Work Text:
Time is a funny thing. It is linear in motion — humans in the fourth dimension perceive it as something that only moves forward, predictable and understandable.
But time is an entity that takes you everywhere and anywhere. It moves in one direction but you cannot foresee where it leads. You will never truly know where time takes you until you get there.
Two years ago, these random strangers were just that to Keiji — strangers. He sees them in passing when he picks up Koutarou from training. Now they are shopping for decorative materials for Vi's surprise birthday party.
“That one looks better, I think,” Atsumu says, pointing at a pack of sparkly balloons that glow gold and green when inflated.
“What happened to the purple and yellow theme?” Kiyoomi protests. “We need to be consistent.” He attempts to steer Atsumu away from the balloons, directing his attention instead to other things that actually match the theme we are going for, but to no avail.
That Miya is one stubborn guy.
“But it's pretty!” Atsumu insists. “Let's just change the theme!”
Keiji steps in before it gets out of hand. “How about we don't change anything,” he says gently, adjusting his tone as if he were talking to a child rather than a fully grown man. Atsumu notices it and glares at Keiji. He smiles and continues, “And just go with what we first agreed on?”
“That’s no fun,” Koutarou interjects in Atsumu’s defense. “What about buying anything we want for the party?”
“This isn’t our party; it’s Vi’s,” Kiyoomi reminds them. “In case you two forgot.”
Keiji claps his hands together, and then gestures at Kiyoomi. “Finally,” he says, his voice rising slightly. “A voice of reason! We buy the things that would look good for Vi’s party, things that match the theme, not just whatever the fuck we want.”
“Of course, we didn’t forget!” Koutarou informs him seriously. “We just think a little variety in the decor would be nice.”
“Not your kind of variety,” Keiji says in response, rolling his eyes at Koutarou.
Atsumu pouts, and Keiji tiredly sticks his tongue out at the other man. “Listen, mangaka,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at Keiji. “ I know what my Vi likes. And she would appreciate a surprise party with diverse ornamentation, thrown by her beloved best friends.”
Kiyoomi snorts. “Yeah, if you weren’t involved,” he teases. “Knowing you, you’d make ‘diverse ornamentation’ look like a kindergartener’s arts and crafts project.”
Atsumu stares at him. “You’re so annoying, no wonder she likes me better than you.”
Koutarou laughs, and that would have been the end of it, except Keiji catches him trying to sneak in a pack of sparkly teal balloons that would not look good with the theme they had decided on.
“You!” Keiji shouts indignantly, pointing at him. “Put that back!”
Realizing Keiji caught him, Koutarou puts his hands behind his back, eyes wide as if Keiji had just apprehended him for a heinous crime. He might as well have. That color might look pretty, but it would be so ridiculously out of place in the room, that Vi might throw up instead of feeling touched. (Actually, she would never do that. But Keiji probably would.)
Atsumu put an arm around Keiji. “Run, Kou-chan, run! I’ll hold him off!” His grip around Keiji tightens. “Go and be free! Don’t let this man stop you from being who you are!” His voice is loud next to Keiji's ears, catching the attention of shoppers within our vicinity. Needless to say, he is more than a little embarrassed.
Kiyoomi extends an arm and holds Atsumu’s ear, twisting it. “And you called me the annoying one,” he says, irked.
“Come on, Keiji,” Koutarou pleads, batting his eyelashes. Behind him, a passerby happens to hear our conversation and looks on at us weirdly. It is only then that Keiji remembers that Kiyoomi, Koutarou, and Atsumu are celebrities in the volleyball world, as well as well-known to the general public. Keiji steps back a little in embarrassment as Koutarou continues, “It’s a pretty color.”
“I know, but it’s an eyesore when added into the theme we had in mind,” Keiji replies, exasperated.
“Then how about we buy other colors too?” Atsumu suggests with a devilish grin. “Or, actually, a brilliant idea just came to my mind. Hear me out: we split into teams and design the parts of the room that we’re assigned to with the theme that we want.”
“I’m with Keiji,” Kiyoomi says immediately. He would have linked arms with Keiji if the latter weren’t reusing the sweater he wore yesterday. Kiyoomi sweeps his curls to the side, adjusting his mask so the thin metal wire inside wraps around the bridge of his nose properly.
“I’m with Sakusa,” Keiji agrees with a nod. “Let’s make Vi choose which design is better. Losers treat everyone to dinner the next night.”
Koutarou grins, his competitiveness coming out in streaks. “Okay,” he says, taking Atsumu’s hand in his. “Then we’ll get going.” Without waiting for a reply, he pulls the other man away from them, heads together in conspiracy.
Kiyoomi is quick to get down to business. “We’ve already got half of the decor we initially planned,” he tells Keiji. “We need only to buy the final finishing touches. I don’t think it’s worth all the trouble to start over with a different design and color scheme, since I know it would all look pretty in the end, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Keiji says. “I agree. “Let’s just finish up here and get home to sort out stuff. Why don’t we wait till tomorrow to prepare? We’re holding the party in your apartment, so it's a guarantee that it's pristine, but the decor might not look as fresh on D-day if we start early.”
“Alright,” Kiyoomi says simply. “I like this; you’re straightforward.”
Keiju laughs a little. “Yeah,” he agrees. “You’re the ideal partner to have when it comes to organizing things like these. Those two…” He sighs, shaking his head. “They’re a handful.”
“Tell me about it,” Kiyoomi says. “Not a single decorative bone in their bodies.”
—
There were no damn seats left in the café. I sighed in exhaustion. It had been a very long day for me. Our professor thought it was amusing to assign us four 50-page readings as homework and had us write reports about them, all due in four days. As if this was the only class we had to worry about.
I wanted to drop out right then and there, but I managed to hold on. Now this was the last straw: Today, I survived the tortuous predicament called college and gathered the will and wits to move forward with my responsibilities, only to be met with an unpredictable predicament such as not having a cohesive learning environment to do my school requirements at.
I hated libraries and my dorm because they were too quiet. I preferred the humble and comforting noise of the café rather than the oppressive silence of the library and my room. Here, I could drown the noise with my earphones, yet simultaneously keep them alive as a muffled background audio while I study.
This setup made me feel a lot less alone, like I’ve got the whole world behind me on standby, always available for me to lean on when I need to. It may be a little strange, but it's comforting to me.
Things with Kiyoomi and Atsumu weren't going so well (due to my own actions), so I was feeling pretty lonely lately, drowning myself in my studies to forget about my failing friendships. I didn’t want to think about the problems in the relationship aspect of my life, not when I had other academic problems to worry about.
I couldn't stand the thought of it, of being distant from the friends I had loved and known for so long, so as a result, I often ignore everything and try to focus on more important things.
A hand waved in front of my face, catching my attention. I traced the arm to the owner's face and met eyes with a peculiar-looking fellow who had large, intense eyes and two-toned hair. “Would you like to sit here?” He gestured to the empty seat next to him. Across his chair sat a smaller man with dark hair and circular glasses. They seemed to be here together. He waved at me. “No one's sitting there, and you look like you desperately need it.”
“I do, thank you,” I said, relieved to have been helped and slightly mortified to have been noticed. I took the seat the man was offering me, dropping first my bag, then my laptop and coffee on the table. “I'll just sit here,” I told them. “I have earphones. Please don't let me interrupt your conversation.” I found it difficult to look them in the eyes because 1) the guy with the intense eyes looked like he could be on TV, and 2) the dark-haired bespectacled man looked nice enough, but he gave off an extremely exhausted vibe, like everything was a burden and the world was tiring him out all the damn time.
“Oh, yes, don't worry. We don't mind at all,” said the guy. He looked so much like an owl with his sharp hairstyle and wide eyes that looked relatively easy to impress. Said eyes traveled down to my bag, where a keychain was hooked to the pull tab of the zipper. It was the one Atsumu gave me when he and Kiyoomi came back from a week-long training camp.
“You like volleyball?” he asked, curious. I didn't know why he was so interested. I had thought that his assurance was the end of it.
“Um, by association,” I said simply. “Two of my friends are on this team.”
Owl guy perked up. “Really? I'm on the team too!” he shared. His wide eyes became wider, if that was even possible, his eyebrows shooting up. “Who are your friends? I'm sure I know them. What a small world!”
I debated against answering. I didn't want this conversation to be a long one, and if I indulged this man he might not run out of things to say. Besides, the guy was Kiyoomi’s and Atsumu’s friend. He might talk about how he met me, all lonely and troubled. Not only would that be extremely mortifying, but it would also be burdensome to them, who would have to bear the news of me being isolated from them and pitiful.
Just then, the barista at the counter saved my life. “Bokuto,” she called. “Akaashi Keiji.”
The owl guy shifted his attention to the barista, standing up to head to the counter and claim their orders. I took the opportunity to delve into my academic tasks and look busy, so the owl guy named Bokuto would take the hint and refrain from talking to me during the entirety of their stay.
I plugged in my earphones.
In my peripheral vision, I saw him marching toward this table, smiling widely as he brought with him their chosen drink and pastries. I saw him open his mouth to speak to me, but the bespectacled man (who I learned was called Akaashi) nudged him and shook his head.
Sheepish, he sat back against his chair and talked to Akaashi about things I couldn’t hear. He spoke animatedly, eager to share if anyone was willing to listen. He moved so much as he spoke that I could see his gestures no matter how focused I was on what I was doing. His voice pierced even the noise-canceling feature of my earphones. I ended up listening to him secretly when I took breaks.
He was enthralling, and I was right; he never ran out of things to say. It was a good combination, him, the energetic talker, and the other guy, an attentive listener.
I looked at them talking for another moment, the sounds muted behind my earphones, then leaned back against my seat and continued what I was doing.
—
Keiji looks over at Atsumu and Koutarou with exasperation. They are preparing for the party now, and it is safe to say that their side of Kiyoomi's apartment is a disaster.
They have no set theme and are arguing about which decor should go where.
“No, you should have hung the wreath over the door,” Koutarou says passionately.
“We shouldn't hang wreaths at all!” Atsumu protests. “It’s not fucking Christmas!”
“But it looks pretty!” Koutarou reasons, gesturing with his hands.
“Okay, that's true,” Atsumu amends, “but Vi's name should be over the door.”
Koutarou narrows his eyes in deep thought, stroking his chin comically. “Hmm,” he voices. “Okay, then we put the wreath on the wall, make it look like it's above the cake.”
Atsumu doesn't understand the logic of that design placement, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he nods in agreement and continues putting up the other decorations they had.
After watching the interaction, Kiyoomi and Keiji exchanged dubious glances. In particular, Kiyoomi is beginning to think this is a bad idea. On the other hand, Keiji shares this opinion but thinks that Vi will appreciate Atsumu's and Koutarou's sentiments anyway.
“It'll probably be funny at least,” Keiji tries to amend, shrugging.
Kiyoomi returns his shrug with one of his own. He doesn't bother to say anything, choosing instead to shake his head in mock disappointment and finish his task of arranging the table.
Keiji watches as Koutarou opens a pack of small chocolate balls and dumps the contents into a bowl. “By the way,” he says, a small chocolate ball in his mouth, “is it really okay if we don't invite other people tomorrow?”
Kiyoomi is the one to answer. “Yes,” he says. “Vi prefers small celebrations.”
Atsumu sits on their end of the table and reaches into the bowl to take a chocolate ball for himself, too. “Aren't you taking her out on a treat later?” he asks. “Why don't you ask her about it? Not outright, of course. Just to make sure. We know she's on the introverted side, but maybe she'd want to spend her day with her other friends and family.”
Kiyoomi seems convinced that the lack of attendees wouldn't bother Vi, but he nods at Atsumu's suggestion and says, “Alright,” he says. “I'll do that.”
With that settled, they resumed their decorating session, each one looking forward to the celebration tomorrow.
Kiyoomi is thinking of how Vi would react to seeing her two closest friends working closely together to make her happy. Atsumu is thinking of how Vi would react to the odd setup and their decorating competition. Koutarou is thinking of something along the same lines — he is imagining a scenario where Vi would declare him and Atsumu the winner, claiming that their unique approach to the contest is something that touched her heart. Meanwhile, Keiji just wants to see Vi happy on her special day.
But make no mistake: despite their differences in opinions and outlook, all four of them simply want the best for Vi. They all want to see and make her smile in their own ways, at their own pace. Even more so since it's her birthday — they make it their goal to make tomorrow a very memorable one.
For Vi, whose world's scope is red and pink at birth. For Vi, who goes high and low for the people she loves. For Vi, whose existence is a fresh breath of relief. For Vi, who has only ever known love.
They want her to feel the depth of their appreciation for her at its height on the anniversary of her birth. And so, they all desire to make her feel especially happy on that day. They may have different ways of expressing it, but in the end, they will all arrive at the same destination, achieve the same goal.
Koutarou breaks the contemplative silence after a while. “Should I print pictures of her and paste them all over this wall?” He meant to say it to only Atsumu, but of course the others manage to hear, considering his voice is louder than a boom box.
Kiyoomi reacts as quickly as lighting. “Absolutely not. The adhesive is difficult to remove and when left exposed, all kinds of dirt stick to it.”
Koutarou considers this. “Can we nail the pictures on the wall instead?”
“Get out of my apartment.”
—
The first thing Atsumu and Kiyoomi did after we reconciled was to take me out for a meal. They had a table reserved for the three of us at a fancy restaurant with a name I couldn't pronounce, and told me to get dressed like I was a young widowed woman splurging on my old and deceased husband's riches.
So I got dolled up, pulling out a dress I had gotten as a family heirloom of sorts, putting on makeup that wasn't simply just red tint on my cheeks and lips, to keep me from looking pale and sickly. I styled my hair in a way that made me feel good. When I looked at the mirror, I liked it. I liked looking at me, pretty and happy and loved.
It felt so good to be loved. Even more so to be loved by Kiyoomi and Atsumu. It felt like coming back home after long years of living in a foreign land. It was something familiar to me, easy. It felt like being hugged warmly during a raging thunderstorm — something to turn to and feel safe.
I smiled at myself one last time, before turning away from the mirror and glancing at my phone. It was thirteen minutes past six in the evening. There were three messages waiting for me: two from Kiyoomi, one from Atsumu, both asking me if I was ready yet.
Kiyoomi's last message told me they were waiting in his car outside my home. Not wanting to make them wait any longer, I hastened my pace, taking all my essentials and putting them in the handbag that matched my outfit. Finally, I emerged from my room and my home, searching for Kiyoomi's car after I locked the door.
I spot them across the street. Atsumu was waving at me from the backseat. When I got nearer, Kiyoomi reached over to open the passenger door from the inside.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping inside. I didn't ask why they had me sit here.
When we got to the restaurant, it was crowded, but the attendants were quick to guide us to our reserved table for three people exactly. It was then that I got to fully appreciate my friends and their outfits.
Atsumu had his hair straightened, gelled, then slicked back to expose his forehead. He wore a three-piece suit, the waistcoat doing its job of hugging his form. When he smiled, his mouth was spread wide and his cheeks pushed his lower eye up, almost closing the lids but not quite.
On the other hand, Kiyoomi went for a semi-formal look, wearing all the components of a suit attire, only without the tie. He had on only a dress shirt, slacks, suit jacket, cufflinks, a wristwatch and leather shoes. He looked at the world like he owned it.
We weren't pressured to make conversation. We had known each other for so long that I had lost count. There was no longer any need to fill silences that were already comfortable to begin with. Because what else was there to say, anyway? There weren't any anecdotes of our lives that the others hadn't either already known or had witnessed personally.
There shouldn't have been anything new for us to talk about, but we spoke anyway. Atsumu started the conversation by mentioning his and Kiyoomi's teammate who had introduced this restaurant to them.
“He loved coming here with his boyfriend,” Atsumu said. “Wouldn't shut up about this place. So I thought, why not try it out with my most favorite people?”
I pretended to puke at the cheesiness of that last, unnecessary comment. “I don't want to be your favorite person,” I joked. He rolled his eyes in response.
Ignoring him, I turned to Kiyoomi. “What's tonight's menu?” I inquired, peering at him as if I were a traditional Victorian woman making a name for myself in society.
“I'm glad you asked,” he said with a flourish. “Tonight, we will feast. I ordered us a seven-course meal.”
As if on cue, two waiters came by, each one holding a lidded tray. They opened the trays, revealing plates of two different types of finger food.
“For the antipasto , I requested that we get both bruschetta and calamari. I didn't know which one you liked; we've never gone out and had such a meal before,” he told me, “and I knew Atsumu liked both, so leftovers wouldn't be a worry. I just wanted to give you a choice.”
“Oh, I like both, too,” I assured him. “I had a friend make me some bruschetta once and I fell in love with it.” I nodded at the small bowl of viscous liquid next to the plate of calamari. “The mayo ketchup sauce is what makes calamari go hard.”
“I'll eat it with or without the sauce,” Atsumu said, licking his lips as he inhaled his portion of the appetizers served. Somehow, as he did so in his formal suit, he made the act look elegant and refined. “Oh, the bruschetta is divine. I've always hated tomatoes until I tasted this masterpiece.”
“Have you two not gotten better conversation topics other than food?” Kiyoomi muttered as he ate his share.
Atsumu shook his head, teasing. “No can do, babe.”
The soup came next. It looked so hearty when it was revealed that I worried I would be full after consuming it. That usually wouldn't be a bad thing, but we still had five courses left.
“It’s duck soup,” Kiyoomi explained. He pushed the meat with the spoon, as if reading my mind. “Don’t worry; you will not be full with just this. The course is designed for us to pace ourselves.”
“If you say so,” I say, taking my first sip of the soup. I also took a bite of the duck meat after Kiyoomi cut some, reached over, and offered a piece to me with his fork. Both tasted extremely good, though the duck meat tasted a little weird. But I suspected it was only because I wasn't used to its texture.
The main dish was revealed when I was in the middle of telling a story about Keiji teaching me how to cook pasta, but it turned out that he didn't know how to cook either.
“That's crazy,” Atsumu said, laughing. “My friend, the teammate who recommended this restaurant, has a boyfriend named Akaashi. But his Akaashi seemed more put together than yours, based on my first impression of him.”
I remembered what Koutarou said about being in the same team as my friends. “Oh…” I started to say, putting the pieces together. “I think…”
Call it an odd and clichéd twist of fate, but at that moment, I happened to lock eyes with a very familiar face.
“...They’re right over there,” I said, pointing to the people behind Kiyoomi and Atsumu. They turned to see what I was looking at.
Koutarou was the first to notice. “Oh!” he said. “You’re here!” Then his eyes traveled over to me, and I gave him a small wave. “Vi! What a small world!” He turned to Keiji. “I knew it! See! I told you it was them.”
“Yes, it seems that you're right,” came Akaashi's calm reply.
“Bro, what a coincidence,” Atsumu said, standing to clap Koutarou on the back. “Vi was just telling us about the time your boyfriend tried to teach her how to cook something he didn't know how to make.”
The only evidence of Keiji's shame was his reddened ears. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. His voice remained neutral. “That was a disaster.”
“So you two took my recommendation, huh?” Koutarou said, eyes sparkling. “So? How do you like this place so far?”
“The food is really good,” Kiyoomi said. “The courses are spaced apart appropriately.”
“I agree,” I said, nodding. “This is my first time eating at a place like this, but I don't feel overwhelmed at all.”
Koutarou grinned. “Great!” he said. Then, linking arms with Keiji, he continued, “Have fun; eat well! We'll head over to our table upstairs.”
“You too,” Atsumu said, waving. He went back to his seat when they left, reaching out to point an accusing finger at me. “You,” he said. “Since when were you friends with them?”
“Uh…” I blinked. “For a while now? I didn't keep track.” That was a lie. I did keep track. We'd become friends when I distanced myself from Kiyoomi and Atsumu. But that would be an awkward thing to say. I didn't think Koutarou even knew about the drift, since I only confided in Keiji and made him swear on his life to keep it a secret. “After I first met them at the café, I started noticing them around the area a lot, especially Akaashi, since it's close to his workplace.”
I took a bite of my food. “Then the rest is history.”
—
On the night before my birthday, Kiyoomi takes me out and brings me to a nearby food park, telling me to take whatever I want and that everything would be on him.
The air is cold as it brushes my skin. Despite the late hour, the food park is bustling and alive. Families are milling around, going on food trips of their own. Most of the families that are here have toddlers instead of grown teenagers, who prefer to be out at this time with their friends. Some groups spread blankets over the grassy plain, pooling the food they bought from the stalls at the center. Some make use of the wooden tables situated around the park.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask. It is just the two of us here and now. I realize only at this moment that it’s been a long while since we had last gone out together. It was almost always us three — me, him, Atsumu — or just me and Atsumu, who was full of restless energy and always looked for a companion to go to someplace with. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, isn't the type of person who is fond of going outside just for the heck of it, so we barely hung out outside our respective apartments, in formal settings, or at places that Atsumu dragged us. “Taking me out on a food trip all of a sudden? You don’t like food trips. You think they’re unsanitary.”
“Is it so wrong to go out with my best friend a couple of hours before her birthday?” he responds with a question of his own. “Maybe I want to see you happy and. be the first one to greet you.”
He isn’t dressed up in anything particularly formal or effort-consuming. He has on a simple sweater, pants, and a brown coat. He is wearing circular glasses that are made to protect his eyes from UV light. Kiyoomi is handsome enough to carry the simple outfit as if it were as regal as a crown prince’s coronation robes.
I stare at him incredulously. “Who are you and what have you done to the Omi I know?” I ask in a joking manner.
He raises an eyebrow, looking down at me as if I had challenged him. “You think I can’t be sweet? Why do you think Atsumu fell in love with me?”
“Hell if I know,” I tell him, laughing. It's the truth. I have never seen any of them in any sense outside of the platonic realm. Perhaps I have thought of it in fleeting moments, but never long enough to seriously consider the idea. This is why I don't know what they see in each other romantically. “Dude, believe me, you two were the last people I expected to become a couple.”
He rolls his eyes, pushing his hair back. “Whatever,” he says as a way to shift the topic. He adjusts his glasses so they sit properly atop the bridge of his nose. “Is there anything you want to do tomorrow?”
“Hmmm,” I hum, finishing the last of my corndog. “Not really. I don’t want to have a huge celebration with lots of attendees. Dealing with people exhaust me too much. Besides, it’s a little too late to plan something extravagant, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” he says. He puts his hands in his pockets, and he almost sounds wistful when he says, “I get it.”
“Great,” I say. I throw my corn dog stick in the trash, and we move on to the next food stall. “And thank you, by the way.”
He furrows his eyebrows, slightly tilting his head to the side in a questioning manner. “For what?” he asks, evidently confused.
“For doing this,” I say. “For wanting to be the first to greet me a happy birthday.”
I almost expect him to shy away from the conversation, to deny it and say it was a joke. Almost. When I look up at him he has a fond smile on his face, and it's directed to me. He raised a hand to ruffle my hair.
“It’s nothing special,” he begins, “but I know it must mean a lot to you. You're welcome, Vi. I love you.”
I wrap his coat firmly around him and pull him in for a hug. I try to squeeze him but his athletic build is too large for me to wrap my arms around it and still have the capability to thread my fingers together on the other side. I opt to pat his back instead.
“High school me would have cried by now; you were too stoic to show any semblance of raw emotion in public,” I say.
He squeezes me back. “That was my mistake,” he says.
—
On the morning of my birthday, I receive a text from Kiyoomi, saying that I should go to his apartment tonight. I reply with an “okay” and leave it at that. He reads it a second after I press send. He must have been waiting.
I don’t wonder or ask why he invited me there. Knowing my friends, they probably have something planned. I just hope that it isn’t something large enough to drain me out. But considering my conversation with Kiyoomi last night, I highly doubt there would be a lot of attendees coming to bleed me dry of energy.
I carry my phone with me as I walk to the living room of my apartment. I intend to finish all my requirements today so that I can have fun later without any troubles lingering at the back of my mind. I make my way to the couch where I sit for a few seconds, just collecting myself and rearranging my thoughts.
My mind tends to drift and float so early in the morning. I often need a few moments to reorient myself to the waking world before I can get on with my day and act on my daily tasks.
When I get my wits back, I stand from the couch and walk to the kitchen, where I make a fruit shake and french toast for myself. This is enough to energize and sustain me for the morning. I still have a box of leftover pizza from last night’s food trip with Kiyoomi. I can just heat those slices up and have that for lunch.
I bring my food with me to the living room, where I kneel next to the coffee table and arrange my workspace so I can work on a twelve-page essay as I eat. After typing in the first two pages, I lean against the bottom half of the couch to rest my back. My fingers are stiff from all the typing and I feel light-headed. It hasn't even been that long since I first started, but my brain already feels like it's reached its limit.
I manage to finish everything by 5 p.m., and by 6 o'clock, I leave for Kiyoomi's apartment. I send him a text, telling him that I'm on my way. As I walk to the bus stop, I am greeted by a barrage of unread text messages that I haven't noticed since 1) I had left my phone on silent mode to concentrate fully on my paper and 2) I was so focused on sending Kiyoomi a text that I paid no mind to the unopened contacts.
I reply to each and every one as I wait for the bus to arrive. I am exhausted of gratitude by the time I manage to snag a seat.
Fifteen minutes later, Kiyoomi's apartment building is in sight. I feel a hint of excitement and some nervous energy start to bubble up in my chest, so I bounce my leg up and down to release some of it. I get off at the bus stop near the apartment building and step inside through the revolving doors.
The front desk attendant already knows who I am, so I don’t have to explain who I am as well as the purpose of my visit. I only list my name in the visitor log wordlessly and nod at her when I move to leave.
I get in the elevator and press Kiyoomi’s floor number. The lift is empty except for me, so I take my sweet time, enjoying my ride up without any other stops. Finally, the doors open and I get off. I count the unit numbers until I find Kiyoomi’s.
Using the spare key he gave me, I open the door with no problem. It is pitch black in here, and just when I am about to question it aloud, the lights open and out reveal Atsumu, Kiyoomi, Keiji and Koutarou.
“Surprise!” they say. They're all huddled on the couch, wearing glossy party hats and goofy smiles. Atsumu struggles with the party popper, and eventually, he manages to make it go off. “Happy birthday!”
I grin widely. “Thanks, guys!”
Then I notice the odd design of Kiyoomi's apartment. The living room seems to be divided in half, one detailing a cohesive, purple-yellow aesthetic. Meanwhile, the other half is just random decor haphazardly chosen to fit a certain theme (there is no theme).
“Do you like it?” Koutarou demands, gesturing to the side of the room that's designed for chaos.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s… interesting.”
“Which side do you like better?” Atsumu asks. “This or that?”
I speak without thinking. “That.” I point to the yellow-purple themed decor. “It’s pretty and organized.”
At this, Kiyoomi turns to Atsumu with a smug smile. “See?” he goads. “What did I tell you? Pretty and organized always wins the game.”
Atsumu only rolls his eyes as a dry response. Meanwhile, Koutarou starts sulking. “You don't think mine and Tsumu's decorations look good?”
“It looks okay,” I say, smiling at him. “It's got your touch written all over it, and that's what I appreciate the most — you did all this while thinking of me.”
Koutarou nods eagerly. “Exactly. You get me.”
Keiji nudges me, hiding his smile. He hands me my own party hat. “You sure have a way with words.”
Sulking over and done with, Koutarou moves on to the next agenda: food. “Time to eat!” he says as he gives out plates for all of us.
I look at the long table of food, and my mouth waters in anticipation. There's baked lasagna, six different types of onigiri (courtesy of Osamu, I'm sure), shrimp tempura, baked tonkatsu, chicken cordon bleu, smoked pork, and of course, rice. For dessert, we have matcha tiramisu, coffee pudding, and a bowl full of wrapped chocolate balls.
Kiyoomi takes some fancy glasses from the cupboard and gives us one each. Then he opens the fridge and takes out two soda bottles the size of a Magnum wine bottle.
“There's beer in the fridge if anyone wants to drink,” he calls. “I have some wine, too.”
We enjoy our meal while talking amongst ourselves. They ask me how I'm enjoying the night so far, and I launch into an excited retelling of mine and Kiyoomi's food trip the night before.
“I'd always had an inkling that you four had something planned,” I admit. “I'll have you know that it's pretty suspicious when the four of you start whispering among yourselves when you think I'm not aware. Then Kiyoomi asked me about how I would want to celebrate my birthday, and that solidified my suspicions.”
The food is heavenly. What I listed may sound like an odd combination of food, but I savored having more than one serving of each dish. I particularly like the taste of the baked tonkatsu and chicken cordon bleu. They are scrumptious when eaten with baked lasagna.
We leave dessert for the final course. As Keiji hands out saucers for us to enjoy the tiramisu and pudding. Meanwhile, Koutarou announces that he thinks it would be nice if they hand me their gifts and I open them right away as we have our dessert.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. I take the paper bag Kiyoomi hands me first and open it. Inside are ring binders with lined fillers for my notes. I see that there's still something left so I stick my hand inside and retrieve a handful of highlighters and pens inside the paper bag. “How did you know that I needed these? Thank you, Omi.”
He smiles. “You’re welcome. I read somewhere that being organized helps in productivity.”
“Are you calling me a mess?” I joke.
“Yeah, I'm not gonna lie.”
I open Keiji's gift next and it is a framed photo of him, me, and Koutarou. I nearly coo aloud. “This is so sweet,” I say instead, hugging the photo to my chest. “Thank you.”
I take a bite from the tiramisu as Koutarou fumbles to hand me his present. It is boxed and wrapped in bright paper, and when I opened it, two unexpected things greeted me. First: a functioning lipstick that doubled as a switchblade. Second: a bottle of pepper spray that also has a button used to activate a loud alarm to startle attackers or alert anyone within the vicinity that you're in danger.
I turn to him, touched. It is sad that I find this useful, but for now, I focus on another emotion: joy. I'm happy that he thought of this for me, that he thought of me long enough and often enough to think about my safety. “Thank you, Bokuto-chan!”
He smiles, sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not a problem,” he tells me. “I know it's not much, but I want to help feel safer somehow.”
I nod. “I do! These really do help.”
Next, it is Atsumu's turn, but instead of reaching over to give me a boxed present or a flashy paper bag, he comes forward and sits next to me. His hands are in his pockets, and when he retrieves them, he holds in one hand a key with a small remote.
“What's this?” I ask, confused. This doesn't look like the keys to his car.
“It’s yours,” he says simply.
“W-what?” I splutter. “You’re giving me a car?” It's a miracle that I don't end up screaming in surprise.
Even Kiyoomi looks mildly shocked, his mouth opening slightly. Then, his face relaxes, and he leans back against the couch, scooping the last of his tiramisu slice.
Perhaps sensing that I seem to have no intention of taking the key from him, he takes my hand and places his gift there, easily closing over my palm. “This is yours,” he says slowly, “I'm giving it to you. Happy birthday.”
I try to protest, but what is there to say? I won't accept it because it's too expensive a gift? He went out of his way to buy it for me — I don't think it's polite to decline him.
I ease my expression into a smile. “Thank you,” I tell him. “Really.”
“No problem,” he says. “It’s dangerous for you to commute when you often travel late in the night. So I got you a car.”
“Seriously…” I mutter. I'm not holding back tears, but I'm overflowing with gratitude anyway. I look over at them, my friends, who are looking at me and smiling, and I am so full of love that I fear I might never truly know a world without it.
And perhaps that can be a good thing. Who needs a life without love, anyway?
Keiji claps his hands, and though the moment is interrupted, my tenderness for them doesn't fade.
“Is everybody ready to watch the video I prepared?” he asks. “It’s dedicated to you, Vi, so you'd best buckle up and enjoy the ride.”
—
I am four years old. I don't know how the world works; I only know that I am loved and that I should love back.
I sit alone on the swing, my feet dangling as they are too short to rest firmly on the ground. I take a long look at the world before me.
As a child, nothing means anything to me. There are no implications of the child begging his father to buy her a cone of ice cream, or of the babysitter forcing her patience to stretch, or of the group of high schoolers rejoicing at the end of class hours by walking in flocks to and from a ramen shop.
Children don't think much of such things, but I am fascinated by them. By the people. Of people-watching.
I don't have deep, philosophical musings of these occurrences, but I often find myself spending hours just watching strangers go about their lives, almost detached to my own. Of course, I always have an older guardian watching over me, but I barely pay them any heed. They usually give up trying to entertain me at the fourth attempt and leave me to my staring.
Today I sit alone on a swing and do what I am wont to do. I know I have someone watching over me from a distance now, but I barely register them as I watch two twins wrestle in the sandbox. They both have brown hair and enthusiastic eyes. One brother is slightly taller than the other, but you would not have noticed it if you didn't spend a good few minutes staring at them.
The shorter one shouts, and it's barely audible from where I sit, but I hear it anyway. To me, it sounds like a war cry. I don't see him as childish because I, too, am a child. I see him as heroic, similar to the brave knights and warriors in the stories being read to me at night.
“I like cooking with mom more than playing with you!” the other says. His voice trembles a little as he shouts, as if he weren't used to speaking so loud.
“Oh, come on! This is fun!” says the naturally loud one. “You smile too! See?” He points at his brother's upturned mouth.
It does look like it is fun. Eventually, the taller one finds his footing and starts to enjoy the play-fighting.
Then I am sixteen years old in high school, different in all aspects except for my habit. I'm in the cafeteria picking at my food while Kiyoomi and Atsumu sit beside me.
Osamu doesn't join us, choosing instead to eat with his classmates under the trees of the courtyard. “I'll see you later,” he tells us.
The cafeteria is loud, but I drown the noise out. The endless chatter and laughter of students become muted to my ears as I pick at my food and roam my eyes around the room.
It is a beautiful sight, a picture of joy and youth. There are pockets full of them in every part of the room. It is mesmerizing.
Unlike when I was a kid, I now have a grasp of the philosophical and existential thoughts that come with people-watching. I see a student help her friend in despair because of schoolwork and think about the beauty of friendship and teamwork. I see couples eating together and think of how love is such an abstract thing, how it has a scientific explanation but science can't explain it at all.
It is such a strange, out-of-body experience to see these people who are not a part of my life live their own that is separate from mine.
And I don't mean to sound weird, but analyzing what a stranger would see on a surface-level is such a fun, mind-enhancing exercise. It makes me think of things outside my own bubble, encouraging me to expand my understanding outward.
I wonder what people would conclude about my life based on what I let them see…
“She's doing it again,” I barely hear Atsumu say. His voice sounds far away. “Earth to Vi.”
I blink, and my gaze travels to Atsumu. “Yes?”
It's Kiyoomi who speaks next. “Are you not going to eat? Are you just gonna pick at your food and stare at other people until they feel your eyes on them and think you a creep?”
I make a face at him. “Alright, damn,” I relent. “You can't blame me for finding their lives fun. Mine is a little bit dull, if you haven't gotten the memo.”
Atsumu makes a noise like he's wounded. “Ouch,” he says. “That hurt my feelings. You think life with me is dull and boring?”
“No, it's just—” I start to say but stop because he was right. I enjoy my life with them and my other friends, as well as my family. Why did I instinctively think of mine as tedious? There is never a dull moment when it comes to these two, so why is it my instinct to act like I'm unsatisfied?
I realize in that moment that I had been so ingrained and invested in other people's lives that I unconsciously found it difficult to appreciate mine, even when it brought me to the summit of happiness.
Then I am in my early twenties, sitting at the café, hurting over the distance I put between me and my closest friends. It has been so long since I last spent hours zoning out, eyeing people and making up stories of them in my head to cope with my loneliness.
Each noise from within and beyond the walls of the café comes together as one blended sound, the same way different instruments in a band wouldn't sound terrible when accompanied with thunderous applause and cheers.
The woman with red-dyed hair at the table next to mine stands to leave, and immediately a man swoops in to replace her seat. He is of average build and wears round glasses that look as if they had not been cleaned for weeks, if the smudges that showed when he light caressed the surface of the glace were any indication. He carries with him a laptop, which is already up and running on the table before him.
I imagine that he is a creative at work, hustling double-time to catch up to his never-ending deadlines. Perhaps he is a novelist or a webcomic story writer…?
Whatever the case, this habit of mine, the go-to pastime I had long since abandoned in high school — it feels familiar and alien at the same time, like I had fallen back to the embrace of my vices long after I quit using them.
I stir my coffee absentmindedly. The man must have felt my gaze on him because when he looked up from his laptop — perhaps to refresh his mind and reorient himself to his surroundings — he turns his head to look at me and catches my eye.
A flicker of recognition passes his face. “Oh,” he breathes, “it's you.”
His statement jogs my consciousness. “Sorry?” I ask. I'm fairly sure I don't know him but it seems that he does me.
“You sat with me and my boyfriend once,” he replies with a kind smile. “There were no other vacant seats.”
I remember. “Ah,” I say, nodding my head. I feel bad that I didn't recognize him at first, but I have always had a dodgy memory, so I don't put it against me. “Yes, I now recall.”
“You come here often?” he asks to make conversation. It would be pretty awkward if he had just dropped the exchange right there and jumped back to his work, though that would be the most practical and time-efficient choice.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I study nearby.”
“I see,” he tells me. “The office I work at is around this area too. I come here when I feel the need for a new scenery and background, which has been happening a lot recently.”
He looks tired as he says this, and I can tell from the dark circles under his eyes that he has not been getting enough sleep. I feel sorry for him, but then again, I, too, am a victim of this hectic economy.
At that moment, a young girl comes up to me and asks if I can share my table with her and her friends, seeing as I am alone. I weigh my options and ultimately decide that it would be pretty awkward if I sat there alone while some acquainted strangers sat next to me, talking amongst themselves, so I should just give up my seat and go home.
I am not given the chance to speak because the man who introduced himself as Keiji stands and offers his table.
“I'll sit with you instead,” he tells me. His face turns bashful and shy, as if it didn't occur to him until that moment that he had not asked for my permission. Not that I would deny him that. “If that's okay, ” he adds. He gestures to the young girl with an open palm. “They can take my table.”
“Oh, of course, it's okay,” I tell him quickly. It's only fair after he and his boyfriend let me sit with them back then, too.
It is only in retrospect that I realize this: once Keiji gets himself settled on the chair before me, my habit is tossed out the window without my realization, forgotten and lost, like old remnants of time that is a funny thing, an entity that moved on its own accord.
My loneliness escapes the confines of my body and turns to a seed of curiosity and hope that the end of all my relations is far from my line of sight, and that perhaps another similar flower will start to bloom soon.
I take a sip of my coffee.
—
It is quiet when the celebration is over. I help them clean up. We are silent as we do so, even Bokuto and Atsumu are drained of their usual hyper energy.
We focus our efforts on tidying up Kiyoomi's apartment, eager to get it all over with and take a short rest before Koutarou and Keiji go home.
Kiyoomi and Koutarou do the dishes (miraculously without bickering) while Keiji, Atsumu, and I take care of the living and dining room. I sweep confetti and bits of food off the floor while the other two carefully take down the decorations and place them in a box for storage.
“Did you have fun, Vi?” Atsumu asks out of the blue. His voice is low, as if scared that speaking loudly would break whatever comfortable synergy we have going right now. Or maybe he is just tired.
“Yes,” I say honestly. “Thank you. All of you. To be honest, I had a feeling that there was some sort of plan being formed, but to think that you would go to such lengths just to make me happy… I'm touched, really.”
“'Such lengths'?” Koutarou quotes, shifting his upper body to look at me. “What do you mean? This entire thing is not a chore at all.”
I smile at him. “I know,” I say. “But you are all so busy with training and work, so to think that you would all find the time to schedule and execute something like this… I'm really happy.”
There is something else I didn't say: thank you for making me lose my loneliness. For someone who has grown loved and cherished, there are times when I still feel alone because of my own hesitant nature. I know when I am loved and when to give back such grand gifts of the heart, but I still struggle with the lingering thoughts of 'what if I'm not enough?' or 'what if I don't deserve to be loved?' or 'what gives me the right to do this?'
All my life, I've only ever known love. It follows me in my dreams and even when I wake. It takes me by the hand and tells me that everything will be alright. It plays tag with me in the afternoon, when the sun doesn't hurt my skin as much. It walks me home when playtime is over and tucks me into bed. It keeps me warm on cold nights and feeds me when I'm hungry. I've known love long before I even knew what it is called. It is an instinct, a part of my soul.
At birth, the scope of my world is red and pink, and for as long as I have lived, love has guided me, taking the form of two boys with hearts of gold, like the afternoon sun under which we spread our wings, running and laughing like there's no tomorrow.
And now there are four of them, eager to make me feel as though I can sweep the world with the force of my finger. There are four of them, and five of us, and together, we burst out of the binds that keep us in place to help each other climb up the pedestals of our chosen field and flourish the way we have always envisioned ourselves.
But no matter how encapsulated and ensconced I am with love, it does not erase the fact that I have a confidence that fluctuates like the tide: sometimes there and almost always gone too quickly.
And so, I am grateful for these four people who never make me feel like I am worth less simply for being me. Every moment with them is a celebration of myself, and it is as though I am the center of their world as they orbit me.
“You are a wonderful friend, Vi,” Keiji says sincerely. “It is only right that we make you feel happy on your special day. It's almost a moral obligation, even.”
I roll my eyes at his last sentence. “Okay, now you're just saying things,” I say, giggling. “How can my happiness be your moral obligation?”
Keiji returns my question with one of his own. “Can it not?” His tone is challenging and eager, as if he were more interested in eliciting a reaction rather than a proper response.
Koutarou seizes the moment to speak. It seems that he has done his share of the washing, because he pushes himself from the sink and wipes his hands with the towel. “You’re someone I feel that I can wholeheartedly trust, Vi,” he says, “and that's not a thing that comes back easily, so it is natural for me to treasure you and show you that I do.” There is no trace of his usual jokester personality on his face, only this: the serious set of his jaw like he's about to run a marathon, his unsmiling face a stark contrast to his eyes that grin with tender joy.
“I love you guys,” I say honestly.
When Keiji and Koutarou leave not long after, it is only me, Kiyoomi, and Atsumu that remain here. We are huddled in the living room. Kiyoomi has stretched the pull-out couch so the two of us would fit. Meanwhile, Atsumu has taken a fluffy blanket large enough to cover the three of us.
We sit in silence for a beat. Two. Three. Longer. It is not awkward with us three — in fact, I want us to stay like this for as long as we can, huddled in the dark and in silence with two of the people I love the most in the world.
Their bodies are warm next to mine, and the whirring air conditioner somewhere in the room is the only object that exudes a different temperature. I am taken back to that snowy day, and the three of us had laughed and played like the world has risen anew.
I feel a similar exhilarating feeling now, only it is muted and well-behaved.
This moment lulls me to slumber, and I almost fall asleep until I sit back up when a thought strikes me like lightning. “Fuck,” I say. “Tomorrow is Monday.”
“Ah,” Kiyoomi says. “No rest for the wicked?”
I nod glumly. “Yeah,” I say, “I just can't catch a break. Can't the world just pause for a moment? It is my birthday after all.”
Kiyoomi laughs a little. I feel his body move beside me. “Why don't we go on a vacation someday? The three of us. Free your schedules, and we'll go somewhere nice.”
Atsumu hums. “I like the sound of that,” he agrees. “It would be nice to relax for a while. We should take a week off soon. Anything less would not be enough.”
We spend hours planning for a trip without knowing if it would even come to fruition. It doesn't even matter if some of the things we said are ridiculous and wildly unrealistic. All that matters is that we are here now, enjoying each others' warmth as if it's a shield or talisman that will keep us from harm.
I don't mind sacrificing hours of my precious sleep for this. Not when this is something I would never trade for the world; this moment where the three of us are in our own microscopic pocket of space in the infinite and ever-expanding balloon of the universe. A space that is not open to just anyone outside our circle. A space that grows as we grow and shifts to accommodate our changes.
A space curated just for us.
At some point, I fall asleep. And when I wake up, they are still here.
Time is a funny thing. It is linear in motion — humans in the fourth dimension perceive it as something that only moves forward, predictable and understandable.
But time is an entity that takes you everywhere and anywhere. It moves in one direction but you cannot foresee where it leads. You will never truly know where time takes you until you get there.
A year ago, I thought the end of our friendship was near, and that it was only high time that I fall off the olive branch alone. But now we are stronger than ever, even more revitalized with the new people coming our way.
Time has been constantly taking me places I never thought I'd go. I would not have met the people I know now had it not been for the eagerness of time to move me forward.
I would not have known what it is like to hurt and love and weep all in the same breath. I would not have known to confide in other people when all the world seems like a vast, cruel landscape, with persistent, thorny vines out to get me and draw blood.
Sometimes, time is one's companion. It is their ally, their partner. It is something that works in their favor and takes them places they have always wanted to go to. Other times, it is one's journey itself. It is the never-changing road from the past to the present to the future.
For me, it is both. Time accompanied me throughout the changes in my life and watched me grow alongside the obstacles I face.
And, if anything, time is a consistent entity.