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Takeda Ittetsu does not believe in 'love at first sight.' Surprising, coming from an instructor of literature and lover of poetry, but it's true. Love, for Ittetsu, is something built up with time, with conversation, with proximity. It is the curiosity that remains even after knowing one another better than anybody. It is the way that time itself cannot limit the number of unknowable things about another. It certainly does not crop up in an instant. Ittetsu could meet someone, and certainly feel attraction. Curiosity. Potential, even. But he does not love so quickly as that.
That said, of course he's not immune to the appeal of an attractive man. Ittetsu is a man attracted to men, after all, and here in the convenience store nearest to the high school sits a rather attractive man indeed.
He's grateful, suddenly, that he's come prepared with a speech. He's not sure he would've withstood the intensity of Ukai Keishin's stare otherwise.
"I'm here about the Karasuno High School volleyball club," he says. "I'm here to ask you again, to please consider coaching for us."
Ukai turns his back to him, and it's almost a relief to have that stare directed elsewhere. He takes a long drag on his cigarette, exhales a wisp of smoke that has Ittetsu reconsidering every anti-smoking-PSA he's ever seen in his life. The man in front of him slouches in his seat, doesn't even bother to put down his manga. Fluorescent light glints off stacked piercings in one ear, his jeans are ripped at the knees, he's sun-tanned and bleached-blonde and carries himself with an 'I don't give a fuck' air that Ittetsu finds, well, hot.
A hot cashier at the convenience store. If Ittetsu were in a mass market romance, this could be the start of something very interesting.
"Beg me as many times as you want—" the hot cashier says.
Sure, Ittetsu thinks. That can be arranged.
"—I'm not gonna be their coach."
Oh. Right. The actual reason he's in this convenience store.
"It was my old man who did that stuff, not me," Ukai says, still facing away from him. "I ain't cut out for teachin'."
He knows for a fact this is a lie. Ukai, after all, is a Karasuno High School alumnus. Plenty of his old teachers are now Ittetsu's colleagues. It's really not that difficult to pull up his old grade files, to poll a few of the more tenured faculty, to ask a pointed question or two about a potential candidate for volleyball coach. Most of his colleagues don't even think twice about it.
("Ah, you mean Keishin-kun," Hiraishi-san had said. "Clever young man. Decent grades, but he did love volleyball. Could hardly get him out of the gym!"
"He looked like a little delinquent," Akane-san mused with a laugh. "But I caught him showing a few of his, well, less capable juniors his study techniques one day, and those same juniors wound up passing their next exam!"
"I hear he works at the Sakanoshita Store now," Miwa-san said. "He spent a lot of time on the bench, but I remember his underclassmen used to consult him about plays regularly during the match. I think he even formed a municipal volleyball team here in town.")
Ittetsu doesn't say this in so many words, of course. He knows better than to give up his sources. "I heard you were exceptional at teaching your juniors in high school and college," he says. "Heard you had a gift for analyzing plays, even in your youth."
Ukai turns his head at this; he can see the other man's furrowed brows, his deepened frown. "Who told you all that shit?" he drawls. Still, he turns towards Ittetsu again, and Ittetsu takes this as progress.
"Butter me up all you like—" (Oh come on, Ittetsu thinks, wills his expression to remain impassive.) "—but I have no coaching experience. Sure, you say you need someone to teach them, and you prolly do."
Ukai is mostly facing his way now. He turns his cigarette between his fingers, narrows his eyes, visibly steels himself for what he's about to say. "But what you really want is the Ukai name."
And Ittetsu cannot lie. What he's after is the Ukai name. He has been exhausting all his options, exhausting himself, for weeks trying to cobble together practice matches, schedules, training camps, anything to keep these kids playing volleyball. When he's not begging other teams to give them the time of day, he's reading everything he can about the sport, watching old games online, quizzing himself on the positions, the rotation, different types of hits (who even knew there were so many names for hitting a ball). All this, while keeping up with grading, planning curriculum, teaching his regular classes. He's barely slept in weeks, he hasn't had even a semblance of a social life since he started teaching at Karasuno. His every waking moment is spent trying to learn this sport from scratch. Anything, anything, to keep their volleyball team together.
"To be honest, yes," Ittetsu says. He looks down at his own clasped hands; Ukai looks away. "I was recently thrown into the advising position, with no experience and no contacts, and other schools simply won't give me the time of day." He squeezes his hands together, the exhaustion of the last few weeks settles heavily in his shoulders, in his posture. "I know it seems unfair, but—"
"—but, you think that the illustrious name of Ukai will change all that," Ukai finishes mockingly.
Ittetsu says nothing. Sarcasm aside, the cashier isn't wrong at all. He's witnessed firsthand how badly losing just one name has affected this team. Karasuno Volleyball Club does not have the kinds of resources afforded to other schools. They don't have a regular coach on the payroll. Their equipment, their uniforms are all hand-me-downs, the players have to purchase their own shoes. And still, Karasuno used to fly. It was the power of connections, the power of knowing someone important, the power of one name that carried Karasuno to the national level once before. Ittetsu doesn't just think the Ukai name would change their situation. He knows it.
Ukai huffs. Turns back to his manga, takes another drag off his cigarette. "I can't help you. I've already got a job, I don't need another one babysitting teenagers," he says in clear dismissal.
"Thank you for your time," Ittetsu says with a bow. "I'll come back another time."
"I just said I ain't doin' it."
He makes his way toward the door. Stops. Considers. Turns back towards Ukai one last time, who shifts back to his manga in an obvious attempt to appear detatched. Everything about Ukai, Ittetsu thinks, is an obvious attempt to appear detatched. He bleaches his hair, speaks in caustic sarcasm, uses his reading material as a shield between himself and whomever he engages with. Ittetsu has learned a lot about the man in this very short first meeting, and he thinks that if Ukai Keishin is performing detachment to such a degree, then he must be capable of great devotion indeed.
"I'm sorry I'm being so persistent," Ittetsu says finally, smiling despite himself. "But I think if you watched them play, then you would understand."
He leaves the convenience store without looking back, walks the several blocks toward his apartment. He's looking forward to getting out of this suit. He's looking forward to the bottle of sake in his fridge, to the warm shower that awaits him. He's looking forward to whatever happens next in his saga with the hot cashier from the convenience store.
Because he knows already it will be a saga. It will be a story. No, he doesn't believe in things like 'love at first sight.' He's far too practical for the notion. But he's interested. He's intrigued. The attraction of the first moment has given way to curiosity. Ittetsu finds himself wanting to know more about the other man. And this, he knows, is where the danger lies.