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The thing is, Shirabu is pretty sure surprise birthday parties were supposed to be, well, a surprise.
Because they really do lose their shock-appeal once the intended victim knows. Example, Shirabu right now, sitting in front of his desk and staring at his computer screen like it has personally wronged him.
“What the hell,” Shirabu whispers, as he scrolls through the email, perpetually slow, swiftly reading through its contents.
Because said email said, in the largest, most obnoxious font ever:
STZ VOLLEYBALL CLUB’S SURPRISE B-DAY PARTY FOR OUR SALTIER SETTER (INVITATION & SCHEDULE)!!!
Needless to say, Shirabu doesn’t think he’d be so surprised after all.
But, he did have to give it to them, this schedule was airtight. Every single minute of the day was laid out so that Shirabu would be distracted throughout, and the activities listed aren’t anything strange enough to garner any of his suspicions. Well, at least, they weren't. Hell, there was even an entire map of the school and marked paths to take so his teammates wouldn’t run into him. Shirabu just wishes they, you know, didn’t send him a whole damn invitation to his own party.
Who even messes that up?
Shirabu checks who the sender could possibly be and oh, it was Ushijima. Well, Shirabu supposed he could let that little slip-up slide then.
No matter. For Ushijima’s sake, Shirabu will have to pretend he knows nothing. Nada. No idea what you’re talking about? Party? What party? Shirabu now knows absolutely nothing.
But this is his birthday party they’re talking about. Shirabu supposes he’s entitled to have a little fun with this.
8:30 a.m - 11:00 a.m — Kawanishi Taichi; movie morning
The doorbell rings at exactly 8:30 on the dot and Shirabu is almost impressed.
There is the sound of a key being inserted into a lock and Taichi is suddenly strolling into the room like he lived there or something, swinging a spare key around his finger. How did he even get that key? Shirabu sure as hell didn’t give it to him.
“Sup,” Taichi greets casually, like he hadn't committed at least three different crimes by simply walking into the room. “How do you feel about a movie day?”
“How did you get in here,” Shirabu asks flatly. Did someone duplicate his key? Was that even possible? Wasn’t that, well, illegal?
Taichi sighs as he throws himself onto Shirabu’s bed with a thump. “It’s always ‘Why are you here’ or ‘How’d you get in here’,” Taichi laments, messing up the neatly-made sheets. Shriabu’s eye twitches. “Why is it never, ‘Hi, my dearest friend, how are you on this fine day?’”
“Hello Taichi, my dearest friend,” Shirabu starts calmly, “How the hell did you get in here?”
Taichi sighs again, like he’s the victim here and not the guy who broke into somebody else's room with a probably illegal key. “Good enough." A beat. "Tendou-san stole your key and made a new one.”
Ah. So it is illegal. Shirabu hates how he isn’t surprised in the slightest. He's rather impressed, actually.
“If Tendou-san made it, why do you have it then?” Shirabu asks though he definitely knows why.
He does have to give another round of applause to his upperclassman though; stealing a damn key from his person and making a duplicate for this ridiclous scheme? 10/10. Would probably allow to steal again. Probably.
“No reason.” Taichi shrugs candidly. “Tendou-san asked me very nicely to hold onto it for him.”
Wow. What a lie. Shirabu is almost offended that Taichi could possibly think he'd just let such an obvious lie slide.
Especially since, you know, Tendou doesn’t ask anyone anything nicely.
But Shirabu is supposed to keep a low profile about the party. Wait. Actually. He means: What party? He knows nothing of a party, stop thinking about it.
“Okay then.” Shirabu said, purposely ignoring the questioning look he gets in return. “Movies, right?”
Taichi, to his credit, springs back to his overly casual expression in a flash. “Right. I bought ‘ Star Wars’ CDs — I'm going to need your laptop. And I also brought some snacks, so you don’t have to go get them yourself.”
Shirabu’s lips curved upwards. God, was he even trying to be subtle? Well, time to test the waters. Just a little. For scientific reasons and definitely not for his own twisted amusement.
“You’re being awfully kind. Is there some sort of, ah, special occasion?” Shirabu asks, hiding his smirk in his hands when he notices the way Taichi tenses up in a panic. A short game of cat a mouse, something he has always enjoyed playing with those gullible and clueness enough (read: Goshiki).
A beat.
“Yup,” Taichi blurts and then promptly smacks his head against the bed frame trying to scramble up into a sitting position.
Huh. Well, that was easy. “What occasion is it then?”
“Mmmh,” Taichi hums. It’s thoroughly high-pitched, like a radio that has just been smashed in with a life-sized hammer. “Er, it’s uh, May the 4th.”
Shirabu’s lips curl farther. “Really now?”
"Yup. Uh, it’s ‘Star Wars’ day,” Taichi says nodding wisely, “May the force— fourth — be with you. Yup. May the force be with you, Shirabu.”
Nice save. Shirabu is going to give Taichi another bonus point for that. What a lucky coincidence it is that this so-called ‘Star Wars’ day was also on Shirabu’s birthday.
“Is that all then?” Shirabu continues to prod, slipping in one of the CDs into his laptop. “Just that?”
Shirabu continues to set up for the movie as he patiently waits for an answer. He can practically hear the gears turning in Taichi’s head, which only serves to make his smirk grow.
Taichi stares at him. “You know, don't you?” It isn’t a question.
Shirabu grins. “Ushijima-san sent me an invitation.”
“Oh my god.”
And Shirabu laughs as he watches Taichi bury his face in his hands with a long-suffering sigh. It was very amusing and Shirabu was a tiny bit disappointed he wasn’t able to keep the facade up for longer. But at the same time, he wasn’t being particularly subtle either, was he?
“You would not believe how annoying it was to hide the plans from you. And then Ushijima just sends you a damn invitation to your own party. Who even does that?” Taichi looks up for a second to see Shirabu’s smug grin and puts his head in his hands again. “Oh my god, I’m never going to see Ushijima the same way again. I knew this whole secrecy thing was a mistake.”
“Well, it was an honest mistake.”
“An absolutely ridiculous one.”
Shirabu… can’t exactly argue there even if he really, really, really, wants to. Taichi takes Shirabu’s silence as a victory and looks back up, eyes dull and dead. “Just an invitation? I feel like Ushijima wouldn’t be the type of person to mess up only halfway. No, he doesn't do anything halfway.”
A pause. “He sent me the entire schedule," Shirabu admits. "Did you really think two hours was enough to binge the entire ‘Star Wars’ series?”
“Oh my god that’s even worse. How do you even mess that up?”
Shirabu shrugs just as the opening to the movie starts to loudly play. “Ushijima-san probably sent it out as a group mail. He was probably used to typing all our names in for club notices, if I were to guess.”
“Stop defending him, I’m brooding in my misery,” Taichi says glumly, sliding off the side of the bed like a sea slug and flopping pathetically on the floor.
Shirabu raises an eyebrow at him and rips open a bag of potato chips. “It can’t be that bad.”
“Tendou-san made us run ninja drills he got from one of his mangas. Yamagata-san holds the highscore after jumping off the roof and into a tree.”
“Ah.” Shirabu winces.
The two sit in silence for a while, watching the movie play out. The Japanese subtitles are absolutely atrocious; too slow at some parts, too blocky, and completely different from the original lines. He glances at Taichi next to him, who’s squinting at the words on the screen as if they were in Chinese instead. No matter to Shirabu though; he’s damn skilled in English.
But he couldn’t say the same for Taichi he supposed.
“I don’t understand this. What is that thing? That magic glowy stick?” Taichi continues to squint, “That translation can’t be right.”
“Lightsaber,” Shirabu corrected in perfect English, without the slightest accent in his voice. His lips curl. “Not a ‘magic-glowy stick.”
“Lightsaber,” Taichi mimics. Close enough. Sure he missed the -ght pronunciation at the end of ‘light’ and did something weird to the ‘B’, but it was close enough. Sorta. “I think magic glowy stick works better.”
Shirabu snorts. “It’s a sword, idiot.”
Taichi scrunches his nose. “Looks like a flashlight.”
“It’s a light saber, remember?”
“Sounds fake, but okay.”
“It is not— Are you even paying attention to the movie?”
“I am—” Taichi pauses. “Who’s that guy again?”
“That’s the main character, oh my god.”
“So what are you going to do about… this?” Taichi asks as the ending credits of the second film play out in the background. “I know that you know, but they don’t know that you do know what you’re supposed to not know.”
Shirabu blinks slowly, like he’d be able to understand whatever word vomit had just happened if he just stareda bit harder. “What.”
“The party,” Taichi clarifies, “You know, the one you’re not supposed to know about?”
“Oh,” Shirabu said. And then he grins, devilishly sharp. “Isn’t it fun? Knowing something you’re not supposed to?”
“Wow, that’s a terrifying answer, Shirabu. Thank you.”
Nonchalantly pulling out his phone, Shirabu types in his password and opens up the photos app. “So I saved the schedule on my phone—”
“—You’re just going to say something creepy like that and call it a day?”
“—I saved the schedule on my phone,” Shirabu repeats, louder this time, “And I’m planning to spend the rest of the day pretending to not know about the party, for Ushijima-san’s sake.”
Taichi raises his eyebrow. “Pretend? If you were ‘pretending’ to not know about the party with me, you did a horrible job at it.”
“I was testing it,” Shirabu huffs, scrolling through his camera roll quicker for the school’s map and route plans. “And it was funny.”
Shirabu doesn’t even have to look up to see the affronted expression Taichi is definitely giving him. He could imagine it all in his head: Taichi lying on his side with an elbow propped up on the floor, eating from his almost empty bag of (disgusting) shrimp chips. He looks up for a split second and, yup, lo and behold, Taichi is in the exact position, licking shrimp chip residue from his fingers. When he notices Shirabu staring, he offers the rest of the bag. There are only three left inside.
“Gross, get that away from me,” Shirabu mumbles, swatting the bag away. A little too harshly as it tips from Taichi’s weak hold and tumbles to the ground, spilling the last of its contents.
“My chips!”
“Shut it. You say that like you don’t have four more bags on you know.”
“Actually, I have five.” And out of nowhere, Taichi magically materializes six more bags in the air. Six.
Math class also clearly wasn’t going so well then.
“Okay so,” Shirabu starts, his eye twitching as Taichi obnoxiously rips open one of the bags as loudly as possible. “To carry out my scheme of pretending not to know anything, I’m going to have to get you to, uh.” Shirabu falters, searching for a word, “...Wingman for me,” he says and instantly cringes.
Is there a better word for this? Shirabu can’t think of another word for it. There's probably a better word for it.
Taichi only grins, infuriating as the sound of him opening his fourth bag of shrimp chips (What the hell?). “Nice. Who are we seducing?”
“That’s—” Shirabu hisses, aggressively waving away the traitorous face that pop up in mind. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Maybe so, but I’m still down to help you with that if you want, Birthday Boy—”
Shirabu throws his phone at Taichi’s head.
11:00 a.m - 1:00 a.m — Semi Eita; School path distraction
“Hey Taichi, why is Semi scheduled as someone to distract me?” Shirabu scrunches up his nose at the thought of him and Semi hanging out. Civilly, more the less. “Wouldn’t someone like Oohira-san be a better pick?”
“Hm?” Taichi hums. He’s somehow finished all six bags of shrimp chips in less than an hour and is now stealing from Shirabu’s own stockpile of candies. “Oh, no reason in particular.”
Ah. So there was a reason in particular. Good to know.
Shirabu does sorta get it though. In order to distract him, they did need to, well, get him distracted. And Semi does a very good job at that. As in he does a spectacular job at pissing Shirabu off to the point of homicidal rage, to the point where he can no longer see anything but a thin sheet of red over his vison; where he can't feel anything but red. He doesn't understand it.
Was it Semi’s hair that always irritated him? His arms? His eyes? His voice?
Wait.
What?
“Time’s almost up.” Taichi’s voice cuts Shirabu out from his daydream— his thoughts (not daydreams, shut up mind). “Good luck to you on not being too obvious, Soldier.”
Yeah, no, Shirabu is not thinking about this now. Nope, nada, he has no idea what you’re talking about. Both his ( daydreams) thoughts and party. Nope. Not dealing with it. It's his birthday.
So he just kicks Taichi aside to relax. “Shut it. I can be plenty subtle whenever I want to be.”
“So, never?”
Shirabu is about to fight back, preferably with one of his heavy medical textbooks, but the dull chime of his doorbell interrupts him. He checks the time. It’s one on the dot. Impressive, considering that it’s Semi that they’re talking about.
Taichi gets up on his feet, stretching and yawning overly loud. “Welp. Times up.” He waves a hand in Shirabu's direction. “You go ahead, I can clean up here.”
Shirabu does not trust that. Mostly because the last time Taichi had ‘cleaned things up’, Goshiki ended up on the roof with a pot on his head.
Long story.
“I can hear you doubting me in your mind,” Taichi deadpans. Shirabu jolts. “And no, you're not going to find Goshiki on the roof again, that was one time.”
“One time’s already too many,” Shirabu sighs. But… “But sure, fine, whatever. If I come back to my room on fire, you’re paying the repair costs.”
“'Course. Who’s on the sports scholarship here?” Taichi has the nerve to wink at him. Shirabu barely refrains from throwing his phone again. “Go get him, Tiger.”
“What’s that supposed to even mean?” Shirabu huffs, tying up his laces. Checking his phone one last time, he shoves the device in his pocket.
“Nothing,” Taichi says again which again means it is very much something.
Shirabu rolls his eyes, a tad fond. Gross. Since when has he been soft? Better get out of there before he could say something like a ‘thanks’.
“Oh, and Kenjirou?” Taichi calls after him, “Happy birthday, okay?”
“...Thanks,” Shirabu mutters back and then hightails it out of there, internally punching himself all the while.
Shirabu, quite honestly, does not remember a time where he and Semi would exchange actual words without insults. He doesn’t know if that is even possible.
There is an alternative to this, a way to stop the inevitable bickering, one they’re testing out right now apparently.
The silent game. Fun. Very fun.
(He’s being sarcastic. Very sarcastic.)
“Semi-san,” Shirabu finally cuts in after a good ten minutes of doing absolutely nothing and wandering through the empty school halls (through the various marked paths; every time he had tried going down a unmarked path, Semi had just sort of... used his stare to pull him back on track) “Semi-san, what are we doing?”
“Oh, you actually said something.” Semi visibly relaxes, “I thought you were, like, dead.”
Shirabu's eye twitches and he bites back his tongue from snarking right back. “The question, Semi-san.”
Semi shrugs, “Er, I dunno. I’m just winging this here. What do you want to do?”
Ah. Ah. It was foolish of Shirabu to think that Semi of all people would actually have a plan. No wonder the scheduled task under his name was so vague.
At least with no task means that Shirabu can cause his chaos however he’d like.
“Shirabu? Are you actually dead?”
“The gym,” Shirabu announces. If he remembers correctly — which he definitely does — their gym was the area where the party would take place. Meaning, the one place he should be steered away from. “I feel like playing volleyball in the gym.”
Semi shrugs again. “Alright.”
“Why not—?” Shirabu starts, before: “Wait what.”
Semi smiles at him, just so pretty and sweet that it only causes Shirabu to backtrack further. “Alright,” Semi repeats, “We can go play volleyball. In the gym.”
Huh?
Huh?
“Huh?” Shirabu says eloquently.
"What’s the problem?” Semi tilts his head like a lost puppy. “You wanted to play volleyball in the gym, don’t you?”
But the party? Did they already catch on? Did Taichi snitch on him? Already? It’s been like, ten minutes.
“Shirabu?”
“I need—” Shirabu starts, breaking off abruptly. He needs plenty of things. Answers, first of all, and also a punching session to Taichi’s stupid face. “I need my, uh, stuff.”
Semi stares at him skeptically. “Your… stuff.”
“Of course,” Shirabu lies easily while he continues to internally scream, “I need my shoes first of all, as well as my finger tapes.”
He had left his shoes in the locker rooms the previous night, and Tendou had borrowed (read: stolen) the last of his finger tapes the week before. But Semi didn’t need to know that.
“Oh. Well.” Semi frowns, seemingly buying the lie. “Then… Can I come with you?” He offers.
Nope, nope, nope. Semi can not be there when Shirabu goes ahead and beats Taichi to a pulp, nope. Unless Semi would be willing to help, but that’s unlikely. Mostly. Probably. Kinda.
“I’ll be fine, Semi-san. I am not six,” Shirabu points out, “Meet at the gym in ten?”
Semi still looks undecided. Shirabu simply does not care and turns the other way back to his room.
“Okay then!” Semi shouts behind him, “In ten, I guess!”
Taichi
Kenjirou
Snitch.
Sleep with one eye open tonight.
Taichi
???
I didn’t say anything??
to anyone?
[Kenjirou has blocked this user. Click here to learn more.]
Taichi
I DIDNT SNITCH
ohhhh ur talking about the gym thing right
lol do u actually think we would set up so early
its too sus if we do that
oh wait im blocked
guess u will never know~
Taichi
shirabu?
Taichi is very much not inside his dorm room.
On the plus side, nothing is on fire or utterly destroyed, but well, Shirabu wasn’t actually counting on that to happen.
Suddenly, there’s the sound of a tune being hummed from the other side of his door. A catchy one, from some video game Shirabu had heard his senpai play whenever they were skipping practice and hiding from Coach.
Which meant…
“Yamagata-san?” Shirabu questions, swinging his door wide open.
It was indeed Yamagata, cheerily singing the opening theme of the video game under his breath. Upon hearing Shirabu’s voice, he shrieks, dropping a plastic package of multicoloured balloons on the floor.
Shirabu wills himself not to laugh. “Hello, Yamagata-san.”
“Shirabu! Hi!” Yamagata squeaks, clearly freaking out. Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh— “So, what are… you doing here?”
Oh my god.
“I… I live here,” Shirabu said wryly.
Yamagata slaps his forehead and cringes. Shirabu almost feels bad for what he says next. Almost.
“Yamagata-san, what are you doing here?”
“Me?” The libero chuckles nervously, “Well, uh, I was, um…”
Shirabu patiently waits for Yamagata to make up an awful excuse.
“I… I was just passing by. To my room.” Is what he says in the end.
Dear lord. That’s it, Shirabu is getting Yamagata some lying classes. Maybe he’d sign Taichi up too because apparently, no one on his team can produce a half-decent fib. In fact, Yamagata hasn’t even tried picking up the balloons yet, like he thought that doing so would instantly make him suspicious. But no, picking up incriminating pieces of evidence was out of line, but lying straight to Shirabu’s face (horribly too) and sweating bullets was fine. Okay then.
What was he thinking about again?
“Right,” Shirabu says in lieu of his mental essay, “And the balloons?”
Yamagata, goddammit, dropkicks the packet of balloons as far away from his person. It’s not even subtle. The balloons slide across the floor, right at Shirabu’s feet. Shirabu doesn’t even know what Yamagata was trying to possibly accomplish, but he’d failed spectacularly regardless.
Yamagata stares at the package. “...What balloons.”
This isn’t even fun anymore.
Shirabu bends down, picking up the package himself. He tosses it back to Yamagata who lets the packet bounce off his body and fall back to the floor with a crinkle. The two stare at it for a minute.
“Math,” Yamagata blurts.
What.
“I’m sorry?”
“Math. I need the balloons for math,” Yamagata explains hurriedly, “Yup. I have to uh, calculate… the slope.”
Math? That’s the best he came up with? Science would’ve been the better excuse, heck, even history would work. But math?
“You’re calculating the slope of the balloon,” Shirabu repeats doubtfully, leaning against his door frame. Yamagata tries to imitate him but ends up nearly tipping over into the empty air.
“Yup,” Yamagata says after regaining his balance. “Yup. I’m gonna ‘y = bm x’ it.”
Oh dear. Seems like Yamagata is failing math too. Seriously, don’t you learn that formula in like, seventh grade? And again, that’s not the only thing wrong with that.
“You mean ‘y = mx b’,” Shirabu corrects slowly before throwing down his final, obliterating strike. “The formula to find the slope. Of a straight line. That’s what you're using a round balloon for. In math.”
Silence as Yamagata slowly starts to regret all his life choices.
“Yup,” Yamagata says cheerily, breaking out in cold sweat. “Yup, that’s— That’s right!”
Well, at least he’s sticking with his poorly thought-out lie. That has to count for something.
So Shirabu just shrugs as he closes his door behind him. “Alright. That makes sense.”
“It does?” Yamagata sputters. He straightens up. “I mean, yes, of course it does.”
“It does,” Shirabu confirms. Leaning down, he picks up the pack of balloons and tosses them back into Yamagata’s hands again. This time, he actually catches them.
Feeling bold, Shirabu leans over, plucking a random balloon from the packet in Yamagata’s hands; a plum purple one, with small silver stars adorning its sides. It’s actually quite pretty. Very lucky considering what Shirabu is going to do next.
“By the way,” Shirabu smirks, and tosses the balloon back into the pile, “This one is my favourite.”
Turning away, Shirabu quickly exits the scene without looking back, internally cackling at the dumbfounded and undoubtedly panicked expression that would be on Yamagata’s face if he were to turn around.
(“Reon, I brought the balloons.”
“Hm? Oh, that’s good — you can place them on the table over there. Is something the matter?”
“He knows. Shirabu knows about the party.”
“...What makes you say that?”
“He picked up a balloon — a nice purple one, mind you — and said it was his favourite.”
“I’m not seeing the problem. If anything, we should be glad he gave his opinion—”
“No! The thing is, Shirabu never voices his opinion. Remember the time the team went out to get popsicles? I offered him a coconut one first and he just took it without asking about the other flavours.”
“...Okay?”
“Shirabu is allergic to coconuts.”
“Ah.” A beat. “I’ll look into that then.”)
“You sure took your sweet time,” Semi notices when Shirabu makes his way into the gym, a whole fifteen minutes later than what they had (tentatively) agreed on.
“Sorry,” Shirabu says when obviously he isn’t sorry at all. “I ran into Yamagata-san on my way here.”
Semi doesn’t even attempt to hide his flinch. Shirabu grins. “Hayato? Really now?” Semi fidgets in place, rotating a volleyball around in his hands. “Did he… say anything?”
Really, it was Shirabu who said everything. Yamagata was probably having a nervous meltdown somewhere blowing up balloons, much like that time Shirabu ate a coconut popsicle he was given out of spite and was nearly sent to the hospital.
“No.” Shirabu pauses purposely, acting like the very pinnacle of innocence. “Was he supposed to say something?”
“Uh, no. Not at all.”
A beat.
“Well, Semi-san?” Shirabu grins at the way Semi flinches at the sudden break in silence. “Are we going to play volleyball?”
“Of course.” And just like that, Semi snaps back into his facade of annoying setter senpai. “I was thinking, what could two setters possibly do on their own—?”
“I wonder.”
Semi ignores this. “So I was thinking, what if we tried spiking—?”
“Absolutely not.” Shirabu shivers, flashbacks from junior high when he had faceplanted into the net reappeared fresh in his mind. “Never again.”
Semi quirks his eyebrow. “I’m sure there’s a story behind that, but that’s not what I meant.” He tosses the volleyball over to Shirabu with a grin, leaning forwards in front of the net with his hands on his knees. “I’m asking you to set to me.”
Shirabu blinks for a minute, his hands awkwardly above his head from catching the ball. “You… want me to what?”
“Set for me,” Semi smiles at him, wistful. “I was thinking, I’m graduating this year and I never got to spike a set from my replacement,” he jokes, “So now is better than never.”
The thought of all the third years graduating — no matter how annoying they were — squeezes at Shirabu’s heart. But right now, that’s not what he’s focusing on.
“You know how to spike?” Shirabu asks, genuinely curious. All he notices Semi does during practice are his deadly serves; one after another in terrifying rhythm. He doesn’t remember Semi doing anything remotely spike-like. Hell, he doesn’t even remember the last time Semi had properly set a volleyball even during a team-only practice match.
“Well, yeah, not nearly as well as Wakatoshi-kun of course, but I believe I’m half decent at it.” Semi shrugs, rolling his shoulder. His eyes suddenly take on an unfavourable glint. “Why, don’t believe me? Or do you think you can’t sync up with me?”
Shirabu grits his teeth. “Bring it on.”
When Semi said he knew how to spike, he really wasn’t lying.
He leaps up in the air with a sense of practiced grace and pulls his arm back at just the right angle to slam the ball at various (yet not random) areas around the court.
Semi also wasn’t lying that he wasn’t as good at spiking as Ushijima.
“Ouch.” Semi winces as he jumps a little too far forward, the ball falling on top of his head instead of in front of his waiting palm. “A little too far that time, Shirabu.”
Shirabu growls under his breath and refrains himself from going over and wringing his upperclassmen’s neck. “That was not my fault. You jumped too far forwards.”
“Well, then adjust.”
Shirabu’s fingers twitched ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, are you suggesting I should look into the future to see what amateur mistake you might make? And then ‘adjust’?”
Semi, annoyingly, just looks amused. “No. That’s not what I’m saying at all.” He pauses. “Shirabu, I’m not doubting your capabilities or anything, but you should try getting better at reading people.”
Shirabu snorts. The irony in that sentence compared to the absolute tomfoolery he had dealt with today. He’s great at reading people.
Semi lips turn up into a smile. “I’m not kidding. You’re going to work with a lot of new people next year, you should learn more about their cues. Not everyone is going to be as consistent as Wakatoshi.”
“I know,” Shirabu mutters, “But that was still your fault.”
Now it’s Semi’s turn to snort. “Sure. If that makes you feel better.”
“It doesn’t. I’m just always right.”
Semi ruffles Shirabu’s hair. “Brat.” He turns back to the net and licks his lips, eyes bright with concentration. Shirabu feels something flutter inside his stomach. “You know, if you do have any questions, you can always ask. I know you don’t like me, but I’m always willing to lend an ear.”
Erk. “Stop that,” Shirabu said quickly before once again internally kicking himself.
“Stop what?”
“You’re being nice to me.” Shirabu squirms, “Why?” ‘Is it because it’s my birthday?’ goes unsaid. Though, Shirabu isn’t sure Semi picked up on that.
Semi pauses and grimaces. “Shirabu… I…” He shuffles in place as the playful atmosphere from before disintegrates into the air like it had never existed. “I… I have to say something.”
And Semi, Semi damn Eita, flushes. Shirabu is horrified, especially when he notices how Semi is slowly clenching his fist open and close at his side.
The very first thought Shirabu has is, ‘Oh my god is he about to punch me?’ and then, ‘On my birthday?’
“You know what,” Semi said and Shirabu tenses up for the upcoming blow. Nothing comes. “I can tell you next time. I have time.”
Shirabu would prefer it if Semi punched him now and not on the streets some years later, but he can’t just say that. He’d probably then get pounded into the dirt.
(It’s a good thing he’s so perceptive that he picked that up. Totally correctly too. Totally.)
“Back to volleyball?” Shirabu asks. His voice is shaky and he stomps on his own foot to get those jitters out. A little too hard though as he winces at the pain that shoots up his entire leg.
Semi looks at him weirdly but nods. “Sure.” And then he smiles again. “Let’s start over, okay?”
The last ball is thrown into the air and Semi spikes it down directly on the line, an almost perfect cross-shot.
Shirabu can’t help but grin, flexing his fingers. They burn, but it’s nothing a lax rest of day or a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. “That was good, Semi-san.”
Semi doesn’t even tease Shirabu at the compliment. “I know right?” He beams, eyes sparkling. “You’re not that bad yourself, Kenjirou!”
“Of course not.” Shirabu stomps down the butterflies in his stomach. “I replaced you, after all.”
Semi is so hyped up apparently that he doesn’t even react at the jab. It’s almost scary to see the intimidating setter acting so much like a child. “Man, we have to do that again some time!” Semi wiggles his fingers around as well. “Maybe I can set to you next time.”
“No,” Shirabu says curtly, though he smiles a bit at the thought. “And why keep playing now? I’m already all warmed up.”
“Man, that was just a warmup?” Semi laughs, “I would love to, but Reon has been watching us for the past ten minutes, so I think he wants to speak with you.”
There’s a crash from the other side of the gym doors, accompanied by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Shirabu whips his head around and gawks at Oohira, who’s lying sprawled on the ground. Shirabu thought Oohira was supposed to be the sane one.
“Hi,” Oohira greets from where he is still on the floor, “Mind if I snatch Shirabu away for a bit?”
Semi doesn’t even look slightly perturbed at the whole spying thing. It really makes Shirabu wonder how long he had known the other was there. “Go ahead, I think we’re done here anyways.” He takes a glance at the clock. “Yup, right on time. Wakatoshi’s running late actually. That’s rare.”
“I’m sorry?” Shirabu says though no one was listening. He knows that Ushijima was the next and last person that was set up to distract him. So what was Oohira doing here?
A warm hand rests itself on top of Shirabu’s head. Shirabu tilts his head up to see Semi looking at him with warm eyes. For once, he doesn’t try ruffling the younger’s neat hair. “Go on, I can clean up.” Gently placing his hand on the small of Shirabu’s back, he pushes him towards the door.
“Thanks.” Oohira is finally standing upright, looking like his usual calm self. “I just have to ask him something.”
“Er.” Guess he’s moving on to the next phase then. Ushijima or not. Shirabu turns around to Semi, “Uh, thanks?” It comes out like a question. Good, since Shirabu is questioning everything anyways.
“I don’t know why you’re thanking me, but I’ll take it,” Semi grins. He waves as Shirabu follows Oohira out the door. “Oh, hey, and Kenjirou?”
Shirabu turns around.
Semi’s smile is soft, like melted caramel and the coziest of blankets that drape over Shirabu with warmth. “Have a good birt— Have a good day, alright? I’ll see you later.”
“I heard Hayato bumped into you earlier today,” Oohira says, straight to the point. It’s almost refreshing.
“He did,” Shirabu confirms. “Is this some sort of secret that you’re not allowed to tell Semi-san of?”
“Why would you think that?” Oohira blinks at him.
Or well, Shirabu thinks he blinks because the closet that the two are currently hiding in is quite small and very, very dark.
“No reason,” Shirabu says blankly. “Is that all?”
“Did he… say anything to you?”
Oh my god, this again?
“No,” Shirabu said. He pauses. ”Can I leave?” The closet is getting very stuffy. They should really add a window or something.
“Ah no, I have one more question.” Oohira leans over and tries placing a hand on Shirabu’s shoulder. It ends up hitting a steel shelf. “Was Hayato holding something in his hands? And what for?”
What is this, some sort of pop quiz? “He was holding onto a pack of balloons.” Shirabu nodded smartly. And a little mockingly, but what Oohira can’t see wouldn’t hurt him. “For math.”
“That’s the best excuse he could come up with?”
“Pardon me?”
Oohira assumingly shakes his head from the swishing of air Shirabu feels on his face. “It’s nothing. Well, that’s all then. You can leave.”
Well, okay. Looks like Shirabu’s passed with flying colours (par usual, of course).
But still, he didn’t even get a chance at bullying his senpai this time. So he’s just going to do so anyway because Shirabu is nothing short of an absolute bastard.
“Is there a reason you’re asking?” Shirabu asks before opening the closet’s door.
“Yup.” Oohira doesn’t even look nervous. “He stole my jacket. I just wanted to know if he had it on him.”
Huh. So calm. Shirabu can’t even tell whether that was an actual truth or not. He thinks he should reevaluate his views on Oohira, just a little bit.
Shirabu smiles, perfectly pleasant. “You’re quite a good liar, Oohira-san.”
And then he swiftly leaves the closet, closing the door behind him.
“Ushijima-san?” Shirabu stutters.
After walking out of the closet and turning the corner, Ushijima stood in the center of the hall, glaring at a vending machine on the side like it had insulted him personally.
Ushijima’s glare relaxes when he notices Shirabu staring at him like he was insane. “Oh. Shirabu. I was looking for you.”
“Um.”
Ushijima turns away from the machine and nods over his shoulder. “Let’s take a walk.” And without asking for Shirabu’s input, he turns around and walks right out the school doors. Shirabu can’t do anything but quickly scurry behind.
They make their way out of the school, scrolling through one of many campus gardens. It’s silent and Shirabu wonders if Ushijima brought him here to silently kill him and use his body as fertilizer.
“Shirabu.” Ushijima’s low voice breaks Shirabu out of his thoughts. It is eerily serious, but then again, when is it not? “Shirabu, once the third years has passed on—”
“Ushijima-san, everyone has told you already, that phrase is meant for the dead.”
“Once the third years has passed on,” Ushijima repeats over Shirabu’s voice. Shirabu doesn’t try to correct him again. “I will grant you the title of Team Captain.”
“Cool,” Shirabu says. The words register in his mind and he whirls around to stare at his senpai with an embarrassing amount of sputtering. “Wait, what? Me?”
Ushijima turns to him too. Is that— Is that amusement in his eyes? “Of course. You are the best fitted for the role. It certainly helps you’re the setter, one of the hearts of the team.”
Shirabu would like to point out that the only other second year for the role was Taichi, and that would just end up being a disaster and a half with the gym and subsequently the entire school in flames.
“Is this some sort of gift? I’m,” Shirabu starts, bunching up the bottom of his shirt in his fist. “I’m no Oikawa Tooru.”
He’s not exceptionally good at anything volleyball-related. He didn’t even get into the team through a sports scholarship. He just joined the starting lineup this year. Isn’t this going a little far for some gift?
“There’s no need for you to be,” Ushijima says. “You’re a skilled setter in your own right. There are no weak players on our team.”
“But Captain?” Shirabu mutters.
“I think you’ll fit into the role easier than you might think.” And Ushijima, Ushijima ‘looks like he’s internally dying whenever he smiles’ actually smiles. It’s small, but it’s still there. Shirabu thinks he might have ascended to some other realm. “I also am counting on you, Shirabu.”
“And if we don’t win the first round next year?”
“Then you’ll try your best on the second.”
“And if we lose the second?”
“I will still believe you’re strong regardless.” Ushijima looks out at the bright sun and spring breeze. “I have played with you for a year, of course I know your capabilities. You will never be good as Oikawa Tooru—”
Okay, ow.
“Nor Kageyama Tobio—”
Was this an encouragement session or a verbal beatdown?
“But I still believe you’ll do great things, volleyball or not.” Ushijima then turns to him, and to Shriabu’s absolute horror, bows down just a smidge. “Thank you for the last year.”
Shirabu makes a choked sound, a cross of a dying parrot and beached whale. It’s not pretty. He takes a step back. “I... I should be thanking you, Ushijima-san. Please stop that, please stand up, please.”
Ushijima finally straightens up and places a comforting hand on top of Shirabu’s head, sorta just awkwardly holding on. Like he’s passing a crown from one to another. “You will do great things next year. Now, we should start heading inside—” Ushijima pauses, and glances at Shirabu, surprised. “Shirabu, are you crying?”
“No!” A sniffle. “Just—! A volleyball just flew into my eyes.”
Shirabu is an idiot.
(That isn’t really new, but that’s also not the point right now.)
So distracted with the thought of being the new captain, Shirabu foolishly lets himself be steered into the gym once again. He doesn’t notice the lights were off until they’re already flickering on and a party popper is being exploded in his face.
“Surprise!”
Shirabu stares blankly at his teammates, all holding an assortment of random party supplies. Goshiki pops another party popper. Yamagata kicks one of the many balloons on the floor into the air. Taichi blows into one of those plastic kazoos, completely deadpan. And Tendou… Tendou throws a pillow at Shirabu’s face.
How is he supposed to act? Surprised. Right, surprised.
“Wow.” His voice comes out completely dull. The pillow flops onto the floor. “Wow, thanks guys.”
Everyone is silent. Shirabu supposes his 10/10 acting wasn’t good enough because Tendou takes one good look at him and says, “You knew.”
Pent up from all the pretending, Shirabu lets himself laugh. “I knew. I got sent an invitation.”
Silence.
And then absolute pandemonium.
“No wonder you were so weird about the balloons—!”
“That’s why you wanted to play volleyball? To catch us preparing—?”
“Huh. That comment about me being a good liar suddenly makes sense.”
“What comment now?”
“Tell me, Kenjirou-kun!” Tendou shouts over the cries of the others, “Who was it that spoiled the surprise I worked oh so hard on!”
Shirabu looks to the side at Taichi, who stares back at him, petrified. Shirabu would totally rat him out, but Tendou seriously looks like he was about to commit homicide and Shirabu would prefer not for that to happen, especially on his birthday.
And like hell he was going to tell on Ushijima, aka the only other person Tendou wouldn’t kill. Unless…
“Goshiki did it,” Shirabu said smoothly, grinning wickedly when the boy squeaks, dropping his third party popper on the ground. It explodes sadly, the confetti splaying out of the cup as a thick liquid would.
“Huh?” Goshiki squeaks again. He looks at Tendou and then back at Shirabu. “I didn’t even see you today!”
Think, Shirabu, think. He surveys the room. Balloons (from Yamagata), streamers (also presumably from Yamagata), a clean gym (probably from Semi), and a small cake. Based on that, that means…
“I saw you.” Shirabu makes up on the spot, taking a wild leap in the dark. “You were holding the cake.”
Goshiki squeaks again and Shirabu knows he got it head-on. He smirks. Tendou turns over to the first year, who’s currently shrinking back in fear. “Tendou-san…”
“Tsutomu! How dare you!” Tendou gasps before jokingly throwing himself onto the poor, poor boy.
Bam. Crisis averted.
but there’s something so silly the way everyone heckles at Goshiki playfully with their bright party hats lopsided on their heads that makes Shirabu laugh. It starts off quiet, before growing louder and louder as the noise around him stills in favour to stare.
Shirabu grins, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Thank you guys, seriously. It’s a nice surprise, even if you all are terrible at lying and planning parties—”
A chorus of, ‘Hey!” goes around.
“But I’m still glad you did this for me.” Shirabu beams, beautiful and sweet and pure, not filled with his usual salt or slyness. It takes everyone’s breath away. “Thank you.”
The moment is then promptly ruined when Semi stumbles on his own feet and trips into the table, sending the cake crashing to the floor.