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

tall, dark, and handsome-ooh, who is he?

summer arrived like the fire that would burn ushijima's farm: calmly blazing at first, sticky hot and suffocating at the end. the days were long, time dragging like a petulant child who didn't want to go to the dentist. hours passed slowly, mimicking the melting clocks of dali.

the heat felt as though it would last forever.

i trudged my feet along the sidewalk, following my friends at a distance. they had skipped ahead, pressing their faces against the cool glass of a jewelry store window. i shoved my hands into the pockets of my shorts. 'damn fashion designers not giving women deeper pockets,' i silently cursed. when i finally caught up to my friends, they grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me toward a nearby clothing store.

"(y/n)-chan! you promised us that you would try on dresses for the summer festival today!" my best friend screamed obnoxiously.

people turned to look at me, and i felt my cheeks heat out of embarrassment. despite my best efforts to pull away, they had the force of a great typhoon–or, i guess, some teenage girls on a mission to play dress-up.

the door swung open violently, a bell jingling overhead as my friends let me go suddenly. i tumbled forward and fell onto one extremely unlucky individual. he gripped my waist as he turned, and the two of us fell backwards.

when i finally opened my eyes, i looked down to see olive green eyes staring back into mine. my cheeks had accumulated enough heat by this point to be blamed as the cause of global warming. his hands remained around my waist as i lingered on top of his rock solid body. the world around me faded into the background, a blur of colors and noises–until an annoying voice pulled me out of my trance.

"iwa-chan~! which color looks better on yours truly: navy or–" a chocolate-haired boy broke off his question with a wildly dramatic gasp. his eyes went wide at the sight of us still entangled on the questionably-clean floor of the clothing shop.

i matched his gasp with my own unholy sound. with clumsy hands, i fumbled to touch every aspect of "iwa-chan's" chest before finally pushing myself back up to my feet. i reached down, offering a hand to help him up. as he gripped my hand, i felt the calluses of his palm against my soft skin. his palm fit solidly against my own. it was like shaking hands for a job interview rather than the start of a romantic relationship.

'not everything is a meet-cute,' i belatedly realized.

"are you okay?" he asked in a hushed tone. he took a step toward me, hands outstretched as though he was trying to approach a stray cat that had just climbed out of a sewer.

i–spooked, unable to form proper words–nodded as my friends tugged my wrist. i mouthed a quick 'thank you' as he waved his hand. he turned back to face his friend, his face shifting from kind and gentle to angry and violent within a millisecond. i watched him smack the back of his friend's head. as his friend whined, rubbing the back of his head, "iwa-chan" mumbled something. but i was already too far away to hear it clearly.

my friends returned to their original agenda, holding dresses up against my body to determine what would look good. but my eyes stayed fixed on the boy for a little longer. i cursed under my breath, wishing the moment had ended differently. maybe i could have gotten his actual name and number–even a business card.

i was that desperate to know more about this handsome specimen.

* * * * * * * * * * *

i sat in the front row of the bleachers, back slouched against the uncomfortable plastic. the squeaking of shoes and thumps of volleyballs filled the gymnasium. the smell of sweat and teenage boy–what is this, an axe body spray commercial?–permeated the air not unlike the sounds of enthusiastic classmates, community members, and families cheering.

"oikawa-kun!!" my friend screamed next to me. i leaned away, protecting my ears, as she succeeded in getting the attention of the boy wearing jersey number one.

until now, my eyes had mostly been focused on my friend or my phone (playing a successful game of sweets smash, if i do say so myself). i looked toward the court as she violently nudged me. my eyes went wide, struck by the familiarity of the brown-haired captain.

it took me the next three points–all scored by aoba johsai–to finally realize where i had seen him before. this oikawa's facial expression was more sinister, almost dangerous, but there was no doubt it was the boy from two weeks ago with the annoying voice. it was the boy with "iwa-chan."

my eyes first scanned the crowd behind me. 'there was no way those two would be on a team together, right? those two have no chemistry,' i assumed (wrongly) from that one (1) interaction i had seen. i searched desperately for the boy with olive eyes, but there were too many people to locate the man who had haunted my dreams more frequently than bojangles the clown (if that was possible).

turning back toward the court, i moved to the edge of my seat. my eyes scanned the players, but i couldn't focus as they moved with such speed. like them, i felt time was running out.

"iwa-chan!" oikawa called. the voice echoed in the momentary silence of the gym.

my eyes followed the ball set to the player who spiked it down. as he pumped his fist into the air, i recognized him. number four. the ace (of my heart).

for the remainder of the match, i stayed perched on the edge of my seat. my eyes focused only on player number four. like the encounter two weeks ago, the rest of the team and gym faded into the background, an indistinguishable sea of color and noise. the beating of my heart echoed the pattern of the volleyball hitting his hand and then the gym floor–erratic, loud, irregular.

i watched spike after spike, almost in a trance. in a passing thought, i wanted him to spank my ass with the force that he was hitting the volleyball. but i shook the thirsty thoughts from my head.

'get your head in the game,' i told myself as i refocused.

i hoped that this wouldn't be the last time i saw him. even if it took a while, i wished our paths would cross again.