washes over them.
Just a little more…
There it is, that feeling again, where it’s as if he’s on the court. The ball goes up, he begins his run up. There’s that split second of silence as he holds his breath before letting go, swinging his arm forward. It connects and-
The view before him almost knocks the wind out of his lungs.
They emerge onto a small clearing that opens up to the mountains surrounding them on all sides. Like they’re in a big rice bowl. The exposed limestone with its blinding white tips are dyed a bright gradient of pinks, oranges and purples.
The pine trees scattered at the base of the mountain are no longer the deep foresty green they were earlier in their climb. Instead, they are an emerald, alive and alight, almost breathing.
And there, just a few meters below them is a basin of milky, sky blue water, reflecting the changing colours of the sky, just faintly, akin to that of a rainbow emerging after an evening spring shower.
But it is not this view that takes his breath away.
He tilts his head oh so slightly, eyes gliding over the scenic landscape, drinking it all in one gulp, only to land on Ushijima Wakatoshi.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, who keeps his emotions well guarded, who is the steady mountain, the foundation of their national team, their eternal ace.
Ushijima Wakatoshi, who is slowly but surely approaching the edge of his youth and yet at that moment, holds all the childlike wonder of the world in his olive green eyes, speckled with gold.
Kageyama gulps, blinking himself out of his reverie and turns back to the brilliant cerulean blue lake spread out before them, taking it all in again and again and again.
…
They settle down on the grassy embankment at the other side of the lake.
“Thank you,” Kageyama says, accepting the thermos gratefully before pouring the hot water into his own mess tin. Soon, they’re both slurping on instant ramen, a welcome delicacy they so rarely indulge in these days.
“Ushijima-san, you seem like a professional at this. Hiking, I mean,” he says after finishing the last of his meal. Ushijima hums.
“Our coach made it part of our itinerary for training camps back in high school. But mostly I took an interest in it while visiting my father.”
“In America?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
They revel in the peaceful quiet for a long while, enjoying the cool air and the sharp outlines of the scenery around them accentuated by the sun, shining bright above them. They watch the crystal blue waters shimmer from their secluded spot under a shady beech tree.
There is nothing but the sounds of the trees swaying and the muted, almost inaudible buzz of the other tourists and soon…
Kageyama’s eyes flutter open to the blindingly bright blue sky and sunlight rippling through the leaves. The first thing he notices aside from the glaring light is that the left side of his body is unmistakably warmer than the other. His cheek is pressed up against something soft, like wool-
“You’re awake.” Ushijima’s baritone jolts him upright.
Kageyama flusters, feeling the rest of his body heat up, cheeks reddening. He mutters his apologies in quick succession, sorry if I made you uncomfortable, how long was I out-
“It’s not a problem. It’s around noon now.”
“Noon,” the younger man repeats. That makes it about two hours since he’d apparently dozed off.
“Sorry,” he says again.
Ushijima’s features soften slightly before he extends a hand to Kageyama’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze before lifting himself off the ground with a grunt. The setter watches him, slightly dazed, as he stretches, cocking his head from side-to-side.
The ace turns to him then and quirks his lips in a sort of half-smile.
“Shall we?”
They decide to skirt the perimeter of the lake once before heading back up the trail. A splash of freezing, pure water does the trick because Kageyama suddenly feels ready to take on the world.
They take their time, stopping more frequently to observe the flora. Kageyama finds himself especially drawn to one with propeller-shaped petals and an intense ultramarine blue hue. He crouches down to observe a small bunch growing slightly off the pathway.
“Gentians,” comes Ushijima’s voice as he follows along, squatting beside the younger man. Kageyama turns to him, mildly surprised.
“I recognized it from the guidebook,” he explains with a shrug.
Ushijima is, to say the least, one of the most observant people Kageyama’s ever met. Despite their similar weaknesses in the social department, one thing that sets them apart is the elder’s uncanny knack for catching onto the most minute of details.
(He knows how Hoshiumi rapidly blinks when he is about to fake a toss.
How their former captain, Hirugami, leans slightly to the left when he’s going in for a decoy.
How Kageyama likes to calculate his run up to even numbers.)
“Ushijima-san, do you like flowers?”
The other man fixes him with a strange look then. “Doesn’t everybody?”
Kageyama blinks before slowly nodding. “Yeah. I guess so.”
...
They arrive at the lodge in the afternoon.
It is a quaint three-storey building made of grey stone with blue and white striped wooden flaps on each window. Tables and benches fill the front deck and crowd the spacious clearing overlooking the Alpine pastures. The Dolomites mountains keep them in its embrace, stretching out into the horizon.
Their platters are clean within minutes and so are their bottles of beer. They check in without much preamble to find the dorm surprisingly half-empty. They soon take to going about their own activities. Ushijima takes a nap. Kageyama pulls out his language activity book and passes the time studying.
There is a knock on the door around five. Kageyama answers it, taking care not to wake the other man. The lovely middle-aged woman manning the front counter has come to deliver complimentary bottles of beer and to tell them about a barbecue planned for the night.
It is a smooth-sailing conversation about the climb and the weather. By the end of it, Kageyama closes the door with a soft click behind him and lets out a relieved sigh, wilting against a bed post. He startles however, when he sees Ushijima standing ahead of him, hair a mess.
“There’s going to be a barbecue tonight.”
“Sounds good.”
When Ushijima returns from his bath, the sky has already begun to dim. A warm, pink glow fills the room. Kageyama offers him the bottle, perfectly chilled, which he accepts with a small ‘thanks’.
They clink their drinks together and settle into leaning against opposite sides of the large window frame, watching the sky change from orange to gold to purple. Just as the sun’s rays disappear behind a wall of limestone, he feels a pair of eyes trained on the side of his head.
He turns to find Ushijima looking at him intently, olive green eyes now a yellow ochre under the muted glow of the sun. Warmth begins to creep up the back of his neck.
It is then that their axes tilt and gravity seems to disappear. Their bodies move of their own accord, inching closer. Kageyama’s grip on the window sill tightens, painfully so. Ushijima’s knuckles ghost his cheekbone. It’s barely a touch yet still, it sizzles, settling into his skin…
“Amici!” Calls a voice from below. The two men jolt apart, like a sudden static shock. They turn in bewilderment to find a man - a staff member, presumably - waving up at them, calling them down. Behind him, a few others are setting up the grill, fanning the embers.
Kageyama waves back in acknowledgement just as Ushijima eases away from him.
“We should go,” the older man murmurs. He’s still close enough that his voice seems to reverberate through Kageyama’s bones. The raven-haired man swallows, managing a low sound of agreement, not trusting himself to speak.
They walk closely together, the backs of their hands brushing with each movement. One relief is that Kageyama needn’t fight down the blush that colours his face. There’s a fire already started in one grill. They’re quickly whisked apart to help with preparations.
About an hour later, they’re all sitting on benches, chatting and drinking. Kageyama gets caught up in a conversation with a Venetian lad who happens to recognize him. He’s a little excited and the setter doesn’t have it in him to ask him to slow down so he tries his best. His gaze can’t help but wander, searching for Ushijima.
He’s not hard to spot, with his height and stature. He’s a little ways away, engaged in thoughtful conversation with an Englishman from the room next door. Their eyes meet for a second, and he sees Ushijima’s expression soften with relief. The younger man’s heart eases a little. He turns his attention back to trying his best to discuss the New Year transfer window.
They gather around for a little campfire gathering. There’s a guitar and a tambourine. The Venetian man is the first one up on his feet, passionately singing with his bottle as a microphone.
Beside him, Ushijima’s settled comfortably into his canvas chair. There’s an inkling of a smile on his lips as the owner lady and her husband perform a duet. They clap along as the couple dances around, with their fellow lodgers joining in. Kageyama feels a warmth settle in his chest as the night goes on.
It isn’t until much later, when his head’s abuzz and the flames are on the cusp of dying down into ember that he realizes their fingers had been loosely intertwined the entire time. Their little party adjourns with everyone saying their final greetings and heading in for the night.
They hang back at the tail end of the group, swaying in opposite directions and gently bumping into each other.
“Ushijima-san,” Kageyama hears himself say. The other man pauses in his tracks, turning to him, mildly puzzled.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for inviting me on this trip.”
Ushijima hums, nods firmly once before softly tugging him along back into the building.
…
Kageyama remembers a dull, gray evening.
He’s stepping out onto a terrace, leaving behind the echoes of a party behind him. The noise soon drowns out completely as he pulls the door shut behind him. At the far end of the space, leaning against the damp metal railings is a familiar, straight backed figure.
“Good work,” he greets the older man. Ushijima Wakatoshi acknowledges him with a solemn nod, a storm brewing in his eyes.
Kageyama joins him, standing close, their arms brushing. The ace makes no move to create a gap between them. They stand in silence for a long time, looking out into the foggy nothingness.
Ushijima takes a long swig of his drink before holding the bottle out to the younger man. Kageyama eyes it hesitantly before accepting the offer. He takes a sip before handing it back, grimacing.
“It’s bitter,” he says without thinking.
“Yes, it is,” Ushijima replies, voice rumbling like thunder. Kageyama steals a glance at him and sees the weight of their gold medal loss piling on his shoulders, sees it in his slightly unkempt appearance, his stony expression.
“We’ll win the next time.”
Kageyama doesn’t remember who’d said it. It didn’t matter. It was true either way.
…
When he wakes up the next morning, Ushijima isn’t in his bunk.
Shoving his fists into his shallow coat pockets, he jogs down the stairs. The restaurant staff greet him brightly, to which he musters a small smile as he passes through to the main entrance.
A blast of cold air greets him as he steps out onto the front deck, shocking his system. The mist swirls around him as he scans the area, searching for-
Ushijima Wakatoshi stands at the farthest edge of the clearing, gaze on the unidentifiable horizon unwavering as always. Kageyama braves the bone-chilling wind and trots over to him.
“Ushijima-san,” he calls out. The older man turns to him, eyes widening slightly in surprise.
“Kageyama.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“I just needed to… clear my head.”
“Oh.”
“You should head back in.”
“I’m fine. It’s going to be sunrise soon.”
Their conversation halts for a bit as they watch the mist clear in real time. In just a few minutes, they can make out the jagged lines of faraway ridges. The sky is a purplish gray.
“Do you have anything planned after this?” Kageyama doesn’t know why he asks this. But he doesn’t have time to backtrack.
“My flight back is tonight-”
“I mean after Poland.”
“Ah.” Ushijima seems to seriously think about it before answering. The sky is a little lighter now.
“I want to play volleyball,” is his response. Kageyama smiles to himself. “And you?”
“Me too. I want to continue playing volleyball.”
A muted orange glow begins to descend upon them.
“And maybe scale the Dolomites,” he adds with a smirk. Ushijima chuckles, eyes on the pale horizon, becoming clearer with every passing second.
“We’ll make time for that.”
...
<[123 attachments]
(More than half the pictures are of the two of them. Kageyama considers this a personal win.)
<I had a good time
牛島 若利
>[117 attachments]
>Likewise.
>We'll set another date.
<I'm looking forward to it