my first and last | t. kuroo, h. iwaizumi

k-dramas taught me more than school did

summer 2012.

it was the summer of the tokyo training camp. but i–i was at school, retaking an exam because i had failed my literature class. i–the karasuno men's volleyball team manager–was stupid.

maybe i should have finished the required reading. it didn't seem like a bad read, but between helping with practices and fantasizing about iwaizumi, i had forgotten all about the assignment. though even i, a star procrastinator, knew that was a weak excuse considering the time given for a short read. but hey, at least i had planned my entire future with iwaizumi: a two-story house, two children (a boy and a girl), three cats, and a doghouse for one (1) oikawa tooru.

kageyama had finished writing his exam first, hinata following shortly thereafter. unfortunately, i had to write an essay which meant that i was taking much longer than the two boys. i spent the first fifteen minutes "brainstorming" by staring at a butterfly and bird fight outside the window. 

'what a metaphor for two volleyball teams,' i thought wistfully as my pencil moved blankly across the empty sheet. when i finally finished penning the next great american novel, i pulled out a photocard of jesus (azumane-senpai) and prayed that i got the bare minimum to pass.

seconds turned to minutes turned to what felt like hours as the teacher graded our exams in the order of received. kageyama and hinata got theirs back quickly, and they headed outside to meet their 'savior.' i waited anxiously, watching her mark angry x's on my paper with the lingering fear that i might not pass this exam.

technically, i probably wasn't needed for this training camp. but somewhere deep in my bones–probably the femur, considering how strong the feeling was–i felt that it was where i needed to be. there was something waiting for me there.

and i couldn't wait to meet it.

* * * * * * * * * * *

i ran out of the school, screaming like a banshee with the exam paper crumpled in my hand. i waved it wildly in the air as i approached hinata and kageyama.

"did you pass?!" hinata questioned, jumping over kageyama's form like a possessed kangaroo.

i nodded excitedly as kageyama groaned, pushing the two of us into the rented cafeteria car. i know i should be grateful that tanaka was able to convince his sister to drive us, but the warning he had given made me want to strap on safety gear–maybe even take a parachute, just in case–to ensure i didn't die on this ride. buckling my seatbelt, i hugged my backpack close to me as if it would act as an airbag or flotation device in case of emergency.

we sped off the lot, and fear flooded into my system. the female tanaka sibling glanced in the rearview mirror, meeting my eyes. she grinned and pressed her foot further down on the gas pedal.

i had never given much thought to how i would die, but i figured dying in the place of someone i loved was a good way to go. 'but wait,' i belatedly thought, 'who exactly am i dying for? iwaizumi's not even here!'

* * * * * * * * * * *

when we arrived, kiyoko and takeda-sensei pulled me aside to discuss my role as manager-in-training, our lodging, and any other questions i had. i tried asking about dental and ophthalmology benefits, but they only looked at me blankly.

kiyoko walked me over to the nearby inn afterward so i could drop off my things and get changed. she told me to take my time, that there was no rush, knowing how long my day had already been–and it was only getting started.

i hoped that i could be a cool manager like her one day.

i skipped happily back to the gyms, whistling and swinging my arms. when i got to the slightly cracked doors, the sounds of shoes squeaking and balls hitting the walls and bodies hitting the floor greeted me. the echoing from any sport practice in a gym always gave me chills. 

'someone should make this into a study-with-me asmr video,' i marveled, pausing to take in the scene.

the air smelled of teenage boy-sweat, potential athlete's foot, and expensive mikasa synthetic leather volleyballs (approximately $55 on amazon). 'someone should make this into a candle,' i desired, eager to mix into the midst of it all.

i opened the door fully, stepping into the gym. it was like a light shined down from the heavens, telling me this was exactly where i was supposed to be–decidedly not shiratorizawa. to welcome me, three volleyballs flew off course and toward me simultaneously. i didn't think it was possible, but here i was: a deer in headlights with no time to react. one ball missed me completely like a knife thrown by a showman toward a spinning target. the other two hit me dead-on: one in the gut, one in the face.

i fell backward. darkness consumed me.

i had never given much thought to how i would die, but i figured dying in a place with some of my favorite things was a good way to go.

* * * * * * * * * * *

i was barely conscious, but i could make out the sounds of movement around me.

"she's dead!" someone yelled. (probably bokuto.)

"she's resting," someone else corrected. (probably not akaashi.)

"we should call for an ambulance," daichi spoke–the voice of reason as always.

the only reason i recognized his voice was because it was the voice that narrated my dreams. he would give detailed instruction on how to fold the paper until it was so tiny that i was already fully into the sleep cycle. it's how i was always able to be so well-rested for anything the day threw at me–and that was quite literal today. he had a strong yet gentle voice; it was perfect. it was a shame that i could never get him to actually narrate this for me in real life.

"i know CPR!" someone claimed confidently.

he stepped forward and kneeled next to my near-lifeless form. i felt his hands run up my body slowly and sensually, starting from my thighs up to my torso and finally up to my chest. he made a fist, slowly rubbing my sternum. 

now, i may be stupid. but this certainly wasn't FDA-approved CPR if i knew a chicken from a tomato.

"aren't you supposed to do mouth-to-mouth?" the first voice offered as though the CPR-doer needed advice.

"i will. i need to make sure she feels respected first, though."

he moved his hand to cup my cheek, rubbing his thumb against the supple skin. he softly sang the lyrics to 'part of your world'–horribly out of tune (and i would know)–before moving some hair out of my face. he leaned down, and his chapped lips brushed roughly against my moisturized ones. at least one of us was very religious about applying chapstick.

my eyes fluttered open from the touch. i sat up immediately, causing me to slam my forehead into his. grabbing my head, i looked down and rubbed at the painful spot.

"owww," i mumbled. i looked up at the boy who had tried to steal my first kiss: a perverted-looking rooster head.

maybe i should have let him "perform CPR."