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wordsofelie · 1 month ago

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chapter 2 will probably come this weekend !!

Chapter 1

🎨In a sea of colours, we were black and white

Kuroo Tetsurou - 黒尾鉄朗 & Shirayagani Natsumi - 白柳夏臣

黒 (black) — 白 (white)

Summary: The best way to prevent a broken heart is to tame your feelings, keep them locked in a room. At least that is what Shirayanagi Natsumi thought. Until, she meets him; Kuroo Tetsurou. Good-looking. Tall. Kind. And she realises that a heart that longs, hurts more than a heart that breaks.

Content Warnings: manga spoilers, post time skip, alcohol consumption, smoking

Words count: 4.3k

Scientists say black is the absence of colours. Artists say it’s the only shade present in every colour. I say you are all of that—presence and absence, light and obscurity, shade and colour.

One of the most annoying tasks Shirayanagi Natsumi is assigned as the newly appointed athletic trainer of the Japan Women's Volleyball Team is to appear in a collaboration photoshoot with the coach and team members. She has always been used to being the tallest girl in her class, which is why in first grade, her mother had made a bet on your her path—it would be whether volleyball player or modelling—but because she hated to be in the spotlight (and perhaps because her father used to be the coach of the Japanese national team), she chose volleyball. But now, as she stands beside the athletes (and despite being 6’ tall), she feels extremely small. At least she managed to maintain her strength, thanks to her studies in sports science. I should have gone more to the gym, she thinks anyway.

When her coach broke the news that the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association wanted to include her in their campaign, she would have given anything to murder the obnoxious, stupid, sadist—and whatever adjective strong enough to express her hate—person in charge of that division. Her resentment didn’t ease when she heard her intern and assistant, Hina, gasped about how “lucky you are, senpai. Apparently, the man in charge of the division is a living god”. Good-looking, tall, a true gentleman—her words. It created some sort of disgust in her. In all honesty, it’s hard for her not to picture a stingy, middle-aged man who just wants to make money out of young athletes. Despite this, she still tries not to judge the portrait; perhaps that guy is all of that and kind

But it doesn’t matter how good-looking the guy is anyway because he certainly has no sense of marketing. Fans don’t care about athletic trainers, they want to see the players. He’s just making her waste time even though the fucking Olympics are in two month.

The problem on top of it is that, according to her coach, it’s important to bring to light her indispensable job and that the campaign is a brilliant idea (she’s convinced that whatever curse the ‘good-looking’ guy put on Hina, he also put on coach Sakai). But what can she say about it? He is her boss, after all, and she has dreamed of working with the Olympic team for years, so she offered a tense smile and returned to her office, hoping she would not have to meet the man who had that brilliant idea.

That is how she finds herself all dressed up and wearing make-up in some prestigious studio in Tokyo, sulking as she thinks of all the work she should be doing instead of this masquerade.

“Did your dog die?”

Ito Chika, the regular libero of the team, looks at her with wide eyes.

“Of course not, I would be desperate if he did,” Natsumi mutters, a pout appearing on her lips at the mention of the loss of the love of her life, Soba, a cute and fluffy Cavalier King Charles spaniel mixed with another breed (she still wonders about the kind of father he had) that she adopted two-years ago. My child, as she likes to call him.

“Well, you do look desperate, Nana.”

Liberos are said to be, well, straightforward. And they need to. At the end of the day, in a game, they don’t have time to be precious or cautious; they just have to dive to the floor and end up with a few bruises. Natsumi never understood why one would want to do crazy things like liberos; that’s why she was fine with being a spiker in school. As the saying goes, clichés die hard, and Ito Chika is no exception to the rule; she is, in fact, straightforward, frank and a little bit crazy (she also happens to be the best libero of all Japan).

Natsumi only sighs. “I hate photoshoots. And why do I have to be here anyway? The good part of being an athletic trainer and not a proper athlete, is that you don’t need to do bullshits photoshoots like this one. Argh.”

Only a few pictures have been taken, yet Natsumi already feels exhausted and blinded by the too-bright white flashes of the cameras. Both girls are sitting in a corner of the studio, taking a water break from all this agitation.

A scoff comes out of Chika’s nose. “Yeah, I know you don’t like photoshoots.”

“Why are you laughing?” Natsumi asks, eyebrows raised.

“It’s just-” Chika takes a few seconds to wipe away the tears that started to form in her eyes. “I just remembered the day of your graduation, when Komori and I dragged you all the way from the toilets to take a group picture.”

She cringes at the mention of the memory before softly pushing the libero. “Shut up!”

Deep down, Natsumi feels her heart lighten. Is that nostalgia from a time when one did not have to think about taxes and demanding bosses and grocery shopping and any other adult responsibilities?

“I remember how Suzuki-sensei screamed at Komori for entering the girls’ toilets.”

“He turned all red.”

They laugh so loud the make-up team turns and gives them suspicious looks.

“In the end, I was in the ground picture.”

“Only because I promised I’d buy you fried chicken.”

Natsumi chuckles at that.

“See, I know this would make you smile.”

She looks at Chika, and the corners of her lips turn slowly upwards. “You always know how to make me smile.”

And this is as true as the law of gravity. Ito never fails to make her friends smile. The girls met in high school; the two of them went to Itachiyama. Natsumi was one year older than the libero. When the latter became a first year, Natsumi was made vice-captain of the girls' team. She remembers when Ito entered—or rather, burst into the gymnasium. She’s so loud, everyone thought. She was grounded by the captain and had to take care of the cleaning for a whole month. One time, when Natsumi stayed a little longer to train her serves after a defeating match, Ito told her how happy she was to be in this team. Natsumi found her naive at first; they had just lost, and terribly, how could she be happy? But as she looked at her, cleaning the polished wooden floor and acclaiming every action her teammates had made, Natsumi smiled. That day, she discovered that the younger girl wasn’t just loud and naive, she had a gift, one of putting the smile back on your face. Whether it was when they lost their first Nationals, when their former setter had to retake an exam the day before the start of the summer vacation, or when Natsumi turned silent for a whole month after quitting volleyball. Her presence itself brings joy.

“Do you still talk to Motoya?” Natsumi asks.

“Of course I do. I even went to see the EJR play once. You know, it’s not because he broke my heart ten years ago that I resent him.” Chika puffs out her chest, trying to express the little pride she has left through her posture.

“This sentence itself makes it obvious that you’re not over it.”

“I-well, you know how I am. I have a crush on a guy-”

“On a libero, you mean.”

“Alright, alright, on a libero. I have a thing for liberos. Anyway. I confess to him. He says I’m a pain in the ass. I get over it and find a new guy. That’s called the circle of life. That happened in high school with Komori, with that Nishinoya guy at the Nationals. The list is long. My new target is the cutie Yaku from the boys’ team, though.”

For anyone unfamiliar with the situation, Chika could be diagnosed with emophilia. But Natsumi has known her friend for over a decade now, so nothing could surprise her anymore when it comes to Ito’s love life.

“Anyway. We’re having dinner with the boys tonight. Wanna come with us? Apparently, Bokuto knows a bar downtown where they serve the best Tsukune yakitori of Tokyo. Can you imagine?”

A heartbeat passes and then a knot forms in the back of Natsumi’s throat. One that, maybe, is always there, ready to come back whenever she feels uncomfortable.

She opens her mouth to speak, but the knot gets stronger. She would like to say yes, to accept, for she has declined this kind of invitation more than she could ever count on her fingers. She’s convinced that a part of her wants to make her friend happy and accompany her for once, just once. But she knows what “having dinner with the boys” means, she knows who that includes, and as strong and independent and tough as she may be, she doesn’t feel ready to see him yet.

But maybe that’s the point of life, jumping off the cliff when one feels the least ready. There’s this fine line in front of her, one centimetre away from the next step. It’s close, so close. She knows it should be easy to overcome the line, it starts by saying a simple, one-syllabled, “yes”.

Still, the word doesn’t come out. The knot is about to strangle her, and before it does, she gets up. Somehow, being in the spotlight of the cameras and getting yelled at by the photographer is less scary than where this conversation is leading.

“I am deeply, deeply, sorry for being late.”

An infuriating, sarcastic voice resonates in the studio—or as it sounds like to the athletic trainer. That doesn’t stop her from turning around as fast as the light.

Good-looking. Tall. Charming. That is how the man reflects in Natsumi’s eyes as he makes his entrance. She’s convinced she's never seen him before, but oddly and slowly, the knot in her throat dilutes in her whole boy and sinks beneath her bones. She doesn’t question the feeling and assumes it’s curiosity, maybe a bit of surprise too.

“Kuroo-san!” Coach Sakai runs towards the man. “Kuroo-san, it’s good to see you.” He energetically shakes his hands.

“There was an accident on the road, I’m very sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Listen, girls.” The older man shouts to capture everyone’s attention—as if Natsumi’s eyes weren’t already glued on the tall silhouette.

The man is wearing a suit. A black suit. A red tie. And a few buttons of his white shirt are loose, probably in an attempt to get some fresh air—Tokyo summers are cruel.

He looks confident, maybe a bit cocky. Natsumi doesn’t know if he’s being honest when he bows and apologises for the inconvenience. His charm works on her coach, anyway. What a privilege, the girl thinks dismissively. Her boss is usually very strict when it comes to punctuality and respect. Natsumi didn’t know that wearing some expensive finance-guy type of suit, faking a stupid smile, and having bed hair was a way of currying favour with her boss. Maybe she should try it if she wants to get promoted.

When Kuroo catches sight of her staring, he offers a grin. Her whole world seems to still; she quickly turns her attention back to her boss.

“This is Kuroo Tetsurou, he is in charge of the sports promotion division of the Japan Volleyball Association. He was the one suggesting the brilliant idea of this campaign.”

Her heart skips a beat. So, this is the obnoxious, stupid, sadist person Natsumi wanted to murder a couple of days ago. For some reason, she’s not surprised. He does have the attitude of a gentleman. Maybe he should do the photoshoot instead of her; that would spare her time to work on her rehabilitation program for one of their middle blockers and the report she was supposed to deliver this week.

“Hello there. So, you’re the athletic trainer. Shirayanagi, right?”

She almost jumps when she realises he’s standing in front of her now.

“I am. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad we can finally meet,” Kuroo continues. “And thank you for taking part in the photoshoot. The JVA is trying to promote sport-related jobs, so it's great that people like you have accepted to do this.”

It’s not like I had a choice, she wants to add. But in lieu of words, she simply nods. Hoping this would end the conversation.

“Kuroooo!” Ito sings, coming from behind the athletic trainer. However, her joy is quickly stopped by the deadly glance Natsumi is giving her.

“You know him?” the libero reads in her friend’s eyes.

“We met during the European championship last year. In Poland.” Kuroo explains, even though she didn’t explicitly ask for an explanation. Natsumi gives a small smile in return.

“How are you? Are you enjoying your new life in Italy?” he asks Ito.

“Ew, our coach is pretty intense. The Italian championship is coming next October, so we need to prepare but apart from that pastas are good, the sun shines, and the wine is fuck-”

“Chii, we need to go back to the photoshoot.” Natsumi interrupts. “See you later Kuro-san.”

“It’s Kuroo.” He interjects but the girls are already walking away.

“You don’t like him?” Ito whispers in her ear, once they’re a few meters away from him.

“What?”

“You basically glowered at him.”

Despite her introversion, Natsumi has never been good at hiding her emotions. Anger, disgust, aversion—it can all be read by the features on her face. Ever since she was a child, she’s been taught to repress this, to take it easy, put on a mask of calmness and compliance. For a few years, she thinks she has done a pretty good job at it. Her parents no longer feel ashamed of her attitude as they were when she frowned at an old uncle's stupid joke, her colleagues no longer decipher when she’s pissed off because she now avoids lifting her eyes to the sky or clicking her tongue in annoyance.

But today, apparently, she’s failing to wear her mask.

The younger girl raises an eyebrow, and Natsumi knows she has no choice but to find an excuse.

“I can’t hate him since I don’t even know him. But it’s just that… I don’t want to be here. The Olympics are coming, I don’t know why he asked me to be part of this. I have a report to send to the committee, and Tajima’s ankle is not completely recovered. You guys should be training right now, not posing like some J-pop idols.”

“Well, I get that,” Ito answers. “But it’s important to have some time off training, and the girls seem to enjoy the campaign. Actually, for once, it's not the boys’ team who’s in the spotlight. And we’ve never had a professional set-up like this before. So let’s try to make the most of it. C’mon, it’s our turn.”

She takes her wrist and leads her to the set.

Natsumi takes a glance at Kuroo. He’s speaking with some of the players; they’re all giggling at something he said. What’s so attractive about him? She wants to ask them. Is he that amazing, like her assistant said? Maybe she only assumed he was the typical marketing guy who has no idea how much hard work it takes to prepare for the Olympics, when in reality, he’s just a good person. If so, she should be nice to him.

She remembers her mother begging her to be polite with people she didn’t know (“just smile and keep a straight face, that’s all we’re asking of you. It’s not that hard.”)

She gulps; the knot in her throat is almost all gone now.

I guess, she thinks to herself, I’ll just have to pretend with him too.

If Natsumi got up and tried to run away from the “diner with the boys” conversation, is certainly not end up in this precise situation. But here she is, stuck between Hoshiumi and Kuroo in the most crowded Izakaya of Shibuya. Ito is ordering her fourth beer, Asahi, her favourite. Komori is trying to hide it from her. Atsumu is eating a cauliflower salad and explaining that he needs to keep his diet clean if he doesn’t want to lose his contract with whatever famous sports brand he is working with at that time. Yes, she is having dinner with Ito and “the boys”.

“Shirayanagi-san, do you want more fried chicken?” Hinata asks with his usual polite tone (almost too pure for this world). But Natsumi says no, her hair already smells too much of greasy food, so she might need to wash them with a super special shampoo tonight.

Don’t get her wrong, it’s not that she doesn’t want to be here. A reunion of both national teams could be very enjoyable. It might even be their last moment of free time before the Olympics. But the thing is, when she woke up that morning, she did not expect to run into the man she’s been cursing for weeks and even less to eat next to him and feel his shoulder and hand and leg against hers in a small restaurant.

“So Kuroo-san, how did you get into working for the JVA?” The setter from her team asks.

Natsumi looks at him sipping his glass of water. His face is ridiculously perfect.

“I studied business and marketing at uni, and it might sound cheesy, but I’ve always dreamed of bringing volleyball to as many people as possible. Lowering the net to kids, girls and boys, you know? So, they can become whoever they want. And I guess the JVA is one way to do it.”

“You’re amazing at it.” The girl answers, and from the corner of her eyes, Natsumi sees Kuroo’s cheeks turning slightly red.

“Kuroo used to play volleyball in high school!” Hinata suddenly shouts. “His blocks were so cool; it sounded like ‘shhh’ and ‘kabouum’.”

Now that she can take a close look at him, Natsumi isn’t so surprised that Kuroo used to play volleyball. He has the attitude of an athlete. It’s not only in his height but in his posture and in the way he looks at people.

“Nana too!” Chika adds in a loud exclamation.

In the span of a second, all eyes are on Natsumi and she wants to curse her friend for it. She doesn’t like to be the centre of attention, she’s never been used to it anyway. It makes her uncomfortable. Natsumi starts feeling her heartbeat pounding all the way to her temples. There are too many sounds—chatters, music, clicks of glass; too many scents—food, alcohol and the probably too expensive cologne Kuroo is wearing. She wants to hide underneath the table.

“What?” Tajima blurts. “How come you’ve never told us?”

The athletic trainer doesn’t even have time to open her mouth before Ito interrupts her. “Best outside hitter of Tokyo in middle school. She went to Nationals thrice. And she was my captain, can you believe it?”

“Chika, gives me that!” Komori, sitting next to her, swings his arms to try and take the beer from her hands.

“For real?” one of the girls says. “That’s actually so cool. Why did you quit then? You didn’t love volleyball?”

“It’s not about liking volleyball or not,” Kuroo starts explaining. “You can love a sport but still choose not to become an athlete. But there are so many ways to promote it and show it to the world. And it’s great that coaches and athletic trainers and journalists exist. Actually, they’re an essential part of volleyball, just like the players.”

Each word, each sound that comes out of his lips makes Natsumi’s blood boil harder in her veins. He doesn’t know, doesn’t know anything about her life and still he speaks in her name. How annoying.

“It wasn’t a choice,” Natsumi whispers.

“Sorry?”

If her mother was there, she would ask her to smile, keep a straight face, and move on to the next topic. For a long time, Natsumi has managed to do that. She’s no longer the annoying child who cries too much and laughs too loud.

But for some unknown reason, this time, her feelings have no room to hide. It’s like all the efforts she’s accumulated all these years to smoothen her emotions, tame them, all implode.

“Maybe you chose to be where you are. But I didn’t.”

Her eyes meet his. She still speaks quietly, so not everyone can hear her.

“You want to lower the net to both girls and boys, right? But you have no idea how unfair volleyball is. It’s easy for a man like you to pretend that not going pro was a choice. So many doors are gonna open to you anyway. Girls need to work at least twice as hard to reach the level of what men would consider mediocre. It’s never a matter of choice, at least not for us. People don’t watch us on TV, companies don’t sponsor our teams. Dreaming is good but we need to live too, pay our bills, eat, have a roof. Most of the time, giving up is the only option.”

From across the table, Komori overhears the conversation and decides to let Ito drink her beer. That’s a lost case anyway, she’s already drunk. What matters now is how Natsumi’s eyebrows are frown and how she starts scratching her arm, a bad habit she has had since childhood and that she usually goes back to when she feels stressed out.

Komori wants to interfere; he’s good at it, especially when Natsumi is involved. He’s known her forever, but as his mouth opens to speak, Bokuto lets out a sound that only he—and probably Shoyo—could understand.

“Heyaaa! More meat is coming.”

Kuroo gets distracted for a second, shifting his attention away from Natsumi. The girl lets herself breathe again and grabs her bag. She has to get out of this place and escape from the noise and the heat of the food in front of her.

When Kuroo turns back, Natsumi is out of sight.

Once safely outside, she gets a cigarette and a lighter from her pocket.

How funny it is that people smoke when they feel stressed, strangled, muffled. Can this be called fighting fire with fire?

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Short and spiked hair, olive eyes, side smile. Natsumi would recognize him in a crowd filled with thousands and thousands of people.

“What a shame for an athletic trainer. I know the song.”

Iwaizumi chuckles, “As if I would judge your lifestyle when I sleep maybe three hours every night.”

“You always had problems sleeping when there were exams at uni, so I suppose it's the same with the Olympics.” She lights up her cigarette. “Don’t worry though, I only smoke when I’m tensed or having a drink with my friends.”

“Which one is it right now?”

“Both.”

Who could have guessed that the two of them, who met and studied sports science at UCI in Irvine, would now be in charge of the National teams? She likes to tell him that he has been a huge support when she got the job, and that she could never be thank him enough.

Iwaizumi doesn’t reply, so she decides to go a bit deeper and complains about the raven-haired boy.

“Have you ever met that Kuro guy? He’s so full of himself, isn’t he? I don’t know if he thinks girls are gonna find him attractive just because he gives life lessons. ‘I wanna lower the net to everyone’ he said, with his superior tone. Lower the net my ass and- argh never mind.”

Her voice has become more nasal and furious as she talks. Anger and cigarettes are not a good combination.

“Guess some things never change.”

Natsumi, back pressed against the wall, sighs, “I know what you’re thinking, I’m being too hard on him even though I’ve known him for less than a day, but something about him is bothering me.”

The good thing about talking with Iwaizumi is that she is free to say whatever she wants; she can even insult her coach, and he wouldn’t argue.

“You've always had trouble trusting people you don't know. I’ve not seen you this mad since our biomechanics teacher made you retake your third-year exam just because you broke his 3D machine, though.”

“I didn’t break his-” she stops when she sees the teasing smile appearing on his lips. “Anyway. Sorry for complaining.”

“Don’t be sorry. I'd rather you talk to me than keep this to yourself.”

She sighs softly and stubs out her cigarette.

“Did they drink a lot?”

“Hmm, your team has been pretty reasonable. Well, expect with meat, Bokuto has had at least three platters of beef.”

He groans in response. “I told him to quit red meat. I need to have a chat with him. You’re coming?” He points at the front door.

It would be nice to spend more time with the girls outside of work, and Chika and Motoya are inside, but Natsumi can only think of Kuroo’s comment and his so-called meritocracy, and all she wants is to go away as fast as possible.

“Tell Motoya I went back home because-”

“You missed your dog.”

That is the easiest and probably most credible lie he can give, so she thanks him with a soft smile and leaves.

She hopes to find solace under her fleece blanket, drinking a hot chocolate buried in whipped cream and with her dog resting on her chest, but when she opens the door of her apartment—a door that needs to be oiled—and is welcomed by the darkness, the silence and the emptiness of the room, she sighs. Soon enough, Soba greets her by whining.

“Hi baby, I missed you.”

The only thing that eases her mind is that tomorrow will be Saturday, no need to go to work, no need to run into Kuroo again.

She doesn’t have a lot of pictures on her white walls, only a few from high school with Ito and some from college in the US. As she looks at them, she wonders what her life would look like if she had continued playing. Would the walls of her apartment be filled with trophies and medals? Would she have made it into the National Team? What would be the number on the back of her jersey? Would it be ‘15’ like him?

But thank gods, she comes back to her senses quickly and pushes the intrusive thoughts away. She shall not let the regrets intrude upon her mind. That Kuro guy must be getting under my skin. She concludes before going to bed.

a/n: this story has been on my mind for a year now, so im happy to finally share it

taglist: @ayatakanosstuff @megapteraurelia @tsukisangel

#there’s gonna be a flashback #an important one #with a mysterious character #i won’t tell more #kuroo #elie’s fics

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