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Natsu’s eyes flash as she sets the ball in a high arc, and you run, making your approach. She’s placing the ball in your hands again, trusting you to decide the match that the team had banked their hearts and souls on, trusting you to break through, to make that point.
“You’re our ace,” she had said before firmly, thumping your back with a smile. “Of course we believe in you.” Her face was genuine, her eyes lined in a smile.
You’re our ace, say the eyes of your teammates now, words silent but tangible in the air. We believe in you.
You seem to climb the air. The view from the peak, from the new snow-capped mountain top that it feels like you stand upon now, is crystal clear. The crowd’s eyes are on you now, on the No 6 emblazoned on your back. You can see Niiyama Girls High’s banner, Immovable Mountain , from the corner of your eyes, hearing the crowd chant. Your form hovers in the air for a second, and you can see the defenders positioned on the court, glaring up at you with a resolve you want to crush.
The first time you heard the word ‘volleyball’ was from a TV speaker as you stared, awestricken, as Niiyama’s No 6 smashed the ball into the corner of the court.
She seemed to almost freeze in mid air. The blood pounded in your ears, energy pulsing through your body, and your eyes widened. Then her palm made contact with the ball, and you felt yourself shiver as it crashed down on the opponent's court and ricocheted into the stands.
“Kanoka Amanai,” boomed the announcer, “ace of powerhouse Niiyama Girl’s High, scores the winning point after an intense rally in the finals of The Spring Nationals Tournament, securing her team’s place as the best in the nation-”
Your heart was still thudding in your chest. There was thrill set into your bones as you stared at the shining court and its ace. The shining ace who seemed to soar, as if she was the sky herself, a terrifying power blooming under her skin.
You remembered Kanoka Amanai as you walked into the volleyball club for the first time, ignoring the looks and whispers sent your way. (You had gotten all too used to them, even back then.) You know the energy that pulsed through you as you trained and practised drill after drill, dig after dig. You felt the thrill in your bones, the energy that pulsed through your veins as you smashed the ball into the corner of the opponent’s court, and your teammates gathered around you, cheering and screaming your name.
You fall in love with volleyball all over again as you swing at the ball with a force of a thousand rocks behind you and it smashes through the triple block looming over you. It crashes onto the shiny wooden floor, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest, lungs breathless with delight. The moment is addictive. You can see the opposing team glaring at you from across the net, and the corners of your mouth lift in a wide grin.
“We’re going to win nationals,” you had said, as you fervently practised your spiking drills in the yard outside the gym.
“We’re going to win nationals,” Natsu had said, as she practised her new jump floater serve with a single minded focus.
“We’re going to win nationals,” she had said to the team as you marched into the well lit stadium with determination in your hearts. The hard work of the team had culminated into this moment, and you were going to grasp this chance in your hands, finally push your team to victory.
As you land on the floor, your whole team sweeps you into a group hug, cheering. Natsu beams at you with much more than her captain’s pride. (She has to tiptoe to kiss your cheek.) Your faces are flushed with exhaustion. Just one moment, one point, felt like an entire lifetime, and you can feel yourself falling further and further, as if volleyball has conquered your mind and heart and bent it to your control. You have chased this moment, chased the sweet taste of victory for all too long.
When you make it back to your hotel, after the awards ceremony and the long, tiring yet ever so wonderful game, the team seems to collapse against the walls, exhaustion creeping at your eyelids. Still, the coach’s promise of an all you can eat buffet has everyone enthusiastic. There is a pleasant hunger gnawing at your stomachs, a weary happiness bubbling in your throats, and a certain contentment settling in your hearts.
By the time celebrations are drawing to a close, many players have passed out over their bowls, or gone upstairs to lie on their futons. Natsu and you stand on the balcony, looking out at the night sky.
The night sky, with all its secrets and stars and glowing crescent moon, pales in comparison to Natsu Hinata. Winning has her radiant, her eyes bright and shining with joy, her hair glowing like fiery embers, as if reflecting her mood. She nestles into your side, and you lay your head on hers, humming softly.
The first time you met Hinata Natsu was at the park when you were eleven years old and utterly bored. As you stood in the grass, practising spiking drills with a single minded focus, you were blinded by summer personified in an excitable girl around your age.
It’s like facing the sun. The girl simply glows, her eyes wide and bright. You had to almost squint to look at her, because staring at such radiant joy could not be good for your eyes.
She waved at you as she ran over. “Hello!” she yelled, and beamed a wide toothy grin at you, holding up the volleyball.
You played volleyball for hours on end. The day is a hazy memory, but a good one nonetheless. You remember the attempted 1 v 1 matches, which ended 9-9, the tired laughing after falling to the ground after a long set of drills. You remember turning around to wave at her when your older sister finally dragged you away. “See ya Hinata-san!” (Many years pass before you finally do.)
“We won, huh,” you say, and you can feel a smile spread across your face, as if engulfing it whole.
“Yup!” She laughs, delighted, and it is pure luck mixed with their exhaustion that stops the rest of the team awakening to her lack of an indoor voice. It’s ridiculously endearing, but more than that it’s so Natsu that you can almost feel your heart bursting out of your chest. She yawns as she looks up at the stars, her hand intertwining with yours. It is warm, but Natsu has always been like summer personified, bright and warm and full of growth. “You know,” she adds somewhat contemplatively. “I’m absolutely exhausted, but I can't sleep at all.”
You nod, seriously, as you look out at the stars together for the last time in a long while. “It’s been an honour to play with you, Captain.” And it has been. Natsu is the best setter you’d gotten a chance to play with in a long time. Sure, you’re going to meet many new setters (you’re hoping to go pro after all) but you doubt it’ll be the same as playing with her.
“You should be the next captain,” you had said one day as they walked home from practice in the dark, looking over at Natsu, who was wrapped up in twice the layers to help protect her from the biting winter cold. (Natsu and winter didn’t mix well.) The others hummed and nodded their assent.
“Me?” asked Natsu, looking far too surprised, her meatbun falling out of her hands and onto the floor.
One of your friends and teammates, a mischievous girl with short pink hair, booped your future captain’s nose with a surprisingly genuine smile. “Well duh you, you silly. You’d make a great captain, everyone knows it.”
“I also believe that you are a good fit,” said her teammate (and likely future vice captain) her eyes flashing with silver, face blank as ever, but Natsu seems to brighten at her words.
Hinata Natsu is an enigma, a force of nature, summer and radiance and grit, whose sets set something in your chest ablaze in a roaring flame. You love her. It hits you again, like a volleyball spiked to the heart, and you beam fondly over at her.
She nods, face becoming solemn, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “It’s been an honour to play with you too, ace.”
“Love you,” you whisper, and the words are like breathing, natural and instinctive. You can feel her breath on your lips as you lean forward, cupping her cheek in your hand as delicately as if holding a sunflower in your palm. They are stained with tear tracks- there are tears in the corner of your eyes too, and you’re not sure why. You won, and it is over now. You are happy, but it is over now, and you wish it wasn’t so.
“Love you!” she whisper-shouts, her lips against yours, and she tastes like sweat, hard work, and summer itself, her lips chapped from the harsh winds.
When your team finds you the next morning, you’re curled up together in the chair, slumped against the pane of the window as sunlight filters in, basking the room in its glow.