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

intermission: not sponsored by nickelback

spring 2012.

cherry blossoms swirled in the courtyard, painting the pathway pink. even without calendars and school, spring was announced by the petals blooming on the once-barren trees.

i had decided to become the new manager for the men's volleyball team but had gotten lost on my way to the gymnasium. it was still the early days of my first year of high school, and i had a difficult time finding my way around.

i saw a man walking toward the back of the grounds. i figured he was going toward the gym or, at least, the sports club rooms. from the build of his shoulders and broad back, he looked like he played some type of sport if not volleyball.

no harm in following him to try and find my way, right?

he paused, probably sensing my presence behind him. he turned around, and i froze in fear. originally, i believed him to be just another hipster with a manbun trying to be cool. but now, seeing his face and the beard...i wondered if he even was a student.

wait–was this the guy that people from other schools were talking about? the one in his fifth year of high school? the one who bullied first-years? talk about an unlucky day.

i dug out my wallet from my bag as quick as i could, throwing it at him as i took a few steps back. he took a step forward, which i matched by scurrying backward. i held up a cross in front of my face with my fingers.

"that's all the money i have!"

visibly shaking like a chihuahua, he picked up my wallet and held it out to me. seeing his shaking hands, i softened. i dropped my hands and walked forward to take my wallet back.

"i'm sorry," we apologized simultaneously, bowing forward and hitting our foreheads together lightly. we rubbed our heads as we lifted them, laughing. we stood there for a moment: him looking around, me staring at him.

"i'm (y/n) of class 1-3," i extended my hand toward him.

"azumane asahi, third year," he responded.

i gasped, embarrassed at how i had acted around my senior. if anyone had seen that, i probably would have been scolded, maybe hazed. i was silently grateful that it had been just us, no one else, to witness it.

the silence came again, accompanied by another staring contest. i struggled to find the words to ask him where the gym was. the sentence was so simple, but words became very hard to speak all of a sudden. i mean, have you ever seen a man so beautiful that all language leaves you? that nothing you could say–not even "where is the volleyball gym?"–seems enough to describe your feelings.

i was there, in this moment.

cherry blossoms swirled around him, the sun shining down like he was jesus incarnate. it was majestic, a sight to behold. 'how did i ever become so lucky to see such a sight? i must have saved a small village in my past life,' i reasoned.

"where were you headed?" he finally asked, looking down at my short frame.

"volleyball gym," i choked the words out.

"me too! let's go together!" he said cheerfully.

"really?!"

"what else are seniors for, other than to help you out?" he teased, throwing up a peace sign and smiling broadly.

i reacted quickly, sliding my phone to the camera. i held it up to snap a picture, wanting to capture this moment in a more concrete manner than a soon-hazy memory. i looked at it after: a little blurry, but distinguishable that it was azumane-senpai.

he walked me to the gym and introduced me to the team. kiyoko joined me, asking why i was so late. i told her about how i had gotten lost, thinking azumane-senpai had been a thug. i told her about how he had shown me the most amazing thing i'd seen in a while.

i showed her my phone. "look at this photograph!"