#also really random but i made them mid to late 40s bc matt anderson and max holt are literally 37 and theyre still amazing on the court

[deusfoundry]

kagehina but they're easing each other into retirement. they're both well past their prime, somewhere in their mid to late 40s. they're still part of a professional team of course, but it's getting harder and harder to keep up with the physical demands of the sport. their bodies just aren't the way they were a decade ago, knees buckling with each jump and muscles becoming sore way too early into a five set game. they spend less time on the court, until eventually they become absent from the starting lineup.

it's a reality that's hard to face, being pried away with unstoppable force from the very thing that breathes life into your being by your own body, for two people who yearn to be standing in front of a net for the rest of their lives. who crave the sound of a ball landing with full force on the polished floors of a court and the buzzing sensation on their skin when the game reaches its peak.

but tobio and shoyo have silently agreed that they'll do everything they can to make this, the wearing down of their bodies and careers moving at a slow and steady pace, easier on both of them.

they start off small, spending the afternoons of their days off bouncing a ball back and forth between them. this is routine, familiar. it makes them feel like they're in highschool again, each warm orange ray of the setting sun reflecting off their skin bringing them back to when they were sixteen.

suddenly, the cicadas are singing and karasuno is fresh from a devastating loss against the great king.

suddenly, snow cascades in white ribbons to the ground. tobio is looking at shoyo, at the sun, and utters the words with great conviction.

"you can fly even higher."

suddenly, it's spring in tokyo. adrenaline courses through their veins in monumental waves. and just as quickly as the tides change, the world collapses. shoyo falls to his knees.

suddenly, it's the spring. the one that will never come again.

the moon rising above the sun is a familiar backdrop to their banter and the silence that bleeds in between playful squabble. they call it a night at around the same time, when either of their stomach growls or when their shirts cling to their backs due to the sweat.

they find other ways to alleviate the dread that's slowly creeping in. and on days where it's harder, where their bones are heavier, they visit a local volleyball camp for kids.

there's something about watching a new generation of players taking their first steps that dispels their apprehension entirely. they watch with a certain fondness in their eyes the childish frustration at each missed spike and failed digs. they offer words of encouragement, pieces of advice between bouts of light-hearted disagreements that makes the kids laugh.

and when one of them finally slams the ball down over a lowered net, an unmistakable glint of passion in their eyes as they stare at a reddened palm, tobio and shoyo find the idea of retirement less daunting.